Past Darkness (8 page)

‘D
o you think God is punishing us for being bad, Tara?’

‘I don’t believe in God. There was no God to help me at Blackmore.’

‘But…everybody believes in God. If you don’t, you go to Hell.’

Tara started laughing without laughter in it. ‘Where the
hell
do you think we are right now? Perhaps you weren’t the good little girl you thought you were, and you’ve been sent here?’

The words sent a shiver up Dorothy’s back. The howls of wind outside were gathering pace, like the staccato of a million bat wings in a cave. She hugged the bear tighter.

‘I hate the wind at night. It scares me,’ Dorothy said, trying to prevent her teeth from chattering.

‘The wind doesn’t bother me. It’s my friend. Pastor Kilkee was always terrified of the wind. He thought it was Satan coming to get him, to cart him off to the flames.’

‘Who’s this Pastor Kilkee? You’ve said his name a few times.’

Tara didn’t answer. She seemed to have drifted away on a boat of memory.

‘Tara? You okay?’

‘He was a bastard.’

‘Oh.’

‘Yes, a dirty one. Did things to me, to all the girls at Blackmore.’

‘What kind of things?’

‘Things…dirty things. Kept me locked up, just like Scarman. Until I escaped. Until I…’

‘What? Until what?’

‘What’s the worst thing you ever did?’

Dorothy thought for a moment. ‘I…I took money I shouldn’t have, from Grandda McMahon before he died. He had a disease called Old Timers, and kept forgetting everything. Every time he handed me money, he would say: “Didn’t I just gave you money yesterday, Dorothy?” And I would put on my best wee innocent voice and say, “No, Grandda McMahon, you didn’t.” Even though he had. I’m so ashamed of doing it now.’

‘When did he kick the bucket?’

‘Last year. My granny put him in a home, even though he had his own home. I hated Granny McMahon for that. She’s not as nice as Granny Reilly, my other granny.’

‘Granny McMahon sounds a right old bitch.’

‘She can be nasty, when she wants to be. What about you?
What’s the worst thing you ever did?’

‘The
very
worst thing?’

‘Yes.’

Tara smiled. In the splintered dark, her teeth looked almost canine. As she spoke, her voice sounded different, diseased, like an old woman rotting on her deathbed.

‘I killed someone. Killed him good and proper. Rammed knitting needles into his eyes, and all the way up into his brain. And I enjoyed every second of pain I gave him…’

K
arl made a left turn into the unused back road, slowing the car to a crawl. The old house could barely be seen from the road, camouflaged by overgrown weeds and trees, but he could still picture it clearly in his mind.

For a second, he was tempted to get out of the car, have a sneak peek, but something foreboding kept him inside the vehicle. Quickly shifting gears, he hit the pedal, proceeding onwards.

Less than a minute later, he came to another isolated house, not as large as the first one, but not a league out.

This time, he did exit the car. Walked up the house’s gravel pathway. Before he could knock on the door, an elderly man opened it, the shotgun in his hands aiming directly at Karl’s chest.

The man was as broad as a barn door, his thick, knotted muscles earned through the honesty of a lifetime of hard farm work. Thick grey hair showed not a hint of thinning, crowning weatherbeaten skin and sincere but shrewd eyes. A fierce
looking Rhodesian Ridgeback sided up to the man.

Karl held his arms up to the sky. ‘Is that how you welcome an old neighbour, Francis Duffy?’

The man’s ageing eyes scrutinised Karl, from toe to head.

‘Who’re you, and what do you want here?’

‘Karl, Francis. Karl Kane. Don’t you remember me, that nuisance kid always pinching your apples? Remember all the boots up the arse you gave me? I still have the boot prints as proof if you want me to show them to you.’

‘Karl…?’ Francis’ face lit up like a million blessed candles. ‘Lad, you’re a sight for sore
and
old eyes.’

‘Can I take my hands down?’

‘What – oh! Of course!’ Francis laughed, quickly cradling the shotgun. ‘Sorry about that. Don’t get many visitors, so I’m always wary of strangers at the door.’

‘God help any Mormons coming up the path to convert.’

‘Come in! Come in, lad!’

‘What about the dog? Doesn’t look too happy to see me.’

‘King? He’ll not touch you. Come on.’

As Karl approached, the dog’s tail wagged frantically.

‘He’s not going to bite, is he?’

‘Only if I say so. You must be okay. He didn’t even growl. He knows good people when he smells them. Even wagging his tail for you. Proves you have a good soul, Karl. He can tell.’

‘I can handle dogs.’ Karl patted the dog’s head. ‘Cats? Now, that’s a different matter.’

Inside, Francis seated Karl at a table covered with everything from old newspapers to rusted tools prepared for oiling. The room – like most of the house, Karl suspected – was in dire need of a good cleaning and fixing. Ghostly cobwebs and heavy dust covered parts of farming machinery and other odds and ends, stacked against the walls like medieval torture contraptions.

