Electric Light (Blair Dubh Trilogy #3) (28 page)

CHAPTER 30

The village was so different to the last time Freya had been here. It was the tail end of autumn and a gentle breeze swirled leaves along the main street of Blair Dubh, scattering them into the gardens of the cottages. These gardens weren’t as pristine as they used to be, some of the houses standing empty, their owners murdered. Toby’s cottage, which had been the smartest in the row, was untidy, the weeds raising to claim it in triumphant victory over the obsessive hand that had once culled them, choking his prized flowers. The grass was unkempt and spotted with decaying detritus. The garden gate hung off its hinges, creaking open and shut in the breeze.

Freya placed the two items she was carrying behind the garden wall, out of sight of the rest of the street and paused to look up at the cottage. It had belonged to her mother, it was where Freya had grown up happy and loved, thinking life would always be that way. Her own father had brutally destroyed that illusion and she’d not known love again until she’d found Craig years later.

Blair Dubh had lost a third of its population in one night and it felt as though the village itself, the very bricks and mortar, were in mourning. The sea lapped at the beach sorrowfully, lacking the energy for anything more. She gazed up at the church on the hill, the house of her father, which looked down at her arrogantly, secure in its ability to survive, its confidence that nothing could touch it. This would be the last time she ever came to this place, she didn’t care what happened. To her it was as gone as if it had been swept out to sea.

“You sure you want to do this?” said Craig.

She turned to him, pulling back the strands of black hair that had blown into her eyes. “We have to.”

He nodded in understanding and took her hand, limping along beside her as they walked towards the pub. He was almost healed, the only permanent effect of the bullet wound being a knot of scar tissue that would niggle at him in the years to come, but it could have been a lot worse and it meant he could still serve as a police officer. After helping bring down Graeme he’d been feted even more and he was facing a golden future.

They passed the village shop, which was locked up tight, a
for sale
sign in the window. Jeanette had already moved to Edinburgh to be with her daughter and grandchildren, just like she’d said she would if she survived. All tourist paraphernalia to do with the Logan, Lynch and Docherty murders had gone from the windows. Toby had been in charge of all that. Or maybe the village had just lost its appetite for making money from murder.

It was six o’clock in the evening so they knew what remained of the village would be gathered together in the pub. Some things never changed. Gordon’s nephew was running it now. The brewery had at first decided it wasn’t worth keeping open anymore because those who had survived the latest massacre were packing up, making ready to leave the village that had been home to them their entire lives. However, when they realised the pub had become a beacon for ghouls wanting a drink in the place where so many had died, they’d had a change of heart and were making plans to refurbish it and stay open. The villagers might be lucky and sell the houses, there were always weirdoes desperate to snap up property where murders had taken place, but Freya surmised Blair Dubh would soon be the ghost town it was always meant to be. When it was empty some enterprising individual would take up the murder tours again but the tourists, recognising how wrong the place was, wouldn’t stick around for long. They’d return to their cars and leave before the sun set and Blair Dubh would once again belong to the ghosts.

When they entered the pub everyone went quiet. This time there were no joyful cries of welcome. Not one of them could look Freya in the eye. She glared at them all, people she had known since she was a baby, and saw only traitors. She despised the lot of them.

“You all knew, didn’t you?” she said to the room.

No one replied.

“Why did no one tell me? All these years you knew Logan was my real father and you didn’t say a word.”

Lizzy stepped forward, wringing her hands and trying to find the courage to look her in the face. “It wasn’t our place Freya, it wasn’t our secret. Your mum didn’t tell you because she thought it was for the best. She tried to give you a nice dad, John was such a lovely man.”

“Until Logan killed him out of jealousy,” she retorted.

“We don’t know that.”

“Yes you do, you all do and no one said anything because he was Father Logan, pillar of the community, your god, your false, evil god,” she said slowly, making sure her gaze landed on every single one of the duplicitous bastards. “There was no justice for John Macalister because Logan was more important to you all.”

“It wasn’t like that,” began Lizzy.

“Yes it was,” she yelled back at her.

There came the bang of boots on floorboards and the crowd parted to allow Bill to walk through. Freya glared up at him as he looked down at her with sympathy and sadness in his tired eyes.

“You’re right Freya,” said Bill. “We all suspected but we didn’t do anything. Logan had this power, I can’t explain it, I don’t think anyone here can. He had us all under his spell, all except you two,” he said, nodding at Freya then Craig, missing the guilty look they exchanged. “You were the only ones he couldn’t control and that’s why he hated you. I used to see him watching you sometimes Freya with this strange look in his eye. It made me think there was truth to the rumours, but I couldn’t be sure and I couldn’t destroy Rose and her family because of a gut feeling. That’s why no one said anything. It would have only caused you pain. Weren’t you happier thinking John Macalister was your dad?”

Freya had to admit that she was, a lot fucking happier. Since she’d found out she’d been tormented by the past, dreaming Logan was in her bedroom at night, looming over her, attempting to smother her by stuffing earth into her mouth. She wasn’t sleeping consequently she was exhausted and she prayed this trip to Blair Dubh would exorcise him once and for all, as well as the ice inside her that seemed to have taken up permanent residence. Even now she was filled with a powerful hatred that didn’t feel like it belonged to her and she was scared it was going to slip out of her control.

“I suppose I can understand that but it doesn’t help the feeling of betrayal,” she reluctantly said.

“Please Freya, forgive us,” said Bill.

“What does my forgiveness matter? You’ll never see us again. This is our last visit to Blair Dubh. We’re here to do one last thing and none of you will interfere. You’ll stay in here until we’ve gone. You owe me that much.”

“We will,” said Bill.

As she looked around at the rest of the room they all nodded their heads one by one.

