Bury Them Deep Page 3

  The cupboard door flew open and Maddie wailed in fright even as her bladder let go and she felt the warm fluid sinking into her nightdress, the acrid smell making her cry even more.

  “Sshh, Maddie, love, it’s alright.”

  And Maddie had stilled at once, her thumb finding its way to her mouth once more even as her fingers wound themselves into Mummy’s hair as she carried her daughter out of the room, past a large shape lying still on the hall carpet, past the coppery smell that made Maddie feel sick, into the night. Mummy had grabbed a blanket and wrapped it around her daughter, handing Maddie into the back of the car, its engine already running. She hadn’t even mentioned Maddie’s accident, something she was very grateful for – already embarrassed to have lost control, like a baby.

  ‘Rest there, sweetheart,’ Mummy said, and Maddie had. She’d curled up on the back seat, the blanket wrapped warmly around her, and watched the night world go by as she sucked her thumb and listened to Mummy humming. Mummy only hummed when she was nervous; if she was happy she sang, and liked Maddie to sing along. She wished Mummy was singing now. Maddie yawned, suddenly tired as the adrenaline left her system, and wondered if Mummy knew that she was nervous. Perhaps she was just trying to be quiet, so Maddy could sleep. An owl hooted, and Maddie smiled. She liked owls, and Mummy had promised her a toy one for her birthday, which was soon. One she could cuddle, Mummy said; one that couldn’t hurt her. As sleep claimed her, her last thought was, ‘I never knew owls could hurt you.’

  Maddie opened her eyes in the darkness and stared dry-eyed at the ceiling. She wasn’t eight now but she still knew she had to be quiet. She knew, all at once, what that sleeping shape on the carpet had been when she was eight. It had been him, her pursuer; the man who had single-handedly ruined her life for as long as she could remember – and now he wanted to end it, once and for all. Not for the first time, Maddie wondered why.

  The room filled with the scent of her mother’s perfume, and somewhere nearby an owl hooted. Maddie smiled. Safe. She was still watching, still keeping her safe. And once again there was an owl nearby.

  She closed her eyes and slept.

  Frank listened. He’d been here, in this hut he’d rapidly grown to detest, for what felt like years but in reality had only been weeks. He had a small calor gas stove for heat and for food, and he had a sleeping bag laid out on a camp bed along one wall of the hut. The windows, though cracked, were covered on the inside with clear plastic sheeting, so he was warm enough in here. He tried not to think about the lack of ventilation, but as a draft found him and he shivered again, he relaxed. The windows might be sealed but the walls certainly weren’t. There was a tin bucket in one corner of the hut that he used as a toilet; he emptied it every morning but by nightfall the hut stank of shit and urine. He’d learnt to wrap a scarf around his face and try to breathe through that. It cut at least some of the smell, enough that he wasn’t gagging all the time.

  She was close; he could feel it. Elsa was growing ever more restless, and had threatened more than once to kill him if he couldn’t find the child. She was perfect, Elsa said; she was the one – the last one she’d ever need. Frank didn’t know if that was true, but found he didn’t much care. He’d grown used to Elsa like this, more thought than anything, although somehow she still managed to hurt him on a semi-regular basis – whenever she thought the leash needed to be tugged. And yet there was a comfort of sorts, in that. She needed him. She needed him to pursue this girl, and all the girls before her – and it was his fault, when it came right down to it, wasn’t it? It was he who’d killed her, murdered her. He who’d put his Elsa into the cold dark ground in a rage when he thought she was cheating on him. She’d been flirting, of course; he’d learned long ago that that was her way. Her way of getting her way, always. And it had worked. Frank had followed her around like a lap dog, content with whatever crumbs of affection she had thrown his way. And she’d liked that. She’d loved it in fact. A man she could control, who adored her, who would do whatever she asked, give her whatever she desired, no matter how much it cost him.

