Relics (20 page)

She’d checked and double-checked but there was no mistake.

It was less than 500 years old.

She’d written down the approximate date as 1490.

How could it be possible?

Could she somehow have made a mistake with the dating process, she wondered? But the more she thought about it, the more she re-ran the events in her mind, the more her certainty grew. There had been no mistake. More puzzles, she thought, rubbing her eyes, noticing how heavy the lids felt. But those puzzles would have to wait until the next day. It was late and Kim could feel the stiffness in her joints. She stretched, groaning as she felt a dull ache in her back.

She glanced at her watch, muttering irritably when she saw that it had stopped at 5:15 p.m. She looked across to the wall clock.

The hands were frozen at 5:15.

Kim got to her feet and wandered out into the large hallway of the museum, heading towards the clock there.

It too showed 5:15.

She swallowed hard, aware, as ever, of the chill in the air. But it had intensified now to the point where her breath clouded before her as she exhaled.

The silence was pierced by the strident ringing of the phone.

She hesitated a moment, then lifted the receiver.

‘Kim?’

She recognized Charles Cooper’s voice immediately. ‘Have you made any progress with the tablets?’ he asked.

‘Some,’ she told him. ‘I’ve been working on the skulls too, and there’s something peculiar about one of them. It’s much more recent.’ She told him about it.

‘It could be a miscalculation on your part,’ he countered.

‘I’ve checked and double-checked. The skull is less than 500 years old. I want to examine more of them, see if there are any more anomalies. There could be others from more recent periods.’

‘Don’t come out to the dig,’ Cooper said quickly, and Kim was puzzled by the tone of his voice. ‘I’ll get someone to bring the skulls to you.’

She paused a moment, bewildered by his attitude.

‘How are things going with the dig?’ she wanted to know.

‘We haven’t made any more progress,’ he said, a little too sharply. ‘Look, I’ll send the skulls to you, but I need to know what those stone tablets say.’

Before she could speak again, he replaced the receiver and all she heard was the single tone purr of a dead line. Kim put the phone down and got to her feet, moving quickly about the staff room and laboratory, closing doors and windows, flicking off lights. She didn’t bother to check upstairs because no one had been up there. She finally stepped outside, pulling the museum’s doors shut behind her, fumbling for the key which would lock them.

‘Kim.’

The voice was close to her and its suddenness almost caused her to scream. She spun round to see George Perry standing there, his face impassive.

‘You frightened the life out of me.’ she said, panting, but Perry seemed unimpressed.

‘I need to look at those tablets,’ he said.

‘Not now, George,’ she said, pocketing the key, attempting to step around him.

Perry shot out an arm and grabbed her by the wrist.

She pulled away indignantly.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ she snapped. ‘Look, George, I’m very tired and I want to get home, all light? If you want to talk to me then do it tomorrow, please.’ She began to walk past him once more and this time he did not move. He merely turned slowly and watched her as she walked to the car.

In her rear-view mirror, Kim could still see him as she drove away.

Standing.

Watching.

The water gurgled noisily as it swirled away down the sink, carrying grease and suds with it. Sarah Potter dried her hands on a towel and made her way through to the sitting room, examining her long fingernails, muttering to herself when she saw that another one was chipped. She’d already broken one earlier in the day while typing a letter but that, she told herself, was an occupational hazard. Sarah had been James Cutler’s private secretary for the last four years, having secured the job a day before her twenty-sixth birthday. Now she was an integral part of the company, trusted and respected by Cutler himself and also the longest-serving employee on the payroll.

‘The washing up’s done,’ she said, brushing a hand through her tousled brown hair. ‘I’m going to have a shower when I’ve finished this.’ She reached for the glass of white wine which was sitting on the dining table. ‘Do you want a refill?’

Penny Allen looked up from the pile of exercise books before her and shook her head.

