A New Dawn Rising (3 page)

As promised, Carl gave Sam a tour of his home. Buoyed by Sam's acceptance, he chatted jovially as they went from room to room.

'How long have you lived in Bursleigh, Sam?'

Stepping out of yet another downstairs living-room, Sam felt dread descend on him like a heavy blanket. He knew it was a reasonable question, and one that Carl, as his new employer, was perfectly entitled to ask.

'About eighteen months,' he replied, deciding honesty was the best policy. 'I used to work for the police force in the Midlands.'

Carl had started up the staircase. Now he halted and turned around.

'Ah, I didn't think that accent was local,' he said, smiling at Sam. 'How do you find it out here in the sticks?'

Sam took a moment to answer.

'It suits me, the peace and quiet. I needed a break from the force. Too many years at the sharp end if you know-'

Carl shook his head good-naturedly.

'It's okay, Sam. There's no need to explain. Like I said, I trust you.'

Carl continued to stare at him, though, deep in thought.

'The Midlands, eh?' he said. 'You never served up here, then?'

Sam replied that he hadn't and awaited a flurry of questions.

However, Carl asked no more. He simply turned about and carried on up the stairs. Sam followed him, wondering if Carl's recent experience with the police had put him off discussing them.

Upstairs, Sam was shown numerous bedrooms and bathrooms, all sizeable and finely decorated. Yet something about the property rankled him. The entire house felt too sparse, as though there was something absent throughout. He dismissed it as a typical copper's trait, always looking for something amiss.

However, it came to him when they entered a guest bedroom. On the far wall, about three-quarters of the way up, he noticed a dark patch where a large picture had once hung. At that moment, Sam realised he hadn't seen a single adornment on any wall or shelf. No striking paintings or chandeliers. No exquisite works of art. It seemed strange to him that such a stately home wasn't lavishly furnished with expensive items.

Sam showed a keener eye walking around the other rooms, spotting more noticeable patches as Carl chatted away merrily. They weren't restricted to the walls, either. He spotted circles on shelves and floors, darker areas where ornaments had once stood. It appeared to Sam that Carl had recently indulged in a drastic clear out.

As the pair made their way through the vast kitchen and out the back door leading to the garden, Sam heard the sound of chopping once more. He saw a figure at the bottom of the huge garden working tirelessly over a pile of logs. The light outside was fading and a strong breeze had picked up. Sam pulled the collars of his coat up for protection and followed Carl down the path dissecting the garden. Halfway down, Carl called out heartily to the figure.

'Peter!'

Startled by the shout, a small, stocky man dressed in overalls stopped what he was doing and watched them approach. He stood in a clearing just past the end of the lawn. Behind him, the land changed to a rambling mass of bushes and trees.

'Peter, this is Sam. He's going to be driving me round from now on. Sam, meet Peter Canning.'

Peter was a swarthy man with a shock of unruly black hair. He shook Sam's hand with a vice-like grip, not looking particularly enthralled at being disturbed.

'Pleased to meet you,' he offered begrudgingly, a scowl never leaving his face.

'Likewise,' said Sam. 'I take it you look after the garden?'

'That's right,' interrupted Carl. 'Peter's been with us a few months, haven't you?'

Peter grunted.

'A man of few words is our Peter,' laughed Carl, giving his gardener a friendly slap on the back.

'Carl, what's back there?' asked Sam, pointing to the undergrowth.

'Not a lot,' replied Carl, looking slightly bemused. 'Just trees and bushes.'

'Mind if I take a look?'

Carl shrugged.

'Be my guest. I want to have a word with Peter, anyway.'

***

Sam fought his way through the thick bushes until he reached a mass of solid trees. With the weak sunlight unable to get through, darkness covered the area to such a point Sam almost walked into the wooden fence marking the end of Carl's land. At six feet high, he judged it not much of an obstacle to anyone determined to gain entry into the garden. He hauled himself up against it and peered over the top. Nothing but endless fields. No neighbours to witness an intruder approaching the property.

