Darkside_ A Novel Part 30

Somehow the policeman had known that he was hiding something. Like magic, he knew. How? How? He had probed and prodded and gently persuaded until finally Jonas had burst into tears. He had probed and prodded and gently persuaded until finally Jonas had burst into tears.

'Are you scared, Jonas?' he'd asked with great kindness.

Jonas had nodded with his fists in his eyes. The policeman had taken one of those hot, wet fists and engulfed it in his own.

'Don't be scared,' he'd said. 'I'll protect you. That's my job.'

It was tempting. So So tempting. To blurt it all out and be done with it and let grown-ups take charge. But Jonas never told because he knew that there was only one way now to protect himself, and that was by protecting the tempting. To blurt it all out and be done with it and let grown-ups take charge. But Jonas never told because he knew that there was only one way now to protect himself, and that was by protecting the other other boy - even from the nice policeman ... boy - even from the nice policeman ...

Here and now, Jonas's face was as flushed and hot as his hands were cold. He wished he could run away and never come back. He had failed the village and - now that he had cried - he had failed Lucy too. She had seen his weakness and could no longer call on him for strength.

He was falling apart on her.

The anger of that thought gave him strength and suddenly he managed to grasp the sheep's ear and a handful of dirty wet fleece in just the right place so that he could lever the animal upwards and out from where it was wedged in the V of two branches. As he did, the ewe's legs flailed wildly and caught him in the thigh. He bit his lip and grunted as he heaved it free and let it go.

After an initial panicky dash, the ewe turned and surveyed him with a supercilious yellow eye.

Jonas panted and rubbed his leg. His trousers had ripped and he could feel the cold touching his thigh. He'd have to go home and change. Again.

Even so, he wasn't angry any more; he was grateful. The kick had brought him out of it. Out of that terrifying place where memories rose like dead fish breaking the calm surface of his mind.

He was here.

He was safe.

He was Jonas Holly, the protector, once more.

'Don't be scared,' he told the sheep.

An abandoned Toyota had blocked the bottom of the lane to the house. Apparently the driver had been attempting to get up the hill but had slid sideways, and the car was now wedged between the spiny black winter hedges with their thick caps of soft-edged snow going grey in the fading daylight.

Jonas said, 's.h.i.+t' quietly and sat for a moment, hating the driver, who had no doubt wandered back to the village and was probably even now having steak-and-kidney pudding in the Red Lion, while trusting that someone someone would do would do something something about his misfortune while he was gone. about his misfortune while he was gone.

No local would have left his car there, Jonas reckoned. Locals knew that even in conditions like this, farmers in tractors needed to reach livestock all over the moor. Locals had more sense and more courtesy.

Fuming silently, Jonas climbed out into the snow - and was bitingly reminded that he had only just managed to get warm again after the sheep episode.

He had to slide across the boot of the car to attach the winch, getting a wet a.r.s.e for his pains.

As he dropped off the other side of the boot, the Toyota's rear end broke free and the car lurched sideways, then started to slide slowly back down the hill.

Jonas took a few faltering paces, but then stopped and could only watch as the car arced gently into his Land Rover before skating on and coming to rest against a drift at the bottom of the hill.

'b.a.s.t.a.r.d,' said Jonas quietly but with feeling. He was freezing cold, it had started to snow again, and now he'd have to fill out forms explaining how the Land Rover got damaged, when all he wanted was to get home, have a steaming hot bath and share supper with Lu.

As he started down through the churned snow where the Toyota had been, Jonas noticed what he a.s.sumed were the driver's footprints leading not down the hill to the Red Lion, but up the lane towards Rose Cottage.

He stopped and shone his torch into the prints.

The new snow was starting to soften them a little, but Jonas could still see the tread pattern.

Herringbone.

Jonas switched off the torch and ran up the hill.

The footprints led straight to his front door.

He skidded on the path despite the grit, and skidded again in the porch, sending several loud logs tumbling off the neat pile.

s.h.i.+t.

Any attempt at stealth ruined, Jonas burst through the front door.

