Shepherd's Cross (28 page)

4.15pm:
‘Let’s go after him – he’s been gone too long.’

Cara sighed and nodded her head
reluctantly. ‘Alright,’ she said, unclipping her truncheon from its holster. ‘But
remember – I’m in charge. You’re to stay behind me at all times, is that clear?’

‘Clear as crystal.’

‘I’m fairly certain I haven’t heard
anybody coming out of that room yet. If we keep quiet, we should be able to get
past without alerting them to us.’ She gripped the door handle and looked into
the hallway. The large double doors that led to the room where the others were
talking were still closed. She looked at Ben. ‘You ready?’

‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’

They tiptoed along the short stretch of
hallway that led to the double doors, edging their way by them without
stopping, before heading down the same corridor that Jennings had earlier taken
towards the kitchen. They passed two more closed doors, slowing down at each
one without opening them. Cara’s eyes were focused on a faint light that was
coming from an open room slightly further down the hallway; she was unable to see
into it from her current position, but her intuition told her that she needed
to head towards it. She tightened her grip on the truncheon and moved closer.

A few steps later, they reached the
opening from where the light was shining and cautiously peered inside.
Some
sort of kitchen
, thought Cara, noticing the array of rotten units and
worktops fastened to the walls. Her eyes were drawn to the centre of the room,
to the trapdoor lying open suggestively in the middle of the floor. She sensed
immediately, that wherever Chloe was, or whatever had happened to Jennings,
that hole in the ground had something to do with it. Her imagination started
playing tricks on her, convincing her that it was not actually a trapdoor, but
rather the entrance to a torture chamber, where all who entered were at risk of
having their limbs ripped from their bodies and their hair scorched from their
heads. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath to try and control her fear. However
terrifying the dark and random images in her head might have been, the fact
remained that there were two real-life people currently in danger; two real-life
people who were depending on her.

She walked through the open doorway, Ben
following closely behind, and headed for the trapdoor. Their thoughts were so
occupied with what lay underneath the floor that they failed to see the figure
of Sergeant Jennings, his hands and body bound tightly with rope and his mouth
covered from ear to ear with tape. He had been tied securely to a pair of hooks
that were fastened to the wall on the left side of the entrance, to the extent
that he was unable to manage even the slightest of movements that would have
alerted Cara and Ben to what was about to happen. The only parts of his body
that he was able to move were his eyes: which strained against their sockets as
he desperately tried to attract Cara’s attention.

Reaching the open trapdoor, Cara and Ben
leant over the hole and tried to see what was below. It was too dark, but a
faint, flickering light suggested that there was someone, or something down
there lurking in the shadows. Ben placed his foot on the first step, reaching
for the truncheon that Jennings had given him, and tentatively began walking
downstairs. Cara’s hand on his shoulder stopped him dead in his tracks. She
shook her head to warn him that she didn’t think going down there was such a
good idea, that maybe they should just turn around and get the hell away from Fellside
Hall and everyone in it, but it was no use. She could see the determination in
his eyes – he wasn’t going anywhere without Chloe. He tried his best to smile
at her, to let her know that this was the right thing to do; the only thing. In
her heart she knew he was right, no matter how frightened she was of what might
happen to them.

Ben took another step, and another,
until half of his body was submerged in the cellar. Before he could descend any
further, the sound of Chloe’s voice rose up to meet him. It was weak and
confused, like that of a sick child waking up in a bed that wasn’t her own, but
it was Chloe…he was certain of it. ‘Chloe!’ he shouted. ‘Where are you? Don’t
worry, darling, daddy’s here. I’m coming to get you right now!’ She screamed; a
terrified, high-pitched scream that echoed through the cellar and up into the
kitchen and beyond.
Jesus Christ
, Ben thought,
what have they done to
my baby?

