Electric Light (Blair Dubh Trilogy #3) (24 page)

“Shut up,” he said, her words tearing down his resolve.

“I want to see him grow up Graeme. Me and Craig fought so hard to get our baby and now we have him. Please don’t take them away from me,” she said, breaking into noisy sobs.

“Shut up,” he screamed, screwing his eyes tight shut and shaking his head.

“I know there’s still a part of you in there that can feel, that understands the pain of grief. You lost all your family. Are you going to do that to a little baby boy, put him through the agony that you went through?”

“I…” He broke off and hung his head. Every one of her words cut deep. He thought he’d made himself invulnerable to all types of sentiment but here was this woman tearing down the wall he’d spent years constructing between himself and the rest of the world and he was powerless to stop her. All he could think about was his twelve year old self struggling to cope in the big scary world alone, surrounded by uncaring and ignorant strangers. Was he capable of inflicting that pain on another human being?

Freya was starting to feel hopeful, a war was being waged inside Graeme and she hoped the side of sanity won. That hope soared higher when he released a heavy sigh and rested his chin on his chest. She didn’t dare utter a word or even breathe, afraid of upsetting his delicate balance of mind. Her knee steadily pulsed with pain, she could feel it swelling beneath her clothes, the fabric of her jeans tightening around it but that was the least of her worries.

She was startled when his head suddenly snapped up and he smiled viciously.

“Your son has a murderer’s blood in his veins too, so why should I care what becomes of him?”

“That is not his fault.”

“It still doesn’t change the fact that he’s as rotten as you are,” he said, eyes bright with the desire to kill, the desire Freya knew drove him. His ‘mission’ was just an excuse. She stared into the barrel sadly. There was nothing she could do to stop him from pulling the trigger. Her damaged leg meant she couldn’t even fight or run. She was out of options.

CHAPTER 25

Graeme was stunned when a weight ploughed into him from behind, knocking him sideways, the gun falling from his hands, sending it sliding down the aisle. Before he could recover Craig had slammed his fist into his face.

Graeme had trained himself long ago to take any pain doled out to him. When he hardly seemed to feel the blow Craig was a little thrown, so he punched him in the gut then attempted to flip him onto his front in order to twist his arms behind his back, but Graeme kicked him off.

Freya was trying to make a grab for the dropped rifle but her injured knee was impeding her progress and as pain shot straight up her leg her stomach roiled violently, threatening to evacuate all over the floor.

Craig, realising he wouldn’t get the upper hand in the fight, decided to go for the gun too. He’d thrown his shotgun aside when he’d seen how close Graeme had been to Freya. He couldn’t have discharged it without killing her too.

“No Craig, he’s got another gun,” Freya cried.

Craig dived for the rifle and snatched it up. Just as he turned to shoot a shot rang out. Freya screamed when her husband went still then started to sway on his feet, the front of his shirt stained red.

“Craig,” she rasped in a terrified voice.

He turned to look at her, face draining of colour before toppling backwards. For one horrible moment she thought he was dead because he was so still until he groaned, his hands going to the bullet in his stomach.

“Craig,” said Freya, pulling herself towards him, dragging her injured leg behind her.

Graeme stood over Craig, aiming the pistol at his head. “I’m not enjoying this.”

“Yes you are you sick bastard,” he managed to mutter.

As he cocked the pistol Freya threw herself over her husband, shielding him with her own body. “No, don’t. Kill me instead.”

“Freya, no,” said Craig, pale and shaking, attempting to push her away but he was too weak.

“You’ve no idea of the trouble he’s given me,” Graeme said, indicating Craig with the gun.

“It’s me you want Graeme,” said Freya. “I’m the bad influence on this village, not him. Kill me instead. Please.”

Graeme shrugged. “Fine, I’ll take you both.” His resolve started to waver as he gazed into her green eyes, which were a dazzling emerald and brimming over with tears. He wasn’t used to killing up close like this, he liked to be a distance away, so he couldn’t see his victim’s emotions.

“Then you’ll leave our son with no parents,” she whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek. “Let Craig live. He’s a police officer, you’re on the same side. If you must take someone then take me. I’m the one who’s got the criminal record, who brings on the dark things that happen in this village. Just don’t take Craig, I‘m begging you,” she cried, as the thunder snarled overhead.

Slowly he lowered the pistol. “Fine, have it your own way.”

“No,” croaked Craig, desperately trying to cling onto her arm as Graeme dragged her off him so he wouldn’t accidentally hit him too when he shot her. He pulled her along the floor, her left leg still not working properly.

