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1
Rolling down the hill has unleashed a childishness in all of them. Jesse doesn’t have time to think about it, as an impromptu and undeclared game of tag quickly ensues and he’s suddenly racing at top speed along the riverbank with Willow in hot pursuit.
He’s running fast but not as fast as normal because he is laughing so much, and the more he hears the sound of his own laughter, the funnier it becomes and the harder it is to run. He can feel Willow almost at his elbow and only has a moment to be impressed by her speed, when his foot strikes a clump of thick grass and he flies sprawling onto his front.
He rolls over, slightly winded but still laughing, and suddenly they have surrounded him and he’s being pelted mercilessly with lumps of grass and soil. Roaring with laughter, Jesse rolls away, grabbing at debris and flinging it back at them.
‘You’re it!’ Willow yells and takes off again, streaking along the riverside until she is almost out of sight.
Jesse sprints after her but without much conviction – his feet and legs feel like lead and he can’t catch his breath from laughing too much. Jaime and Ralph overtake him easily, yelling at Willow and giggling at the absurdity of it. Jesse follows, shielding his eyes from the sun with one hand as he spots Willow haring alongside the river. They have moved quite some distance from the ruins, he notices when he looks back over one shoulder.
A huge buzzard circles overhead mewing as it glides and Jesse looks up at its cream underbelly and feels a shudder wring through him. The drink, the weed, the fear, the friendship – they have all wound up tight inside of him and now he feels like he is exploding from the inside. A reckless streak pushes him forward, glaring at the bird until it disappears from view and he hurries after the others and wonders how far they could get as a group if they just kept going.
He glances at the river. He got further than this when he tried to leave town. He made it to the Holloway. Now he stares at the shining water and thinks that if they could just somehow cross the river they would be out of Black Hare Valley. His stomach lurches at the thought but as much as it is terrifying, the thought is also delicious.
Jesse finds the others at the base of the hill. Ralph has been tackled by the girls and is rolling around like a stocky toddler, laughing so hard he can barely breathe. Jesse watches for a moment, hands on hips as he grins at their antics. He has never seen them like this – utterly carefree and silly. He feels sorrow pooling inside of him because he wishes it could always be like this and he feels regret because he should have spent years with kids like this, not kids like Steven.
He thinks about all he has missed out on and sighs. A mewing overhead catches his attention and he sees the buzzard again, gliding in huge smooth circles as it cries out its melancholy song. Jesse walks over to them and they fall apart breathlessly, red-faced, muddied and happy.
He looks up at the hill behind and knows they are on the edge of Rowan Farm. Somewhere further along they’ll find the barbed wire fence with the gap under it. But he turns his attention back to the river. It doesn’t look too deep. Maybe waist high at the most. He licks his lips and edges closer.
Suddenly, Willow is at his side. She’s rubbing her arms and frowning. ‘It feels weird here.’
‘Hey?’
She’s looking around and then up, as the cream-bellied bird of prey continues to circle. Jaime and Ralph plod over and all four of them stare at the river.
‘It feels weird,’ Willow repeats. ‘Cold.’
Jesse pauses and realises that she is right. There is a notable change in the atmosphere – in the air around them – it feels cold and thin and their voices sound strangely small and muffled, yet there is that same fizzing sensation like the one in Margaret’s cellar.
He’s silent for a few moments while he tries to absorb and understand it. Above them the buzzard is still circling and crying out like an injured kitten.
Ralph sighs beside him. ‘Are you thinking about trying to cross it?’ he asks softly, nodding at the river.
Jesse snaps out of his thoughts and looks down at Ralph. ‘Yeah, maybe. What do you guys think? Then we’d be out of here.’
‘It looks freezing,’ say Jaime, anxiously looking between the river and the buzzard. ‘Is that really a border?’
‘Yeah,’ nods Willow. ‘Cross that river on this side and you’re not in Black Hare Valley anymore.’
‘What do you think will happen?’ Now Jaime is looking at Jesse. ‘What do you think they’d do?’