Sam had seen enough. Jumping down from the fence, he fought his way back through the shrubbery. The wind began to blow strongly, whistling through the trees, causing the branches overhead to rustle loudly. Sam kept his head down as he walked, his eyes peeled on the ground. Yards from the clearing, he spotted something. A cigarette end. He bent down and picked it up. It looked relatively fresh. Sam figured it had been dropped recently. He wondered if Carl or Peter smoked. If so, why the need to come way back here?

Sam returned to the garden to find Peter alone and chopping again, seemingly oblivious to the howling wind buffering him.

'Peter, have you got a spare fag? I'm gasping for one.'

Throwing his axe to the floor, Peter gave Sam a stern look.

'Nope,' he replied, gathering up the pile of freshly chopped logs. 'And I wouldn't bother asking the boss. He doesn't smoke, either.'

***

Reaching the back door, Sam heard children giggling. He let himself into the kitchen and stopped dead in his tracks. Carl was extracting himself from a woman's embrace while two young girls skipped happily around the kitchen.

Sam stared at the girls.

They looked just like her.

The same blue eyes and blonde hair. Even the tiny freckles across the nose.

All the air went out of him. He found himself catching his breath.

'Ah, so this is the new driver.'

Sam had to drag his gaze away from the two small faces staring back at him.

'Sorry?'

The woman walked over to him, smiling pleasantly as she offered her hand.

'Hi, I'm Molly, Carl's wife.'

Sam felt the room spinning. The kitchen lights were too strong. Too bright.

'Are you okay?' asked Molly.

Sam told himself to shake out of it and get a grip.

'Yeah, I'm fine, thanks.' he said weakly. 'Just getting my breath back. That wind's really picked up out there.'

All four of them watched him with concern.

'Anyway, I'm Sam,' he said, making an effort to regain control. 'It's nice to meet you. And these must be your daughters.'

Molly ushered the girls forward, their expressions coy in the company of a stranger.

'This is Jenny, and this is Katie. Say hello to Sam, girls.'

Twins.

They looked like angels. So much like her.

Sam overcame his initial shock and stayed a while getting to know Molly and the girls. He didn't find it easy, but he couldn't walk out straight away. How would that have looked? Molly was friendly, and the girls took to him once they got over their initial shyness. Eventually, he made his excuses and left. Carl saw him to the door.

'Thanks for coming, Sam. Are you okay to start tomorrow?'

Sam nodded in reply. He was almost away. It was just the surprise of seeing the girls. Tomorrow would be better.

'I'll see you in the morning, Carl.'

***

Sam drove back to the cottage, stopping along the way to buy a bottle of vodka. He knew he wouldn't sleep well tonight, and vodka wouldn't smell on his breath in the morning.

At least he had held it together for long enough in front of Carl and his family.

Now, he just had to get through the night.

When the dream came, two balaclava-clad faces appeared, their eyes dark and sinister, their lips moving wordlessly. Intense rage danced in their eyes. Pure evil emanated from their piercing stares. Their mouths began to move faster, spitting out silent words of hate. Suddenly, their masked faces ignited into flames and the two heads were engulfed in fire. Even as the blaze took its ferocious hold and the woollen fabric began to melt into the skin of both faces, the eyes stayed vengeful and resolute, the boiling lips never ceasing to move.

Then the two images faded into the darkness. The dying embers of light were replaced by the sweet faces of Carl's twin daughters. At first they looked content, smiling happily. Then a nervousness spread across their innocent faces. They looked worried and started asking for help. Their eyes flickered in panic. Frightened, the girls began to scream, pleading desperately for help.

Once again, the faces changed, transforming into two new images. Only they weren't new. They were very familiar. A beautiful woman and a pretty young girl. Frightened. Shrieking hysterically. Begging for mercy.

There would be no mercy for Sam Carlisle again tonight.

Sam knocked on Carl's door at precisely nine the next morning. It was another chilly day, the sun nowhere to be seen through the thick cloud cover. Sam looked at his reflection in the glass panel of the door. Not too bad, he told himself. He had showered, shaved and donned his smartest shirt and trousers before leaving the cottage. He still felt like crap, though.

'Blimey, Sam,' remarked Carl on opening the door to him. 'You look rough. Bad night?'