‘Would you like a beer, or something stronger, Karl?’

‘Unfortunately, I’m driving, so I’m forced to say no.’

‘Tea, then? I’m just after having a cup, and the kettle’s still hot.’

‘I wouldn’t mind a coffee if you have it.’

‘Coffee…? Well, let me see. I think I have some somewhere.’ Francis opened a cupboard and began searching. ‘I’ve no use for the stuff myself.’

Karl looked about the room, saddened by its declining state. Francis’ late wife, home-proud Nora, would be turning in her grave if she could see the state of the place.

‘Many a great breakfast I had at this table, Francis. No-one made breakfast like Nora. Could choke a bull, the breakfast she made.’

Francis’ eyes brightened at the mention of Nora’s name.

‘Isn’t that the truth, lad? She always had a fondness for you. Looked upon you as the son we never had, especially after Julia was…’ He turned and looked at Karl. ‘Sorry, lad…didn’t mean to bring the past up about your mother.’

‘That’s okay. Time has softened Mum’s passing. I’ve learned how to cope with the darkness of that time,’ lied Karl, his gut tightening.

‘Ah! Found it,’ Francis said triumphantly, pulling out a dated and grime-encrusted jar of Nescafé, before hitting a switch on a battered kettle housing a small quantity of dullish water. ‘I knew I had coffee somewhere. A bit out-of-date, I’m afraid. I rarely venture into the village these days – or anywhere else.’

‘Don’t worry about that. I’m sure it’ll taste fine.’

‘What way do you take it?’

‘Black, no sugar.’

‘John Wayne style, eh? How’s Cornelius keeping? I haven’t heard a thing about him over the years.’

‘He’s…fine. No, actually, he’s not. He’s in a nursing home.’

‘A nursing home…?’ Francis turned and looked sharply at Karl. He seemed on the verge of saying something judgemental, but instead just banged down on the hardened coffee before scraping some lumps out into a cup.

‘He’s got Alzheimer’s, Francis, and it’s steadily worsening.’

‘Dear Lord…I’m truly sorry to hear that, Karl.’ Francis shook his head. The kettle bubbled. He poured the hot water onto the hardened clots of coffee.

‘You can only play the hand life gives you,’ Karl ruminated.

‘Alzheimer’s was always my biggest nightmare. I would hate to end up in one of those so-called nursing homes, someone
having to wipe my arse. You read the papers, and some of the things they do to people in those places. Horrible…’

‘Those are the bad apples you find in every profession. I have to say, he’s been well taken care of where he is.’

‘Still, there’s no place like home, is there?’

Karl felt his face tighten. ‘I tried getting him to move in with me, but he almost started World War Three. Wouldn’t hear of it.’
Why the hell does that sound like an apology?

‘That day ever comes for me, Karl, it’s the shotgun to the auld head. Sugar? Oh, you already said no sugar. God, I hope that’s not the first signs of it for me, losing my marbles.’ Francis laughed nervously. Handed Karl the coffee, and then sat down opposite.

Karl took a sip of the liquid.

‘How’s the coffee, Karl?’

Horrible. It tasted of engine oil and damp sawdust. ‘Lovely.’ He tried not to make a face.

‘Didn’t I hear something about you a while back on the radio? You were shot at by some religious nutcase?’

Karl nodded, pretending to sip contentedly on the coffee. He put the cup down, hoping Francis wouldn’t spot that it had hardly been touched.

‘The scumbag’s name was Peter Bartlett. He’d killed a few people before getting to me. Thankfully, I had a little guardian angel watching my back, and she killed Bartlett before he killed me.’

‘Dear Lord above! The madness out there is unbelievable. But I thought the radio said your brother-in-law, that policeman – what’s his name? – saved you?’

‘Wilson. Some hope of him saving me. Anyway, he’s now my
ex
-brother-in-law. I was divorced a few years back.’

‘Divorced…I’m sorry to hear that, Karl.’

A silence sat between them, like an uninvited guest. Karl glanced about the room, feigning interest in pieces of furniture. Francis looked at Karl feigning interest, and decided to break the excruciating silence.

‘You still haven’t told me the reason for your visit.’

‘Oh, I was just in the area, to be honest. Thought I’d drop in, see how you’re doing.’

‘Checking out your old homestead, around the corner?’

‘It’s no longer ours. I just wanted to have a last look at it. Finally managed to sell it, last week.’

‘You’ve sold it? That house has been in your family for generations.’

‘I know, but it was becoming a money pit. I had to sell to the bank, to help cover Dad’s medical bills, plus the money for staying at the nursing home. It doesn’t come cheap.’

‘Bankers are the lowest bastards of the lot. I’d shoot every last one of them dead, then hang them for good measure. The number of livelihoods they’ve destroyed, and not one of them ever sent to prison.’

