Electric Light (Blair Dubh Trilogy #3) (21 page)

“Forgive me, how could I be so insensitive. Of course we won’t go there if it makes you uncomfortable. I have another idea. We’ll go to the church instead.”

“The church,” she said, crestfallen, but at least it wasn’t as daunting a prospect as the castle.

“This way please,” he said amiably.

It was a relief to Freya when they changed tack and headed west, towards the church instead, on slightly lower ground. They left the castle behind, but she could still feel it at her back, like a big, ominous monster.

As they approached the church she wasn’t sure it would be any better.

CHAPTER 22

Freya was so nervous her hands shook as they entered the hollow shell of what had once been a vibrant village church. It was no problem for them getting in, the door had been left to swing open and closed in the wind, it had never been repaired after Craig had jemmied it open while hunting The Elemental killer.

After the village had learned of Father Logan’s disgusting crimes no one came up here anymore to do any caretaking and the church was slowly slipping into decay, the villagers preferring to make the pilgrimage to the church at a neighbouring town instead. It stank of damp, a thick cloying stench that irritated the back of her throat. The pews, which had once gleamed with polish, were coated with dust and grime. Leaves had blown in from outside, leaving a trail up to the altar like decayed confetti. A tree branch, left to its own devices, had tapped a hole through one of the stained glass windows, allowing in a funnel of cold air that howled eerily through the gap, disturbing the leaves on the floor and turning Freya’s skin to ice, even though it wasn’t at all cold outside. A layer of dust had draped itself over everything, spiders weaving their homes up in the rafters.

She barely took all of this in because she was so frightened. Graeme’s good-natured chatter had slowed then stopped altogether.

What Freya didn’t know was that Graeme was seriously considering breaking the habit of a lifetime and asking her to come with him when he left the village. He was a big believer in Providence and he felt her turning up here was meant to be. She was the one person he’d ever met who could possibly understand him. Fate.

“Keep going,” he told her when she stopped just inside the door.

“Where to?” she said warily.

“Through to the sacristy. I know the nave holds unpleasant memories for you.”

When that red dot once more danced upon her heart she was left with no choice but to delve further into the church, Graeme walking behind her like a professional soldier with the gun at eye level, the barrel trained on her. Her eyes flicked left and right, watching the shadows slide across the walls, as though coming out of hiding, made curious by this unexpected intrusion. The atmosphere was oppressive, bearing down on her, weaving despair in her heart, convincing her that she wasn’t getting out of this alive.

Whispers and shadows seemed to progress down the aisle with them, like some diabolical wedding party. Her eyes involuntarily slid up to the pulpit where Logan had preached from, glaring down at them with wild eyes as he declared they were all going to hell. Her imagination went into overdrive, she was convinced he was standing there watching her and probably loving the fact a gun was trained on her.

It was almost a relief when they passed through the door of the sacristy.

“Sit there,” Graeme said, gesturing to a very unstable-looking chair.

“You said you were a soldier?” she said as she took a seat, the chair creaking alarmingly. She hoped to engage him in conversation again.

“I did,” he replied standing before her, three paces away, the gun still aimed at her.

“What regiment were you in?”

“I was a Special Gunfire Observer in the Royal Artillery. Not only did it teach me to shoot but it taught me how to survive in the field and avoid capture. I was good. They didn’t want me to leave.”

Freya detected the coyness in his tone and was puzzled. Surely the man with the gun couldn’t possibly be shy? “Impressive.”

“Thank you,” he said, pleased with her praise. “Are you okay in here? I know it holds uneasy memories for you.”

“I…I don’t know,” she said, increasingly confused by his friendly demeanour.

“It’s okay, I’m right here with you.”

She thought what a strange, surreal situation this was, her kidnapper reassuring her. What was he up to? She couldn’t work him out. But right then the blackness of the church interior was concerning her more than him. The night vision goggles made everything look even eerier and they threw out her depth perception, making her feel out of sync with reality and disorientated.

He pulled up the only other chair in the room and sat opposite her. Freya tried to keep her eyes off the rifle that he slung over his shoulder, the same rifle that had killed so many Blair Dubh residents and God only knew how many other people. Her thoughts became disordered and scared but she forced herself to focus. It was possible she could end this.

“Take off the goggles, I want to see you,” he said.

“But it’s so dark in here.”

“Your eyes will adjust. Besides, the moon’s managed to break through the clouds.”

“Will you take off yours?”

“If it will make you feel better.”

They both removed their night vision goggles and Graeme took both pairs and placed them on the floor at his feet.

Freya found he was right, her eyes were already adjusting thanks to the moonlight streaming in through the window.

“So, what now?” she said.

“Now, we rest.”

“And after that?”

He stared right into her eyes, his gaze open and honest. He looked so benign she found it hard to believe he was capable of hurting anyone. “Freya, I…”

“Yes?” she encouraged.

He looked away and sighed, mouth opening and closing like a fish. “I…I don’t know how to say this, I’m not used to opening up to people but I…I think you’re the one person in the world capable of understanding.”

“You mean understanding why you’re doing this?”

He nodded.

It was her turn to sigh. “You think I can understand why you’ve committed mass murder?”

“I mean you can understand my mission.”

“Your mission?” she said, trying not to let her scepticism show in her voice.

“My mission against evil. I was exposed to it at an early age, just like you were. We were both allowed to live when so many others died.”

“What happened to you?” she said gently.

Immediately he launched into his story, for the first time in his life. In the weeks after his family were massacred the police kept probing him for information, gently trying to coax it out of him, but he’d only given them titbits, not because he was traumatised but because he’d wanted to keep it to himself, it was
his
special story, not theirs. He was the one who’d survived. However Freya deserved to hear it.