  And then that idiot at the cinema had turned her head. He’d been late meeting her, they’d arranged to see some new romantic comedy she’d wanted to see and of course he’d agreed – but work had run late and so had he, and when he got to the cinema it was raining and some idiot in a suit had let her shelter under his umbrella, and now they were standing close, his arm around her shoulders as she laughed up at him, her eyes alight with a fire he saw only rarely.

  He’d forgotten he had the flick-knife. He’d taken it from work, wanting to play with it before returning it to its drawer the next day. He’d always liked them, and there was something illicit about taking it from work and having it in his pocket, secret, cold against his hip with a weight that seemed to hold such promise.

  And then it was in his hand and he’d flicked it open even as he advanced upon the pair of them as they cuddled under the umbrella. He saw Elsa turn, saw the shock in her slate grey eyes – shock accompanied, he thought, by a hint of humour. She didn’t believe he’d do anything; she didn’t think he had the spine.

  But he had, hadn’t he. He’d driven the blade deep into the man’s ribs, enjoying the shock on his face, the way the colour leached out of him like water draining from a sink, his skin turning corpse grey as his mouth turned down in a grimace and he struggled for air. He coughed, just once, and blood had dribbled down his chin, staining his lips a sickening maroon colour even as crimson bubbles of spit erupted from his mouth as he tried in vain to speak. His breath had rattled in his throat as he died, his weight pressing down on the knife in Frank’s hand, forcing his arm down until he let go the pressure, and allowed the dying man to slide off his blade and down onto the ground.

  Elsa had laughed, delighted that someone was willing to fight for her; even the idiot, Frank. But even idiots will rise, given enough provocation – and Frank was furious. He’d seen her, laughing and flirting, leading his victim on… she’d wanted this, she’d pushed him too far, and now a man was dead.

  “Oh Frank,” she’d said. “You did that for me?”

  As he looked down at the bloody mess lying on the ground before him, Frank felt sick. He had. He’d killed someone… and all because Elsa had been cheating, if not in fact then in thought, with fact probably not far behind. She couldn’t help herself; all she had to do was catch the eye of an attractive man and it was like a light switched on inside her – she glowed, exuded desire from every pore.

  He looked up at her, seeing her as if for the first time. She was beautiful, that was true, but there was a glee dancing in her eyes that was downright cruel; he’d been faithful ever since he met her, had let his previous love walk out without a second look, he’d even killed a man in a jealous rage and it had what, turned her on?

  Then his still bloody hands were around her throat, and she wasn’t laughing anymore. He tightened his grip, digging his fingers into the flesh and sobbing as she started to choke, her hands flapping uselessly as she slapped at him, trying to loosen his grip. Then it was over, and he dropped her to the ground beside her beau – just as police sirens began to swell in the distance.

  He’d thought that was it; everything was over.

  It was barely the beginning.

  Maddie was thinking about owls. She’d heard one hoot, earlier, and that had brought back so many memories – so many times her mother had told her she was safe, because owls were nearby, and they looked after you. Why had she told her that, she wondered? Was there a proper reason, or was it just something that served to calm a hysterical child, make her feel safe. She’d done some research on that, in the past, and couldn’t find anything that supported her mother’s claim – and yet, as a child, the mere hoot of an owl was enough to allay her fears and let her sleep.

  ‘Was it true, Mum?’ she asked the room, not really expecting an answer. ‘Do they really watch over us?’

  No answer.

  ‘I didn’t think so,’
Maddie said, surprised at the level of disappointment she felt. She remembered the stuffed owl her mother had given her when she was small, how she’d carried it everywhere, convinced it had some kind of power to keep her safe, convinced it was magic.

  Were you scared, when owls were nearby?

  Maddie shook her head, trying not to cry.

  That was the point, her mother said. And Maddie smiled. Of course it was. And it had worked, hadn’t it? It had worked for the longest time.