‘Later,’ she said, smiling. She sat back in her chair and allowed her head to loll back, her fine black hair cascading down her back. Sarah got to her feet and stood behind the other girl, resting both hands on her shoulders. Then, gently, she began to massage the taut flesh, easing away the tension. Penny sighed contentedly and moved her head forward, letting her chin rest on her chest. She wriggled slightly, feeling the stiffness leave her neck, as Sarah kept up her expert manipulation.

At twenty-nine, Penny was only a year younger than Sarah and her round face and the fact that she wore almost no make-up would have allowed anyone who didn’t know her to take her for five or six years younger. She was the opposite in almost every way to her companion. Sarah was tall and slender, while Penny, although slim, was more rounded and scarcely five feet tall. She had been a teacher at one of Longfield’s largest schools for the past five years.

Two years longer than she and Sarah had been lovers.

It had seemed so natural. They had always been close. They’d attended the same schools, belonged to the same small circle of friends and as time had passed, their friendship had blossomed almost inevitably into love of a kind neither had ever felt with a man.

There was a tenderness about their relationship which Penny had never been able to attain with her husband.

The marriage had lasted only ten months. He’d walked out on her after arriving home early one afternoon to discover Penny and Sarah locked in each other’s arms. Neither of the women had attempted an explanation. It was hardly necessary. He’d packed his bags there and then, leaving Penny the house and everything in it. She hadn’t heard from him since that day.

There had been no attempt on the part of either woman to hide the nature of their relationship. They still had to put up with the occasional snide remark or sly look when they were out together, but as Sarah had said on numerous occasions, small towns breed small minds and Longfield was no exception.

Penny had been asked to leave her last job, supervising a play-group, as a result of the rumours and innuendo, but other than that, they had encountered little trouble and she had settled easily into her post as teacher.

She leant her head against one of Sarah’s soothing hands, allowing her silky hair to flow over it, enjoying the sensations which were beginning to course through her body. Sarah moved closer, pressing herself up against the back of the chair, a familiar warmth beginning to manifest itself within her lower body. She moved to the side of the chair, sighing with anticipation as she felt Penny’s left hand brush against her exposed thighs. The short house-coat she wore barely covered her buttocks and she tensed as she felt her lover’s gentle fingers gliding over her flesh. Sarah kept up the massage, gradually slipping one hand around to caress Penny’s throat and begin removing the blouse from hers shoulders.

‘Take a shower with me,’ she said, softly.

Penny smiled and nodded.

The figure moved quickly but sure-footedly through the darkness, towards the house.

It had seen the silhouettes of the two women against the curtains and now it darted furtively but purposefully towards the window at the side of the building. It was masked from the house next door by a high privet hedge and the night closed around it like a welcoming ally.

It stood before the French windows.

Waiting.

Water splattered noisily from the bulbous head of the shower-spray and Sarah reached forward to adjust the temperature. The room was filled with steam which billowed like thick white mist, covering the mirror and tiles with a thin film of condensation.

Both women stood beneath the spray, enjoying the feel of the warm jet of water on their skin, laughing as they soaped each other lovingly, paying particular attention to each other’s breasts.

Inside the glass cubicle they embraced, hearing only each other’s voices and the constant noise of running water which masked all other sounds.

Even the noise of breaking glass from downstairs.

The figure drove its hand through the glass of the French windows and strode inside, overturning chairs in its path. It stood in the centre of the room, becoming annoyed by the bright light from the lamp on the table before it.

One powerful swipe sent the lamp hurtling against the wall, where it shattered.

The figure turned towards the door which led into the hall and wrenched it open. The sound of splashing water reached its ears:

It paused for a moment, then began to climb the stairs.

Sarah Potter closed her eyes and allowed the water to spurt over her face, forming rivulets which coursed down her neck and ran between her breasts. She felt Penny’s soft touch on the back of her neck and sighed contentedly, turning to face her lover.