Freya felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck as she listened to Graeme recount his tale. When he got to the part about his twelve year old self cowering beneath the table her heart broke for him. Here was a man who had been severely damaged by his past and nothing had been done to help him. Was that really an excuse for committing murder on such a scale? She didn’t think it was but she feigned sympathy, nodding at the appropriate moments, trying to pretend this was just another client who had come to her for counselling. She was used to hiding her despair at what a lot of her clients told her. She could do this.

“That’s a terrible tale,” she said when he’d eventually finished. “It must have been so hard for you dealing with all that trauma.”

He nodded. “You saw your ma die too, that makes us the same.”

She wanted to slap him in the face for that insult, but she knew you didn’t slap the man holding the gun. Instead she tried to remember everything Davey had taught her. Empathise, form a bond. “It’s a horrible trauma, one that’s difficult to get over.”

“But we have to look for the positives,” he continued eagerly. “We have to learn to adapt. It’s the only way to survive.”

Freya thought Graeme hadn’t adapted at all, he was in serious need of some major therapy. “True,” she managed to rasp.

“You’re a born survivor Freya. You survived all those years on the streets and you survived Docherty too, not many people could have done what you did.”

“It’s amazing what you’re capable of when there’s no choice.”

He positively beamed. “My sentiments exactly.” She flinched when he reached out to touch her hair. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s okay, I wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”

“You don’t need to be afraid of me Freya.”

Her eyes slid to the weapon.

“That’s not for you, that’s for the evil in this village.”

“Fred and Joanie were evil, were they?” she said, unable to keep the ice out of her voice.

“Not as such but they were infected by it. They had to die to stop the spread. You know what this village is like more than anyone, you know something bad lives here. If someone doesn’t act then its tentacles will touch other places, the cancer will spread.”

“I understand what you mean about the village,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “But I’m not sure executing the residents is the right way to go.”

“It’s worked everywhere else I’ve done it,” he said like a child desperate for approval. “The crime rate’s completely dropped off.”

She wanted to scream in his face that of course it would drop off if he’d slaughtered everyone who lived there but she reigned in her temper. Now was not the time to let her anger get the better of her. “That’s good Graeme,” she said, making him grin even more.

“I knew you’d understand, I knew it.” She recoiled when he grasped her left hand, but he didn’t seem to notice, gripping her so hard he crushed her fingers. “I want you to come with me Freya.”

“Come with you? Where?” she said, completely thrown.

“Away from here when I’ve finished my work. I’ve always hunted alone but I’m so tired, I need a companion and I think you could be that companion, you’re the only person I’ve ever met with the right qualities.”

“I’m not a killer.”

“No you’re not, not yet anyway. But you could be.”

Freya suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe and it took her a moment to recover her voice. “I can’t.”

“Yes you can because we are the same.”

Vigorously she shook her head. “I’m not Graeme because I know what it feels like to lose someone you love. I could never put another family through that.”

“I could teach you. You’d pick it up easily. I have faith in you Freya.”

“You’re forgetting I have a life here, a husband and a son.”

“You’ll soon forget about them.”

“I will never forget about them,” she said vehemently. “I’m sorry but your head’s in the clouds. I will not leave my family behind.”

For the first time he was angry with her. “Do you think it was easy for me to open up to you Freya?”

“Not at all. I understand it’s a first for you.”

“It is and you stamp all over me.”

“And you have to respect the fact that I don’t want to leave. I’m happy.”

“Craig’s not good enough for you,” he glowered.

“On the contrary, he’s too good for me.”

“If he’s so great then why did he let his ex-girlfriend hold a knife to your throat?”

“That wasn’t his fault and he tried his best to get her put away but her fancy lawyer kept getting her released.”

“You don’t need to make excuses for him any longer. Come away with me and live the life you were meant to live. Just think of the adventure we could have together, the places we could see…”

“The lives we could take,” she said flatly.

He completely missed the abhorrence in her tone. “Yes, now you’re getting into the spirit of it and you never know, maybe one day…perhaps…” He paused to clear his throat. “Perhaps we could have a child of our own, a son to carry on the good work when we’re too old.”

Freya screwed her eyes tight shut and shook her head, sick to her stomach. The man was completely deranged. “Graeme, I…”

“We’d be great together and one day you’ll learn to love me like you love Craig, I know you will.”

When his hand groped for her hair Freya forced herself to remain still and let his fingers probe through the long black strands.

“You’re a beautiful woman,” he said. “I’ve always thought so, even with that thick black make-up.”

A single tear ran down her cheek, spoiling that eye make-up.

He pressed his lips into her hair. “We’ll be so happy together, I promise you.”

Freya closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing deeply as he continued to prattle on about their life together. She was hanging onto her control by a very fine thread that was rapidly fraying. It was vital she channel her thoughts and come up with some sort of plan, anything.

Maybe if she could convince him that she did intend to leave with him she could get him out of the village, away from Craig and somehow raise the alarm? She would agree to anything if it meant all this stopped. “Okay Graeme.” Finally he lifted his face out of her hair and she forced herself not to leap up and run away.

“You’re accepting my offer?” he said, clearly surprised.

“I think you’re right. I’m a big believer in fate too and it keeps throwing us together. Craig doesn’t understand about my past. You know I’m a recovering alcoholic?”

He nodded, sympathy etched on his face.

“Well, I know Craig thinks I’m weak because of it,” she lied, praying he wouldn’t rumble her because if he did it would all be over. “He doesn’t get it that it’s because I was wrestling with my demons. His life has been really easy in comparison, he doesn’t understand true suffering like we do.”