A Cold Season (30 page)

But Pete was already turning, heading for the door. ‘I’ll handle this,’ he said and ran out, shutting the door in her face. Cass went after him, almost tripping over Ben as she rushed into the hall. Ben looked up at her, fright in his eyes, and she bent and hugged him. When she opened the front door and looked out, Pete had already gone.

Cass rested her hands on her boy’s hunched shoulders. ‘Sweetheart,’ she said, ‘there’s something I need you to do.’ She told him, and she told him again once she’d pulled on her shoes and grabbed the keys. ‘Don’t answer the door,’ she repeated, ‘not for anyone. Not for
anyone.
’

With that she kissed him and slipped out, listening for the
click
of the latch before heading away.

THIRTY-FOUR

Cass raced up the lane after her father and her husband, and only when she reached the top did she realise she could probably have taken the car; she simply hadn’t thought of it. Stupid.
Not good enough
. She was starting to see her life through Pete’s eyes and she didn’t like the things she saw: the way she’d let Remick get a grip on her son.

We’re your family
, Sally had said to Ben, and when Cass thought of it her fists clenched.

Remick was just a man after all
, she told herself: an odd, insular man with odder ideas who had carried a few bored locals along with him. She remembered Myra’s smirk outside the school. It was clear that Cass wasn’t the first he’d taken to his bed. Well, Cass was a fool, and that was all there was to it. She ran up the hill to the church, which towered over her head, blocking out the light.

The scrape of wood on flagstones was loud; she could feel the vibration through her fingers. She heard raised
voices from inside. It was Pete. She caught ‘—can’t do that.’

Her father was standing behind the altar, his arms raised as though delivering an impassioned sermon. Pete stood to one side, his head thrown back in contempt. There was no sign of Remick.

Cass’ footsteps echoed from the walls as she walked down the aisle, like a bride in some twisted ceremony. A book lay open on the altar.

Her father held something over the book. Light flared in his hand – a burning match.

‘You can’t do that,’ Pete said.

Cass wasn’t sure he was aware of her until he flicked a glance in her direction. ‘He’s lost it, Cass,’ he said. ‘He’ll burn the place down.’

She felt a stab of gratitude that he had spoken to her, but she couldn’t answer. She knew what lay upon the table; she wondered if her father had seen her name written there, her name and Ben’s.

Her father held the match to the book. It lit his face from below, distorting his features. Nothing happened – then a page caught, and a flame darted up. It hissed, faltered, grew stronger. A fragment of charred parchment floated up like some dark antithesis of snow. It settled in her father’s hair and he knocked at it, leaving a charcoal smear on his forehead. Marking him.

Pete snorted.

Cass stepped forward, her eyes greedy to see it burn. The flame swelled, feeding on the fat pages. It hissed again
and there was a smell like burning meat. The heart of the flame was blue.

After a while it began to die. The book had been reduced to a sooty mass. Only fragments remained.

‘It’s done, Cass,’ her father said. ‘You’re free now.’

She stared into his eyes, hoping it could be true, and heard an echo of Remick’s voice:
It’s written on his skin too, is it not? In his heart. His eyes— Your destiny is written on you too.

Remick was nothing but a madman; saying the words didn’t make them true. Cass forced a smile, tried to make her heart lift.

‘Come here,’ her father said. He indicated a place before the altar.

Cass stepped forward and knelt where her father pointed. He placed a heavy hand on her head. She squeezed her eyes shut.

‘I dedicate this child to the Lord.’ His voice rang from the walls. ‘Gloria, I name thee. Glorify his name, Gloria. Glorify him.’ He pressed down on her head with each word. She bowed beneath the weight. It occurred to her that her father might be mad too; that everyone here had the same sickness growing inside them.

‘Go in peace,’ he said, and suddenly the pressure was gone.

Cass looked around, blinking.