Jesse steps forward, pauses, then steps again. He’s standing on the very edge of the bank – his toes poking out over the mud and just one push or one lean would see him falling in. He breathes slowly, thinking it over and at the same time noticing how cold it suddenly feels around his ankles. He looks down and sees the white mist twisting around his feet. He looks sharply at the others.
‘Do you guys see that?’
They don’t answer and when he looks back, all three of them move back slowly. But they are not staring at him. They’re all staring, frozen, at the hill.
‘There’s someone up there,’ hisses Willow.
Jesse turns sharply and steps away from the river. There is a figure up on the hill, watching them. They’re too far away for Jesse to make out any detail except they seem to be holding onto a walking stick.
‘Bob Rowan,’ he whispers to the others.
They don’t answer but suddenly the buzzard swoops lower and it’s haunting cry seems to fill their skulls. Jesse swears he feels the beat of wings above his head and his instincts tell him to run.
‘Go,’ he says and starts to run.
The others follow close behind and they start fearfully back up the hill towards the safety of the ruins.
2
Bob Rowan stands at the edge of his land and watches the small figures scattering. They look like ants scaling a hill, one slightly in front and the other three close behind. There is a low, pale mist circling above the grass down there and a cream-bellied buzzard, a female, he notes, hovering in the sky. She hangs in the air above the running figures for a moment longer, then swoops upwards, her cries echoing through the hills before she flies off to the right and is gone.
Satisfied, Bob Rowan turns slowly and limps back towards his woods. Bob Rowan grows many things on Rowan Farm; everything he needs to survive up there alone; but mostly he grows trees.
There are circles of trees surrounding his old house: silver birch, ash, beech, hazel, sycamore and oak. Beyond the circles lay arable fields and a small amount of livestock. Unlike Mayor Sumner, Bob Rowan is not interested in making money or owning people. He only grows what he needs.
A dense forest of evergreens provides the final circle: Scots Pine and Douglas Firs, creating a dark thicket, a barrier between his world and the rest. The trees envelope Bob Rowan and a moment later, a large black raven emerges from the treetops and flaps lazily towards the house.
3
From the ruins, they agree to scatter further. Jaime and Ralph decide to track down Nathan Cotton and see what else they can find out about Iris and her family. Willow is going home with the investigation rolled up inside her cloak. It’s her turn to look after it, she says before she leaves, and it’s her turn to try and translate what they have from the book.
Before she scurries off she grabs them each in turn, hugs them tightly and kisses each one of them on the cheek. Then she takes off with grass in her long dark hair. Jesse takes a moment to stash his brother’s tin back in its hiding place, then he leans over to shake the grass and dirt from his hair. He straightens up and grins at Jaime and Ralph.
‘Well, seeing how we can’t get out of here, we better just get on with it, right? I’m gonna go and see my brothers a for a bit, maybe show these pictures to my dad if he’s in. Might see how long I can stay out until the mayor starts hunting me down. Good luck with the Cottons.’
‘You too.’ Jaime manages a weary smile. Then she adds, ‘Let’s do this again some time.’
She means the togetherness and the rolling, and the running and the laughing. She doesn’t mean the strange energy at the riverbank, the thin cold mist or the person watching them from the hill top. She hopes he knows what she means. He fist bumps them both and leaves, hands in pockets as he slouches down the hill towards Taylor Drive.
Ralph dusts himself off and grabs his bike. ‘Okay. Where to first?’
‘The library,’ she replies with certainty. ‘Nathan might be there. I heard him say something the other day about volunteering there a lot.’
‘Miss Spires doesn’t work on Saturdays,’ shrugs Ralph. ‘That’s one thing I learned from living next door to her.’
‘She gives me the creeps,’ Jaime murmurs as they start off down the hill together, veering left towards what they can see of Lupin Lane.
‘Me too. They all do.’ He looks at her. ‘Not your mum though.’
Jaime chuckles, her eyes averted to the ground. ‘Not yet.’
‘Does it bother you? Her being on their committee?’