  Maddie was ten. She and her mother were living in a rented cottage not far from the coast, down in Devon – Brixham. Lots of hills, cafés where they had cream teas… she liked it there. They’d been living there for months now, the longest they’d stayed anywhere in quite a while – and Maddie thought that maybe now they were safe. No one strange had turned up in town since they’d arrived, no one had been watching them, as far as they knew – could they stay here, Maddie wondered? Could this be home, finally?

  Now they were sitting on a blanket in the sand, and there was sand in Maddie’s hair and on her skin; she could taste salt on her lips, which were dry and cracked from a day in the sun. Her nose burned, and when she tried to focus on it she thought it was pink, and going pinker. She grinned.

  “Happy?”

  Maddie smiled up at her mum and nodded, leant into her and rested against her side. She felt her mum’s arm come around her shoulders and pull her closer, into a hug. It was nice here, Maddie thought. They didn’t need anyone else. Mum was working in a café on the seafront, and was forever sneaking Maddie ice creams and scones… September wasn’t here yet, but Maddie wasn’t worried. Her mum had started to make noises about enrolling her in a local school, raising the remote but appealing prospect of friends, but that seemed a long way off, nothing more than an idea in the back of her mind.

  Maddie felt her mother stiffen, and turned to look up into her face. “Mum?”

  Her mum squeezed her tight. “It’s alright, chick. I think it’s alright.”

  Her mother was gazing off to one side, to the pier at the far end of the beach, shading her eyes with one hand so that she could see better.

  Maddie followed her gaze. The pier looked pretty empty, apart from a few couples sat on the benches looking out at sea and along the beach, towards where she and her mother sat. Someone rode past on a bike, and further down a man was shouting in vain for his dog to come back, watching helplessly as it ran into the surf and back out again, barking its delight even as its tail semaphored the same. Seagulls flew around over the end of the pier in circles, where the fish and chip shop was, waiting for someone to drop something tasty, at which point they’d swoop down and disappear with loud cries of joy, bearing their loot as they went. Maddie could see a couple walking back towards the seafront, newspaper packs of fish and chips in their hands. Her tummy rumbled, and she wondered if they could go and get some fish and chips themselves, later.

  But there. Right at the end. There was someone standing alone, staring in their direction, and even ten-year-old Maddie could see he didn’t fit. At least she thought it was a he. Tall and thin, dressed in black or something very near to it, standing very still as he seemed to stare straight at them. Even the gulls were keeping clear of him.

  Maddie cringed against her mother’s side, her mood ruined. She’d allowed herself to be happy, and now this. “Is it him, Mum? Did he find us?”

  Maddie’s mum rubbed her back, slowly, and when she spoke there was no happiness left in her voice. She sounded exhausted. “I don’t know, love. I don’t think so, but I don’t know.”

  “What shall we do?”

  “I guess we pack up and go home, and keep watch, eh?” She stood up, then, and started gathering their belongings – Maddie’s toys, her precious stuffed owl, her book, the snacks they’d brought with them – and placing them in the big blue and white striped canvas shopper she used for such trips.

  Maddie’s shoulders had sagged at the sadness in her mum’s voice. She did know. It was him. And he was coming for them. Again. She got up, brushing sand off her legs even as her mother picked up the towel she’d been sitting on and shook it out before placing that, too, in the blue and white bag.

  They’d stayed at the cottage a few more days, not venturing out even though the weather was sunny and Maddie desperately wanted to go to the beach again. Maddie watched as her mother stood guard at the window, standing just to one side of the glass, peering through the gap at the side of the net curtains. She tried to keep Maddie happy, made her nice things to eat and let her watch endless videos of Disney movies… but Maddie knew he was coming, knew they didn’t have long. The beach lost its appeal; she knew they’d be moving soon. Going back would only make leaving harder.

  Then one day she woke up and Mum was in her room, emptying clothes out of the drawers and into a suitcase. She smiled as Maddie sat up, and wiped her face, not wanting to let her daughter see the tears. Maddie knew they were there, though. She could see how sad her mum was.