“It’s okay,” she called to her husband. “This way Petie still has you.”

Craig pushed himself up to a sitting position and released a cry of agony. “Freya,” he rasped.

“Don’t move Craig, you’re badly injured.” The tears were pouring down her face uncontrollably now. “I love you.”

“You won’t be so upset about her death when you learn what she really is Donaldson,” said Graeme, eyes alight with glee as he looked down at Freya.

“Don’t,” she whispered.

“Sorry, he has the right to know what he married.” He looked back at Craig lying on the ground. “Her real dad is Father Alexander Logan. How do you like that?” he announced grandly, voice bouncing around the cavernous room, ricocheting off the walls, taunting Freya.

“I didn’t know,” she exclaimed, terrified she was going to lose Craig in more ways than one. “Not until he told me just before you got here.”

“It doesn’t matter…to me,” he said.

“It’s true, she didn’t know,” said Graeme. “But it doesn’t change the fact that she has evil running through her veins. You want to know Craig why there’s so much wickedness in Blair Dubh? Here’s the cause,” he said, grabbing Freya by the scruff of her jacket and hauling her upright, making her cry out in pain. “If I get rid of her it will all stop.” With that he let her drop back to the stone floor.

“You’re wrong,” rasped Craig, shaking. “Leave her alone.”

“This is why I was led here, to eradicate her,” continued Graeme, eyes filling with a feverish zeal. “If I kill her then I can leave the rest of the village alone because I will have destroyed the evil at the root. You can save all their lives Freya, including your husband’s, by sacrificing your own.”

“No,” croaked Craig, attempting to pull himself along the ground.

Unable to kneel Freya just sat on the floor, staring up at Graeme. “You’ve dragged this out long enough. Finish it.”

He nodded solemnly. “Just so you know, I don’t want to do this.”

“You feel you must, but it won’t change anything. Blair Dubh’s a law unto itself and all this has been for nothing.”

“You’re wrong. I’m ending it.” He raised the gun and aimed it at her head. “I’m sorry.”

“Just let me go to Craig to say goodbye,” she pleaded.

“No chance.” He hesitated as he stared into Freya’s green eyes, the pistol in his hand trembling slightly. “Stop looking at me.”

“You’ll look into my eyes as you kill me.”

“Stop looking at me,” he yelled, his words drowned out by a crack of thunder. The wind howled around the church, seeking a way in, finding many entrances through the gaps in the old stone.

“Freya,” said Craig, his voice growing weaker.

“Just stay still, please Craig,” she called when she spied him attempting to make his way towards her. She looked back at Graeme. “What are you waiting for?”

Graeme shuffled from foot to foot, eyes wide and maniacal, hair standing on end. “You will not look at me.”

He lowered the gun slightly and drew back his fist to punch her, desperately needing those deep green eyes off him. As he did two shocking things happened. Freya rolled out of the way and punched him in his injured arm. He cried out with surprise and pain, dropping the pistol. She pushed herself up to her feet, limping on her good leg. Then, out of the corner of his eye, he spied Craig roll, grab the rifle and jump to his feet.

“You tricked me, both of you” screamed Graeme, cradling his injured arm, which had started to bleed again. “You’re not badly hurt…”

“The same thing worked on Docherty so I figured it would on you,” she retorted, malice shining out of her eyes.

“I remembered that little trick she pulled too,” said Craig, advancing on him with the rifle. “You only nicked me again Graeme. Every time you try to kill me you fuck it up.”

Freya managed to retrieve the pistol and aimed it at him, putting the majority of her weight on her good leg.

Graeme was appalled to realise he was unarmed while two people aimed his own guns at him. His stomach dropped when he saw the little red dot, the one that had always been his friend, hovering over his own heart.

The resolve in both their eyes caused him to hold up his hands. “Alright, take it easy.”

“Don’t you tell us to take it easy you murdering shit,” hissed Freya. Her hands shook and pain throbbed in her knee but her gaze was steady. “Craig, are you okay babe?”

“Fine,” he replied steadily, gaze locked on Graeme.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” said Graeme, “either of you. You said it yourself Freya, you’re not a killer and neither is Craig, his job is to help people.”

“That was before I found out you’re a mass murderer,” growled Craig.

Graeme swallowed hard, realising he was entirely serious. “There’s no need. Just lower the weapon and I can leave and you can get everyone the help they need, I know you’ve got injured people in the pub. Think of them. The longer this drags on the more likely they are to die.”