She releases a short puff of air. ‘I don’t know, I guess that depends. I mean, let’s assume there really is a proper neighbourhood watch committee. I mean, there is one because Mum’s been to a few meetings now and gets on really well with Sylvia Gordon.’
Ralph wrinkles his nose. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah, they seem to be friends,’ Jaime replies. ‘So, I wonder, they might not all be involved. The mayor and Mayfield, Mr Hewlett and Mr Bishop, I’d say yeah. Miss Spires and Miss Gordon, I’m not so sure we have any evidence to suggest they’re on the same level if you know what I mean.’
Ralph nods grimly. ‘Yeah, like maybe some of them are just on a boring old neighbourhood committee and have no clue about the rest of this.’
‘Yeah, exactly. Well, hopefully.’
‘And Iris Cotton and Bob Rowan used to be on it,’ he continues. ‘I never paid attention to any of it until Paddy went missing but you can ask anyone. It’s common knowledge that they used to be once.’
‘Any idea how recently they left?’
‘I think it was a few years ago that Iris left. Bob Rowan, it must be longer. I mostly know of him through rumours. He’s a total recluse these days.’
‘A bit like Iris…’ muses Jaime, swapping a look with Ralph.
‘Yeah, kind of. You think that means something?’
Jaime gives a firm nod. ‘It must do, Ralph. She left that book for Paddy. Maybe because she used to be one of them she knew what was going to happen. She remembered Carol-Anne Radley and the other people from out of town. Maybe she left the committee because of what they do. Then when she tried to warn us, they burned her house down just like they did to Agnes Salter all those centuries ago.’
‘So what do you think that says about Bob Rowan and Iris Cotton then?’
Jaime sighs heavily and flips up her hood as it starts to rain. ‘I think it means they’re both on our side.’
4
Luckily, there is no sign of Steven or Dominic around the blocks on Taylor Drive. Jesse feels a bit like a thief creeping back to the crime scene as he approaches his old home. Or is it still his home? He has no idea, but it gives him a strange and disorientating feeling to be there again. It’s his life, home and everything he knows, yet somehow it isn’t. He feels like a trespasser as he opens the entrance doors and this makes him feel sad.
The smell has not changed in his absence. He sniffs hungrily and finds himself smiling at the ingrained stench of curry, beer, sweat and smoke. There is a broken bag outside the front door – spewing its greasy guts all over the floor and he has to step over it to reach the door.
He wonders who is home; if anyone is; if they miss him; if he’ll ever be able to come back. It all hurts, he notices then – physically, like a heavy punch to the gut that winds you – regret and loss and anger and loneliness.
Jesse opens the door and steps inside.
He can’t smell or hear his father and that is something of a relief. Part of him wants to confront him, have it out, demand to know more about his mother and Carol-Anne, but part of him can’t bear the thought. He’s never been shown love by his father but he doesn’t think he could stand any more outright rejection. Not yet.
Billy and Wyatt are home and they are pleased to see him. They appear in the hallway, slipping arms into coats and slinging bags onto shoulders. Jesse catches sight of their lamping torch inside one of the bags.
‘Hey look, it’s lord of the manor,’ jokes Wyatt, giving him a shove that’s half-friendly and half-not.
Billy’s eyes are gleaming. ‘Hey, so what’s it like up on the hill looking down on us peasants?’
Jesse shrugs and grins. ‘It’s all right. Thought I’d drop by and say hi. Is Dad in?’
The both nod. ‘In his room,’ says Billy. ‘You won’t get any sense out of him. You sure you’re okay with the mayor? I don’t know about her but I don’t trust Mayfield an inch. That guy’s a twisted psycho. Always has been.’
‘Yep,’ Jesse nods. ‘Thanks for the warning but I figured that out myself.’
‘Well, you seem okay.’ Billy’s eyes narrow as he looks him over. ‘You want to join us lamping? I’m putting a hundred on Si’s dog Lunar. That hound can run!’
‘Nah, better not. Just wanted to say hi, and you know, I’m okay.’
‘Okay,’ nods Wyatt, opening the door. ‘We’re meeting in the pub first for a few rounds. Better go.’
