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1

Willow hovers anxiously around the cafe door, peering out, left then right, checking the time and panicking that she has somehow missed him. Her mouth is dry and her knees feel watery as she stares out at the fading light. Maybe he went by already, waved at the cafe and just assumed she saw? Maybe she was looking at her watch and missed him?

‘Can I get you anything, dear?’ the owner, Milly, asks from behind the counter.

Willow looks over her shoulder to see Milly frowning at her, her arms crossed over her apron. Willow is about to say no, when the door opens beside her and Alexa and Bryony barge in. They stop when they see her, their eyes doing that thing they always do so often now it’s becoming boring, scanning her up and then down, before looking at each other and giggling.

‘I’ll have a white coffee please,’ Willow calls to Milly.

She steps towards one of the window seats but Alexa beats her to it, stepping right in front of her to claim the chair, while Bryony slips unapologetically into the one on the other side of the circular table. Willow resists the urge to scream and backs up, her eyes on the street outside.

‘Hi Willow, where’s your boyfriend?’ Alexa asks in a sing-song voice. She’s twisted the front of her hair into little rows, each secured with a sparkly grip. Willow wants to pull one out and jab her in the eye with it.

‘What?’

‘Your loser boyfriend, Jesse Archer,’ Alexa repeats, twirling a length of hair around one finger while Bryony giggles beside her.

Milly storms over with Willow’s coffee and places it on a nearby table. ‘Sit down, will you? You’re making the place look untidy.’ She fixes her perpetual glare on the other girls. ‘And what do you two want? I’m closing in ten minutes!’

‘Strawberry milkshakes,’ Bryony responds. ‘Please.’

Milly skulks away and Willow is forced to take a seat at the table where her coffee was placed. Milly was not gentle placing it and half of it has been chucked across the tabletop.

‘You got to admit he’s the hottest one though,’ Bryony is saying to Alexa, who responds with a grimace. ‘Oh, come on, he is! He’s hotter than Steven and Dominic, anyway. He’s like a young River Phoenix!’

‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ Willow retorts, her eyes on the window. She picks up the coffee and gulps it, burning her throat. She needs to be ready when Ralph walks by, but with Bryony and Alexa watching, she knows she can’t make it look too obvious. She doesn’t even want them to see Ralph. She swivels in the chair, allowing her cloak to drape to the floor and smiling as both girls eye her warily. ‘And why the hell are you two hanging around with Steven and Dominic anyway? They’re so braindead they make you two look half alive.’

The girls’ mouths fall open and Willow smirks at their reaction to the insult. Her eyes flick to the window. Come on, Ralph!

‘They’ve got a lot going on for them actually, Witchy Willow,’ Alexa spits, leaning over her table to further impress the point. ‘Steven works for his dad, so he always has money! They’re taking us to the cinema later!’

‘Picking us up from here,’ adds Bryony. They both look like they’ve modelled themselves on the girls from All Saints, with khaki coloured combat trousers and tiny cropped tops.

Willow glances at her watch and starts to panic. If she’s not out of here before Steven and Dominic arrive, this could get out of hand. Four people who have always hated her and two of them used to pal around with Jesse – it could get ugly.

Every time she feels a surge of bright fear, she thinks of Paddy, pictures his face and feels her resolve harden. Paddy had kept that book a secret for a reason – if they can get their hands on it then maybe it will lead them to him.

She gasps suddenly as Ralph comes into her line of vision. He has a book under one arm and she can tell that he’s trying very hard to walk as casually as possible, but there is something stiff and robotic about his movements as if he is having to think extra hard about each step and breath. She knows how he feels. He walks past and lifts his hand in a wave.

She waits a few more agonising minutes, forcing the coffee down her throat before leaving some coins on the table. Then she gets up and walks out before Alexa and Bryony can say another word.