Pete refused to meet her eyes. He would never see her the same way again, she knew that. She bit her lip. It didn’t matter; she was free now, her father had said so. Her gaze blurred and she saw the colours behind her
husband as though for the first time: brilliant colours in a monochrome world. A smile played on her lips and her eyes focused on the lapis blue of the Virgin’s cloak, Remick’s eyes looking back at her. She started, felt her father’s hands pulling her to her feet. He was saying something about Ben, how it was over and she could ask him to come inside now. She looked at him.

The door slammed and Pete was striding back down the aisle, his face grim. He stopped in front of her. ‘He’s not outside,’ he said. ‘Where’s Ben, Cass? Don’t tell me you left him. Tell me you didn’t leave him on his own.’

THIRTY-FIVE

They crowded around the door and Cass had to push her father aside before she could insert the key into the lock. She shoved the door open and for a moment she thought Ben was there, playing his computer games. She blinked and the lounge was empty.

‘Ben,’ Pete called, pushing past her. Her father followed. Cass didn’t go in. She could already feel the emptiness in the apartment, an echoing, silent space. Ben wasn’t there. Something cold nestled in her stomach. She backed away, listening to her father’s voice, and Pete’s. She could still hear them as she ran towards the stairs.

She went down and the light in the ground-floor hall flickered on, spilling over the carpet. The door to the apartment beneath hers was open, but she knew which way Ben had gone before she reached it. There was mud on the carpet, a child’s footprints – not Ben’s, though – larger than his.

The dust was trodden into a filthy paste that clung to her shoes. Scuffed footprints led to the window. It
reminded her of the aisle in the church. She knelt. The doll was still there, stained with albumen. The boy doll was gone, taken, along with her son.

She looked about her. The place was already rotting. It had a pungent, almost fungal odour. She thought she heard an echo of young voices, children’s voices. Laughter reverberated around the walls, and it was cold and cruel.

Sally’s.
If the boys had come for Ben, they would have taken him to Sally’s.

She pushed herself up, her hands shaking. She turned to go and her foot struck something on the floor, something that hadn’t been there before: black stones, rough things that stared up at her. She bent and touched them, snatched her fingers away. The stones had something red-brown and flaking on them. She knew she had seen them before, pressed into an old man’s face.

It was a sign, a message. They hadn’t taken her son to Sally’s after all. She looked out of the window, seeing the white slopes rising all around. The moor. They had taken him to the frozen lake, the place where they left their dead.

THIRTY-SIX

Pete was silent as they followed the road out of Darnshaw. His face was pale, his mouth set into a hard line. Cass knew what he was thinking. How could she have left Ben alone? How could she have mixed with people who had done this? And most of all, how could she have seen the things she claimed up on the moor? She had been acting crazy herself, after all.

Maybe he was right. They would reach the witch stones and find only an empty white space, the wind breathing snow over everything. Of course they would find nothing. It was far more likely that Ben had gone to Sally’s. He trusted her and her sly, silent son. Cass pressed her hands to her eyes. She had to find Ben. He would be there. He
had
to be there.

Her father was in the driver’s seat, his jaw set, his eyes aglow. He believed he was going to find his grandson on the moor. He had to be right.

Cass pointed to the place and they pulled in close to the stile. She was out of the car in an instant, pulling the
driver’s door open and helping her father down. Pete was already looking over the wall. His breath came in clouds. The thaw hadn’t even begun up here. The moor clung to the cold with reaching fingers of grass and heather.

There were tracks ahead of them, leading up through the snow. Cass’ heart beat faster. She told herself they could be her own tracks, hers and Ben’s; but surely there had been fresh snowfall since they’d last been on the moor?

As they started out Cass’ father slipped and almost fell; he gestured for her to go on. Pete didn’t look at her, just paused until Cass started off again.

As long as her son was safe, it didn’t matter what anybody thought; not her father, not even her husband. Ben was all that mattered now.

Her father had burned the book, taken Cass back, and now Remick had taken her son. But she couldn’t allow herself to think too much about Ben. The fear would get into her throat and limbs and chest and she would just stop; her mind would cease functioning. She thought of Sally and scowled.
Better.

