Human Frailty, a Detective Mike Bridger novel (36 page)

Marion felt her body start to sway again as
the now ugly tune started in the background, her arms started
moving back and forth, the blade glinting seductively in front of
her eyes.

"
Your wedding
dance mother
."

Bridger was standing in the darkness away
from the immediate scene. The ambulance had responded quickly and
was now tending to the two patients who had sat up and were looking
about groggily. Brian and John were speaking with members of the
armed offender squad.

"Have we missed something? Was Beth entirely
honest with us?” There was no accusation in his voice but he was
looking at Becky as he spoke. Grant was standing beside her.

Becky looked back at Bridger, her expression
hidden in the shadows.

"Excuse me", the voice came from somewhere
behind Becky. "Excuse me, can I speak to whoever is in charge".

A middle-aged female was standing behind the
group, her dressing gown pulled tightly around her neck to ward off
the cold.

"Can I help you Ma'am?”

"Are you in charge?
”

"Yes, Detective Sergeant Bridger Ma'am".
Bridger held out his hand in greeting.

The woman looked at it distastefully and did
not reciprocate. "My name is Mrs. Cottingham, I live at number 12",
she said, pointing at the tidy bungalow across the road. "I'm the
neighborhood watch coordinator for my street. Could you tell me
what is going on here please"?

"Do you know who lives at this
address?
”
Bridger inquired.

"There was a girl here breaking his
windows earlier, I called the police and when they arrived I told
them what I knew. Why did you have to blow up the
house?
”

"We didn't blow it up, we don't actually
know what happened for sure yet, but we do want to speak with the
person that lives here".

"I would think that when you find him you
will have some explaining to do, don't you Sergeant. How much bad
luck can a man have in regards to his own home? The police are
supposed to protect us against such things not make them
worse".

Bridger was starting to lose patience.
"Listen Ma'am, we have reason to believe that a Daniel Crompton
lives here, we need to find him as soon as possible".

"Is that his name", Mrs. Cottingham
was writing something in a little notebook she was carrying. "What
do you want to speak with him for?
”

"I'm not at liberty to discuss that at the
moment Ma'am". A real life Miss Marple, he thought.

"Well I don't suppose we will be having an
early night in this street, what with all this going on. If it will
speed things up a little I do not suppose it would hurt to check
the old Woodhaugh Hotel, I have seen your Mr. Crompton going in
there a lot recently. I thought it was empty, but you never know
these days. The neighborhood is not what it used to be".

Bridger looked in the direction of the old
hotel. It was less than one hundred meters away, close enough to
hear the explosion, close enough for an early warning.

People intent on doing bad things did not
like interruptions, they might hurry things up a bit, but they
would carry out their intentions, one way or another. Bridger began
to run in the direction of the old Hotel.

Grants mind had obviously worked out the
same scenario as he followed close behind. “Becky, get Stone and
the boys down here as fast as you can”, he called behind.

Mrs. Cottingham just stood there, mouth open
with indignation, notebook hanging useless by her side.

Bridger reached the main entrance at the
front of the building in less than a minute, he tried the doors but
found them locked. Peering through the old frosted glass, the lack
of light was playing tricks with his eyes, he saw the ghosts of
patrons past moving about in the shadows but little else. There
were no lights on inside the door that he could see. He looked
upwards at the first floor but could not detect anything there
either.

"They must be in there. I’ll
try around the back, Grant you stay out front and wait for
Stone’s boys, tell them where I've gone".

Bridger did not give Grant time to reply
before moving around the side of the old building and scaling the
high fence.

Dropping into the darkness, shielded from
the streetlights on the other side, it took a few seconds for his
eyes to adjust. The shapes of old rusted machinery came into focus
as he slowly moved his way towards the rear of the building. The
shapes looked sinister in the darkness putting him slightly on
edge.

He almost walked into the rear wall, putting
his hand out at the last minute he felt the cold brick on his
fingers. Using an old Fire Fighters trick that someone had shown
him a long time ago, he slowly traced his hands along the wall in
the darkness until he found what felt like a door. Fumbling for the
door handle, he found it unlocked. He turned it slowly at first,
testing for any noise. It moved freely and he pushed open the
door.

The room inside did not smell stale to him,
and there was a slight warmth which would not be in an empty
building. Somebody was here. He felt for the radio in his jacket
pocket, but then changed his mind. He was here now he would finish
this.

Controlling his breathing, he listened for
any noise. Somewhere in the darkness, he could hear a tune playing.
Music he had heard earlier on the live feed from Revenge.com. It
seemed to be floating all around him as if playing with his senses,
trying to tease him into making a move.

He heard or maybe sensed something
move on the floor above him. Looking around the room, he could see
an old distressed door at one end;
empty shelves lined
the rest of the walls. The door would lead to stairs; the stairs
would lead to hell.

He went for the door as quietly as he could
on the cracked wooden floorboards; the handle moved slightly then
came off in his hands. The door remained shut. Bridger looked at
the small brown tin knob in his hand. He turned and threw it
against the back wall in frustration.

Shit, so much for the quiet approach, he
thought.

Bracing his shoulder he ran at the door as
hard as he could, the old wood splintered but held firm. The old
timber still had the strength to protect its ingress to the rest of
the house. He tried again and this time it gave way with a tired
groan. He fell through into a hallway, catching his arm on a
splinter of wood.

The stairs were in front of him and he took
them two at a time, ignoring the pain in his bleeding arm. Reaching
the landing, he looked around desperately trying to find his next
move. There was a glow under a door to the right of him; the volume
of the music had increased the nearer he got, providing some sort
of cover for his noisy advance. Taking a deep breath, he planted
his left foot on the ground and kicked out with his right,
connecting with the door just below the handle.