2

Jaime, keeping her eye on the time, tries to picture in her head where Ralph could be by now. He should have waved to Willow and moved on. He could be on Taylor Drive by now if he’s walking fast. On the stage, the band are playing – some gentle melodic guitar music and lyrics about coming home. The pub is full. People are packed in to enjoy their Saturday night.

Jaime watches them and finds it hard to believe she has only been in Black Hare Valley a week. In that time she believes she has made some awesome friends, but only because she’s inadvertently discovered that the town has some dark secrets.

She watches Sergeant Mayfield now – out of uniform in a cable knit jumper and dark trousers, he looks a bit like a cheerful sea captain with his white hair and beard. He’s leaning on the bar between Mr Bishop and Mayor Sumner. Eugenie Spires and Sylvia Gordon are huddled together at a nearby table deep in conversation, and Mr Hewlett is standing with Vicar Roberts a little closer to the stage, Mr Hewlett with his arm loosely around Tahlia’s waist. Jaime can’t help thinking they make an odd couple. Thalia is round and loud with brassy blonde hair and a nose-ring. In her company, Mr Hewlett looks anxious.

Just then she is disturbed from her thoughts by her mother’s large belly. ‘Shift over, love,’ she says, smiling down.

Jaime budges along the bench and her mother squeezes in and holds an open bag of crisps between them. ‘I’m starving, I am. They’re pretty good, aren’t they?’ She gestures to the band.

‘Yeah. They’re awesome.’

‘Kind of thing you like?’

Jaime smiles and looks away. She imagines this is her mother’s way of checking in with her, making sure she hasn’t strayed too far into uncommunicative teenager territory.

‘Yeah, they’re really good, Mum.’

‘Did Ralph go home?’

‘I think so. He only dropped in to get a book.’

‘Oh, did he tell you his mum’s good news?’

Jaime looks at her mum. ‘What good news?’

‘Margaret has helped his mother rent a cottage in town,’ Catherine explains. ‘They don’t come up very often and his mum has been saving and working hard for years to move out of the caravan park. Well, one of Margaret’s came up and she’s waived the deposit so they can move in now and not miss out.’

‘Wow.’ Jaime isn’t quite sure what to think or say. Again, her gaze drifts towards the mayor, who is laughing gaily with her head thrown back at something Mayfield has said. They certainly seem close, she thinks. But maybe Margaret Sumner has no idea what sort of man Mayfield really is. Maybe the mayor truly is the wonderful woman everyone says.

‘I know,’ Catherine nods. ‘So generous. She really does have everyone’s best interests at heart.’

‘Wasn’t her mother a mayor too?’

Her mother nods. ‘Yes, she was. It seems to sort of run in the family. They do own a lot of land, I suppose. They’ve been here for a long time.’

‘Have you met whoever owns the farm on the other side of the valley, Mum? Mr Rowan, isn’t it?’

‘No, not yet, love.’ She reaches for more crisps. ‘He used to be on the committee until quite recently. I think his leaving is why they asked me to join.’

‘Oh, do you know why he left?’

‘I’m not sure, to be honest. Someone did mention something about ill health, so perhaps it was that.’

Jaime opens her mouth to ask if Iris Cotton was ever on the committee but something stops her. She’s not sure what. Too many questions, too much interest now, could come back to haunt her later. She keeps her eyes on Mayfield and sees Billy Archer doing the same.

3

Ralph walks briskly through the trees; a strange mixture of wet, claggy mulch and crisp dry leaves crackle underfoot. He is as quiet as possible but it doesn’t feel enough. He moves fast, anxious to get his part done so that he can breathe again. His heartbeat hammers in his chest and his skin feels tight and cold. He reaches for the lowest branch, grabs it, and hauls himself up.

4

Jesse keeps to the shadows. The alley behind the row of shops is narrow and dark but night has not quite fallen yet and the windows glow above him. He keeps to the dark patches, close to the damp walls while the school looms over him from beyond the fading light of the playing fields. Almost two weeks ago he was planning to blow up this school. He, Steven and Dominic had the whole thing figured out – or so he had thought. But the entire time they had been laughing at him behind his back, knowing they were never going to show up.

