Flee Read online

  She moved the covers, straightening them out as she searched for the phone. She pulled them back to see if it lay underneath, then bent over, and checked under the bed.

  “Oh, where on Earth did I put that damn phone?” she asked the empty room. It was not there so she checked her bag, the dresser and all around, but the mobile was no-where to be found.

  Jenny left the room and absently retrieved the house phone from the hallway. She wandered back as she dialed her own number. She could hear it ringing in her ear, but there was no corresponding ring in the room. The mobile was not here. How could she lose it? Rosie cocked her head to one side, deep brown eyes watching her with a compassion and understanding that was hard to fathom. Jenny smiled at the dog, and then stared around at the bright, cheerful room. It could grace the covers of any magazine. It was perfect, and in that moment she hated it. She fought down the overwhelming urge to tear up this facade of normality.

  Hanging up the phone she dialed again. This time she wandered out into the corridor, and down the hallway with its happy smiling pictures of the family. Still no ring. Into the kitchen, neat and Spartan, no ring. The living rooms spoke of an orderly and perfect family life, but there was no ring there either. The mobile was not in the house. Panic seized her. Had someone come in, and taken it? Stop being so damn paranoid, most likely the battery was dead.

  She replaced the phone handset, and trudged back to her room, head down, and deep in thought.

  As she was about to sit down, her laptop pinged, informing her she had mail. Sinking down, weary and defeated she slid the chair under the makeshift desk, catching her ankle in the small space she cursed inside at the pain.

  An icon blinked at her to tell her she had mail. For a moment she froze. Could someone find her this way? This was just more paranoia, she clicked on the icon, opening her mail account. The email was from Simon. Her hand hesitated over the mouse as emotions from joy to fear seemed to rock her like a boat on heavy seas. If she opened it, could he find her? Was she safe here?

  Rosie got up, and crossed the room to her. She pushed her wise head under Jenny’s arm. Signaling that Jenny should trust her instincts or that she realized her mistress needed comfort. Jenny rubbed her head, and looked down into those big brown eyes. “I’m being paranoid aren’t I?” she asked.

  Rosie just whined, sat down, and wagged her stump of a tail adoringly.

  Jenny clicked on the message.

  Dear Jenny

  I visited your parent’s house this morning. A great atrocity had been committed. I think you know about it, which is why you are afraid of me. Please understand I did not commit these crimes. I have contacted the police. I know I will be a suspect, but I could not leave Helen and Alex lying there. Doris is missing, her car was in the drive, but I could not find her. Jenny, I hope she is safe with you, but I cannot feel her presence either.

  Please contact me, or come to me here at Wyleford Woods, where you can be safe. Your mother left a note telling you to flee to me. Trust her, even if you don’t trust me. Remember, many years ago I swore an oath to protect you, always. That was a blood oath between your parents and me. It cannot be broken without considerable cost to me. I tell you this as I need you to trust me.

  The only reason to kill your father would be to get to you. As the daughter of a powerful mage, coming up to her thirtieth birthday, you are at risk. There are forces after you I cannot recognize.

  Your mother used the word flee. This may have meant run but FLEE means -- First Life, Eternal Energy. It is a ritual for immortality. Well, not exactly, as it comes at a price that must continue to be paid. I do not know if your mother meant that when she used it. It could have been a clue for me, though it is confusing… it would be the father killing their firstborn, so I don’t know if this was coincidence.

  Please, please let me help you.

  Yours forever,

  Simon

  Jenny read the email again, and confusion furrowed her brow. If Robert rang the police last night, why were the bodies still at the house? And where was Doris? Why had Simon not mentioned that the police had already been informed? Why had they not spoken to him this morning as a suspect? She cried out in frustration as the questions seem to swarm into her head, and buzz around, leaving her dizzy and weak. A huge well of sorrow burst up, and reduced her to tears.

  She found herself on the floor. She rocked, and hugged Rosie until the tears dried up. Then she sat back at the keyboard, and typed into an empty document.

