Flee Read online

  “Who did this?”

  She could feel the pain in her chest as if a knife had been stabbed deep into her heart. The pressure it caused made it hard to draw breath. Resting on her mum, she sobbed.

  She laid there for what seemed like hours, but was in reality only minutes. Where was dad? The thought cut through her grief, and she bolted upright. Dragging herself to her feet, she searched the room.

  “Oh no,” she moaned. It took only one glance to see he was lying on his back, just five feet away. Strangely, there was no blood near him.

  Jenny started towards him across the floor, skidding and stumbling on the slippery marble. “Dad, Dad, oh my God are you ok?”

  He was so pale, except for a red gash where his throat used to be. The wound was raw, obscene. Like a vicious mouth, gaping from his neck, but there was so little blood? Jenny gagged again, clutching her stomach as pain cramped her like a punch. She recognized this cut, knew what it meant. His blood was drained during his death, and used in a ritual, but what ritual? None she knew of used human blood. And who could harm her parents? They were the most powerful of the mages. Except maybe Simon? Damn it, she thought, now I know what Simon was hiding.

  Did he do this? He had been their friend for a long time, but she knew there was tension, and maybe this was why her parents wanted to warn her? Why didn’t she listen? Sinking back onto her haunches, Jenny rocked, hand to her head. She wailed and shrieked out her grief and confusion. Her animalistic cries filled the room. Rosie sidled up to her, offering the comfort of a warm body. She pushed her nose under Jenny’s arm, and sat next to her, quiet for now, but watchful.

  Jenny stopped rocking, and tentatively reached forward to check her dad’s pulse, another sob escaped her. There was no point. He was dead. Probably dead before he hit the floor. She leaned forward, and reached out to close his eyes. His skin was clammy, colder than her mum but still warm. “Oh, God what happened?”

  She sat still, and grabbed Rosie, pulling the dog close. Tears streamed down her face, and onto the soft fur. Rosie shook in sympathy with her mistress, as the two sought comfort in contact.

  Rosie stiffened, and pulled away from her mistress. A growl rumbled in her throat followed by a whine. She barked out a warning, and faced the door leading into the house.

  The crash of breaking glass came from the other side of the building. Rosie jumped forwards, and trotted towards the sound, her hackles raised and her deep bark warned of danger.

  Jenny sat up and fear joined the other emotions like a storm in her mind. She scoured the room looking for signs of danger. Was the killer still here? The room seemed so normal, remove the bodies and the blood, and it was just a kitchen. Oak units, yellow walls, the fridge buzzed quietly behind her, there was nothing to allow her to understand the death of her parents.

  Rosie stared at the kitchen door, her posture square, on full alert. The noise had sounded like glass breaking under considerable force. Jenny listened, but all she could hear was the deep growl from the dog and her own heart pounding.

  Doris. The thought entered Jenny’s mind, and fresh fear spidered down her spine. Had Doris’s car been outside when she came in? She couldn’t recall. Normally Doris would be out at this time. God I hope she is, Jenny thought.

  As she turned around, she spotted writing on the end of the breakfast bar, and for a moment her head swam and she nearly fell. Taking a breath, she moved closer to read the smeared writing.

  Jenny this is about you, FLEE, get to Simon, Hide.

  “No.” The one word portrayed anguish and despair. Crawling back to the breakfast bar, she touched the words, her finger came away red and sticky.

  “Oh, Mum, Oh, God, no.” She stroked her mum’s hand, noticing her fingers covered in blood. Tears streamed down her face, falling onto the blood, leaving little indentations in the lake of crimson, like stones thrown into the water.

  Rosie’s growl took on a new urgency, the sound deepened. Her hackles raised, she stared at the far end of the kitchen. Jenny jumped up, anger joining her maelstrom of emotions. Maybe whoever did this was hiding.

  She ran towards the door, pushing a wooden kitchen chair out of her way. It bounced on the wall, and fell back to the floor with a dry, hollow rattle that seemed to mock her.

