The Darkness of Bones (14 page)

Leaving this terrible place was the rational thing to do, but reasonable actions had become alien to Jack, lately. Instead, inexplicably, he made his way cautiously down the snaking path, directly towards the sheds. Some mysterious force was pulling him towards them.

Once again, the stillness of the place unnerved him slightly. Not even a crow cawing from the nearby fields.
Where are the Graziers?
He thought about taking the gun from its holster, but cautioned himself against such an act. Breaking and entering was bad enough. Openly armed into the bargain? He doubted very much if he could talk himself out of that one. Wilson would love that.

Where to start?
he wondered, studying the large hangar-like sheds. There were so many of them. Most appeared dilapidated
beyond repair. Only one seemed to be in a functional state. It was windowless and this piqued his curiosity.

Treading softly, he made his way towards the entrance of the shed and leaned an eye against the partially opened door. The stench oozing menacingly from the shed hit him full in the face, forcing him to pull away, take a breather.

C’mon. Move. It’s only shit and blood. You’ve smelt worse than that. A million times worse than that.

By eliminating more and more possibilities, Jack’s mind and body became more and more fearful of what waited on the other side of the door.

He took a deep breath. Entered …

T
HE SHED DOOR
squeaked loudly and Jack cursed it as he slithered in. A glow from an old paraffin heater painted pale jaundice on the wooden walls. He considered the stifling stench that was running riot. It tasted like garbage and discarded meat. Gratefully, he welcomed the fumes from the heater almost as if they were sweet-smelling perfume battling against the combined army of stenches.

Other than the humming of an old freezer, there was little sound in the shed. From the corner of his eye, a tiny red glow faded in and out of the shadows and fractured light. It was like an SOS signal. He turned to see its source, his eyes trying desperately to focus in the semi-darkness.

A woman, obscured, sat in shadows, almost motionless, a cigarette trapped between her teeth. It unsettled him, her
statue-like
presence. She did not speak, simply stared disconcertingly at him while sucking gently on the cigarette. There was little doubt in his mind that this was Grazier’s wife, Judith. She seemed to be appraising him in soundless speculation, and he marvelled at
the control she maintained as she spoke.

“This is private ground. You’re an intruder. Trespassing can get you killed. I have the right to defend myself against intruders.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but it was strong, a voice that made one listen. “What’s your name, and what are you doing on my land?”

For a second, Jack’s tongue became wood, refusing to acknowledge her questions. Fortunately, his brain was as sharp as ever. “Jack … Jack Benson. My car skidded off the road, about a mile back. I took the nearest path, hoping to find a phone box so that I could call the emergency breakdown company. I didn’t mean to trespass, but I saw your farmhouse and banged on the door. There was no answer.”

Jack heard a sound, not too far from where Judith sat. It was an eerie, unsettling sound, and it made the skin crawl on the back of his neck.

“Well, you’ve wasted your time. We don’t have phones—don’t have too many modern appliances. All the so-called towns around here are little dots,” said Judith. “The nearest dot, Bellvue, is about two miles away. Your best bet would be backtracking until you come to Bellvue. Plenty of phones there, I believe.”

“Two miles? To be honest, I’m just about beat. That accident winded me, bruised my ribs slightly. I noticed your car parked at the farmhouse. Would there be any chance of getting a ride into—”

“Car doesn’t work. Hasn’t worked in years. No, best thing would be for you to head to Bellvue, on foot. They’ll take care of you. Good people there, I’m told.”

That sound, again, coming from somewhere to her left. It was like a faint cry; like the muffled sound of a baby, as if
someone was pressing a pillow on its face.

Jack’s heart moved up a level.

“What’s that sound? The little squealing sound?” he asked, forcing a smile, hoping she couldn’t read his eyes, the hardness in them.

“Sound? Oh that. You really want to know?”

Noticing too late the cut-throat partially hidden and resting in her curled-up fingers, Jack quickly became conscious of his gun pressing against his body as he edged slightly closer, warily.

The squeals became louder, more numerous, as if permission had been granted by some strange command, as if they were warning him to flee, make a run for it while he could.

What seemed an eternity ended by Judith’s movements as she reached to reveal the source of the horrible tiny sounds gnawing at his ears.

“Rabbits. Don’t you just love them when they make that sound of complete hopelessness?” said Judith, effortlessly pulling a squealing rabbit unceremoniously by the ears from a large trap stationed at her side. The creature made the sound a hungry baby makes searching for a nipple—a haunting sound so ominous it reached to the ghetto of Jack’s soul.