“Don’t even fucking think it,” Freya yelled at Graeme when he started to advance on her.

“If I were you I’d stay really still,” said Craig, the essence of cool and calm as he cradled the weapon expertly in his hands.

“You’re not going to shoot me,” said Graeme confidently. He’d always thought he was indifferent to life, apart from his vital mission, but now he realised he didn’t want to die.

“You sound pretty confident,” said Craig, cocking the weapon.

“Freya, come on, be sensible,” said Graeme, convinced he could appeal to their better sides. “You’ve got me trapped. You can lower the guns now.”

“Not a chance,” she said, voice as steady as her husband’s.

Graeme frowned from one to the other. The panic and fear was gone, they were so calm it was unnerving. They were feeding off each other, neither of them would have been so in control if the other hadn’t been present.

“Don’t you see, you have to let me continue my work, it’s vital,” begged Graeme, filled with alarm when he realised this could be it for his mission.

“You’re not going to kill anyone else,” said Craig, “You’re done. Hands up where I can see them,” he barked when Graeme’s left hand attempted to slide into one of the cavernous pockets of his jacket. “What have you got in there?”

When Graeme didn’t reply and his hand continued to inexorably slide into that pocket Craig kicked him in the stomach, knocking him flat on his back.

As Graeme looked up at Freya and Craig from the ground he released a gasp. They looked…different. Craig’s face was hard and half in shadow, his teeth looking small and sharp in his mouth while Freya’s green eyes burned with fire and her black hair, tousled by the breeze blowing through the broken windows, made her look medusa-like.

“I was half-right,” said Graeme. “It’s both of you, look at what Blair Dubh’s done to you. Look at yourselves. Fiends, devils.”

They stared down at him impassively, eyes cold. Freya and Craig looked at each other then back at Graeme, who squealed when they took careful aim at him.

“Don’t give into it. It’s telling you to kill me,” he wailed, scrabbling backwards, like an upturned beetle. “Don’t let it win.” He gasped and his head snapped left then right as an eerie whisper ran around the room. “It’s here, the evil is in here with us.” His eyes settled on the altar, convinced he could see someone standing there, watching. When he looked back at Freya and Craig he saw they’d moved closer, the gun barrels huge and gaping, like mouths waiting to devour him. Their expressions were once again vacant, ice cold and they didn’t speak. “No,” wailed Graeme, holding out his hands, as though he could hold back the bullets he was sure were going to be fired at him. But instead he received a boot to the face, Craig’s boot that knocked a couple of his front teeth out. Then they were both kicking at him as he lay prone on the floor, attempting to curl himself up into a ball. All he could see from between his hands were a flash of blazing green eyes and a row of small, sharp teeth.

“No,” mumbled Graeme through his injuries, blood on his lips as they continued to pummel him with their feet. From somewhere to his left Graeme could have sworn he heard a dark, deep laugh reverberate around the room, a laugh that hadn’t emanated from his attackers.

Freya heard the laugh, it brought her back to her senses and she was appalled to realise what she and Craig were doing. It was a huge effort for her to shake off the strange oppression that had draped itself over her

“No, stop,” she said, seizing hold of her husband’s arm.

Craig rounded on her, face set into a snarl, teeth gnashing, causing her to recoil.

She released him and took a step back. For the first time in their life together she thought he might hurt her. “Craig?” she said gently.

“See what it’s done to him Freya,” said Graeme. “He’s been exposed to the evil of this village too many times, as have you. It’s changed you.”

She ignored him as she continued to stare into the face of the stranger who looked so much like her husband. “Step away from him Craig. He’s done.”

But he turned from her and pointed the rifle at Graeme again.

“Craig, stop.”

He ignored her, his finger slowly starting to squeeze the trigger.

“No,” she said, grabbing his arm.

The gun went off, the bullet slamming into the ground just inches from Graeme’s head, who released a cry of surprise.

“What are you doing?” Craig bellowed at her.

“You were going to kill him.”

“Too right I was. He’s killed so many - Gordon, Howard, Toby, Hughes, Iza and her husband. They’re all gone.”

“They’re dead?” she said, wide-eyed. “All those people?”

“Yes and more, murdered by that bastard,” he said, gesturing at Graeme with the rifle. “I saw him do it, I have their blood on my clothes, I held their hands as they died so why should he live?”

“You’re not a killer Craig,” she said, but even as she said it she knew he was. He would have killed Docherty if Bill hadn’t dragged him off, he’d been determined to drown him. He had the same look in his eyes that he had back then and it scared her. “Put the gun down.”