‘I wouldn’t go down there if I were you.
You won’t like what you find.’ Ben and Cara span around to see the towering
figure of Benedict Blackmoor, his eyes burning bright with excitement, his
smile sickening and cruel. He was standing over by Jennings, his knife pressed
against the Sergeant’s throat. Cara froze, too frightened to move or speak.
Jennings looked at her, his eyes willing her to pull herself together and
concentrate. At that precise moment in time, she was all he had. He was almost
certain that he was going to die – he had seen up close what they’d done to
Reverend Jackson – but he couldn’t allow the same fate for Cara. He needed her
to be strong; for him, for Chloe, and most importantly, for herself.

‘My…my daughter’s down there,’ said Ben,
breaking the silence. ‘I need to see her. Please…I’m begging you.’

Blackmoor looked to the floor and shook
his head. ‘I’m afraid that won’t be possible. You see, Mr Price, we need your
daughter. She is a very important part of our plans; indeed, you might say that
the success of the entire operation rests on her delicate shoulders.’ He
sniggered, finding amusement in this last comment.

Chloe screamed again and cried out for
her daddy. As quick as a flash, Ben’s fear turned to anger, his protective
instinct towards his daughter surpassing every other emotion. He turned away
from Blackmoor and resumed his descent into the cellar, but as he did so, he
was met with the glowering presence of King standing in front of him, his face
devoid of any discernible emotion as he confronted Ben and blocked his path
down the remainder of the steps. Ben raised his truncheon, but King was too
fast for him. Ben had time to hear his daughter scream one final time before he
felt the weight of King’s fist smashing into his face, breaking his nose as he
howled with agony. Searing pain coursed through him, throwing him completely
off-balance and causing him to fly backwards with a seemingly unnatural amount
of force. As he landed, his head struck the side of one of the concrete steps.
This time he didn’t feel anything, as his world instantaneously slipped from light
to dark.

Cara screamed as she bent down to hold
Ben, only to feel the blood seeping from a deep cut in the back of his head
through her fingers and onto the steps. King stared at her with utter contempt
as he walked past her, stepping over Ben’s motionless body before joining Blackmoor
at the far side of the kitchen.

She was alone now, nobody to protect her
but herself. She stared in horror at King and Blackmoor: no matter how fast she
ran, or how lucky she was with a blind swipe of her truncheon, she knew there
was no way she could fight them; not by herself. She could only stare at them
and wait for their next move. She looked at Jennings, trying but failing to
give him a reassuring smile: to see him so vulnerable and helpless was
heart-breaking; reinforcing the abject futility of her situation. She felt
tears rising to the surface but fought them back. She couldn’t,
wouldn’t
,
give them the satisfaction of seeing her cry in front of them.

‘Come now, my dear,’ said Blackmoor. ‘You
don’t want to suffer the same fate as your friends, do you?’

‘What do you want?’ she asked. ‘Why are
you doing this?’

‘Why do you think we’re doing it? We’re
having fun. Aren’t you?’ The two archaeologists laughed, enjoying the game.

‘Don’t you have a conscience?’ she asked
Blackmoor. ‘Can’t you see what you’re doing is wrong? You’ve murdered a vicar
and kidnapped an innocent girl, for Christ’s sake!’

Blackmoor’s face hardened at this. ‘I’ve
spent my life killing people. I have no regrets – I can assure you that not one
of my victims deserved to live. You might even say I’m carrying out a valuable
public service. Like yourself, PC Jones. We’re the same, you and I. Servants of
the people.’

‘Go to hell. I serve the law – you break
it. You know you won’t get away with this: you’ll be caught within a matter of
days. I’d strongly advise you to stop this right now. Don’t make it any worse for
yourself than it already is. Release Sergeant Jennings and Chloe Price
immediately and give yourselves up. It’s the only way out of this.’

Blackmoor laughed; a loud, powerful
laugh from deep within his gut. ‘As you wish, PC Jones, as you wish.’ He offered
the knife to King and stepped aside. ‘You heard the officer, Reuben. She wants
us to release Sergeant Jennings. Would you be so kind as to oblige?’

King accepted the knife and walked toward
Jennings.