She held the struggling rabbit inches from his mesmerised face, its whiskers nervously capturing dust motes. Slightly twitching the blade, she slit the animal’s throat, releasing a leaf of blood that covered her fingernails like rose petals.

Instinctively, Jack’s hand moved to his throat while the rabbit jerked violently.

“Don’t pay it no heed,” advised Judith, watching Jack’s eyes skim over the dead creature. “It’s only a rabbit, a dirty, very ugly rabbit.” She wiped the sweat from her face, leaving a trail of skidded blood on her mouth. The blood glazed her lips, making
them fat and obscene, like garden slugs captured by the sun.

Jack felt himself grimacing and tried to undo his face, but she’d seen it. Only now, so close to her, was he able to take in his surroundings. There were rabbit skins everywhere, festooned upon the walls and resembling leaves of tobacco. They retained their tiny faces, each adorned with a grotesque, posthumous grin.

His intuition told him not to take his eyes off Judith—not while she held the cut-throat. He studied her, afraid to blink or look away in case she vanished. But she remained firmly corporeal, staring at him with an arrogant expression of ownership, letting him know that this was her territory and that he was the stranger, the intruder.

She stepped out from the shadows, and he saw that she was completely naked, with the exception of patches of wet rabbit blood desecrating parts of her skin. It shocked him, her bloodstained nakedness, but as she moved slightly to his right he wondered if this had been a deliberate strategy, to shock him, make him take his eyes off the evil-looking cut-throat, its silver edge grinning wickedly with fresh rabbit blood?

“Well, thank you for pointing out the nearest town. It’s very much appreciated,” said Jack, edging slowly backwards. “My apologies if I startled you. It was never my intention to—”

His mobile phone went off, buzzing in his pocket like angry wasps. Only when he reached for it, did his mistake hit home.

Bluffing his calmness, he spoke directly into the phone, wanting to crush it with his hands. “Hello?” he asked, forcing a smile, trying desperately to keep his voice calm.

“Jack? Where the hell are you?” asked Benson, his voice panicky. “I’ve been calling your home for the last hour. Listen, I’ve some news. It isn’t good, Jack, I’m afraid.”

A throb was beginning to germinate in Jack’s skull. Ice fingers touched his stomach. He dreaded what was coming next from Benson’s mouth.

“Yes, I’m listening.” Where was Grazier’s wife? He hadn’t observed any movement from her, but she was gone.

“A group of campers, over near Barton’s Forest, discovered the remains of two bodies.”

Oh, dear God …

“Jack? Are you there, Jack?”

Jack’s mouth had dried up like cotton balls. He was finding it difficult to produce saliva.

“Yes … yes, I’m still here.” He could hear something—someone?—directly behind him. He felt the thickness of his gun, close to his ribs. It was reassuring. He listened to Benson while calculating his next move.
Where the hell is she?

“There’s no easy way to tell you this, Jack, but initial inspections from Shaw and the clothing indicate that the bones belong to males.”

Jack felt dizzy. He couldn’t breathe. Everything seemed to be spinning.

“Jack? Jack, you still there?”

Stop the self-pity. Be strong. Be very strong; otherwise you are going to die in this filthy, wooden cave
. He willed his mouth to move. “Yes, John. I … I had a slight accident, but I shouldn’t be
long, John
. I’m fine. I should be on the road, shortly.”

“Jack? Who the fuck is John? This is Benson. Jack? What on earth are you mumbling about? Did you hear what I just said about the two bodies being discovered over at—?”

Jack snapped the phone shut and listened to its echo along the wooden walls. In his mind, he tried to picture the door behind him, how many steps to it? Slowly, he eased the phone
into his pocket, his right hand navigating it, while the left touched the holster. Releasing the button on the leather lip, he felt the warmth of the gun as he eased it slightly out.

Without warning, Judith suddenly stepped from the shadows and came within touching distance of Jack. The speed of her movement mystified him as she brought a double-barrelled shotgun to his face, pushing it tight, nipping his skin, chilling it.

“I dare you to even blink,” whispered Judith, pressing the gun tighter into his face.

Paradoxically, only when the muzzle was pressed further did the sensation of chillness disappear—his skin had warmed the steel. Now there was only a dull, invasive pain.

“What the hell is this all about?” said Jack, his fingers easing the gun from the holster.

One second. Just give me one second
, prayed Jack, his index finger curling on the trigger of his gun.