  I have to keep myself together.

  I have to find out where Doris is.

  I have to find out if I can trust Simon.

  How do I start?

  Staring at the screen, an idea came to her. Jumping up, she crossed the room as excitement built up inside her. She was doing something. She rushed down the hallway to the phone. Picking it up, she dialed the local police station, remembering the number from last year when a gang of motorbike thugs had been causing problems behind her mum’s house. It brought a smile to her face. Her dad had wanted to send a spell against them, causing them to fall from their bikes whenever they came within five hundred yards of Raseby Manor. Mum had laughed, but had not allowed him to perform the spell. Jenny remembered thinking it would have been kind of cool.

  The phone rang, once, twice, shrill and uncompromising in her ear, and then “Louth police department…” The line went dead.

  Jenny placed the phone back on the cradle, and picked it up again, no dial tone, just silence. She tried again, rattling the cradle on Robert’s old-fashioned phone. Nothing. What was going on?

  She sprinted back to her room her mind made up. She would contact Simon by email. As she rounded the door, the laptop screen flickered, going on and off. She reached out, but just before she got to it, it switched off and powered down. A small wisp of smoke rose forlornly from the casing. “That can’t be right,” she whispered. “Now what?”

  She was bending over the desk, trying to reboot the fried laptop, when Robert walked in. It seemed as if anguish crossed his face for a second, replaced with a smile as she turned to greet him.

  “What are you doing?” he asked. A puzzled expression pulled his brows together.

  “My computer just blew up, I think.” She raised a hand to her head, and rubbed her painful temples. She turned to look at him. “Robert, the phones are down. My mobile’s gone missing, and now my laptop self-destructs. What’s going on?”

  “Welcome to the countryside. The phones are always out. Your computer, I don’t know. No Wi-Fi here in the sticks, were you on the internet when the phones went down?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Well, there you go. We get spikes on the line. One probably took out your laptop. I’m sorry. We’re supposed to have a filter thingamajig.” He shrugged his shoulders in apology. “I never got around to fitting one.”

  “And my mobile?”

  “I can’t help you with that one. You had it this morning, I think.” He looked down at his hands, rubbing them together before he said. “Look, you can use my computer, but the phones may be a day or two. Sorry, we’re used to it.”

  “Can I use your mobile?” she asked.

  “You could, but I had my briefcase stolen last week, and I haven’t replaced it yet, sorry.”

  Jenny turned away from him, her palms were sweaty, and anxiety beat a merry tune in her stomach. What should she do? She needed to know who was telling the truth. Anger gave her strength as she turned back to face him. “Simon says the police have not been called, and that Doris is missing?” She managed to keep her face calm. A steel band of determination held her growing anger.

  “Well, Simon wants you to believe him. I have just come from the police. I can assure you they are looking for him. He is a suspect. They want you to stay here for a few days. Then they will bring you in for a statement… they said probably early next week.”

  “Damn it, Robert, why should I believe you over Simon?”

  He counted on his fi
ngers. “Well, I’m not a mage. I arrived as the killer was leaving, and you’re here with me safe.” He raised his eyebrows, opened his arms, and smiled reassuringly.

  “Oh God, I’m so sorry.” She rushed into his arms, burying her head on his firm shoulders. He was right, she felt comforted and safe in his arms, but doubt nagged at her mind. Simon had been sworn to protect her. That she did remember. But did she? She had been very young, and a vision came into her mind of Simon old, yet they were the same age. Had it been his dad?

  Robert pulled back, a little embarrassed. “Let’s get you my computer.”

  Rosie sat on the bed, a grumble low in her throat, and her eyes were ever watchful.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Pain roused Doris from a fitful sleep. The wounds on her shoulders had started to fester, and a thin yellow pus oozed over stiff and sore muscles. One moment she was cold and miserable, the next hot and feverish, and the sleep hadn’t helped her rest but had left her even more exhausted.