  “Where are you, you bloody coward? Come out and face me,” she shouted at the closed door, before exhaustion seemed to pull heavily at her. The outburst ended as she fell to her knees, and wept uncontrollably. Rosie sidled back towards her, and stood guard, wary of the door.

  A door slammed at the front of the house, and she heard a car pulling up in the driveway behind them. The intruder must have left the house. She relaxed, and the tears streamed down her face as she hugged her stomach. A sick empty feeling filled her with despair. Rosie ceased her barking, and pushed her nose into her mistress’s hair. She whined softly, as if she too knew the danger was gone.

  Jenny hauled herself off the floor. The car would be Doris. She headed for the back door to intercept her. She wouldn’t let Doris witness this carnage. She glanced back at the bodies... Bodies, she thought it seemed so sterile. If she didn’t move soon she would lose control.

  Exited the kitchen into the hallway, every step felt like a marathon. It was as if her body had lost all its energy, and she was forcing it along with her mind only. Though she wanted to sit down and cry she had to move. To get to the door, intending to cut Doris off, but it was Robert, her parents’ financial advisor, and an old friend, who walked jauntily towards her down the marble hallway.

  He was the epitome of the city gent. A dark blue suit, immaculate white shirt, and colorful tie.

  “Oh Robert.” She sobbed. “I’m so glad to see you.” Tears burst from her, and she dived into his arms.

  “Whoa, what’s wrong?” he asked, pulling her to him, and stroking her hair.

  “It's mum and dad, they’ve... they’ve been murdered,” Jenny mumbled, tears streaming down her face. She pulled back from him, and covered her mouth with blood smeared hands. She pulled the hands away, and stared at them without comprehension.

  He gave her an amused look. “What?” he asked.

  Jenny pointed to the kitchen. “It’s… It’s so awful, and I think the murderer just left. Did you see anyone as you drove in?”

  Robert shook his head, and regarded Jenny with a quizzical smile, holding her gaze as if he expected a joke. When she didn’t laugh, his smile faded.

  “Wait here. I’ll have a quick look.” As he turned away, he said in a slightly less confident manner, “Just wait here.”

  Jenny watched him disappear into the kitchen, and tried to understand what had happened. In her mind, she saw the scene, her bloodied and broken parents. There was blood on the walls, the floor, and the smell, the subtle hint of copper clogged her throat, and made her stomach turn. She pulled her thoughts back to the message. It must have taken her mum considerable effort to write, and probably took her last breath. But Simon?

  Simon would be her first suspect. He’d always been a weird one, arguing with her dad, competing with him, so why would her mum send her to Simon. She knew her father didn’t trust him. That something had happened, and even though mum trusted him, dad didn’t. Was this why? He was also the only person she knew who was powerful enough to stand up to her father.

  She raised her hands, and looked at them, stunned. They were smeared with blood and shaking. She wiped them on her black jeans. The material felt rough and hard, stiff with dry blood. Suddenly she wanted to be home, in the bath. She wanted to scrub her skin until all traces of this were gone. But mostly she just wanted to get out of this house. Tears cut a path through the dried blood on her face as she leaned against the wall, and closed her eyes.

  Rosie nudged against her leg. Jenny looked down into big, brown, sorrowful eyes. The dog leaned her warm solid body against Jenny’s leg, offering support and comfort.

  While she fondled the dog’s soft ears, she spotted the phone. “Of course,” she whispered,
and crossed towards it. She walked as if she were in a daze as if this was a dream. Stretching out her hand, she picked up the phone. Noticing as blood smudged onto the cream plastic. She held it halfway to her ear, trying to decide who to call, Simon or the police? She was still stood there, hand outstretched, frozen, when Robert walked back in.

  “Who are you calling?” he asked.

  “Simon, the police, I don’t know.” Jenny waved the handset vaguely before her.

  He walked over, and took the receiver from her hand, replacing it with a click back onto the cradle. “I called the police. Now,” he said, “let’s get you out of this place.”

  “But mum, dad, we can’t just leave them.” Her voice trailed away as fresh tears threatened to flood her eyes.