He can barely believe they were ever friends – it feels so fake now, like lifetimes ago. While waiting for Willow, he thinks of Paddy. For some reason, thinking of Paddy always calms him down. It shouldn’t do, not really. It should rile him up, make him flustered and angry and reckless. But it doesn’t.

He thinks of Paddy and his careful fingers as he arranged the bandana over the butterfly to pick it up. He thinks of Paddy gesturing for Jesse to look through the telescope in his treehouse. The look of excitement and wonder on his face and the husky awe in his voice when he told Jesse he was looking right at Jupiter.

He thinks about Paddy and his glasses and his deep frown and the way he scrutinised just about everything he saw and read and heard, as if everything interested and inspired him. Everything. At school. At home. In town. It had fascinated Jesse; that thirst for knowledge.

He had never cared about school himself; never wanted to know more about anything or anyone. He had never understood those geeks at school trying so hard to get good grades, trying so hard to impress the teachers and parents. Jesse had never had to impress anyone and he’d never had a reason to try hard at anything. He’d never wanted to know how things worked, or what stars were made of, or how gravity worked or what a black hole was… But Paddy had known all those things, and more.

And not in a bragging, big-headed show-off way either. Paddy Finnis had wanted to know things because it excited him. Because he had this genuine thirst for knowledge. Something Jesse had begun to find interesting.

And more than that; Paddy had seen him. Not Jesse Archer the thug or bully, or Jesse Archer the victim, or Jesse Archer the bad boy people pitied. He had seen him. He had seen something else. Somehow, Paddy had been able to push away Jesse’s reputation. He had been able to wipe the slate clean and ask, who are you now? Who are you really? Who do you want to be?

And Paddy had liked him. Jesse is sure of that.

Jesse tries to see that version of himself now in the claustrophobic darkness of the alley way. If Paddy could see him now, what would he see? Bravery, determination, selflessness… Maybe.

He thinks about Paddy as he presses his back into the wall and keeps his eyes trained on the mouth of the alley where Willow should appear. He thinks about that curiosity – how he had to know everything and research everything and figure everything out and he wonders, is that what got Paddy in trouble? Something he found in that book that he kept secret even from Willow? Why hadn’t he shared it with her? Had he sensed some sort of danger or had he been warned? Of what, and by who?

One way or another Jesse needs answers. He has to do this, though the fear of being caught in Mayfield’s house makes his bladder feel weak and his stomach sick, he knows he has to do it. For Paddy.

He hears a noise and freezes, his spine pressed into the bricks. But it’s just Willow with her hood up, scurrying towards him. He breathes out slowly. It’s on.

5

Ralph straddles the bough, lowers the goggles over his eyes and positions the chainsaw. He is sweating despite the cool evening. His hair is greased to his forehead and he flicks it away from his eyes with one hand. His thighs cling to the bough, pressing into it, clenching together tightly as if holding it in place. His knees ache, his muscles are locked. He looks at the branch and the power line below it and hopes it will be enough.

Then he takes a breath, leans forward and gets to work. The noise is deafening but he works quickly, terrified that someone will hear him and come to investigate.

6

The lead singer has his eyes closed and his face is upturned, one hand clutching the microphone and the other balled in a fist against his chest. When the lights go out, the instruments fall silent and the mike whines and cuts out and he takes a moment to realise he is singing alone.

The pub is consumed by darkness, except for the flow of the fire which lights up the crowd like silhouettes. There are oohs and ahhs and a few, ‘what the hell’s?’

Jaime remains seated, stiff with fear.