Freya nodded back before striding out of the door, slapping it open aggressively with her palm.

“What will you do now?” Craig asked Bill when she’d gone.

“I’m going up to Pitlochry, it’s a nice place and I’ve got a cousin there who I’ve always got on well with.”

He looked to Lizzy and Jimmy. “You?”

“First of all we’re having a holiday in New Zealand,” said Lizzy. “I want to get as far from here as I can for a while then we’ll probably move to Cullen in Aberdeenshire, it’s always been a favourite spot of ours.”

“Well, good luck,” he said to them all, feeling a little sad knowing he’d never see these people again. He felt closer to them after what they’d been through together, especially Bill. He held his card out to him. “Send me an e-mail, let me know how you’re getting on.”

Bill accepted it, pleased. “Aye, I will. Take care of her Craig, she’s really going to need you.”

“I intend to.”

Craig turned and slowly followed his wife outside. It was surreal to know this was the last time he’d come here and be with these people but, at the same time, it was a huge relief.

Outside he saw Freya retrieve the two items she’d stashed behind Toby’s garden wall and make her way up the hill towards the church.

“Freya, wait,” he called.

Patiently she waited while he hobbled over to her, grimacing at the pain in his stomach.

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” she said.

“There’s no way I’m missing it,” he replied determinedly.

“Okay, but we’ll take it slowly.”

Even though they made their way up the hill at a snail’s pace Craig still found the strain on his abdominal muscles difficult to bear. They stopped twice on the ascent. He’d thought Freya would be annoyed with him but on the contrary she seemed very calm, as though she’d reached the end of a long journey and could wait a little longer to complete it.

“Sorry,” he said the second time he had to pause for breath, the pain twisting his guts. He’d healed a lot but he still had some way to go. At least all the time at home meant he was getting to make up to his family for his erratic working hours.

“It’s okay,” she replied gently, casting her gaze up to the church. The graveyard right beside it was once again a playground for shadows that ran in and out of the tombstones, rushing through the falling leaves. There were a lot more ghosts now in Blair Dubh. Thanks to Graeme Doggett the population had dramatically swelled.

Graeme himself was languishing in prison awaiting trial but it was pretty cut and dried that he was going down for life and never getting out. At first he’d refused to speak about his crimes but he was slowly opening up. Already they’d managed to link him to a massacre in the Highlands, as well as to the murder of the old farmer, his first kill. At least they were bringing closure to a lot of families. Police Scotland were working with police in Alaska and Brittany in France to solve their own village massacres. Blair Dubh was famous before but now it had gone global.

“Ready to go on?” said Craig.

She took in how pale he was, how tired his eyes. “Only if you are.”

Determinedly he nodded. “Let’s finish this.”

Together they ascended the last part of the hill, the church rising over them. Freya felt no fear this time, the cans she was carrying empowered her.

The door to the church was still hanging open. She pushed it wide and stepped inside.

“We’re back Logan,” Freya said to the air.

A whisper to their left had them whipping round, but there was no one there.

“It does that a lot in here,” said Craig.

“It was just the wind blowing through that hole in the window.” The determination in Freya’s voice did nothing to dispel the doubt. “Let’s get this over with,” she said, wrenching the cap off one of the cans.

Craig directed her as to where to splash the petrol for maximum destruction, paying special attention to the ancient wooden timbers as well as the oak pews.

A flicker of something from the direction of the pulpit drew Freya’s eye and she paused to look. Although she could see nothing she could sense it, something dark hovering in the corner. It could have been a shadow but Freya knew better. The ice inside her shifted and swelled. Glancing at Craig she saw his expression darkening, the shadows sliding down over his face…

In response she moved quicker, backing up to the door and pushing Craig along with her, leaving a trail of petrol behind her. Once outside Craig slammed the door shut and she tipped the remnants of the accelerant over it.

“Stand back babe,” said Freya, producing a lighter and rag.

“I’ll do that,” he said.

She was glad his face had returned to normal. “You won’t be able to get away quick enough. Now please, stand over there,” she said, indicating the graveyard.

“Alright, but when you throw that rag, run.”

“I will.” The thought of running made her grimace. Graeme hadn’t broken her knee with the butt of the rifle but he had done severe damage to the ligaments. Physiotherapy had helped her get over the worst of it but it still ached a lot. She supposed it always would, a permanent reminder.

She waited until Craig had limped away to stand among the tombstones and shadows before lighting the rag and throwing it. The rag landed in the petrol, igniting it, the flame blazing a path towards the door.

“Goodbye and good riddance Logan,” she muttered, hurrying to join Craig in the shelter of the graveyard. Together they watched as the fire slowly consumed the building, small puffs of smoke streaming through the holes in the windows turning into full-blown billows, blowing out across the water.

Craig looked down towards the village to make sure no one was coming to stop them but there was no sign of life, they were all keeping their promise. “Do you think this will work?” he said.

“Logan himself believed fire’s a purifier, so we can only hope.”

The wind picked up even more, rushing around them, snatching up a pile of leaves and scattering them. It formed a funnel over the church, the dense black smoke spiralling into the air.

Freya and Craig glanced at each other as they noted the sudden violence of the weather and retreated further back into the graveyard. The fire had travelled along the branch of the tree that had smashed through the window of the church and it was eating away at its ancient limbs, curling its red-gold leaves and blackening its trunk. Fortunately there was nothing else around the church so the fire wouldn’t be able to spread.

Freya tried to pretend it was the wind that was causing the shadows to race around them but she knew better, this village was a part of her very soul, she could feel the chaos and fear. She leaned into Craig, feeling better when his arm went around her shoulders. Glancing at him she saw his eyes were darting about, following the shadows that seemed to be closing in on them.