The Teacher: A shocking and compelling new crime thriller – NOT for the faint-hearted! (19 page)

‘What did he think you were doing?’

‘He wouldn’t listen to me when I tried to explain.’ Parker swallowed hard and looked at Abbey; his eyes were brighter and shinier than usual. He was holding back the tears.

‘What happened to your friend? What happened to Nathan?’

‘I couldn’t find him anywhere. He seemed to disappear. I kept asking my grandfather if he knew what had happened to him. I asked him if he could find out if he had gone home to his family, but he just told me to let go of Nathan, that he was gone and that was that.’

‘But he wasn’t?’ Abbey asked gently, seeing that Parker was still fighting to keep his composure. Parker shook his head.

‘I didn’t let it go and my grandfather became more and more distant from me. I had to go back to school as though nothing had happened. The deputy head there, Jeffrey Stone, took a special interest in me, it was creepy and I knew what it was he wanted. I caught him taking photos of the boys in our class in the changing rooms. I told him I was going to tell my grandfather – they knew each other. He gave me a choice, either I could do what he wanted or he could ruin my life. I had no idea what he meant and I didn’t give him what he wanted. He went and told my grandfather that he had caught me and one of the other boys together. So one day soon after my grandfather took me to the museum after it was closed and took me to this room … THAT room. Nathan was there, well, what was left of him was. It was a miracle he was still alive. He had been tied up backwards to the central beam. I could see he had been hanging there for days. It had been weeks since I had seen him. He had been starved, beaten and worse.’

‘Oh God.’ She desperately wanted to reach out to him, to touch him.

‘They made me watch as he confessed to having feelings for me and they cut him like he was nothing. One of the men stood over him reading out all the sins he had committed as they did it.’

Tears rolled unreservedly down Parker’s cheeks now, but his voice remained as calm as before. ‘The doctor guy put weights on Nathan’s feet and his shoulders popped right out. He was crying, pleading with them. By the morning, he was dead. I was inconsolable. My grandfather told me that’s what happened to people like Nathan. People who wouldn’t change.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘For a while I tried to pretend nothing had happened, like I hadn’t seen what I had seen. You have to understand, I had no one to turn to. I was being watched at school, at home, everywhere. I was terrified. It was a few months before anyone found Nathan’s body. One of the men had taken his organs.’

‘Why? What did he do with them?’ she asked, shocked.

‘The doctor told me he …’ Parker’s voice faltered, cracking slightly. ‘He told me they were in the school science refrigerator, ready for the next week’s Biology lesson. He said human and pig organs are very similar. Thirteen-year-olds certainly wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.’

‘Why did they go after you?’

‘I was distant, I was failing horribly at school. In all honesty I think it was inevitable, I think my grandfather was in so deep that he couldn’t see anything but darkness. I wasn’t really family, I was just another teenage boy. When Jeffrey Stone told my grandfather of his suspicions, he didn’t even question it. He brought me to the museum again and there was another boy, then another. They tried to make me a part of what they were doing, they tried to make me hurt people, but I just couldn’t. When the boys were … gone, they started with me.’

‘But why did they do it?’

‘They thought they were right. They thought it was some kind of calling. They had a misguided sense of religion. The school chaplain was one of them. They would chant and do other strange ritual things before they started. They said these things had been going on for a lot longer than they had been alive. My grandfather had recruited them through their ties to the school, they had all been students there, some had even worked there as teachers. He had been recruited that way too. But they were kidding themselves, it wasn’t about making anyone better, it was about feeding the monsters inside them. I saw each one of them for what they are.’

‘How long did they have you? How did you get away?’

‘I couldn’t tell you how long I was there. I can remember everything they did to Nathan. As time went on I only remember fragments of what they did to the other boys and what they did to me. I remember hanging there. I remember being shot in the shoulder with a crossbow. I remember being burned, hit, cut, but most of all I remember pain, so much pain.’ He stared at his fist as he clenched and unclenched it.

‘Parker I …’ Abbey could barely stand to listen to any more. She didn’t know what to say to him, there were no words that could help him. She was powerless. ‘What’s your real name?’

‘My name is Sebastian … you must think I am so weak for not going to the police …’ He turned away.

‘I don’t! I swear I don’t think that! You were a kid! I can’t even imagine …’ she lied. She knew all too well that feeling of being silenced by fear, of wanting so desperately to scream but not having a voice. She wanted to destroy the people that had hurt him.

‘These murders? The ones on the news … are those the men that hurt you?’

‘Yes.’ He looked ashamed but she reached forward and took his hand, cupping her fingers around his to make sure he knew that she didn’t want him to feel that way. He looked at her, his eyes burning with a mixture of sadness and anger. She knew she should probably be dismayed by this revelation but she wasn’t. She knew what it was to be a victim and she knew what it was to disappear inside the shame, to be eroded by self-loathing. She was glad Parker hadn’t let them destroy him completely. She was more than glad; she was proud.