7

‘You okay?’ Willow hisses as she moves swiftly down to meet Jesse. It feels like there is electricity in the air around them, some sort of energy crackling and whipping. Jesse looks haunted, she thinks, his brown eyes swimming in a pale face as he emerges stiffly from the shadows. He is wearing the Green Day t-shirt again and Willow almost smiles at the sight of it. She had never pegged Jesse for a music fan, and Green Day are one of her favourite bands.

He nods once. They walk down to the other end of the alley and the lights go out above and around them. Willow’s breath draws in sharply. Her eyes swivel to meet Jesse’s. He’s gazing around at the sudden darkness and she can hear his fast, shallow breathing, Instinctively, she reaches for his hand and holds it.

‘It’s okay.’

His eyes are wide but he nods back. ‘Come on.’

She points to Black Hare Road and they walk out from the alley as casually as possible; just two teenagers strolling around town on a Saturday night during a power cut. Nothing to see here. Yet every hair on Willow’s body is standing on end.

8

‘Everyone keep calm!’ Mark’s gruff voice rises above the murmuring crowd.

Jaime’s mum lights a candle and places it on the table for her.

‘We’ve got a few torches,’ Mark says, passing by their table.

People are moving about cautiously. There was a small moment of panic and now its subdued to annoyance and acceptance. The flames in the large hearth provide enough light to make out shapes of bodies and faces, whilst throwing strange shadows on the walls.

‘Might as well go home then…’ Jaime hears people muttering.

‘It’s the whole town,’ someone else confirms peering out of the window.

He did it, Jaime thinks in triumph, then her eyes shift to check on Mayfield. He seems to be downing his pint in a hurry.

The band are laughing as they start to pack up. ‘Hope we still get paid!’ the drummer jokes.

Jaime looks back at Mayfield and is horrified to see he is shrugging on his coat. Mayor Sumner is shaking her head and gestures to her full glass of wine. He nods and waves. Shit, shit, shit.

But Jaime doesn’t have to worry for long. Billy has not taken his eyes from Mayfield and chooses that moment to grab his unsuspecting brother by the front of his denim shirt before sending him sprawling backwards into a table of people. People scream and yell and leap to their feet; drinks are spilled and glasses smash. Chaos follows, and Mayfield rolls his eyes in despair.

9

Ralph stares around at the deep black shroud that has fallen over the town and he can’t quite believe that he created it. Ralph, who has never broken a rule in his life, let alone any laws. Ralph, who always does his best to please everyone. He feels awed by the completeness of it, proud even. There is not a light to be seen. Even the skies above are an impenetrable black.

Black Hare Valley is gone. All he can make out are vague shapes and forms. Nothing tangible. It’s like some kind of magic trick, he thinks as he bags up the chainsaw and scrambles back down to the ground.

10

Jesse is barely breathing as he and Willow walk quickly down Station Road. He wants to break into a run but he knows it would be foolish to draw attention to themselves. The dark surrounds them – it seems to grow and swell, becoming so thick he can barely see the ground beneath his feet.

They pass the station and then Mayfield’s house, rounding the corner quickly so that they are finally out of sight. They don’t speak and Jesse is relieved. His throat is so tight and dry he thinks a croak would be the best he could manage. He pulls a crowbar out of his jeans as they flatten themselves against the house. They both scan the area, ensuring they are alone and then Jesse turns and expertly rams the flat end of the crowbar into the front door jamb. Willow, her lips pressed together and her brow knitted into a frown, watches over her shoulder.

‘Not your first time?’ she whispers, a hint of amusement to her tone.

He shakes his head then presses his weight into prising the door away from the frame. Wood cracks and splinters and in less than a minute, it gives and springs open.

He stares into the kitchen, arms hanging at his sides.

‘I’ll keep watch,’ Willow hisses from behind. ‘I’ll whistle if I see anyone.’

He nods grimly and steps inside with the crowbar dangling from one hand. There is no point hanging around and he doesn’t want to be here a second longer than he has to. So, he finds the stairs and runs up two at a time. A peek around two doors reveals Mayfield’s bedroom and a small, neat bathroom. The third door reveals something far more interesting.