‘Wait. What are you going to do to him?’
asked Cara. ‘Let him go. Can’t you see he’s no threat to you? He’s innocent.
Let him go!’

‘Sshhh, don’t spoil the moment,’ Blackmoor
whispered. ‘Give your superior officer the honour of dying with a modicum of
dignity. It’s the least you can do given all that he’s taught you.’

Jennings felt the cold steel of the
knife’s blade as King pressed it to his throat. The sound of Chloe sobbing in
the background broke the silence, but Cara paid it no attention. It was as if
the entire scene before her was being played out in slow motion, like the
nightmare where no matter how hard you try, you can never escape the dark
figure as it chases you down every corridor, until eventually you can run no
more and you wake up sweating with a fear that only changes to relief once you
are absolutely sure that you are alone and that whatever it was that was coming
for you hasn’t also crossed the divide from dream to reality.

But this was no dream. Cara opened her
mouth to speak, to plead with them to stop, but her throat was too dry to form
words. All she could do was stare at Jennings’s eyes, helplessly watching him,
as if he were a pig strung up on a slaughterhouse rack. For a brief moment, she
thought she saw his eyes smiling at her. She did her best to smile back at him,
to tell him telepathically how much he meant to her, how much she appreciated
all the good and bad times they’d shared.

King looked at Blackmoor, who nodded
back at him to give him the authority he needed to continue. Jennings, sensing
his fate, closed his eyes and began to shake. He prayed that the pain wouldn’t
last long and that it would all be over as quickly as possible. Cara saw his
eyes rolling back behind their closed lids, and part of her couldn’t help but
wonder whether or not there was any truth to the claim that your life flashes
before your eyes as you stand on the brink of death. She hoped it was true and
that he would draw comfort from that.

The increasing pressure of the sharpened
blade eventually became too great for Jennings’s skin to resist. Blood began to
flow as it sliced into his neck, a few trickles to begin with, but as it sank
deeper the trickles turned into a steady stream and then finally a spurting
gush as King plunged the blade deep into his throat and yanked it across from
one side to the other, tearing through the oesophagus and ripping through
arteries.  This time Cara did manage to speak, but only enough to groan as she
fell to her knees and crouched up into a tight ball, taking her eyes away from
the dying body of her friend. Jennings’s body thrashed against the wall with
prolonged and undignified death throes, until eventually it moved no more. His
head slumped down over his torn throat, his normally pristine white shirt now
drenched in blood.

If Cara had still been looking up, she
would have seen an ecstatic smile form across the face of King, grinning from
ear to ear like a child on Christmas morning. She would also have seen a
similar look of satisfaction on Blackmoor’s face, slightly more subtle perhaps,
but smug and contented all the same. Instead, she continued to lie curled up on
the floor, trying desperately to pretend that none of this was real.

It was only the arrival of familiar
voices that managed to snap her back into the present. She lifted her head, and
standing by the open doorway to the kitchen, as if they had been there watching
silently all along, were Ted Wilson, Frank Gowland and Bronwyn Hess.

‘Have we missed the action?’ asked
Wilson, grinning at Cara as he led the others into the room. ‘Hello, Cara. Have
you come to join our party?’

Cara didn’t even look at him. Her eyes
were fixed on Bronwyn in a cold, embittered stare. Bronwyn didn’t return the
stare.

Blackmoor interrupted them. ‘I’m afraid we
have no need for PC Jones at our party – there are enough guests as it is.
However, I do feel that it may be worth her joining us later. Perhaps she can
be offered up as a welcoming present for the Master?’ Laughter from the others.

Bronwyn glanced at the trapdoor as Chloe
began to cry again. For an instant, Cara could have sworn that she saw
something in her eyes: not the dark, lifeless pools that had been there
earlier, but signs of life; signs of the real Bronwyn who everyone in the
village knew and loved. Cara climbed to her feet and began walking over to her.
‘Bronwyn, can you hear me? BRONWYN! I
know
you can hear me. You’ve got
to help me. We’ve got to get Chloe away from here. Bronwyn!’