Grave Girl (26 page)

Chapter Three

"Surely you'll have a glass of wine with me, Sam?"

Before she can turn the offer down, Sam sees that the waiter is approaching the table with an already-opened bottle. She knows she still has time to decline a glass, but she just sits and watches as her glass is filled with a rich, red Shiraz. There's something so tempting about the color, as if Sam can already feel it slipping down her throat. She finds herself momentarily mesmerized by the thought of drinking alcohol for the first time in more than half a year.

Fenroc sits on the other side of the table, smiling as his glass is topped up by the waiter.

"I always think dinner requires wine," he says once they're alone again. "It's a sign of civilization, don't you think? Besides, it loosens the tongue a little, and I'm already sensing a little stiffness on your part. If I might be so bold as to inquire, I'd love to know what made you change your mind." He takes a sip from his glass. "Why did you finally agree to come and have dinner with me, Sam? I'd like to think it was my preternatural good looks and my charming personality, but I suspect you have other reasons."

"A spot opened on my calendar," Sam replies a little awkwardly.

"I imagine you must be very busy in the cemetery at the moment," Fenroc continues. "The last few nights, I've happened to walk past the gate on my way home, and I always see lights in the cottage, even at two or three in the morning. Are you still entertaining certain guests?"

"Kind of."

"I hope you're being careful about who you invite into your home, Sam. Some people, you let 'em though the door, and you can never get rid of the bastards."

"I'm fine," Sam says cautiously. "Thanks for your concern, though."

"You're not touching your wine?"

Sam smiles awkwardly as she looks down at the glass. It's tempting. She hasn't touched alcohol for a long time now, and although there's a part of her that wants to maintain the good behavior, there's another part of her that feels it wouldn't be
so
wrong to indulge once in a while. After all, her original aim was never to become completely teetotal, but just to cut back and avoid becoming a total alcoholic burn-out by her mid-twenties. Although she's proud of herself for cutting alcohol out completely, she figures she should probably allow herself a drop now and again.

"Faraday's still in town, I assume," Fenroc adds after a moment.

"Totally," Sam replies.

"I know you must tire of hearing me say this," Fenroc continues, "but you really mustn't believe everything that man says. I know what he's like. He spins a good tale, but never without good reason. His mind's always spinning, coming up with scheme after scheme. He's manipulative and dangerous, and he wouldn't be here if he didn't have an agenda."

"Everyone has an agenda," Sam replies cautiously.

"True, but in Faraday's case, it's an all-consuming passion. He has his eye on a certain prize, and I'm afraid he'll go to any lengths in order to achieve his goal. He's a desperate man, Sam. Desperate enough to fake his own death and then hang around, watching from the shadows as his successor tried to pick up the slack. I'm sure he talks a good game, but hopefully you have enough insight to realize that the man is very deceptive. There are no lengths to which he would not go if he felt it necessary." He pauses for a moment. "The man is craven. He sees other people as tools, to be used for his own purpose. He'll even kill, if he thinks it would help his cause. I'm worried about you, Sam."

"That's cute," Sam replies, "but I can handle myself."

"And the girl," Fenroc continues. "I understand you have a female friend with you. One who perhaps isn't as... alive... as the rest of us."

"She's fine."

"There'll be others," Fenroc says, with a hint of darkness in his voice. "Do you seriously think that in that whole cemetery, there's just one person who'll rise from the dead? The rest are going to follow. I don't know why that particular girl has arrived early, but rest assured that within a few days you'll have plenty of company. It's all Faraday's work, of course. I imagine he's decided he needs an army, which would ordinarily be rather difficult for a man of his temperament. Fortunately for him, and unfortunately for everyone else, he's learned a few tricks over the years. The man's obsessed, Sam, and he'll raise all the dead, the world over, if he thinks it'll help him. By the time he's finished, the dead will be living and the living will be dead."

"You really don't like Faraday, do you?" Sam asks.

"He and I have a certain history. We spent some time together, back in the day, and I'm afraid the experience wasn't entirely positive. From my point of view, anyway."

"Care to spill?"

Fenroc smiles uncomfortably. "Care to take a sip of wine?"

Maintaining eye contact with him, as if she's trying to stare him down, Sam picks up her glass but merely holds it as she tries to decide whether or not to take a drink. With the glass just a few inches from her nose, she's finding it hard to resist the thought of savoring that old familiar taste.

"Let's just say that Faraday and I used to have the same employer," Fenroc says eventually. "We worked in the same place and we had more or less the same responsibilities, albeit at different times. We certainly had different ideas about how to get the job done."

"You were both gardeners."

"Gardeners?" Fenroc pauses. "Did he say that?"