'Lucy!'

No answer.

Please be OK. Please, please, please.

He opened the door into the front room.

Lucy was on the couch under the friendly glow of the fire, her eyes closed and her head nestled on the ta.s.selled cus.h.i.+on.

Jonas released a huge breath he didn't know he'd been holding. She was safe. She was fine. The driver had probably asked to use the phone, that was all-- The back door closed quietly.

Jonas's heart pumped a shot of pure ice into his system. He could even feel it in his teeth.

He grabbed the poker from beside the fire and rushed into the kitchen.

Empty.

Jonas crossed the room in three strides and yanked open the back door. By the light spilling out of the kitchen it was easy to make out the herringbone treads.

'Jonas?'

Jonas ignored Lucy and ran into the night once more. As soon as he was beyond the reach of the kitchen light, he lost the tracks, but he ran anyway, past the Beetle domed with snow, out into the road and down the hill.

In the jerking beam of the torch, he saw the indistinct shape of the man running for his life through the fast-falling snow. He was fast, but Jonas was gaining.

And then he wasn't.

He lost his footing and went down heavily, the torch flying out of his hand. He skidded again getting up and lurched sideways. It was crucial. Even as he rose, Jonas heard the car door slam. He ran blindly towards the sound as if through a snowy waterfall, but the super-reliable j.a.panese engine caught first time and revved furiously as the wheels spun and then caught. The lights were not switched on; Jonas never even saw saw the car go. the car go.

He stood panting at the foot of the hill. He hadn't even taken down the car's number earlier. Basic stuff. Basic Basic.

He got into the Land Rover and rumbled back up the hill to home.

He came through the still-open back door.

'Jonas?' Lucy called from the other room, sounding scared.

'It's OK, Lu,' he called and locked the door behind him. Now he had stopped reacting and started thinking, the shock of disaster averted hit him like a wall, and he had to put his hand on the counter and double over to get his breath.

The killer had been here.

Right here in Rose Cottage.

While Lucy slept unaware on the couch, the killer had come into their home.

Had he seen her?

Had he already stood over his victim in life and mused on how best to make her dead?

Had he touched her hair and known that this one this one was next? was next?

He s.h.i.+vered and realized he was shaking uncontrollably.

He couldn't fall apart on her now.

'Jonas?'

He couldn't tell her; it would scare the h.e.l.l out of her. She must never know how badly he'd f.u.c.ked up or how close she had come to being killed. He would stop going out at night. h.e.l.l, he would stop going out during the days days if he possibly could! How could he have been so stupid? How could he have gone out to protect the village and left Lucy to protect herself? His most precious thing in the whole wide world! Was he if he possibly could! How could he have been so stupid? How could he have gone out to protect the village and left Lucy to protect herself? His most precious thing in the whole wide world! Was he f.u.c.king crazy? f.u.c.king crazy?

Jonas suddenly thought that he might might be crazy. Had maybe been crazy ever since he'd found Lucy behind the front door in her pink flannel pyjamas and the joke bunny slippers he'd bought her two Christmases ago. Or maybe before that - maybe when they'd sat together in that b.a.s.t.a.r.d doctor's office and he'd told them that Lucy Holly, his perfect wife and best friend, was going to spend the next several years dying in front of his eyes. Or was it when his parents both left him alone? One minute here, the next minute gone - their immaculate little car turned into instant sc.r.a.p by a head-on collision with an idiot driver who was halfway through a text to his wife at the time: be crazy. Had maybe been crazy ever since he'd found Lucy behind the front door in her pink flannel pyjamas and the joke bunny slippers he'd bought her two Christmases ago. Or maybe before that - maybe when they'd sat together in that b.a.s.t.a.r.d doctor's office and he'd told them that Lucy Holly, his perfect wife and best friend, was going to spend the next several years dying in front of his eyes. Or was it when his parents both left him alone? One minute here, the next minute gone - their immaculate little car turned into instant sc.r.a.p by a head-on collision with an idiot driver who was halfway through a text to his wife at the time: On my wax CU soo On my wax CU soo-- They had read it out at the inquest into all three deaths.