His mouth drops open in awe. He wishes he had Willow’s camera because he’s quite sure no one would ever believe this if he told them.

11

The crowd move back as the two Archer boys grapple on the floor. Jaime is on her feet watching the fight but keeping Mayfield in sight. He wastes no time running over and makes short work of separating the brothers. It’s Billy who is currently on top, smashing his fists into Wyatt’s face and body. Although bigger, Wyatt appears slow and confused and its clear who has the upper hand in this duo.

Mayfield seizes Billy Archer and throws him away from his brother. He flies towards the bar where people leap out of the way as he rolls to a stop against two stools. Mayfield nods in thanks as Mr Hewlett and Mr Bishop wade in to grab hold of Wyatt, grabbing one arm each. He’s bloody and confused and obviously no threat to anyone.

Mayfield focuses on Billy. He grabs the back of his shirt, hauls him to his feet and pins him to the bar. The crowd looks on, amused and impressed as Mayfield wrenches Billy’s arms behind him, and produces a pair of handcuffs from his coat pocket.

Jaime only has time to wonder what sort of policeman carries cuffs with him when he’s off duty, before she realises that Willow and Jesse are almost out of time. He’s going to arrest Billy and take him to the station.

12

The room is small but packed tight with electrical equipment. None of it is working because of the power cut but Jesse steps forward and runs his fingers over screens and keyboards. He guesses this is the control room for Mayfield’s extensive spying operation. This is what the cameras feed to.

They’re all set up on an L-shaped desk and under the desk are several small metal filing cabinets. Jesse shines the torch on them, kneels and starts yanking the drawers open. Each one contains ring-binders full of files, papers and photos.

You creepy bastard, he thinks in shock, easing each one shut when the drawers reveal yet more binders. There is nothing else and as far as he can tell, nowhere to hide a book the size of the one Paddy had spread out on his lap.

Then he looks up. He sees a square on the ceiling – a loft hatch. Jesse puts the torch between his teeth and climbs on to the desk, taking care not to step on any keyboards. He reaches out and pushes up with one hand. The hatch opens and he is able to slide it to one side. He leans out a little further, one hand planted against the nearest wall to steady himself and the other reaching around inside the hatch. His fingers graze something – some thick cloth and when he tugs it, he realises it is wrapped around something heavy. Jesse smiles in relief. The book. It has to be.

Willow paces silently outside. She scurries back and forth, checking behind the station and creeping out onto Station Road to check for company. But the town seems still and quiet, like the darkness has made everyone fall asleep.

It feels like hours but it is only a few minutes before Jesse returns – hair damp with nervous sweat as he strides towards her, holding a bundle in his arms. Shocked, Willow receives it when he pushes it into her chest.

‘Take it to the treehouse for the photos then get it back. Quick as you can.’

‘What about you?’

‘I’ll wait here. Go.’

There’s no time to argue. Willow holds the heavy bundle to her chest like a sleeping baby then takes off like the wind. She crosses over Station Road, driven forward by fear. Immediately she sees the open back gate to the Finnis garden and she squeezes through allowing one last glance over her shoulder to check no one is following.

The back garden appears tunnel-like in the darkness, narrowed further by tall, overhanging trees. She reaches the treehouse and hauls herself up the rope, only feeling safe once she has scrambled to the far side. She pulls out her torch and places the bundle before her.

Crouched on her knees, Willow unfolds the cloth and runs the torchlight over the book. It must be the one Paddy was poring over in secret, the one he found in the shop, the one he kept secret even from her. Her fingers are trembling as she runs them over the leather bound cover. The leather is a deep reddish-brown and its scarred by cracks and creases. There is no title and no author, just some strange black marks, almost making a pattern around the edges.