She opened her eyes to look at Penny, and it was then that she saw the dark figure outside the shower cubicle.

Through the frosted glass it looked hideously distorted, but Sarah was able to make out the semblance of a shape, like some kind of grotesquely hewn statue.

She opened her mouth to scream.

One side of the cubicle exploded inwards, huge jagged shards of glass erupting into the shower itself.

Penny shrieked as a particularly long shard sliced open her forearm. Blood spurted from the wound, spilling onto the white tiles of the shower, while other fragments cut her feet as she tried to move away from the terrifying intrusion.

Sarah pressed herself into a corner, her eyes bulging wide in horror, and screamed again as she felt a vice-like grip fasten around her left wrist. Bones crumbled under the powerful clamp and she felt searing pain lance up her arm. A second later she was flung effortlessly from the cubicle, as easily as if she had been a rag doll. She skidded helplessly across the slippery floor, knowing in that brief instant that she could not stop herself hitting the mirror on the opposite wall.

She struck it with devastating force, her head snapping forward, powering into the glass, splintering it.

The impact sent her reeling back and she went down in an untidy heap, blood pouring from a vicious gash just below her hair-line. Fragments of the broken mirror rained down on her, slicing her naked body, lacerating her face, arms and chest. She lay unconscious, oblivious now to the screams of her lover.

Penny tried to run, nursing her cut arm, but the figure merely gripped her by the throat, lifting her off her feet for several seconds before slamming her back against the cubicle wall. As she slumped forward again the figure took a firm hold on her hair and forced her face towards the shower-spray.

Penny felt the hot water spattering her skin and it was only that which kept her conscious. She struggled but her assailant was far too powerful to be thwarted.

As she opened her mouth to scream, the attacker pushed her head forward.

Penny’s mouth closed over the bulbous head of the shower-spray. Her body bucked madly, but her head was held firm by the vice-like hand. She felt the water gushing down her throat; felt her stomach contract as it filled up. Her body twisted insanely. She gagged violently as the spray touched the back of her throat and the vomit rose, only to be swept back down by the torrent of water.

Penny felt herself blacking out but not before she saw her assailant’s hand, grasp the temperature control of the shower and turn it to hot.

Blistering, scalding water filled her mouth and throat and she was enveloped in unbelievable agony as the searing cascade gushed through her:

Her lips and tongue were transformed into little more than massive blisters which finally burst in a welter of pus and blood that ran down her chin to mingle with the crimson stains already splattering the shower tiles.

For interminable seconds Penny suffered this excruciating pain, and then her attacker, still using just one hand, slammed her viciously forward.

Such was the force of the movement that the shower-spray itself first gouged through the back of her throat, then burst from the base of her skull. Large fragments of bone broke away and torrents of blood gushed from the hole, washing over her shoulders and back.

She sagged against the wall, arms dangling limply at her sides, held upright by the water conduit which protruded a good six inches from the back of her head.

The figure turned away from her for a moment and moved towards Sarah.

The bathroom was transformed into a dripping slaughterhouse and steam swirled around the room, closing about the figure and its victims like a white shroud.

Wallace sucked heavily on his cigarette, before stubbing it out in the ashtray. From his office window he could see a good deal of Longfield. If only, he thought, he could see an answer to the questions which now tormented him. He took a deep breath of the cool fresh air in an effort to clear his head.

Who had murdered Stuart Lawrence, John Kirkland and now Sarah Potter and the woman they knew to be her lover?

Was it the same person who had kidnapped little Jonathan Ashton?

What
kind
of person was it who had impaled Penny Allen’s head on a shower spray? Who had ripped Sarah Potter’s eyes from their sockets? Who had flayed almost every inch of flesh from both bodies using a piece of broken mirror?

Who had gutted them both completely, pulling their intestines from the riven torsos, and then used the slippery, steaming lengths to fashion a crude letter A on the bathroom floor. And, in the bath itself, a bloodied N?