  “Yes, we can.” Robert’s voice was calm but firm, and his face bore a gentle expression of support. “We can’t help them now. It may not be safe here. The police will handle this, and I’ll call them again later to see if we can help. For now, they want us away from here, just in case… well in case whoever did this is still here, or if they come back. Your safety is priority.” His eyes were on the kitchen door. “Let’s get you out of here.” Gently, he put a hand on her back, and guided her out of the house.

  “What about Doris?” Jenny asked, worried that she would discover this?

  “Don’t worry, it’s Monday night, the police will be here before she gets back.” Robert’s hand coaxed her gently towards his waiting Mercedes, and for the first time since she walked into the house she felt safe.

  “Mum always teased Doris, telling her she would die in this house. Oh, Robert don’t let this happen to her as well.” Jenny stepped into the car as Robert held the door. She sank into a deep and luxurious seat. The car smelt of leather and wood polish; it smelt clean and pleasant.

  Robert opened the back door, and raised his eyebrows as Rosie jumped onto the white leather back seat of his immaculate Mercedes.

  “Don’t you worry about Doris. I promise she won’t die in this house,” he said, and walked around to the driver’s door. “I’m sure the killer will be long gone, and the police will be here before Doris gets back. I’ll make sure she’s fine.” He climbed in beside Jenny, and closed the door. The solid clunk of the German-made door sounded like safety.

  Sat in the car, Jenny was hit by a wave of fatigue as the adrenaline rush that had helped her cope finally left her system. Sinking further into the leather, she felt her eyes start to close.

  “What about Simon?” she asked. “Should I call him?”

  Robert turned towards her as he maneuvered the large car towards the road. He was a handsome man, in his early fifties. With black hair, he was tall, with strong features. Over the last few years he had become a little chubby. He smiled at her. “I think your mum wanted you to ring him,” he said, his voice rose making this a question rather than a statement.

  “But.”

  “Yes,” he said. “There’s always a but. You know I’ve never liked Simon, and neither did your father. How do we know your mum wasn’t coerced into writing that note? Simon would be my first suspect.”

  Jenny scrubbed her face with hands still coarse with dried blood. She rubbed them together, and flakes of deep dark red dropped to her knees and onto the white leather of the car.

  She wanted to scream and to shout out how unfair this was. She wanted to do as her mum asked, but something stopped her. “Mine too,” she said, letting out an exasperated sigh. Could Simon have done this? Though she found it hard to believe there was no one else who had the power. No one else was as strong as her father, and with her mother there, they were a formidable team.

  “I’ll help you with whatever you want, but for now, let’s get you safe and let the police deal with...” Robert gently squeezed her shoulder as the Mercedes swept them swiftly through the night.

  Chapter Five

  Doris woke with a start. There was pain and disorientation.

  Where am I?

  The darkness felt like a grave, desolate, despairing and forever. Choking back her panic she took a breath, and assessed her position. Held upright, she was tied to something. It was hard and unyielding, and felt like a wooden post or column. There was a deep pain in her shoulders. Her arms were held out to either side, so she formed a T. The image of Christ on the crucifix came unbidden to her mind thought she had never been deeply religious. Something had cut deep into the skin of her wrists and they screamed with pain. It felt like plastic. Tentatively she moved her arms, testing. Maybe it was zip ties that held her to the wood, to the cross? The knotted muscles across her shoulders were excruciatingly painful, and as her mind came fully back to the present terror stabbed a knife into her bowels.

  Reflex made her kick out but her legs didn’t move. Her ankles were also bound. Something had rubbed the skin sore, and she could feel it weeping. Though panic wanted to rear up, and race away she had to stay calm. Flattening herself against the post relieved the pain slightly, and gave her a moment to think. The room was lighter now, as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. Shapes were forming, and there was something lighter just before her. As it came into focus she was staring directly into the eyes of the hell bat.