She pulls out the camera and takes a photo, her fingers reaching up to catch it before it drops. Knowing she might not have much time, Willow opens the book and focuses the camera on the first few pages. They are thin, fragile and yellowed by age. The writing is tiny and illegible and the symbols make no sense. She feels a swell of disappointment and frustration but then she remembers Jesse waiting in the dark and starts taking photos as fast as she can.

13

Sergeant Mayfield leaves Wyatt Archer for the landlord to admonish and steers the cuffed Billy Archer out of The Hare and Hound. Over his shoulder he sees Catherine Aster opening a First Aid kit up on the bar as Wyatt slumps groggily in a chair. Half of the pub have left and gone home.

Mayfield lets the door bang shut behind him and propels Billy Archer forwards, marching him across High Street towards Alfred Lane. He doesn’t give much thought to Wyatt still in the pub; he’s never interested Mayfield very much – too slow and dim, incapable of independent thought. But the elder Archer has always been as much of a hooligan as the youngest one. He’s a thieving, poaching, fighting, dishonest piece of shit and again Mayfield wonders at the unfairness of it all. A good boy like Paddy Finnis versus reprobates like the Archers.

He supposes he can see Margaret’s point of view to some extent. You can control criminality; it’s not difficult at all but Mayfield would rather eliminate it and would have a lot of fun doing so.

‘On my night off, you irritating piece of scum!’ he hisses over Billy’s shoulder. ‘Thanks a lot. Your family are nothing but trouble around here. Always been the same.’

Billy Archer just chuckles. ‘Our pleasure, Sergeant. You’d be bored without us and you know it.’

Mayfield considers this could be true… Although there are obviously other unsavoury and untrustworthy characters in town, the Archers are renowned for causing trouble wherever they go. He decides to shut Billy up. He doesn’t like the smugness of his tone.

‘Useless boys,’ he purrs, pushing his face next to Billy’s. ‘Dirty drunken father, no good to anyone and what about your poor old mum, eh? That really was a tragedy watching her unravel over the years.’

Billy falls silent, his movements stiff as Mayfield directs him onto Station Road.

‘It was such a slow process,’ he goes on. ‘I remember when she was such a sweet and lovely young girl. Christ, your old man was obsessed with her back in the day. Followed her around like a lovesick puppy he did. She should have run a mile but for some reason she fell for the piece of shit and then it all started falling apart after she had you lot, didn’t it? Motherhood really wasn’t for her, that’s for sure.’

‘Shut up,’ Billy says through clenched teeth.

‘I mean, she got worse with each one, didn’t she? The depression. Not going out. And by the time Jesse arrived she could barely care for herself let alone a new baby. Everyone tried to help her though. Do you remember that, Billy? Neighbours doing your washing, townsfolk dropping off food. But everyone knew at some point she would crack.’

They cross the road and approach the station. Billy drags his feet. ‘Shut up,’ he growls again. ‘You’ve got no right to talk about her.’

Mayfield lets out a hungry growl and pushes Billy into the wall. He turns his face just in time but gasps as the brickwork scrapes into his forehead and cheek. Mayfield places his forearm against the side of his head and holds him in place.

‘I can talk about whatever I like,’ he snarls. ‘For instance, I’d quite like to talk about your youngest brother and how all I have to do is snap my fingers.’ He clicks his fingers in front of Billy’s face, making him jump. ‘And he’ll be taken into care. Into our care. Mine and the towns.’

‘You can’t do that…’ pants Billy.

‘Yes, I can. We can. The mayor is particularly keen to help him, you know. She’d quite like to get him away from your grubby criminal clutches and give him a chance. Maybe he has a chance of a new start, eh Billy? A rebirth?’

Billy doesn’t answer, which is wise as far as Mayfield is concerned. His ribs are being crushed against the wall so he screws up his eyes and waits for him to finish.

‘I don’t agree myself. Don’t see the point. It’s too late for him – he’s a cancerous stain like you, Billy. But the mayor thinks it’s worth a shot. Just one click of my fingers, Billy, just one!’