A thought occurred to Abbey.

‘The fire in the museum.’

‘I had to get away but I had to stop them, too. I had to destroy that place. I couldn’t bear the thought of them doing it to anyone else. I thought the police would find the room and they would all be put away.’

‘How did you escape?’

‘My grandfather, a momentary bout of conscience. He released me and left the room, told me to hide, begged for my forgiveness. As soon as I started the fire I got out of the building and just kept going.’

‘Where did you go?’

‘I went to a church first of all, I didn’t know where else to go. I didn’t want anyone to find me, I knew they would be looking. The priest and his housekeeper, Mrs Wilson, took care of me until I was eighteen, then I received the trust my parents left for me.’

‘And your grandfather?’

‘I spoke to him one more time. He called me and cried and pleaded for absolution, tried to confess to me about all the boys, alleviate his conscience, but I hung up. When he died he left me almost everything. But he still gave money to that godforsaken place.’ Parker turned around and put his hands on Abbey’s shoulders, his face streaked with the saline liquid. ‘I thought I was OK … I thought I was over it, but when I heard he had done that …’

She pulled him close and hugged him tightly, stroking his hair as he shuddered into her.

‘It’s OK … you’re OK now.’

‘I had to do it, Abbey … but … it’s not over yet. I’ll go to the police, I promise. When it’s over I will hand myself in.’

‘I don’t want you to do that. I want you with me.’

‘But the things I have done …’

‘People can be driven to do bad things … it doesn’t make them bad people. I’ve done bad things, too.’ She paused for a moment to take a breath, now wasn’t the time to share her dark past with him. ‘You’re good. I know you are …’

‘When I started this I never intended to meet someone … to fall in love …’ He wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand and took a deep breath, as if he had resolved to put his feelings in a box and lock them away for ever. ‘I didn’t think I could.’

Abbey recognised that look in his eye, accepting that people like them could never be happy. That you can’t have everything. But that was before, now she knew, she knew that she could.

She took his face in her hands and locked eyes with him.

‘Neither did I, but here we are. And I do love you, Parker, this changes nothing. You did what you had to do. Please don’t turn yourself in. Stay with me.’ She pulled his face towards her and kissed him.

‘But how could you ever forgive me?’

‘There is nothing to forgive.’

The Accident

Then

The kettle clicked and steam billowed from the spout as Abbey stared at the brown-speckled tiles on the kitchen wall. John sat on the sofa watching television, a relentless supply of repeated make-over programmes. Explaining why what you have isn’t good enough, why you should have more. An endless cycle of reasons to feel like you are failing. Buy, buy, buy.

‘Cup of tea, Dad?’ Abbey asked, with what had become the usual fake cheery optimism. John’s last mug of tea was still untouched on the coffee table, stone cold. She picked it up and replaced it with a steaming hot alternative.

‘Thanks, Abs.’

‘Going out today?’ Abbey looked at her father, his eyes were glazed and drooping at the corners, it made him look so sad, so hopeless. He responded by turning the volume on the TV up.

‘I got a phone call from the museum,’ she said. John continued to stare forward. ‘I have a trial run at the job, I start tomorrow.’

‘What?’ He looked up.

‘I got the job at the museum.’

‘Doing what?’

‘I think they want me to help them fix up all the animals, some admin as well, maybe, I don’t know. It was a pretty loose job description.’

‘But they’re dead?’

‘I know, but we did study anatomy and we also did some animal autopsies at uni. I can handle dead animals.’

‘You don’t want to go back and finish your degree? You’ve wanted to be a vet ever since you were knee high.’

‘I need to work, Dad.’ She looked down, not wanting to make him feel bad. ‘The bills …’ She saw him switch off from her and back to the orange-skinned presenter. Losing his job had been the final straw for John, he had sunk into depression and Abbey had to hold it together, for both of their sakes. She was embarrassed that she didn’t have the strength it would take to go back to study. University was ruined for her, even if she went to a different place, it wouldn’t make any difference; she didn’t want that any more.

‘You never used to lie to me, now you lie all the time.’

‘What do you want me to say? That I was an idiot? That it was all my fault? I can’t talk about it any more, Dad. I can’t let it take over my life!’

‘If you let it take away what you want then they’ve won, you can’t let them win!’

‘You don’t get it though, there is no winning or losing, not any more. It’s already happened, it’s over. They won!’

‘Did I raise you this way? Is this how you think you should deal with it? By running away … Maybe this is all my fault …’

‘Don’t you dare say that!’ she shouted. He turned back to the television, indicating the conversation was over.