  The gargoyle-like creature sat about ten feet away. Its sharp vulture claws clutched a perch of knotted old wood covered in guano. Its paper wings were tucked out of sight, neatly against its body. As she watched it, the head cocked to one side, like a cute parrot or a puppy about to amaze her with some trick. Its ears rotated like mini radar dishes, listening to the dark cellar. Listening for movement, listening for her?

  Heart pounding so hard she feared it would leap out of her chest Doris wanted to cry, to scream, to beat against her bonds, but she knew it was pointless. Calm was her only weapon; she swallowed back her sobs, and eased herself into a more comfortable position.

  Where was she? How had she gotten here?

  Trying to see more she moved her head, and more sharp pain seared her shoulders. A memory of the beast’s talons slicing into her skin as it had swept her away from Raseby caused fear to douse her in ice. A steely hand seemed to push onto her chest, forcing the air from her lungs, and stopped her heart. Paralyzed, she stared at the beast for long moments, the world slowed down to just its eyes, cold, empty merciless eyes. She gasped, forced to draw breath and the spell was broken. The stench of death and decay that came with that breath brought back the present. Panicked, she thrashed against her bonds. Tugging and struggling her arms and legs burned with the effort, and groans escaped her lips in increasing volume as she realized the futility of her struggles. The more she fought the more the ties sliced into her wrists and ankles. Warm blood ran down her skin as she battled futilely.

  At last, exhausted, she stopped, and relaxed back against the post. It felt rough through her thin blouse, scratching her skin. She tried to rest, but the ties cut into her, making it impossible to gain any real comfort

  The bat appeared to be watching, yet its eyes were covered with some kind of film. Was it blind? She remembered reading somewhere that bats can see, but then did the normal laws of nature apply to this hideous creature?

  Its nose and mouth were shaped like a large rodent’s, wicked teeth exposed as it tasted the air. Wrinkling its nose and lips, it sniffed towards her.

  The ground beneath it was covered in its droppings. Something was moving on that vile smelling mound. The whole pile looked like a heap of constantly moving insects. Doris shuddered with revulsion, and looked away.

  Scanning her surroundings, tears formed in her eyes, tears of grief, fear, and frustration. The room appeared to be a cellar, mostly dark with just a little light coming from one side, possibly from a window. The light was enough for her to see basic shapes now that her eyes had adjusted to the gloom. Was it a window, and was that how they got in here? The hell bat watched her, but even when she struggled, it didn’t attempt to move or attack. It just sat there… guarding?

  Looking down she saw signs marked on the plain concret
e floor. She could not make out what they meant, but knew they were for rituals. The room contained very little in the way of furnishings, just a large ornate desk to her left, with a plush wooden chair. It had a curved top like a captain’s chair, its seat upholstered in red velvet. The desk was covered with books. She could not make them out in the dark, but assumed they were magic texts. Scanning around to the right, she saw more equipment, bars and chains, as if the room were some bizarre gym that was being used as a torture chamber. And further around still was another desk. Behind it hung a strangely ominous pentagram.

  It was not a desk, she realized, but an altar. Even in the shadows it looked sinister, and yet it commanded attention. Matt black marble covered with a deep red cloth. At each side a large black candle stood unlit. In the center a book was open on an ornate stand. In front of the book a wickedly curved dagger glinted as if light was shining directly on it. The Pentagram above it was approximately eight feet across. Painted in dark red on a coal black background, it seemed to shimmer, and pull the meager light towards it. It dominated the altar.

  Doris shuddered. The thought that she may be sacrificed on that alter had her reeling with panic. She bit down hard, to control her tears, and closed her eyes, forcing herself to be calm. Breathe, she thought. Breathe deep and slow, and calm yourself. Then she laughed, the noise was loud and desperate, it echoed in the desolate room. She had never believed in all that self-help crap, but right now panic was her worst enemy. If she could stay alive, there was hope. That she did believe.

  Despite the pain at every movement she continued to scan the room. Looking for clues, for anything that she could use to free herself or at least to get some form of advantage. In front of her and to the left was a staircase; she could only just make it out in the gloom. The steps rose steeply, disappearing into murky shadows.