Billy slaps Jesse on the shoulder as he passes him. ‘You and your friends, are you still looking for that Paddy kid?’
‘Yeah, we are,’ replies Jesse. ‘But, you know, discreetly.’
His brother looks at him for a long moment and Jesse wonders if he ought to enlighten him – tell him about Mayfield and the mayor and the cellar under the house. He and his brothers have never been close but they’ve tried to look out for each other in their own haphazard way and he knows that when it comes down to it, they would help him if he needed it. But it would be dangerous to let them in, he thinks, dangerous for them all.
‘Don’t lamp near the mayor’s place,’ Jesse calls after them as they leave. They laugh in reply and promise nothing.
He closes the door, takes a deep breath and heads to his father’s room. The door is shut and it sticks when he turns the handle. Jesse puts his shoulder against it and exerts pressure until it pops open and the distinct smell that is his father, wafts out and wrinkles his nose. He taps his knuckles against the wood.
‘Dad?’
There is no reply from the lump under the grubby duvet. Jesse can see his feet hanging out from the bottom. He’s still wearing his boots, the laces trailing against the threadbare carpet. Jesse steps inside. The thin curtains are drawn. They barely keep out the daylight and he can see his father’s dark hair against the pillow as he snores into his arms.
‘Dad?’ he says again, drawing nearer to the bed. He sees how it sags in the middle, how the mattress is bare and stained with vomit and sweat. He sees the debris of his father’s miserable life all around him: broken glass, spilled drinks, crushed cans and overflowing ashtrays. The only decent thing in that desolate room is the photograph of his parents wedding day that still stands on the bedside table.
He goes to it now, crouching beside his father’s sleeping form and gazing into their young happy faces. His mother is pregnant with Billy and holding a bouquet of flowers over her bump in an attempt to disguise it. She’s wearing a cream shift dress and a pretty lace cardigan. Her dark hair is swept up and pinned back at the sides and she wears a dainty tiara on her head. Jesse stares into their faces searching for clues.
His father emits a fart followed by a burp and then lifts his head to cough violently. Jesse sits back, fearing an explosion of vomit, or worse.
‘Dad? You okay? It’s me.’
Nick Archer turns his head slowly. His eyes come into focus and one shaking hand lifts to search his lank hair before gripping his forehead and holding on.
‘Water,’ he rasps. ‘Get me a water, Jess.’
Jesse dashes out of the room, finds a vaguely clean cup and fills it with tap water. He leaps over bundles of rubbish and dirty clothes and makes his way back to his father, who is up on both elbows now, frowning miserably. He mutters a thank you and takes the water, sipping gingerly at first, before gulping it down greedily.
Jesse slips the photos from his pocket and holds them up. He shows them to his dad, one by one, giving him time to run his confused gaze over each one in turn, before moving to the next one.
‘Remember?’
Nick Archer reaches out. He takes the photos and holds them closer to his face. ‘Where’d you get these?’
‘Willow’s mum found them. That’s her in every one, see? She really looks like Willow.’
‘Me.’ Nick Archer squints and pokes a finger. ‘Jesus Christ. So young.’
‘Ralph’s dad,’ nods Jesse. ‘I can’t believe you all hung out together.’
‘Not really,’ Nick mutters, wiping one eye with his thumb. ‘I ran in a different crowd back then.’
‘Troublemakers?’ asks Jesse with a smile.
His dad snorts. ‘Yeah.’
‘Like who?’
Nick scratches the back of his neck. ‘Old Chrissy Burns, you know him. Works at the school now. And Mark Aster. Bit of a prick he was.’
Jesse pauses. This is news to him and he wants to unpick it more, but the mystery of what happened to Carol-Anne is more pressing right now.
‘You all look close in these pictures,’ says Jesse. ‘And look at Mum and her sister, Carol-Anne, she’s the May Queen there. Why didn’t you ever tell me about her, Dad?’
Nick stares at the pictures for a long moment before roughly shoving them back at his son. He drops his head on the pillow and turns onto his side.
‘I forgot.’