The door burst inwards, a bright light
streamed outwards. The music was at fever pitch, something spectral
and white floated by the door cavity. Blood red streams lined his
eyes in its wake. He stood transfixed at the sight, a room full of
confusion, a head full of adrenalin, a demented puppet bride,
slashing and cutting, pushing and thrusting. The blade was red and
silver, silver and red, colors changing with every step around the
floor. A wedding dance the groom in the middle was taking no part
in, a dark suit stained darker, deep red liquid melting onto the
floor around him, the never-ending music, drilling into his
mind.

The bride looked over, her face inviting him
to dance, before she turned back towards the hapless groom. It was
no wedding scene; it was a pagan ritual of the worst kind, and
there in the background, behind a wall of glass and monitors sat
the puppet master, shadows and light mingling on his wicked
features.

The image of Daniel Crompton that Bridger
had in his mind had morphed into a Beelzebub, one of the seven
princes of Hell, sitting in evil judgment over his charges.

Staring intently into the light, he had not
noticed Bridger in the doorway. His small dark eyes were soaking in
every move that Marion made, an ecstatic smile on his lips with
every slash of the blade.

Bridger stood there in the periphery, empty
handed, unsure what the next move was. He looked closer at Daniel,
he was moving his arms in time with Marion's dance, and the
choreography was the same. He was moving her.

Stop Daniel, he would stop the dance.

Bridger made his decision
subconsciously and charged across the open space between him and
Daniel. Using every ounce of anger he had, he slammed into his foe,
the force of the blow sending Daniel crashing backwards before
recoiling forwards on his arms. The confusion in Daniel's eyes
matched that of Bridger's when he realised that Daniel was still in
control of the marionette. His hands taped to the levers, acting as
a crude dead man
’
s switch.

"No help again, typical, you Coppers are all
the same". Daniel smiled an evil little smile as he got back to his
feet and began jerking the levers as hard as he could.

Bridger could see Marion swinging around
wildly in the light, the hand holding the knife slashing at its
unmoving target.

Stop Daniel, then he would stop the
dance.

Bridger grabbed at his wrists, closing his
fingers tightly he wrenched his arms up and left, he heard the tape
tearing as Daniel's hands came free. He held onto Daniel's now free
arms in an attempt to get him under control. Bridger could hear a
high-pitched scream in his ears, with his hands unbound Daniel was
able to move closer to Bridger than he liked. He could smell his
sour breath, the screaming got louder until Bridger thought his ear
drums would burst. He felt a sharp pain in his ear lobe and heard
the sickening crunch of cartilage tearing as Daniel bit down on his
ear. Jerking his head back and forth like a rabid dog, Daniel was
refusing to release the bite.

Bridger managed to get his hands up onto
Daniels chest and shoved him away as hard as he could towards the
blackness of the rear wall. Daniel was surprisingly light, almost
childlike in his build. The black wall was a heavy thermal curtain,
designed to block out light. Not designed to stop Daniel's
momentum, what was behind it shattered in a shower of breaking
glass. Bridger saw a burst of bright sparks and heard a loud crack
when Daniel collected the mains power cable attached to the side of
the building as he fell out of the first floor window.

Everything went black, the music slowed to
silence just in time for Bridger to hear the devil hit the pavement
outside.

Bright streams of light were flashing
through the door." Armed police, armed police, don't move".

Bridger stood up in the shadows.

"Armed police, I said don't move".

Bridger ignored the warning and turned
towards the empty window frame. A cold wind was blowing into the
room, refreshing his face as he looked towards the ground. Daniel
Maine was lying face down on the stone pavement below, paramedics
hunched over him. Becky was looking up at him; he could not make
out the expression before someone grabbed him roughly from behind,
pulled him inwards and shoved him to the floor.

"I said don't move dickhead", the black clad
figure yelled as a light was directed at his eyes, a second before
the butt of a rifle slammed into his forehead.

Everything went a darker shade of black.

Bridger was back on the beach, a warm safe
place. Waves were washing up on the shore, the gentle sound of
moving water. It was warm, he felt relaxed, more relaxed than he
had in a long while, although he could not remember why he should.
There was no one else on the beach, he was on his own, the blue
haze of the sky reaching all the way to the horizon. He thought
about going for a swim. He had not swum in the ocean since he was a
child and it would be a nice way to spend the afternoon.

He went to stand up but his legs would not
move, he tried pushing up with his arms but he did not have the
strength. The sand started moving around him, he started to sink
lower, sand moving, sinking lower. He looked towards the sea. It
had begun to boil. He saw Laura. She was standing waist high in the
water. She was waving, but has a sad smile on her face. Then the
sea rose up and took her, still he could not move. He did not even
hear her scream.

Hands began to caress his chest, a shade of
nail polish he recognized. The colour that Jane wore, they
playfully pinched his nipple before disappearing back into the
sand.

Just before he sank into the sand
completely, the earth coughed him out again. The water had settled
back to a gentle swell, he sat up looking for Laura, but there was
no sign. He did not feel any alarm, just a sad knowing. He turned
over and lay on his stomach, a crab crawled out of the sand hole he
lived in and started to speak.

"Mike, can you hear me? Mike..."

He did not want to speak to any crabs.

He turned over to face the sun; it shone
brightly in his eyes making him squint. He was not enjoying himself
anymore; he just wanted to go home.

"Mike, wake up, can you hear me".

The voice got louder; the hands came back
and pinched his ear. The sun got brighter. He sucked in a deep
breath of salty air and opened his eyes.

"Welcome back".

Bridger looked at the face in front of him;
not one he recognized. A bright surgical light was shining behind
the face hiding the features.