14

Jesse hovers outside the back door. He’s pulled it shut behind him just in case he has to suddenly take off. His senses are in overdrive; every tiny sound or possible movement is amplified by a million. He can hear his own ragged wheezy breath and his heart is pounding in his ears like a drum. His eyes feel too wide, the eyeballs aching in their sockets. His nostrils are working, his mouth hanging open, but no amount of oxygen seems capable of easing his panic. His body wants to run. His feet are arching up and down as he lingers at the door and tries to picture Willow on her way back.

The soles of his feet bounce up and down and his knees bend, urging him to run. Suddenly, he hears a noise around the other side. Does he risk a look? What if it’s not Willow yet? He figures it’ll take her at least ten minutes, if not fifteen, maybe even twenty. She needs to get to the treehouse, take as many photos of possible in the relative safety it affords her, then get back. Plus, the book was big, heavy.

He swallows, grabbing his head momentarily, squeezing his eyes shut and willing himself to calm the hell down. If it’s not Willow, he will need to know anyway. He’ll need to run or hide or stay put but either way he needs to know. He listens again and thinks he can hear voices.

Slowly, Jesse moves around to the side of the house, inching along with his back pressed into the bricks, stopping and starting and listening for clues. He pauses at the next corner, barely breathing, straining his ears to listen. He hears another noise. Footsteps maybe. A grunt or a gasp.

He can’t bear not knowing so he closes his eyes again briefly, counts to three in his head then opens them and peers around the corner and into the street. What he sees makes his blood run cold. It’s Mayfield with Billy in handcuffs.

Jesse ducks back and runs to the back door. He presses his hands to his mouth, swallowing screams, he’s here, he’s here, oh fucking fuck, he’s here! Then he drops his hands, forcing himself to focus. He still has time. Mayfield has obviously arrested Billy – he can’t just sling him in a cell. He’ll have to process him, won’t he? Fill in forms? That takes time. He still has time.

Calm down, he tells himself, calm down and think of Paddy. You can do this. There’s still time. And suddenly, there are footsteps again – fast, then slow, then fast again until Willow comes reeling through the darkness clutching the wrapped up book.

‘He’s in the station!’ she hisses, practically throwing it at him.

‘I know. I’ve got time. Did you get enough?’

‘Think so. Go!’

Jesse opens the door. ‘Get out of here,’ he says, flicking his head towards the darkness. ‘Go another way home and don’t let anyone see you.’

‘But what about you-’

He slips inside. ‘I’ll be fine, ten seconds tops. Go!’

She starts to move then stops. ‘Remember to meet at the ruins tomorrow? Ten?’

He nods then watches her turn and run in the opposite direction before closing the door gently behind him. As he takes the stairs, Jesse imagines Mayfield next door; unlocking the cells, uncuffing Billy, doing the paperwork and he knows he has time. It’s seconds. Three on the stairs, two getting the hatch open, one shoving the book back in, two more closing the hatch and getting down, two more on the stairs…

He’s nearly there; nothing went wrong, he didn’t trip or stumble or drop the book or break the desk or anything like that. He’s done it and he’s nearly there. He runs for the back door and can’t stop his feet from continuing to move forward even when he sees the monstrous form filling the space in front of it. He can’t even see the door, Mayfield is so big, so wide, so impossible.

Jesse’s eyes widen in horror, his mouth stretches into a silent scream and everything seems to happen in slow motion. He tries to stop but he can’t. He slides along the floor in a skid, arms flailing helplessly.

As he looks up into Mayfield’s rage-filled face he sees the monster within, and somehow he knows, somehow it all makes sense. He was the one stalking him that night, he was the one who left the footprint…

He stands there, a man, blue eyes demented with fury, mouth a red-lipped snarl standing out like a bloody kiss between his moustache and beard. He clutches his police baton in one hand and suddenly he swings it and it crashes into Jesse’s legs, stealing them from under him. He hits the floor, his spine tingling with shock and his head bouncing against the hard tiles.

