Electric Light (Blair Dubh Trilogy #3) (23 page)

CHAPTER 24

Sheet lightning lit up the interior of the church, highlighting Graeme’s face. The man looked demented - gentle features contorted into a hate-filled grimace, eyes manic, strings of drool dripping down his chin. This was the real man, the product of what had happened to him as a child. The gentle man who had been so concerned for her didn’t really exist. He was just a shade of his childhood hopes and dreams.

“I’m not a victim because I don’t allow myself to be,” Freya told him. “This village has tried to kill me three times and three times it’s failed.”

“Because you’re in league with it.”

“No, because I’m stronger than it. You of all people should understand that. Your village tried to claim you too and you wouldn’t let it because you have the same strength I possess. We’re not victims, we’re survivors. I will never be a victim, even if you pull that trigger I will not be one of your victims because I refuse to be.”

“If you’re dead you’ll have no choice.”

“You’re going to murder me like this, are you?” she said, relieved to feel the anger flooding her veins. It was much better than despair. “God’s avenging angel, is that what you are?”

“Yes. I was spared for a purpose and that purpose is to eradicate evil.”

“You were spared once. Three times I was spared,” she yelled, jabbing a finger in her chest. “If once makes you an angel what does three times make me? I help people for a living every day of my life, I’ve made a career out of it. What do you do except murder the innocent.”

“They weren’t innocent, none of them. They were all guilty of sin.”

“What sin were Fred and Joanie guilty of? And Adam? He was just a boy.”

“Adam was the lapdog of a serial killer and Fred and Joanie weren’t as innocent as everyone thinks.”

“None of them were guilty of what you are. You’re nothing but a dirty murderer wrapping his crimes up in righteousness and you are going to hell for what you’ve done.”

His lips curled into an amused smile. “Innocent were they? I know a secret you don’t know,” he said in a strange sing-song voice that was almost childlike as he continued to pace, circling her.

“What secret?” she said, turning on the spot to keep him in her line of sight.

The rifle was aimed at her forehead. “About your father.”

“What about him?”

“He’s not who you think he is.”

“I don’t understand.”

His face cracked into a predatory smile. “You really don’t have a clue.”

She sighed in annoyance. “About what?”

“Let me tell you a story. Many years ago there lived a woman named Rose. She was young, beautiful and sweet but she let evil into her heart, fell for its dark good looks and tall, commanding presence. When little Rose found herself impregnated with the devil’s seed she panicked because she had no ring on her finger. John Macalister, her childhood friend, had loved her for years and wanted to protect both her and her reputation from the monster. So he married her and claimed the child as his own. But the monster knew what had been done and resented it so he drilled a hole in our hero’s boat and watched him drown from his house of lies and hypocrisy.”

Light strobed through the building, lighting Graeme up like an actor on a stage.

“What?” whispered Freya, the word drowned out by a huge clap of thunder.

“The monster hated his spawn because she reminded him of his own weakness, of his lust for flesh, even though she was formed from his own flesh. He also hated how Rose loved her. He wanted her to love no one but him. When Rose told him she was carrying another of his children he decided he could take no more so he plotted to end them both. Poor Rose and her unborn child were buried in the churchyard, given back to the earth. He planned to do the same to his own spawn but she woke up and followed him up to the churchyard. His spawn witnessed his depravity first hand and saw him for what he really was but his spawn was loud and fast and woke the entire village before the monster could get his hands on her and bury her alongside her mother.”

Freya frantically shook her head. “You’re lying.”

“Father Logan was just that Freya. A father.
Your
father.”

“You’re lying,” she screamed as more lightning flashed around them, followed by a clap of thunder. “You’re fucking lying.”

“I’m not Freya. Joanie, who you insist was so innocent, delivered you herself when your mum went into labour and the village was cut off by a storm.”

“Yes I know that.”

“Your mum was ill after the birth, she had a fever. She told Joanie about her affair with Logan, she was certain she’d die and she said you should know the truth when you were older. Joanie was half-inclined to believe it was all just ramblings, a result of the fever. But Father Logan burst into the room and kissed Rose full on the lips. He was in a state, convinced she was going to die. He prayed to God to let her live, he begged him. John Macalister let it all happen, he didn’t feel it was his place to interfere. Logan knelt at her bedside for nine hours, clutching his rosary and whispering words to the heavens. Not once did he look at you. He hated you even at birth because Rose kept asking for you, wanting to hold you, but she was far too weak. He couldn’t stand it that she loved you and he blamed you for almost killing her. Joanie and John were afraid to leave you alone with him, they were convinced he’d smother you if given the chance. His prayers must have worked because Rose made a full recovery the very next morning. The whole village knows who your real father is Freya and they kept it from you. A conspiracy of silence against you. Still think they’re so innocent?”

Angry tears made her green eyes glow. “How do you know this?”

“I listen Freya. When you’re quiet people often forget you’re there. After the Docherty incident you were the hot topic of conversation in the village for weeks. I overheard Fred and Bill talking about it. I wanted more detail so I went to see Joanie one day when Fred was out. At first she refused to tell me anything but when I threatened to go to you directly she gave in. The GP who attended your mother was a huge gossip and soon everyone in the village knew about Father Logan’s indiscretion. When Rose died they all had one of their famous meetings in the pub and resolved to keep it from you.”

“Liar,” she yelled.

“No Freya. I bring you truth and light, finally. Logan’s blood runs through your veins, you are the bastard love child of a serial killer, the same killer who you watched murder your mother.”

Freya’s hands balled into fists and she furiously ground her teeth together, her rage getting her firmly between its teeth and shaking her. “John Macalister was my dad.”