‘You forgot about Carol-Anne? You forgot she went missing just like Paddy?’ Jesse tries to keep his voice soft and reasonable. He does not want to accuse his dad of anything. He does not want to anger him.
‘Get me a beer, son.’
Jesse licks his lips. ‘I will in a minute. Did you guys try and look for her, Dad? Back then, when these were taken? Did you try and find her?’
Nick closes his eyes. His face is lined and tired. He has missing teeth and scars. A hard look in his eye one moment and a pathetic one the next. Jesse vaguely remembers him being different, being better. But he doesn’t remember him without the booze.
‘I don’t remember, son. Get me a beer, eh?’
‘So you’ll forget?’ sighs Jesse, standing up. ‘I reckon that’s why you do it, you know. Mum ran away and so did you, only you ran into a bottle. I suppose I should be grateful you at least hung around.’
Defeated, Jesse leaves the room, pulls a can of beer free from the six pack in the fridge and returns to his father with it. Nick sits slowly up, crossing his legs like a child and leaning against the headboard. He opens the beer and sips it with his eyes closed. Jesse takes a moment to look him up and down. He supposes they look alike. The same eyes and hair, the same tall thin build, only Nick has a beer belly and saggy jowls and bloodshot eyes. Jesse resolves then and there never to end up like him.
‘It’s all right, Dad,’ he says then. ‘Maybe you didn’t have a choice. I know about Mayfield and the others. You’ve probably blocked it out and I don’t blame you. But it’s all right. Me and my friends, we won’t give up until we get Paddy back.’
‘You stay away from Mayfield!’ his father barks as Jesse turns away. ‘And the others! That bloody vicar, fuckin kiddy fiddling creep and that bloody sadistic teacher if that’s what he is now! You stay away from them all, you hear me, Jesse?’
Jesse faces him. ‘I need to know what happened to Paddy, Dad. Do you know anything? Anything that can help me? You remember them from back then, don’t you? The committee?’ Jesse steps forward, his hands clasped together, pleading for his dad to give him something. Anything. ‘Did they stop you looking for Carol-Anne?’
Nick lowers his head slowly and covers his face with both hands. Jesse stands and watches his father’s shoulders jerking with each silent sob. He goes to him, cautious but drawn to him all the same. He can feel something in the air between them, a spark of energy, a rising emotion coming off his father that alerts Jesse to danger; to knowledge that he could go either way at any moment, that maybe Jesse has already pushed him too far.
‘Did they stop you?’ he asks again, his hand reaching for Nick’s shoulder slowly.
‘My old man…’ Nick sniffs, dragging his hands down his face, and that’s when his gaze jerks to Jesse and the change happens. ‘Fuckin old bastard, it’s about time I went and danced on his fuckin grave!’ He stands, shakily at first, unfolding his form upon wobbly legs, but Jesse backs off anyway. He’s heard bits and pieces about his late grandfather over the years, none of it good.
Jesse glances at the door and starts to make his retreat. He can feel which way this is about to go and it’s best to get out of the firing line. True to form, Nick lashes out at the nearest thing, which happens to be the rickety bedside table which has been screwed back together so many times, it collapses easily, spilling odd socks and ragged underpants onto the carpet.
Nick roars and sobs and swears and then swipes everything from the dresser. Ashtray, beer cans, takeaway rubbish, it all flies across the room.
‘Fuckin old bastard!’
Jesse slips out and closes the door behind him. He knows there is no reaching his father in that state. Since his mother vanished five years ago, it has been the same thing over and over. Drink, sleep, vomit, scream and rage at his dead father, his missing wife or his useless sons, eventually pass out, and then do it all again tomorrow.
Defeated, he slips the photos into his pocket, and gives the grimy flat a final look before opening the front door. He walks out, straight into the hard, unyielding chest of Sergeant Aaron Mayfield. Instantly, his body heat diminishes; all the warmth seeping out of him to be replaced by the feeling of being drenched in icy water. There is barely any time to react before those forceful, weather-beaten hands have turned him around and wrenched his arms behind his back.