"He didn't need to. I guessed."

"You're very intuitive," Fenroc continues. "I don't really know why I was so keen to hide it. Yes, Sam, I was once a gardener. I did the same job that you've been doing, albeit with a little less rigor. I'm afraid my heart wasn't really in the whole thing. Sure, I'd cut the grass, but I'd miss a patch here and there. I was just marking time, really, and collecting my pay packet while I tried to save enough money to get the hell out of Rippon." He pauses as he sips from his wine glass. "It suited me to be in Rippon for a while. You see, when I came here, I was running from something. I'm sure you can understand what that was like."

"I'm sure I can."

"Remind me, Sam. What did you say you were running from again?"

"I didn't."

"But you're running from something, aren't you?"

"I think we're straying off the point," Sam says firmly.

Fenroc smiles. "Maybe you're like me. You're running from someone you hurt. You're running from the thought that you might ever have to see that person again. You're scared that you'll have to face up to what you've done. Then again..." He pauses as he takes another sip of wine. "Maybe there are a few differences between us."

"Probably," Sam replies, keeping her eyes fixed on Fenroc as she raises the glass to her lips and takes a sip. As soon as the taste hits her mouth, she knows she's made a mistake, but it's too late to back down now. She swallows a mouthful and immediately feels that old, familiar sensation. It's almost like she's back home with Nadia, sitting in a pub and contemplating a heavy night out. Before everything went wrong.

Fortunately, at that moment the waiter brings food to the table, so Sam has a brief moment of respite before once again being left alone with Fenroc. So far, she hasn't learned much that she didn't already know, and she's starting to wonder whether this whole evening is just going to be one long tease. She feels as if Fenroc is playing with her, offering no more than a few hints while trying to tease out some information about Faraday and the others.

"Good wine?" Fenroc asks eventually.

"Not bad," Sam says. "I'm not really an expert."

"Is wine not your tipple of choice?"

"I was always more of a vodka girl," she replies, thinking back to the days when she and Nadia used to line shots up on the bar.

"You should have said. I can order you a glass -"

"No!" Sam says firmly. A little too firmly, she realizes after a moment. "I'm fine with wine," she adds, taking another sip. "You're right. I
am
running from someone. Or at least, trying to avoid them. It's kind of a personal thing. No big mystery. I'm just happier without that person in my life, and
he's
happier without
me
."

"And yet you're still here," Fenroc continues. "I'd have thought most young women in your situation, having discovered the nature of what happens in Rippon, would have turned around and fled. Yet something seems to be keeping you around. Do you have some kind of innate desire to help save the world?"

"Seems like a worthy occupation," Sam replies, taking another, bigger sip of wine.

"Or are you trying to prove something? Are you trying to atone for some past sin?" He waits in vain for an answer. "Do you know what's resting beneath this town, Sam? I mean, do you
really
know. I'm not talking about the fairy-tales that Faraday has undoubtedly told you. I'm talking about the plain, unvarnished truth, about the creature that's waiting for its chance to come back up."

"The Devil," Sam replies.

"Is that what he's told you?"

"Isn't it true?"

"Maybe." Pausing, Fenroc cuts into his steak and eats a chunk. "This is good food," he says after a moment. "Do you know the key to a successful dinner date? It's not the conversation or the company. It's the food. And the drink, I suppose, but mainly the food. A good, succulent steak goes a long way to keeping the situation flowing easily, don't you think? Without good food, it's impossible to really relax."

"I wasn't aware this was a date," Sam replies firmly.

"Forgive me. I'm getting ahead of myself."

"You said you could tell me about the cemetery," Sam continues. "You said this would be an exchange of information. Is there any chance you might follow through, or were you just shooting your mouth off in the hope of scoring a dinner companion? So far, you just seem to be hinting at all these things you know, but you haven't really told me anything. Nothing I can use, anyway."

"I just want you to understand that you can't always trust Faraday," Fenroc replies. "I'm not saying you should automatically trust
me
, because I know a smart young lady such as yourself would never be so easily fooled. But I'm trying very hard to get you to understand the danger posed by Faraday. He's not necessarily who, or what, he claims to be. He'll use you if he thinks it'll help him, but once he's done with you, he'll toss you aside. Or, worse, he'll push you right over the edge. I'm sure he's already taken you below the cottage."

"I can look after myself," Sam says as she finishes her glass of wine. Seconds later, as if he's been watching the whole time, the waiter appears and refills the glass, before stepping away again. Staring at her glass, Sam starts to worry that she's being lured into a trap.

"You look like you're doing rather well so far," Fenroc says with a smile.