On my wax.

If that wasn't enough to drive anyone crazy, Jonas didn't know what was.

Or maybe it was even before that. Maybe he'd always been crazy. Who the h.e.l.l knew? Right now he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt completely sane.

Jonas picked up his hand to watch it shake.

Then his eyes refocused on the kitchen counter beyond it.

Between the kettle and the toaster were two mugs. Wisps of steam still rose from them and the tea bags floated just under the surface of the dark liquid like two little drowning victims.

The killer had been making tea.

One for himself and one for Lucy.

That made no sense.

No sense at all.

Why would a killer-- With a hollow jolt, Jonas realized the man he'd chased from his home could not have been the killer.

Then who the f.u.c.k was was he? he?

Steven Lamb liked delivering newspapers. He'd had this job for almost three years now - ever since Skew Ronnie Trewell had got his driver's licence and lost interest in the Exmoor Bugle Exmoor Bugle and the and the Daily Mail Daily Mail as a means to an end. as a means to an end.

Steven liked the early mornings in the summer, and bore them in the winter. He liked the smell of the newspapers as Mr Jacoby cut the plastic tape that bound the quires, and he liked the fleeting snapshots of world news he glimpsed as he helped Mr Jacoby stuff each paper with s.h.i.+ny brochures advertising debt consolidation and credit cards.

Most of all he liked the PS11.50 he got every week.

That was the reason he'd wanted the job in the first place, of course. What boy doesn't want to earn money and start buying? He'd had to fight for it though. Not other applicants, because Mr Jacoby had told him the job was his if he wanted it. No, Steven had had to fight his mother and grandmother to be allowed to do the job. They didn't want him getting up and walking to Mr Jacoby's shop in the dark; they didn't want him knocking on doors of a winter's evening and asking for payment; they didn't want him outside at all really - day or night.

They said it was dangerous.

Most boys his age would have scoffed and whined and dismissed them both as fussy old hens, but Steven understood that it was was dangerous. dangerous. That That he knew as well as anyone and better than most. he knew as well as anyone and better than most.

He also knew in his secret heart that if he didn't have have to go out into the world every day, he might never leave the house again; might cringe indoors and think too much about what might have been and what very nearly was. to go out into the world every day, he might never leave the house again; might cringe indoors and think too much about what might have been and what very nearly was.

His mum and nan had finally bowed to the sheer weight of his persistence and Steven had lain awake all night before his first day, shaking with apprehension.

He'd had therapy. He didn't know who had paid for it, but he suspected it was not his mum or his nan, because they encouraged him to go as often as possible.

But Steven Lamb still knew what fear was.

He recognized it when it whispered from the high hedges that hemmed the narrow lanes; when it made him shudder alone on the moor on a warm summer's evening; when it visited his dreams and settled over his sleep in a visceral veil. But he'd also grown adept at throwing it off, at staring it down - and at turning his back on it and daring it to do its worst. Every time he hoisted the weighty DayGlo sack over his shoulder, and every furled newspaper he pushed through springy letter boxes helped him to thumb his nose at fear.

As did the Fracture Snub skateboard he'd bought with the first PS60 he'd managed to save; and the secondhand iPod shuffle he clipped to his jeans; and the first real grown-up present he'd bought his mother for her birthday - a slim gold chain with a tiny green birthstone on it.

Something in Steven understood that each of these was a trophy he awarded himself for living his life and kicking fear's a.s.s.

And now - as the winter made day into early night - he was doing it again.

Jonas stared into the cooling tea for what seemed like lifetimes while his brain tried so hard to think that a headache blossomed inside it like a mushroom cloud of pain.

'Jonas?'

He looked up to see Lucy standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. She was in jeans and her favourite blue sweater.

She had got dressed for the man.

She rarely got dressed for him any more unless she planned to leave the house; mostly she just wore pyjamas, her bunny slippers and a fleece.

'Who was that?' he said bluntly.

'What?'

He could see in her eyes that she knew exactly what he meant.