  “Now?” she asked.

  Her mum nodded. “I laid some clothes out for you; don’t be long getting ready, there’s a good girl.”

  Maddie sighed, and got out of bed, picking up the pile of clothes her mum had laid out and heading for the bathroom. “I won’t, Mum.”

  She was as good as her word; she knew the routine by now. Pack up, move fast, don’t leave a trail. It was barely twenty minutes later that she and her mum were heading up the lane towards the train station, her mum carrying almost all the bags, Maddie carrying the new backpack her mother had given her when they arrived – big enough for her swimming costume, a towel, a book, and whatever else she wanted to take to the beach, her mum had said as she handed her the bright blue canvas bag. Maddie had grinned her thanks, and carried it everywhere ever since, even though her mother routinely packed everything in her own big striped bag. Now it held her treasures – a few clothes, her books, some shells, and her bear. Maddie trudged along behind her mother, trying not to be sad, and determined not to look back. She wondered where they’d go now.

  Maddie was restless. She’d stayed cooped up in her room for two days, hoping that if he was here he’d get bored of looking for her and move on somewhere else. She’d watched out of the window, but no one had been wandering around the cemetery that looked suspicious – the usual Wednesday tour had gone round the day before, but no one had stood out as out of the ordinary. Highgate Cemetery attracted a wide variety of people: tourists; students; goths; people doing ancestry research… there wasn’t really a ‘type’, but all shared the same enthusiasm as they were led round by their guide, all took pictures and chatted excitedly to their companions as they walked through the grounds, especially when they spotted a ‘famous’ name on a memorial… no one left the tour, no one lingered behind the others, and most importantly, no one turned and stared up at her window.

  It’s a good thing.

  “How?” Maddie asked, frustrated. “How is me being cooped up in here a good thing?”

  If he’s here, he’ll show himself soon. If he doesn’t show up in the next day or so, you’re safe.

  Maddie snorted laughter. “Like that means anything. I still have to watch, don’t I. I can’t just relax and forget about him.”

  Silence.

  Maddie felt bad for upsetting her mother, but knew she was right. There was no escaping him; this man, her pursuer, the bane of her life. He’d been in the shadows for as long as she could remember, and these days the shadows were more or less all she could remember with any clarity. Shadows and running for her life. She looked down at her arms, thin and wiry, pale now instead of the deep tan she’d acquired in Devon as a child. A long, thin rope of scar tissue ran up her right forearm from wrist almost to the outside of her elbow, and she rubbed it absentmindedly as she thought back to when they’d first encountered him.

  Maddie was three, and due to start nursery school in a couple of weeks. She was excited, eager to make new friends and learn things that she could tell M
ummy about when she came home. Mummy had told her she’d draw pictures, make things, sing and dance and learn to write her own name and count to ten. She could already, of course, Mummy had shown her how ages ago, but Mummy said not everyone could when they started school so she’d have to be quiet about it and just practice when they taught them.

  And then, one Sunday in the park, her world had taken a turn towards the darkness that had followed her ever since. Mummy had been pushing Maddie on a swing, laughing as Maddie had thrown her legs out in front of her and leaned back, her long blonde hair splaying out behind her as she swooped forward, then leant forward and stared at the ground as she swept back towards her mother again, standing ready to push her once more.

  A shadow had blocked the sunshine, and Maddie had looked up, squinting, to see what was in the way. A man stood in front of her, staring down, and Maddie heard her mother gasp (“Frank”, she’d said, Maddie remembered now – then wondered why she hadn’t remembered before), then grasp her around the waist as she swung close and hauled her bodily out of the swing. Maddie had bawled, fighting and kicking, not wanting to get off the swing yet, she was having fun!

  Then her mother had snapped “Stop it, Maddie! Now!” and Maddie had stopped at once, hanging limp in her mother’s arms as the man moved forward, frowning as he came.

  “There’s a child?” he’d said, and his voice was like gravel, low and rough and somehow scary.