“
Don’t
,” she hissed. “Don’t move a muscle. I wouldn’t want your brains splattered all over my floor, mingling with the guts of the rabbits—not yet, anyway. Now, very slowly, remove your hand from your pocket. Nice and easy. That other cold metal feeling, on the back of your head—that’s another
double-barrelled
shotgun. A sandwich, you could say, and you’re the meat.”

Jack didn’t need to be told what it was. Three years ago, he had allowed himself to be exchanged for a hostage in a failed bank robbery. He still got shivers and the shits each time he thought of the two ugly holes pressed against his skull.

Judith searched Jack’s pockets with one hand, finding both phone and gun. She tossed both items on to a bale of rags.

“Little phone has a big mouth. Exposed your lie, Mister …?”

“I’ve already told you. The name is Benson. Jack Benson.”

“The gun?”

“I’m a private investigator. I was hired to find a gang dealing in stolen credit cards. I was travelling, just like I said. I’m hoping to meet up with the local police to confirm some information sent my way. What’s all this about? I’ve already apologised for being on your land. What else do you want me to—?”

“
Do not
, for your own sake, be condescending,” hissed Judith, pressing the barrels tighter. “We wouldn’t like it.”

From the back, the other shotgun was pushed tighter against Jack’s head. Jack pictured Grazier standing directly behind him, grinning, his fingers twitching nervously on the gun’s double triggers, ready to pull them at the slightest movement.

“Now, for the last time, just who are you?” Judith’s voice trailed off. A puzzled look imprinted itself on her forehead as she leaned closer, sniffing the air. Her skin reddened as the nostrils flared, capturing something intriguing. She parted her lips in a crooked smile, as if remembering something particularly nice—or nasty—and her face suddenly became a holy revelation. “You … you’re the watcher.”

Puzzled, Jack replied, honestly, “I don’t know what you’re taking about.” He felt as if the shotgun at the back of his head was drilling its way through his skull, trying to find his brain. He tried not to think of the firing pin hitting home, sending an explosion into his head. He badly wanted the gun to be removed.

“When I was little, it was discovered that I possessed a gift, a sensitive olfactory gift,” said Judith. “Do you know what the olfactory system is, Mister
Calvert?
”

Jack’s lips barely moved but he couldn’t help showing his surprise as her mouth revealed his name.

“I’ve already told you. My name is Benson. Jack Benson—”

Judith pulled the hammers back on the shotgun. The sickening sound ran up the rail of Jack’s spine.

“One more lie, Mister Calvert, and you are dead. Now, I’ll ask you again: do you know what the olfactory system is?”

Wearily, Jack said, “I wouldn’t call myself an expert, but I know it concerns the sense of smell.”

Judith looked as pleased as a Sunday-school teacher. “The olfactory is like a light bulb transmitting signals to the limbic system in the brain, where memory is used to recognise different odours. The limbic system is not only a memory storage area, but it also regulates mood and emotion. The average human’s bulb is a forty-watt, fifty if they are above average. Can you guess what mine is, Mister Calvert?”

Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Fifty?”
Those eyes. What was it about her eyes? Where had he seen them before?

“Eighty, Mister Calvert. Eighty.” She reiterated the last word as if she had suddenly become Moses, climbing down from Mount Sinai, the Ten Commandments at her side. “At first, I didn’t comprehend the power of my gift—although I suspect it wasn’t nearly as developed in my youth as it is now.” Her mouth formed a sardonic slit. “It’s only lately I have begun to appreciate it more fully, using it to my full advantage.”

The rabbits were squealing again. Eerily silent for the last ten minutes, they had suddenly become more audible, more numerous, as if they were communicating with each other. The sound was making Jack’s skin crawl.

“When Jeremiah came back from the
interview
,” continued Judith, “I detected a combination of smells clinging to his oily skin. One of the smells had bothered me so much that I found it difficult to sleep. Jeremiah had been no help at all in finding its ownership. No, it was left up to me, as usual, to figure it
out, and once I had determined that smell, I knew where I had encountered it before.”

She’s delirious.
Jack now fully understood that she was an addict, hooked on some powerful, mind-altering drug. Everything pointed to that: from the emaciated body to the dilated pupils; even down to the lethargic voice and rambling incoherence of her words.

“Puzzled, Mister Calvert? At first, I was puzzled also. Your smell was irritatingly baffling. I had tasted it somewhere else, but couldn’t quite place it. Then I discovered it had been right under my very nose—literally. You carry the same smell as the beautiful boy at the lake, your son, Adrian,” she said, calmly. “The same smell I can detect from you at this very moment.”

Jack gritted his teeth, trying desperately to keep his voice calm. His heart was swelling with pressure.