Death Marks (The Symbolist) (11 page)

A painted hooded figure in a black cloak leered out of the pub sign. Grimacing, Redd muttered, 'The Druid's Arms,' now that's appropriate, let's hope they've not ganged up inside waiting for us.' He watched Sweetpea bolt straight for a corner, settling underneath the table.

Pulling his wallet from his pocket, Redd smiled. 'So, what would you like to drink?'

'A Shiraz would be nice - think I need it.'

She watched the tall figure, his head barely missing the oak beams of the ceiling, dark hair waving on his neck, Returning with a tray, he threw a couple of bags of crisps, and salted nuts on the table. 'Something to munch on.'

Tess felt hungry, but crisps were way out of her strict diet regime. She would put on weight as soon as look at food, an underactive thyroid saw to that. However, she was not going to be difficult or picky. All they had time for was a quick drink.

Seated, he lifted his pint of beer. 'Cheers - I could do with this.' As he took a gulp, he felt Sweetpea's tongue on his socks. Moving his foot, he turned to her. 'So tell me more about these Druids.' He stopped short, as he felt Sweetpea's tongue going up his trouser leg. What was wrong with the mutt? 'Sweetpea - stop it.' Looking around the bar, he felt foolish talking to a dog called Sweetpea. People would think he was a ponce. No one seemed to be listening. He shook Sweetpea free, but within seconds, he felt the dog's tongue on his thigh soaking through his jeans.

'Doesn't he ever stop licking?'

'No, it's a thing the Greater Swiss Mountain dogs have. They're insatiable; they lick everything they can. Some of them are so bad that when they're not licking, they're gulping air. It could be something in the genes. They're descendants of the giant mastiffs the Romans took with them, when they invaded the Alps. The dogs would drag the wounded soldiers off the battle fields, licking their wounds clean.'

'Right. It's just that he's soaking my inner thigh, it's going to look like I've wet myself.'

Tess giggled, then bent under the table, 'Sweetpea that's enough. Stop it.'

Thankfully, the dog obeyed; Redd heard the heavy panting. How long before Sweetpea began again? He brought his attention back to her, as she said, 'I didn't have time to search for some mistletoe on the oak trees - see if a branch of the mistletoe was broken off. If there were, it would show how rigidly they're sticking to the ancient rituals. It might give you an idea of what to expect.'

'How so?'

'The ancient Druids used the oak and mistletoe in their sacrifices. It's supposed to be a yearly ritual, but some did use it more often. They place the berries in the mouths of the victims.'

'There were berries in the male victim's mouth. I omitted to tell you that. It's got us stumped.'

'It is a very important part of the ritual against incest. The Druid would climb the sacred oak and cut off a branch of mistletoe. The mistletoe is the symbol for the divine son, growing from the oak tree, who is the sacred mother, the giver of all life. However, he has no roots in the world, so he is in a state of permanent incest.'

'What part did women play in Druidism? I'm wondering why Delle Woodhouse was decapitated.'

'Women were equal. The speaking Oracle was always the female; the Gods spoke through her decapitated head.

'Christ and these maniacs are copying the ritual.'

'The ancient Druids had a different mind-set from today, sacrifice was the highest honour. There are three levels of Druidism, the Druid, the Ovate and the Bard. The Ovates were diviners, healers, dealing in magic. Kings and Chieftains sent their sons to be educated by them. The Druids were the judges, the philosophers, dealing with the politics of the day. It was well known for the Druids to stand between the lines of two armies and talk them out of fighting.'

Redd took a long drink of beer, then said, 'It's savage. But, as you say, they had a different mind-set.''

'It's looking very black, the Druids used the whole human body in the sacrifice. Horrible thing was; they kept the victims, alive as long as possible during the whole ritual.

Redd put his drink down. 'Oh no - that's vile - that's torture in the extreme - fuckers.'

'Every sound the victim made, every action was part of the message or Oracle. The flow of blood was also very important. They would use the human death throes as omens or as a means of predicting future events.'

Redd nodded. Listening to her, he felt a dread, a heaviness cloak him, the Druids were vicious. The phone vibrated in his pocket. Putting down the drink, he picked up the mobile. 'My partner.'