He grunts in pain. ‘What the fuck are you doing?’
Mayfield spins him around and stares at him with cold dead eyes. ‘Little bird told me you tried to skip town again.’
He shakes his head angrily. ‘No I never! You can’t do this!’
Mayfield leans over his shoulder and inhales sharply. ‘Breaking the rules. Trying to leave. And you reek of booze and weed. The mayor is going to be very disappointed in you, Archer.’
Jesse stares at him in dismay. He shakes his hair from his eyes and feels a surge of frustration. ‘Fucks sake,’ he growls, struggling, but it’s no use.
Mayfield opens the door, grabbing his arm. He releases a heavy sigh.
‘What made you come back to this shithole? Look at it. Nothing good can come from a place like this.’ He shifts his gaze and narrows his sharp blue eyes as he drags them up and down Jesse. ‘It doesn’t matter how much she pretties you up, Archer, you’ll never escape the stain of this place.’
With that, Mayfield slams the flat door and marches him down the stairs and outside, towards the waiting patrol car.
‘You break more laws than I do every day,’ Jesse grumbles as Mayfield pushes him into the passenger seat. ‘Where are we going?’
And inside, Jesse is thinking, next time you try this, I’ll be ready and I’m going to get away from you and make you sorry.
Mayfield gets in the other side, slams the door and removes the radio from his top pocket. ‘Let’s ask the boss lady, shall we?’
5
Willow stretches out on her bed with the investigation spread out in front of her. Her parents are both busy in the shop but she has locked her door just in case. She feels a heady mixture of happiness, hope, despair and fear. As always, it’s hard to concentrate with such a cocktail of emotions inside her.
She pictures them from earlier, rolling down that monstrous hill, the earth slamming into them every other second while the sky bore down. Pain and fear and rocketing adrenalin and then the landing, the amazement, the laughing. Willow smiles, remembering them rolling around, clutching their bellies in laughter. She felt a slither of guilt at the time but not now. If Paddy had been watching, he would have been smiling too.
The despair and fear take over whenever she thinks of Paddy. The black hare. It chills her to the bone – takes her breath away, turns her body to solid ice. She sees Jaime’s panicked face and understands it. It’s a horrific thought yet they can’t deny it or hide from it. That’s what they want, she thinks, they want us to give up and every time we get closer to the truth, they put something in our way: a bird, Bob Rowan, a burning house.
Fuck them, she thinks and goes back to translating, fuck you all.
Half an hour later she thinks she has something. Fragments of spells or incantations, maybe, things maybe Iris Cotton was trying to tell Paddy. There is a protective circle spell and another one that stands out. Willow is not sure she has translated it accurately but the gist of it seems to be rebirth and more than that; eternal life.
Shit, she thinks in both fear and triumph, they’re trying to live forever.
6
Ralph and Jaime enter the library attempting to look as innocent as possible. It’s hard to act innocent when you’re as paranoid as they’ve now become. They walk in, heads high, swallowing nervously, both utterly convinced that a black raven has stalked them from the ruins back into town. Even as they lock up Ralph’s bike outside and push through the heavy doors and into the warmth, the raven swoops by on silent dark wings.
Ralph doesn’t voice his suspicions because he can tell that Jaime is having a hard time digesting all this. He supposes he feels the same. He keeps asking himself, what is the evidence? That’s what Scully would be demanding in The X-Files. She never let Mulder get away with suspicions or hunches. Where is the hard evidence? He’s not sure they have anything truly concrete yet and even if they did, what would they do next? Ralph shudders when he considers this – supposing they did get proof, a recorded confession of the mayor or Mayfield admitting they turned Paddy into a hare, what then? Who could they take it to? Who would listen?
Even if they are right and even if they can prove it, what then? What can any of them actually do about it?
It’s warm inside the library and Ralph gestures to the front desk where Nathan Cotton can be seen sorting a pile of books onto a trolley. As they approach side by side, Nathan wheels the trolley out from behind the desk and heads left to the adult section. Jaime leads the way after him and Ralph follows. He’s glad she seems to be taking charge of this particular mission because he really doesn’t have a clue what to say.