‘That’s how the world has always been, Francis. One law for
the poor, another for the rich. They’re just more blatant about it now, there’s little shame in any of them. Almost a badge of honour to screw the little guy.’

‘Your father worked all his life. When I know I’m heading out the door feet first, I’m going to drink everything I’ve got, and burn this house to the ground. I’ll not let the bastards get their soft hands on a penny of
my
hard-earned money.’

Karl shrugged his shoulders. ‘The old house was just rotting away. I never had any intention of living in it. Too many bad childhood memories. At least it ended up doing some good in the long run, paying Dad’s bills.’

‘Who bought it? Anyone I know?’

‘I don’t know. The buyer wanted to remain anonymous. That’s how they do things these days. All about avoiding taxes, I suspect.’

‘I’ve been over in the vicinity of the house a few times, mostly to find straggling cows or to hunt down foxes killing the chickens. The last time was just a couple of nights ago. Bucketing out of the heavens, as usual. There was a moment… no, it was nothing.’

‘What?’

‘Well…probably just my bad eyesight playing tricks, but I thought I saw a light flickering on and off, up in the old boarded-up front bedroom.’ Francis shook his head. ‘There was a lot of lightning that night, so that’s probably all it was.’

Karl looked at his watch, then stood. ‘I guess I should be going, Francis. Got to get back to work.’

‘Don’t you want some more coffee?’

‘Er, no…I try to limit myself to one cup a day. It was great seeing you again, Francis.’ Karl stuck out his hand, but to his surprise, Francis hugged him as if he were the prodigal son.

‘Karl…I’m sorry…you know…’ Francis said, easing away from Karl.

‘Sorry? For what?’

Francis hesitated for a few seconds before continuing. ‘That dreadful night. For not being there, to save you, your mother. If only I had looked out my window that night and–’

‘It had nothing to do with you, Francis. You have nothing to be sorry about.’

‘I should’ve heard you both screaming. Something…’

Karl forced a smile. ‘You’d have needed ears like Steve Austin.’

‘Who?’

‘The Six Million Dollar Man
. Anyway, you’re not to think like that – ever. If Mum were alive, she’d give it to you for thinking such nonsense.’

Francis nodded sadly. ‘You’re right. Of course you’re right. Just a silly old man with silly thoughts. Guilt can do strange things to the mind. I know Cornelius never forgave himself either.’

‘Well, being away at sea, there was little he could have done.’

‘Sea? But he…’ Francis’ words stopped dead. He looked like he had just swallowed a worm. Or opened a can full.

‘What? What were you going to say, Francis?’

‘Nothing…not a thing…’

‘You were going to say
something
. What was it?’

‘I…just thought you knew…about Martha Johnson, that’s all.’

‘Martha Johnson?’ Karl thought for a second. ‘Didn’t she used to own the grocery story in the village, up until a few years ago, before her death?’

‘Yes…’

‘What about her?’

‘Look, Karl, things happened years ago, and you shouldn’t be too judgemental about…well…’

‘About?’

‘Well, Cornelius and her. Only a couple of people knew about it. It was kept very quiet, very discreet. He wasn’t out flaunting it.’

‘Flaunting what?’

‘Their…relationship…’

‘Are you saying Dad was having an affair?’ Karl almost burst out laughing at the thought of it. ‘I find that a wee bit…’ He stopped talking. His face changed. Revelation hitting home. ‘You…you’re saying he was…Dad was with Martha Johnson, the night Mum was murdered, that he wasn’t at sea?’

Francis looked very uncomfortable. ‘I always thought you knew.’

‘No. Never even suspected.’ Karl smiled a wry smile. ‘That’s not very good advertising for a private investigator, is it?’

‘I’m sorry, Karl. I…’

‘Nothing to be sorry for, Francis. Perhaps what you’ve told me helps to explain a lot of things about Dad.’ From his wallet, Karl removed a card and handed it to Francis. ‘If you ever want to talk, that’s my business card. Call me any time.
Any
time.’

Francis took the card, looked at it, and nodded.

‘I will, Karl. I will.’

Karl walked to the door. Opened it. King followed behind Francis. Karl looked at the old man with fondness. ‘It was good seeing you again, Francis. Keep yourself safe.’

‘Ha! Anyone comes here uninvited, this old shotgun’ll leave him looking like a teabag.’

Karl leaned down and patted the dog’s head.

‘Keep a good eye on your master, King.’

The dog wagged its tail, and barked. Both Karl and Francis laughed.

Francis watched Karl walk down the pathway towards his car. The old man kept watching until the car drove away before going back inside to his loneliness and memories.

Karl drove slowly, turning the things Francis had said around in his head. Not only about Cornelius, but also the house.
I thought I saw a light flickering on and off, up in the old boarded-up front bedroom…

He stopped the car directly to the side of his one-time home. Getting out, he closed the door very gently, and walked to the front of the big old house. Rain clouds were gathering overhead, suffocating the last remnants of light the sky was squeezing out.