Tess stroked Sweetpea under the table, as he said, '
What ... Christ ... okay ... I'll be right there. Call in as many as you can, get detectives to man the phones as well. Put extra guards outside the doors.'

Putting the phone back in his pocket, he grimaced. 'There's been a leak - all the details about the murders. Phones have started up, there's a crowd outside the station, it's growing and they're angry. The bloody press are milling around - vultures. They're the ones who've caused the panic. Now we know why that helicopter was overhead.'

Jeanette opened her eyes to streaming shadows of grey. Lifting her arm, rainbow hues swirled around her. Where was Neil? She whimpered, realizing she was in a cellar. She looked down to see she wore a nightgown, a film of pink chiffon. Around her wrist, a garland of oak leaves interlaced with mistletoe. A name floated up in her mind, Julia - Alfhildr.

Swallowing, her throat was dry, lips scaled; turning on her side, she saw a glass, picking it up, it was cold, the water clear. She tasted fresh lemons, quenching her thirst. Sighing, she lay back on her pillow. What was happening? Her senses fully returned; she had been drifting in and out of drugs. She raised herself on her elbows, to see Neil on his back, his lips parted. 'Neil.' Her voice was a whisper, 'Neil - wake up - wake up'

His eyelids lifted; his eyes bloodshot, the blue faded. 'Jeanette - love - what's happening? How long have we been here now?'

'Don't know - days.'

'They keep making us chant those bloody mantras or something - then drugs - why - in God's name why? What do they want from us?'

Rising, he padded over to her, and kneeling, took her in his arms. Her head drifted to his chest, the last of the drugs leaving her, as she murmured, '
How long are they going to keep us? I mean, why are we here? I thought they were going to kill us - but we're still here.'

'Don't know love - don't know. Don't worry; I won't let them hurt you.'

She touched his cheek, bringing his lips to hers; the kiss tender, comforting. She tried to feel the strength in his weakening body, how could he protect her? He was helpless - so many of them.

'Why are they naked? I mean they dress us in robes, but they're always naked - strange tattoos.'

'Alfhildr said they were going to tattoo us.'

Jeannette shivered. 'Oh God, why? I hate th
em. I'd want to tear them off my skin.'

'Just go along with it - do whatever they say. We've got to find a way out of here - got to.'

'They haven't hurt us yet. I mean - the men - they're always naked, and - you know - hard-ons. But, they don't touch me, except to lead me to some kind of huge cave. I just can't remember; it's all drifting in and out.'

'I thought the first time they took us in there; they were queuing up to ... rape you. I think I remember Kevin said; they were getting us ready for the second-stage - the tattoos.'

'Yeah, where no-one can see them. The men can cover themselves up with shirts and trousers; the women's breasts are tattooed though.'

'I can't stand the thought of it.'

Jeannette whispered, 'If that's the second stage, what's the third?'

T
hey heard the door open. Alfhildr came through, unsmiling, her eyes strained. As usual, she was naked, her crotch shaven, the tattoos decorating the pale skin, Titian hair falling free to her waist. So different from the girl they met at "Two Blues." Neil stood, towering over her petite frame, as she neared the bed. 'Hey - you're awake. How do you feel?'

Jeanette cringed away from her. 'Why are you keeping us here - who are all those people? What d'you want from us?'

In answer, Alfhildr knelt, taking her hand. 'You attack the earth body of the Mother with your experiments.'

'Experiments?'

'Yes, you're both lab technicians - the druids say you scientists are ruining the earth. So, you are the "Chosen Ones." They think your bodies will repay the Earth Mother. Your sacrifice will also give wisdom.'

Neil rose from the mattress, spluttering, '
What d'you mean, "Chosen Ones?" For fuck's sake, Julia - talk sense.'

The girl drew herself up. 'I'm trying to help you -I just can't stand by and watch it happen. But Neil, I'm terrified. I am as much a prisoner as you. You have no idea who you are dealing with.'

'You've got to help us - for God's sake.'

'You must try and play along with them. The reason you're still alive, is because you talked of Gods, of speaking with angels.'

Neil stopped himself from punching the stone wall, 'That's the bloody drugs talking.'

Julia nodded. 'They're fucking deranged - Jeannette - I'm sorry - so sorry.'

Clenching his fists in anger, Neil shouted, 'You knew what they were going to do, but you still brought us here. Why in hell's name, why?'