Sam grimaced. So much for making the effort.

***

Molly Renshaw stood at the bedroom window and watched her husband set off for the day. She had tried to talk to him last night. Tried to get him to open up. He wouldn't, though. He kept telling her everything was fine. There wasn't anything worrying him. He insisted she was fretting herself for no reason.

Molly didn't believe him.

She was going to keep a close eye on her husband.

***

Sam's first task was to drive Carl to his factory. He gave the Jag a quick check over before they got in. He found the car a dream to drive, its engine purring smoothly every time he changed gear and accelerated.

'I use this solely for work,' Carl told him, sat in the passenger seat with a sheaf of papers on his lap. He was back in a suit again, looking every inch the dynamic businessman. 'We tend to take the girls out in Molly's Range Rover. That's a bit more practical for families.'

'What about the Aston Martin?' asked Sam.

Carl laughed heartily.

'That's my toy. I jump in that when I want to race round the countryside pretending I'm twenty again.'

Sam smiled. He thought Carl and him were going to get along just fine.

'Business must be good, then? What with the house and cars?'

Carl didn't reply. Sam glanced over at him. His new employer was gazing absent-mindedly out of the side window. It was the same distracted look Sam had seen yesterday, when he had asked Carl about his family being threatened.

'Carl?'

'Oh yeah, sorry,' said Carl, snapping out of his malaise. 'I was miles away. Yeah, business is okay. Up and down, you know the way it is. Anyway, what about you? All we've talked about is me. Are you married? Kids?'

Sam felt that pang in his chest again. All it had taken was one simple question.

'No,' he answered flatly, trying to think of something else to talk about. They were on the other side of Bursleigh now, driving through an area Sam wasn't familiar with. He asked Carl to direct him the rest of the way. As Carl set up the SatNav for him to follow, Sam spotted a large housing estate off to one side in the distance. It looked tired and decrepit, in marked contrast to the rural scenery that made up most of Bursleigh.

'What's that place over there?' he asked. 'It looks a bit out of place round here.'

'That's the Withdean Estate,' replied Carl. 'It's a right rough-hole.'

His next line threw Sam totally.

'It's also where I grew up.'

With a wry smile, Carl explained how he spent his formative years on the Withdean, not moving away until he was in his mid-twenties, when he and Molly got their own place together.

'Yep, rough and ready is the best way I'd describe it, although it did make me the person I am today. A place like that teaches you more about life than any school, Sam. If you can survive there, you can get by anywhere.'

'So where did you get the posh accent from? Not there, I take it?'

When Carl failed to answer, Sam looked across at him, wondering if he was deep in thought again. He wasn't. He was looking slightly embarrassed.

'I, er, had elocution lessons.'

'Really?' said Sam, curious to hear more. He checked the SatNav. They were only a mile from the factory.

'I'll tell you something about Bursleigh, Sam,' said Carl. 'It's divided into two. The Withdean has high unemployment, broken families, high crime rate. Everybody in Bursleigh thinks people on the Withdean are scum. But if you live on the estate, you're brought up to believe the rest of Bursleigh is full of snobby, rich country bumpkins. And, to an extent, they're both right.'

They passed a sign indicating DR Garments was farther up the road. Sam couldn't see any physical sign of the factory yet.

'So,' continued Carl, 'when I started this business, I knew I was going to face some prejudice...from other business people, at least.'

'And that's when you decided to have the lessons?'

Carl sighed and shuffled the paperwork he was holding.

'It wasn't about sounding posh for the sake of it. It was about getting on in business and making a better life for me and Molly. You understand that, don't you?'

'Yeah, I get it,' replied Sam, feeling as though Carl was looking for his approval. 'And from what I've seen, everything you've done has worked for you.'

'I'll do anything for my family, Sam,' announced Carl, his voice suddenly full of defiance. 'Anything that needs to be done.'

Sam gave him a quick glance. He saw a man with his jaw firmly set and a steely look in his eyes. Sam believed he had just witnessed the tiniest glimpse of Carl Renshaw's inner psyche. The toughness that had driven him on to where he was today.