‘Call me when you finish, I’ll pick you up,’ he muttered.

‘Don’t worry, I’ll get the train.’

Abbey had not visited the museum for a long time but it looked the same as she remembered it from trips with her father when she was younger. The same damp smell filled her nostrils and caught at her throat. She was greeted by the director and led through the expansive corridors to his office, occasionally passing cordoned-off areas that were waiting to be re-plastered. Most of them looked like exhibits themselves, untouched. The walls were grey and the dimmed light made it hard to make out shapes, only shadows. There was more shadow than light.

‘So you’ve never worked in a museum before?’

‘No, but I am a fast learner and a hard worker.’

‘I see you have some good references.’ Abbey smiled, embarrassed that the references had been the only price for her silence. The dean and her favourite lecturer oozing about her wonderful character and her dedication on paper even though they had made it more than clear in person exactly what they thought of her.

‘And why did you stop your studies, if you don’t mind me asking? It sounds like you were good at it.’

‘My father isn’t well. I need to focus on looking after him. I am the only family he has.’ She gripped her bag, ringing the canvas instead of showing the anxiety in her face.

‘Well, let’s start on something simple and we can see how you get on. If you need any help I am sure one of the custodians will help you out, they are usually lurking around somewhere.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Abbey stood up and reached across the desk to shake Mr Lowestoft’s hand.

‘Have a look around if you like, and you can start formally on Monday, there’s no hurry.’

‘I would be happy to start now, sir, I just want to work.’

‘I like your enthusiasm, Abbey, and your family values. I can already feel you will be an asset to our little family here at the museum.’

‘I hope so, sir.’ She smiled. Finally she had direction again, she felt relieved that they had accepted her even with her limited experience.

Mr Lowestoft led Abbey back through to a room full of birds, it was one of the closed rooms due to the mould and fire damage to the glass cabinets that housed the creatures.

‘Do you think you could do anything with this? It hasn’t been touched in years. Unfortunately after the fire we had no choice but to just close the rooms until we had the funds to restore those that were the most affected. We didn’t remove any of the creatures as the casing seemed to keep them intact and we didn’t have the funds to hire someone who knew how to handle them properly. Some of the animals are very old.’

‘How long ago was the fire?’

‘A little over fifteen years,’ he said as she moved closer to the box.

The thick layer of dust and soot obscured the contents of the box, she could see very little of the black birds that were displayed inside.

‘Are they crows?’

‘Ravens, but as you can see the cabinet is ruined and the birds inside didn’t fare much better. If you could fix them up for us that would be wonderful, we have a new display case for them arriving soon.’

‘I will be happy to try, sir.’

‘You are welcome to take the animals home, or to work here if you have trouble transporting them, but I must warn you, we hire out the function room for parties and this weekend we have two, so the place will be a touch out of sorts. We are still trying to raise funds to fix the old girl up. She’s seen better days.’

‘No problem.’

‘Here,’ he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small brass key, ‘this is a skeleton key that fits all of the cabinets. This is yours now. Your predecessor left a tool kit here, too, until you get one of your own. We’ll see if we can’t organise a proper space for you to work in as well.’ He smiled warmly and walked away.

‘Thank you,’ she said as he disappeared out of the tiny room.

She wiped her hands across the glass and a thick coating of black appeared on her fingertips. The tools were meticulously placed in a worn leather pouch; they had been much loved and taken care of. She ran her finger along the various blades, all blunt now, but there was a sharpening flint inside, she could make them work for her. She put the key in the lock to the cabinet but it was jammed, with a little force she managed to open the case. Inside the case smelled even worse than it looked. She carefully removed the birds and placed them in an empty crate. She would be able to use the parts of one bird to help fix the others that were damaged and missing feathers.

She was still lost in her own world when the curator returned.

‘Gosh, you really got stuck in there.’ He smiled his warm, friendly smile again. Abbey stood up, her clothes covered in grey chalky patches and wayward feathers from inside the glass case. She dusted herself down. ‘I just came to tell you that the museum will be closing soon, half day today.’

‘Oh.’ She looked down at her unfinished work; she didn’t like to leave things unfinished. ‘Would it be OK if I took some of these home?’

‘There really is no rush, and no shortage of work for you to undertake. We have thousands of items for you to be getting on with. You may be here for the rest of your life.’ He chuckled.

‘I’m looking forward to it,’ she reassured him. She wasn’t lying either. For weeks, months now she had been sitting at home watching her father deteriorate in front of her eyes. He had claimed her pain as his own and now she felt duty-bound to take care of him. If it hadn’t have been for what happened to her their lives would still be on track. If only she had not trusted so blindly. A warm smile and a few kind words from someone out of her league had made her vulnerable when every moment in her life before that had been confirmation of her place on the food chain. She blamed the movies she had loved to watch, where the plain girl gets the prince and the pretty rich girls end up crying into their Jimmy Choos. Life didn’t work like that.