Julia winced. 'I had to. Neil - don't let them hear you.'

'Why? Why not?'

'They're almost insane on drugs.'

'Aw come on - this is all fucking crazy.'

'I mean it; they believe sacrifice is the way to repay Mother Earth, our Lady. But you will also be their Oracle.'

'Oracle?'

'Yes, they believe a female head will give them the wisdom of the Gods.'

Neil fell silent, looking steadily at Julia. Taking a long slow breath, he said quietly, 'You can't let that happen'

Julia paced the stone floor. 'I'm trying - but it's difficult.' Rubbing her forehead, she said, '
If they catch me, God knows what they would do.'

Jeannette rose from the bed to stand beside him. 'Surely they wouldn't kill you?'

Julia said. 'Yes they would, the leader; the Chief Druid is a monster, and he is my father. Like I said, often he's off his head, so are the others. Even now they're preparing for the ritual.'

Neil frowned, 'What ritual?'

'I can't tell you, it's - it's too—'

Jeannette grabbed her hand. 'You've got to, we need to know. Tell us.'

Julia's eyes brimmed with tears. 'I can't; no-one should hear it - no-one.' How could she tell the poor girl, she would be strapped to the altar? The group would chant, getting high on drugs. Then, Julia's father would fuck Jeannette, and so would the group. Then it would be an orgy, one on one or three on one. After that, Jeannette and Neil would suffer the crosscut, their organs taken out, read and marked and then replaced. The leader would drink their blood from Jeannette's empty skull, whilst the group chewed on her brains. Tears streamed down Julia's pale cheeks. My father, is a fiend and he killed my mother.'

A male voice spoke from the door, 'He
—'

'No - don't. You can't tell them anything - anything.' Julia stood, fists clenched.

Neil spun around to see Kevin standing there naked, his handsome face grim, arms akimbo, legs astride. 'Julia is right; he is a monster. But, she can't help you - I won't let her. He killed her mother and he'll kill her without blinking an eye. We can't save you Neil. It's best you strangle Jeanette now.'

Neil growled, '
Fucking crazy - shit.'

Kevin looked at them, his jaw muscle working into a tight white knot. 'It's the drugs - the fucking drugs.' Shaking his head, he pulled Julia behind him. 'Can't help you mate - they'll kill us. What Julia didn't tell you was, they'll rip our fucking guts out.'

Mrs. Betty Walker stood at the sink, gazing out at the birds on the garden table. It was six days now. Where was Jeannette? Surely, they could have left a message? They were supposed to have arrived for Sunday roast dinner; the one day the family got together. One week they went to Neil's, another here. She rubbed the soap bubbles through her fingers, idly seeing the rainbow colours sparkling in the tiny spheres. Her daughter had never done this before, not even a text message - nothing. It felt ominous. Fred said to leave them alone, not to run after them every five minutes. She didn't. Bloody men - it was always; it will sort itself - leave it. Jeanette disappeared six days ago - six bloody days.

Tracy Bennett said it was unusual. She was worried as well. Gritting her teeth, she grabbed the dishcloth, wiping her hands. No, she wasn't going to wait another minute, what with that stuff on the news, those youngsters; the girl had her head cut off - oh God, she raised the tea
cloth to her face. She had to do it - right now.

Walking from the small kitchen to the lounge, she picked up the phone, tapping in the number for the Station. She wrote it down three days ago, but thought she was panicking with the news on TV, the posters, placards, crowds around the Station. She put the phone to her ear, her heart thumping in her chest. She sighed, as she was directed to a central number. For God's sake, why couldn't she go straight through to the Station. Walking to the window with the phone tight to her ear, she watched the wood pigeons now on the table confronting each other. Bullyboy, the big one was always fighting off the others, wanted it all to himself. She heard a voice speaking, at last. 'Hello - I wonder if you could help me. My daughter's gone missing....'

'Can I take your name and address ma'am.'

'Err yes, Mrs
. Betty Walker, 7 Altwood Gardens, Brighton. My daughter's been missing for six days now. She wouldn't just go off—'

'What is your daughter's name please?'

'Jeannette - Jeannette Walker, she's twenty-one...' She faltered the tears now hurting her eyes. The pent-up stress overcoming her.'