And above him, the man roars.

It is not a human sound. Something else escapes alongside Mayfield’s ordinary voice. Something dark and guttural, something cold, hungry and primal. Something inhuman.

The roar causes Jesse to press his hands over his ears and screw up his eyes. It echoes inside his brain, ricocheting around inside his ear canals. It is so loud his ears are ringing with it. He can’t think, can’t move, can’t process what he heard.

Then, the atmosphere shifts and Sergeant Mayfield is standing over him, breathing fast, his head low on his shoulders. His top lip lifts in a parody of a grin. He shakes his head slowly, feigning disappointment.

‘You’ve done it now, boy.’

Jesse scrambles backwards, keeping his eyes on Mayfield but the sergeant moves fast, swinging at him again, this time the baton catching his shoulder. He grunts in pain and tries to roll away but Mayfield grabs the front of his shirt and yanks him to his feet before slamming him into the kitchen wall behind. He gasps, but barely has time to recover before Mayfield flicks his wrist again, striking his ribs with the baton. He crumples.

Mayfield keeps hold of him but lets him sink to the floor. ‘What’re you doing in my house, you filthy little shit?’ he growls into his face.

Jesse breathes through the pain. ‘Nothing! Sorry! Just mucking about, please…’

He can already feel the pain before the next blow makes contact. The baton again, a short sharp smash of the same ribs. He thinks, he’ll kill me, he’s going to kill me.

‘You’re done,’ says Mayfield, then, letting go and standing over him. ‘You are done.’

He raises the baton and Jesse curls up, tries to cover his face, then changes his mind and wraps his arms over his ribs instead. The baton comes and he sees too late that it’s coming straight for his skull.

15

Mayfield leans over the silent body, watching. He kicks a leg. Nothing. There is a smear of tacky blood on the end of his baton. He steps back and walks around the kitchen slowly, inspecting his belongings. Nothing appears to have been touched, moved or broken. Satisfied for a moment, he moves into the lounge and checks there. Everything is as it should be.

He thinks about his surveillance room. But of course Jesse already knows about the cameras. Perhaps he was hoping to sabotage them… maybe he caused the power cut?

Mayfield goes back into the kitchen, kneels beside him and checks he is breathing. He then pulls his wrists in front of him and cuffs them together. Just in case.

He leaves the room again and plods upstairs. He checks the bedroom and bathroom but they appear undisturbed. He is more concerned about the surveillance room and he opens the door cautiously, almost expecting another rogue teenager to come barrelling out on him. When nothing happens, he shines a torch over every inch of the room and can’t find anything amiss. What the hell was that boy doing? Maybe he didn’t even come up here. Mayfield shines the torch on the carpet looking for telltale footprints but he finds nothing.

His eyes swivel upwards. The hatch. The book.

Shit.

Maybe the Finnis boy told him…

But no… that’s not possible. It doesn’t make sense. Then another thought: maybe the other boys told him, caved in to pressure and blabbed? Mayfield reaches up, slides the door to one side and feels around for the book. When his fingers touch the soft cloth its wrapped in, he sighs in relief and closes the door on it again. It’s still there.

So, what the hell was Archer up to?

He thinks about the power cut, followed by the fight in the pub – coincidences or events set in motion to distract him? He exhales slowly through his nose, mouth pursed, then he hurries back downstairs and decides to call Hewlett.

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Thanks for reading!

Please feel free to leave a comment letting me know what you thought of this latest chapter.

NOTE: Please remember this is NOT the finished version of Black Hare Valley Book 1. This book has not been to my editor yet or even my beta readers. There will be typos, grammatical mistakes, and sentences that need rewriting.

COMING NEXT THURSDAY: Chapter Fourteen “The Black Hare.”