She clambered through the front door with her menagerie in a large basket-weaved bag she had borrowed from the museum. Her father was still in the spot where she had left him, the hair on his face visibly longer. She left him to the evening’s soap operas and nature programmes. He didn’t want her around anyway.

She placed the birds on her desk and pulled out her surgical kit, the only thing she had kept from university. It felt strange to hold it in her hands again. She picked up the first raven and dusted him off with an old make-up brush so as not to damage the plumage that remained. She didn’t wear make-up any more; she was never very good at it anyway.

She worked through the night. It was all very simple really, and the information she didn’t have she researched on the internet. The weekend seemed longer than forty-eight hours but she worked diligently to bring these birds back to their former glory at the expense of the most damaged of the bunch. She wrapped each bird in tissue and placed them back in the bag.

The following Monday she returned to the museum where she was presented with a brand new glass cabinet that the carpenter had delivered that morning, an exact replica of the one that had been keeping the birds safe until they found a new home, right down to the faux landscape that was painted on the backboard. She had been given carte blanche to arrange the birds as she saw fit, before they were re-displayed in the room known as the Aviary.

She felt like herself again in the halls of that museum, the shadows of the past fading and being replaced with a passion for learning again. Night after night she would borrow the books from the museum library and read thirstily. The magnitude of the task she had to undertake was not lost on her. But instead of feeling intimidated by the vast storage rooms, she knew that as long as she did her job well she would be here for many years to come.

‘Abbey, I have something to show you,’ Mr Lowestoft exclaimed one morning, many weeks after she had started there. He took her back to the room where they had first stood and discussed her job and he showed her the results of her hard work. The room was finished. It was a small room but it was immaculate, with the ravens in the centre. Mr Lowestoft had overseen the restoration of this room personally. He said it was his favourite in the museum. She couldn’t understand why; it was small and slightly claustrophobic. ‘I will leave you to admire your work.’

‘Thank you.’ She felt a sense of accomplishment, something she had not realised was missing from her life. In the few short weeks at the museum she had turned this dingy little corner of the building into a tiny paradise of dead things. She identified with the birds, trapped for ever in the one moment that had rendered them as nothing, but that moment was for ever frozen in time. They had crossed paths with the wrong person, as had she, like the hundreds of other animals in this place. All the little beasts had probably been completely unaware of their impending fate. She thought about the moment of their death as she looked at the creatures. Each one was a victim, each one represented misplaced trust. Trust in your surroundings, trust in the ones you care for to protect you, trust in your own survival instinct. Most of the birds had been killed with a slingshot, silent and stealthy, requiring some level of intimacy. She thought of the moments before the death occurred and the mind of the hunter, watching the prey with patience, waiting for the perfect opportunity. Waiting for that moment when the world blinked simultaneously and no one was looking except him. Well, these animals were hers now, she would protect them, and she would never close her eyes, not even to blink.

John waited for Abbey to leave the house. She was happier now, she had moved on. She wasn’t the Abbey he had raised any more; in the six months since the attack she had become a different version, a quieter version, less confident. She didn’t have the same lack of self-assurance that all teenage girls had, this ran deeper. She was no longer holding on to the unconfirmed questions that he had noticed in her before. Am I pretty? What does life hold for me? Who will I become? No, those days were over, the timidity he saw in her now was steadfast. She had been shown her position in this world and he hated the world for that. Now at least she had found something just for her. It was a solitary job but he did not care as long as she was smiling. She really was all he had left. The job he had worked in for decades was gone, his drinking had seen to that. If he could be bothered he would sometimes fix friends’ cars for cash. But he had never been one for pity.

He could not stand this place any more. Truth be told, he could barely stand Abbey, or himself for that matter. He didn’t understand how she could go back to the city, knowing that they were there, after what they had done. He didn’t want to admit it but a little part of him blamed her for what had happened, he couldn’t deny it, thank God no one asked.

He walked into the local benefits office and waited on the stain-ridden couch to go and sign on, surrounded by the apathetic, the angry and the ignorant. He looked at the face of the girl sitting directly opposite him, all hair and nails, a pregnant swelling and a defensive glare, she was entitled to this, this was hers to take. John hated it; he hated having to depend on anyone else. He hated that he had worked his whole life, never colouring outside the lines, always doing what he was supposed to, always doing the right thing, and obeying the rules. He played the game the way they wanted him to.

His name was called and he went and sat with the advisor. A young man who had barely left school, sitting in judgement over him, it made him sick to his stomach. He gave the boy the list of jobs he thought he might be in with a chance of getting.