  She blinked eyes that were sore, sticky and blurred, and gradually her surroundings came into focus. The mist was still there, poised, like some living circle of hate that surrounded her. It pulsated gently, and she could feel it in the air, cold and clammy like sweat.

  From the pit a noise caused a spike of adrenaline that sent waves of heat down her arms. The hole appeared to exhale, and then slowly inhale. The breathing gradually increased in volume, as her eyes grew more used to the gloom.

  Despair washed over her, for she was helpless, and all alone. She ached like Hell had beaten her up and spat her out. Her bladder was bursting, and the bonds at her ankles and wrists cut deep into her flesh. Blood wept from the sores, and dribbled down her skin.

  A cry of anguish escaped her, and the mist seemed to contract back at the sound of her voice.

  The pit continued to breathe. It resonate in the room, and gave her the impression that something was coming. Slowly and surely it was rising from the depths of that cold, lifeless pit, rising toward her. A shudder shook her battered body against the post.

  How much more could she take?

  Just when she thought she would break. That her mind would fracture she remembered Jenny, and she knew she had to be strong. To try and be clever, and to see if she could survive this.

  The first thing was to find out everything she could, so she listened. Concentrating all her senses on the sound. It was an inhalation followed by a wet slippery exhalation, and it was increasing in volume. As if something was slowly being birthed out of the pit, and was creeping toward her.

  At the far end of the room, a light heralded the entrance of the Numen. Soon she could see him striding towards her. A boyish grin showed he was in the mood for fun. Doris strained back against the cross, but she had nowhere to go.

  “Hi, Doris, my beauty, how are you?”

  “I need the bathroom.”

  “No problem, my love.”

  He approached, a wicked twelve-inch blade shone malevolently in the darkness. Waving it before her eyes, he let her see the ornate carving that decorated the hilt.

  Doris recognized the patterns. They were similar to the tattoo on her chest left by him so many years ago. They were the same markings, the same figure of eight, the same snake’s head that terrified her with a wink in her dreams.

  He held the knife between them, his eyes binding hers to his over the evil looking blade. Quick as a flash, he turned the knife, bringing it so close to her face, that she could feel the chill from the blade.

  Slowly, he caressed her skin just below the eye with the flat steel and then slid it smoothly down her cheek. Its coldness kissed her skin as he scraped it across her cheek. Then, even slower, he dragged it down her face, so smoothly that he caused no damage.

  Heart pounding, her breath stopped. The touch of cold steel made her freeze as still as marble, her eyes wide, as terror suffocated her.

  When the blade reached her chin, he stopped, and pulled the knife away. His eyes followed it as it glided through the air, and down to her throat. There, he touched the tip into the hollow at the base of her neck, and held it until a single drop of blood wept onto the blade.

  The razor-sharp blade seared as it sliced into her skin, a sharp pain followed by wetness.

  He turned the steel so the cutting edge slid on the trickle of blood, spreading the redness towards her breasts, and cutting into the material of her shirt. She felt the cold blade travel down her flesh, felt its icy presence puckering her skin as it continued its voyage. Pulling, scraping, but not quite drawing blood.

  He came to her blouse. The blade sliced through the material, meeting no resistance. It hesitated only slightly when it encountered her bra strap. One little push, and the knife sliced through the fragile strap and traveled lower. Her body was rigid, frozen, but her mind wanted to scream. Yet she could not move. Magic did not hold her this time, only terror. Terror of the knife, and of what was to come.

  The knife continued its slow glide down as her blouse fell apart with a silken whisper. It sliced down the material all the way to the waistband of her black skirt. She shivered as the blunt edge of the blade glanced off her skin.

  He stopped the blade, holding its blunt edge pressed into her skin. The steel was cold against her belly, indenting the flesh, with a dull pressure.

  He pulled himself close to her, eye to eye, nose to nose, and mouth to mouth. He sneered at her. The stench of a fetid river bottom washed from him, choking her with disgust.

  “You still need the bathroom, Doris?”

  “Yes.” Without flinching, she turned back, and met his gaze. She would stay strong against this bully. It was all the control she had.