"Don't worry about me," Sam continues, taking another sip. "I'm not some dumb kid. I can handle things." She takes yet another sip. "I've got everything totally under control."

Chapter Four

"There," Mayor Winters mutters as he squeezes his suitcase shut and pulls the zipper closed around the edges. With more than a hint of satisfaction, he drags the case off the bed and hauls it downstairs, and finally he steps out of his home and into the cold night of the town square. He takes a deep breath of Rippon's fine, unsullied air and realizes that after spending his entire life here, he's finally going to achieve the escape he always wanted.

"I don't mind admitting," he says quietly to himself, "I shall miss certain parts of this old place."

After a moment, he realizes that he's making a fool of himself, so he walks slowly across the town square. As he goes, he passes the cafe, where a few late-night drinkers are dozing in their seats. Having spent many nights in the cafe, Winters knows only too well how easy it can be to waste one's life in such an establishment. Sometimes, he used to think that he might spend all his days in this backward little town, and he used to look at the old drunks and wonder whether he might be doomed to meet a similar fate.

"You off somewhere?" asks a familiar voice.

Winters turns to find Jonathan Hale, the owner of the cafe, standing nearby.

"Just throwing a few things out," Winters says, keen to avoid any unpleasantness. "Bits and pieces here and there," he continues, trying to make the story sound more convincing. "Nothing of any great importance, though."

"Funny time to be doing something like that," Hale replies, eying the suitcase suspiciously. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were making a run for it."

"And why would I do something like that?" Winters replies, forcing himself to laugh. "Where would I go? Rippon is my home. I'm merely removing a few items from my home and placing them in storage. As you know, I have a garage on the other side of town, and from time to time I move items there." He pauses, hoping that the story has gone down well. "As for the timing," he continues, trying not to seem too desperate, "I merely wish to use my time in the most effective manner possible. I'm so busy during the day that I can only complete simple personal errands at night."

"Uh-huh," Hale says, staring at him.

"You know how it is," Winters continues, wiping sweat from his brow. "I put the town first at all times, even when my own life suffers. I barely have
any
time to get my affairs in order, so I must take the opportunities as and when they arise."

"So you're doing some spring-cleaning," Hale says, clearly finding it hard to believe the story.

Winters nods.

"Alright," Hale says with a shrug. "I guess it's not my place to ask too many damn questions. I'm not one of those busybodies who think they should be informed of everyone else's actions. If you want to do all this stuff in the middle of the goddamn night, that's up to you."

"I shall bid you goodnight," Winters says, turning and hurrying away.

"Goodbye," Hale replies.

Winters stops for a moment. It's clear that Hale knows what's happening, but as far as Winters is concerned, he has no duty to explain himself. He considers turning and telling Hale to mind his own business, but finally he decides to just keep walking. In a few minutes' time, Jonathan Hale will be part of his past. While they were friends once, when they were children, Winters knows he can't be nostalgic. The past is the past, and the future is of far more interest.

Leaving the cafe behind, he soon finds himself walking past the restaurant. He stops for a moment as he spots the most unlikely sight: Gabriel Fenroc is sitting near the window, holding a glass of wine while he talks to none other than Samantha Marker, the current gardener. Shocked at such a union, the mayor stares open-mouthed for a few seconds before deciding that such matters are no longer any of his concern. He keeps walking, heading along the dark street. As far as he's concerned, the actions of Gabriel Fenroc are no longer any of his concern. He's never liked Fenroc, always believing him to be a negative influence in the life of the town. Still, such things are Walter Simpkin's responsibility now. Just as Jonathan Hale is part of the past for Winters, so too is Gabriel Fenroc.

When he reaches the outskirts of town, he unlocks the door to a battered old garage and heads into the darkness. Rippon is a small town, which means that very few of its residents bother to own a car. Mayor Winters, on the other hand, could never contemplate being without one, since he always harbored a secret dream to one day get away from the place. Now, finally, he's able to load his meager belongings into the trunk and climb into the driver's seat. He can barely believe that this moment has finally arrived, but eventually he starts the engine and eases the car out of the garage.

Making his way through the dark streets, keeping his speed down in order to remain inconspicuous, he tries to decide where to go. After all, having spent his entire life in Rippon, he suddenly has the whole world opening up ahead of him. He wants to explore Britain, but at the same time he also wants to go abroad and see exotic locations. More than anything, he wants to hit the road and never look back, and he wants to feel the wind in his hair as he drives far away from this crumbling little town. Trembling slightly, he stares ahead and imagines the shock that everyone will feel in the morning when they realize that their dear, trusted mayor has abandoned them.

With a huge grin on his lips, he drives across the little bridge and out of Rippon for the very last time.