“He was just some patsy your mother used to make herself look respectable and he paid for it with his life.”

“You can’t know Logan killed him.”

“When the boat and his fish-nibbled corpse were recovered from the bottom of the sea it was found the boat had been vandalised, causing it to sink. He was a very experienced sailor, he wouldn’t have done the damage himself. Blair Dubh wanted him and it claimed him. John Macalister never stood a chance.”

“If that was true I would have heard about it.”

“Pete Donaldson, who would be your father-in-law if he wasn’t lying in his own grave, investigated. He knew it had been tampered with but he couldn’t prove anything. As usual Logan got away with it.”

“Did Joanie tell you this too?”

“Yes. But it wasn’t the village keeping that one from you, it was your own mother, the one you’ve put on a pedestal. I don’t know why when she was a two-faced, manipulative whore.”

Freya’s temper finally snapped. She stalked up to him, green eyes hard and cold. “Why don’t you put that gun down so I can show you exactly what I think of you, you lying bastard. Who are you to come here and stick your nose into
my
family’s business?”

“I’m not lying Freya. You have a murderer’s blood inside you. Logan was the root of all evil in this village and his legacy lives on in you. That’s why this village is thrown into hell every time you return.”

“I can’t help who my father is, that’s if you’re right about that and even if you are it doesn’t mean I’m the same. Why don’t we start talking about your family?” she said, fury making her spit the words out in his face. “How would you like it if I started calling your mummy a slag or your dad a weak, spineless doormat? I bet they weren’t so fucking perfect.”

“This isn’t about my family.”

“Yes it is, they’re why you’re here executing whoever you like, because they died and it fucked you up.”

“How dare you? You don’t have the first fucking clue what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t like it when it’s turned around on you, do you?” she said with a humourless grin.

“We’re discussing you, not me,” he barked.

“But you said I’m responsible for what’s happening now when actually it’s down to you. The village was quiet and peaceful until you came along. You weren’t raised in Blair Dubh yet here you are, killing people. Docherty wasn’t from this village either.”

“But you led him here. Logan killed because of your family, which led to Lynch’s crimes.”

“I didn’t force you to do this, I wasn’t even here when you started shooting innocent people and I don’t care what you say, they were innocent, unlike you.” She yelled the last words in his face. “You believe in God Graeme, well let me tell you murderers don’t go to God, they go the other way, down into hell with the likes of Logan and Lynch.” She scrunched her face up in disgust. “You’re just like every other fanatic who uses religion as an excuse to kill. You’re not on some sort of holy mission. You kill because you like it.”

Graeme stared back at her, confusion competing with rage. Freya watched the struggle take place in his eyes and she hoped she was finally getting through to him.

A punch to the face was her reply. Her head snapped to one side and she stumbled back a few steps, a hand to her cheek, shocked. She’d felt the brute strength of Graeme in that blow, which had been substantial. What was even scarier was that she got the feeling he’d been holding back.

“Just shut your nasty mouth. You really do have the devil in you,” he bellowed.

“If I’m so bad why did you ask me to come away with you?”

“I thought you could be saved Freya, I thought what you’ve endured in your life had cleansed you of inherited sin but now I see you’re just as rotten as Logan was. You cast your spell over me but I was too strong, I broke free. You have to be eradicated. It will never end until you are dead.”

“You won’t kill me Graeme, we’re two of a kind. If I’m dead you’ll feel alone again.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he screamed, whacking her in the face with the butt of the rifle.

Freya fell onto her back, seeing stars.

“You’ve spoilt everything,” he yelled.

Freya couldn’t reply, one side of her face puffing up, her tongue thick in her mouth. She released a low groan and attempted to sit up but her head spun and she flopped back to the ground.

He levelled the rifle at her. “On your knees.”

Freya couldn’t reply, her body refused to obey any of her frantic commands.

“On your knees, on your knees,” he shouted repeatedly, taking two steps closer to her, the gun never wavering from its target.

Finally Freya found herself able to move again and dragged herself to her feet.

“No,” she said, swaying slightly. “I will not cower while you blow my head off.” Tears streamed down her face as she saw the life she’d always dreamed of and had finally attained being snatched from her by this deranged idiot.

Graeme wanted to be sick. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Not in all his wildest planning had he imagined having to execute Freya Donaldson. He didn’t want to do it, even though she’d made him angry, but he had no choice.

“On. Your. Knees,” repeated Graeme, sweat trickling down his spine. The storm was right above their heads now, the crack of thunder deafening. Lightning flooded through every gap in the stone, illuminating the room and he couldn’t help but admire Freya standing before him, strong and proud, facing him down so bravely. Despite how much she’d disappointed him he still respected her. How could he not? Everyone else he’d looked at down the barrel of this weapon had been screaming and begging or completely oblivious but she was unflinching.

“Why should I?” she said. “Either way you’re going to shoot me.”

He had to admit she had a point but he was tired of her disobedience. This time the rifle butt was slammed into her left knee. Freya screamed with pain and dropped, clutching her leg in agony. “You broke my fucking knee,” she cried seconds before another explosion of thunder.

He took aim at the centre of her forehead. “I asked you and you wouldn’t do it. You forced my hand, just like you’re forcing me to kill you.”

“Graeme, don’t do this. I have a son now, he’s only nine months old. Are you really going to take his mummy from him?” she said, her defiant front crumpling at the thought of her child. “What’s he ever done? Are you going to tell me he’s guilty of something?”

Sadly he shook his head. “No.”

“Then why are you punishing him? He’s crawling now and he’s started babbling. I was his first word.”