  “Ok.” The knife spun in his hand, the hilt now facing towards her. He punched hard into her bladder. The heavily ornate handle was like a brick as it hit home in her stomach.

  Pain shocked her forward, and her bladder released itself spasmodically. Hot liquid poured down her legs, flooding her pants and skirt with her own urine. Flushed with shame, she gasped for breath as the wind was knocked from her. It was too much, and she let her head hang down in defeat.

  He turned away and laughed.

  “Smelly in here, don’t you think?”

  Walking behind her, he waved the knife back and forth. She could feel each time it came close as the air followed its passage. Towards her and away, towards her and away, with each passage she was caressed by the blades wake, and with each passage he got closer.

  His breath was hot on her ear. The smell of decay seemed to crawl over her shoulder like a small moldy beast. She closed her eyes, but the sight of the snake was in her mind, the terrible snake carved into that blade. Gritting her teeth, she opened her eyes. There was no escape.

  Then he struck. The blade sliced effortlessly from the waistband of her skirt up the back of her blouse. The thin material offered no resistance. She forced herself to remain still, as still as the pole she was tied to, still he caught the edge on her shoulder. Spasming forward as far as her restraints would allow, a gasp of pain released from her lips. Somehow the pain helped center her, bringing her back to the present, leaving the nightmare behind if only for a moment. It filled her with enough rage to be strong. The tattered blouse hung from her body.

  Walking back around her, like a lion circling a mouse, he watched. Doris knew he was looking for a weakness, a sign that he could exploit, and she fought to remain calm, to build her anger and to use it as a shield.

  Like a snake he struck out, and ripped the right side of the blouse off her arm. The effort pulled the material down onto her wounds, and Doris shrieked in pain.

  He laughed before reaching out, and removing the left side of the blouse with the same movement. As it cut deep into the bleeding and feverish shoulder she bit down, determined not to scream, and only a gasp escaped her lips.

  Taking the knife one last time, he cut the shoulder straps from her bra, letting it drop to join the shredded shirt on the floor at her feet.

 
She stood, half naked, determined to hold back her fear. The tattoo between her breasts throbbed. She could almost feel the snake moving on her skin. In one of her nightmares the snake had come to life and ravaged her. The dream left her sweating in fear, and she was terrified that it would come true.

  Standing in front of her, he pushed the knife into the waistband of her skirt. The cold surface slid down her stomach, causing her to gasp and squirm. The blade met resistance as it encountered her panties. He wiggled it, allowing it to slip under the material, and into the crisp dark bush of hairs, nestled between her legs. She felt the cold of the blade on her delicate skin, felt it catch on her hair as he made his move. He pressed into the material, the blade slicing through them, the skirt dropping to the floor. Her panties hung, wet and clingy to her thighs. He pushed the blade towards each leg, cutting the material, and allowed them to fall, and join the rest of her clothes in a heap on the cold concrete floor.

  “Now Doris, you are ready to meet, the love of my life, Aldona. That is her mark you bear, and she will be hungry. Well, I think I’ll leave you two ladies to get acquainted.” He winked, spun on his heels, and sauntered away.

  She heard him climb the stairs, a sliver of natural light dusted the stairway with hope, and then the door closed.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Jenny turned over and over in the strange bed. The covers seemed to grab her arms and legs, and held her in a suffocating nightmare. Next to her Rosie’s strong muscular body was tensed in sympathy of her mistress’s stress. The dogs short black nose rested on pure white paws, and she whined each time her Jenny moved. To Jenny the night seemed to last forever, and stretched on and on into those awful hours when darkness claimed the world, and sucked the hope from life.

  Tap, tap, tap.

  What? Jenny woke, startled and fuzzy from a light sleep. She reached down, and stroked Rosie’s silky coat. The dog’s brown and red brindle fur was well hidden in the dark room, with only the flash of white on her head and paws clearly visible. But Jenny could feel she was tensed, and ready for action. Rosie had also heard something