She looked up to the place where white hillside met pale sky. On the very tip of the rise was a black shape. Cass thought of the witch stones, but then it moved, disappearing over the hill: someone was watching them. Her heart beat faster. She wasn’t insane. Ben was here, she could
feel
it. She looked at Pete to see if he’d noticed, but he had gone to some other place; she could see it in the set of his mouth, the far-off look in his eyes. He was probably thinking of his mad wife. His missing son.

The children were waiting for them by the witch stones, the boys from Ben’s school, staring down with unblinking eyes. Damon stood with the rest.

A figure stepped forward. It was Remick. He smiled, holding out his hands in welcome.

Cass did not move. ‘Where is he?’ she asked.

‘All in good time. Please, come.’ Remick opened his arms wider, the expansive host, encompassing Pete and her father. ‘Pete, isn’t it? I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.’ He extended a hand for Pete to shake. ‘No? Never mind, you’ll come round. I’m a lovely chap, really. You’ll learn to love me.’ His eyes flashed with humour.

‘You,’ said Pete.

‘Me, indeed. Come.’

‘It’s you.’ Pete stood motionless, his expression dazed.

Remick raised an eyebrow. ‘I think we’ve established that.’

‘You were in the bunker with us – you said we should sit tight, and then all hell broke loose.’ Pete’s eyes were distant.

‘What a funny idea. Well, if you say so. Are you coming? Or had you forgotten I already have a guest waiting?’

Pete shook his head, rubbed his arm across his eyes. ‘Where’s my boy? What the hell gives you the right—?’ He glanced at Cass.

‘Your dear lady wife, of course. She trusted me implicitly with your son. I’ve rather enjoyed keeping an eye on your family while you were away.’

Pete started towards Remick, his eyes narrowed.

Cass’ father reached out and grabbed his arm.

Remick smiled. ‘Cass?’ he said, holding out his hand. His palm was clean, unmarked. Cass looked down at her own, the red mark she bore. He beckoned.

‘Her name’s Gloria,’ said her father. He stepped in front of her.

‘Indeed,’ Remick said. ‘Is that the name she takes for herself, do you think? Well, no matter. Please, this way. Everybody’s waiting. Now we can begin.’

Cass rushed past him towards the witch stones where the children were standing, their eyes fixed on her, but she paid them no heed. She didn’t care what happened to them; she only cared about her son. She wanted to wrap him in her arms and take him far away from here, never to have to look into Remick’s eyes again. She saw Sally, and beside her, holding her hand, was Ben.

‘Ben,’ Cass cried and ran to him—

She stared down in disbelief at the staring wide eyes of a young girl. What she’d taken for Ben’s pale hair was the furred rim of a hood pulled down over Jessica’s face. Strings of dark brown hair poked out.

Cass’ mouth worked. She had forgotten— Of course she had to find Ben, but how could she have forgotten her friend’s child? The little girl’s eyes were wide with fright. Cass looked out across the snow and she wondered if even now Lucy’s sightless eyes were looking back at her daughter. The white mounds were still there but they had been covered again, fresh snow packed into their cavities and over their hair, banishing the signs and scent of decay.

‘I wouldn’t get too attached,’ called Remick.

Cass ignored him. A small shape emerged from the witch stones behind Jess. Ben’s face was pinched, his eyes too bright. He held something in his hands.

‘She’s a problem for us, you see.’

Cass bent to her son, pulling him close, but he did not acknowledge her. ‘We’re going home, Ben,’ Cass said firmly. Her eyes flicked to Jessica. She couldn’t leave the girl here with Remick – who knew what he’d do to her? He would have already filled her ears with lies.

Her father moved to stand near her, between them and Remick, but it was Pete’s voice that carried across the still air. ‘It was
you
,’ he repeated, his voice still disbelieving. ‘You were there – only you said your name was Jackson. You liked sitting in the dark at night. You said you’d take the watch so you could see the sky come down.’