'Ma'am ... you okay?'

Betty gripped the phone. 'No - I'm not - I'm so worried. She wouldn't do this. She always lets me know where she is, we're very close.'

'Did she say where she was going?'

'No, last I heard they were doing up the flat, and then they were coming over to us on Sunday.'

'They? Was she with someone ma'am.'

'Yes, her fiancé Neil - Neil Bennett. They live together.'

'Can I have the address please?'

'9, Flat five, Birkett Close.'

'Mrs
. Walker, I will just refer this to my superior, and we'll be in touch.'

Jeannette bit her lip, realizing she was still clinging to the dishcloth. 'How long will that be? I mean she's been gone six days now. They haven't turned up for work either; they're lab research assistants at the hospital. They just wouldn't walk out.'

'Don't worry Mrs. Walker, we'll be in touch very soon - I promise.'

'How soon is soon?'

'Within the hour. Just give me your phone number please. '

Betty's voice trembled. '02413 987462.'

'Thank you ma'am'

'Thank you. I'll be here.'

Putting down the phone, Betty bit into the tea cloth. Dear God, was this really happening?

Taking a breath, she picked the phone up again. Tapping in more numbers, she waited, 'Hello Tracy? ... Hi. I've phoned the police. I couldn't wait any longer ... I gave Neil's name as well. Oh, Tracy I'm so worried ... What ... you're coming over? ... Okay.... I'll put the kettle on.'

Going to the kitchen, she hung the tea cloth on the hook. She looked out the window to see the wood pigeons quarrelling with a squirrel. The bully birds always ended up getting the seed. She'd have to put some more out for them later. She shook her head; she was thinking about birds, and her daughter could be dead.

There - she'd thought it. She felt her chest tighten; the tears streamed down her face. Going to the kitchen chair she sat, her elbows resting on the table, her head in her hands.

It could only have been minutes, before Tracy arrived, mascara smudged, mouse brown hair dragged back into a grip comb. Holding out her arms, she clung to Betty. 'What are we going to do? I just hope they're alright. Have you heard anything yet?'

'No, but she said they'd ring back very soon.' As she went to fill the kettle, the phone rang. Tracy leapt up, taking the kettle from her. 'It's them - must be.'

***

A young male constable, his ginger hair slicked down with gel, ushered them into an office, bare except for a table and four chairs. Tracy and Betty sat clutching handbags, their lips tight with tension. Tracy whispered, 'You do the talking - I'm not good at that.'

Betty nodded, wishing Fred were with her. She turned, as the door opened again to admit a thin woman in a tight fitting white shirt and navy blue skirt wearing lace-up shoes and sensible heels. 'Hello, Mrs. Walker?'

Betty raised her hand. 'I'm Mrs
. Walker. I rang the Station earlier.'

'Hello, I'm Detective Constable Amanda Green. I understand you reported your daughter missing?'

'And my son - Neil.' Tracy interrupted.

'Yes. Now I'd like to take a few more details. First, you did say both the missing persons were recently qualified - lab technicians. Is that correct?'

'Yes, they work in the labs at Brighton Hospital. They—'

'And yes, they've only just qualified.' Tracy bit her lip.

Betty raised her eyebrows, so much for asking her to do the talking. Tracy must be upset, as usually she was so quiet.

Detective Green looked at them speculatively. Betty shifted on her chair, it looked like the officer was about to lecture them.

'So what makes you think your children have absconded?'

Betty felt herself bristle. 'I never said that. I said my daughter, and her fiancé are missing. They wouldn't just leave without telling us - would they Tracy?'

Tracy said, 'No that's right. They're good kids. We're all very close. Anyway, they both love their jobs. They have just graduated. Both got their degrees didn't they Betty?'

Detective Green tapped her pen on the desk. Her voice cold, she said, 'I can't understand why you've left it until now? You should have reported this much earlier. You'd better fill out these forms. I'll be back for a written statement.'

Tracy looked up sharply. 'There's no need to be nasty you know. We're just reporting our kids are missing.'

Betty nodded. 'Took a lot for us to come here.'

Green arched her eyebrows and rose to her feet, 'Six days - far too late. I will leave you to it.'

As she closed the door, Tracy nudged Betty. 'Bitch.'