‘Hi, Nathan,’ smiles Jaime and he looks over his shoulder, smiling back.
‘Oh hi guys, can I help you with anything?’
‘Just covering for Miss Spires?’ asks Jaime, picking a book up from the trolley and turning it over in her hands.
‘Yeah, just until lunch then I’ve got an afternoon shift at the chemist.’
‘Doesn’t sound like much of a fun Saturday.’
He rests his hands on his hips, nodding and smiling. ‘Ah, it’s okay. I’ve got plans for the evening. You know, pub, friends…’ He shrugs as his face grows red.
‘We just wondered how Iris is,’ Jaime says then, giving a smile of sympathy. ‘It must have been such a shock for her.’
‘Yes, it was.’ Nathan nods grimly. ‘And she’s taken it very hard. Actually,’ he looks around awkwardly. ‘She is sort of missing at the moment.’
Jaime and Ralph swap a wide-eyed look. ‘What?’ breathes Jaime, her voice little more than a croak.
‘Oh, it’s okay,’ Nathan says hurriedly. ‘She does this a lot. My mum says she’s wild at heart, whatever that means. But anyway, she likes to take off sometimes and be on her own. I’m sure she’ll be fine. She always is.’
‘Okay,’ Jaime nods slowly, glancing at Ralph, who raises his eyebrows. ‘Where does she go?’
‘Ah, I dunno, to be honest.’ Nathan starts picking up books from the trolley. ‘Just into the woods or whatever. She’s a real nature lover, you know. Likes to sleep under the stars, that kind of thing. Personally, I think she’s more than just eccentric these days.’ He glances briefly at the ceiling in a ‘what can you do’ kind of gesture. ‘I think it might be dementia.’
‘Well, if we see her, we’ll let you know,’ Jaime says as they turn to leave.
‘Thanks!’ he calls after them cheerily.
Outside, Jaime turns to Ralph. ‘Do you think he could be lying?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Ralph shakes his head then looks anxiously across the street. ‘Jaime, it looks like we still have company.’
The huge raven is perched on a litter bin on the other side of the road.
7
Once back at Hill Fort Farm, Sergeant Mayfield quickens his pace. He takes nothing slowly; not the hurtle up the driveway, or the screeching parking of his car.
‘No police station?’ Jesse mutters as he is pulled out of the car and propelled towards the kitchen door.
‘You heard the mayor,’ is the grumbled reply. ‘She isn’t too happy with you.’
‘No one said I couldn’t see my friends or my brothers.’
‘It’s more the trying to escape and consuming illegal substances she’s bothered about actually,’ Mayfield sneers.
‘Bullshit,’ Jesse seethes as he is bundled roughly into the kitchen. There is no sign of the mayor but Hilda is sat blankly at the kitchen table with Horatio beside her. As Jesse stares at her, she picks up a Jaffa cake and throws it at him. It bounces off of his shoulder then Mayfield drags him through to the pantry.
‘Oh no, no way! Not this again!’ Jesse protests, digging his heels into the floor. He’s no match for Mayfield though, who merely encourages him on by jabbing the end of his baton into his spine. ‘Ow! Fuck you! You can’t do this!’
Mayfield ignores him because of course he can, unlocks the cellar door and forces Jesse down into the darkness. At once his anger and frustration switches to fear – it envelopes him entirely from his head to this toes. He is rigid and frozen as Mayfield lights the lantern and forces him into the centre of the darkened space.
Heavy hands push him to his knees and Jesse feels the ground under them is slightly higher than the rest of the floor. It reminds him of the gentle but grim slope of a freshly dug grave and he panics and tries to move but he finds he can’t. Mayfield is not holding on to him anymore but something else is. Something cold and solid and gleeful is holding him in place.
‘What?’ he shouts, staring around. ‘What is it? What is it? I can’t move!’
Mayfield leans over him with a sneering smile. ‘Some time down here will give you an opportunity to think.’
‘Think about what? What is this? I can’t move! What the fuck?’
‘Power, energy, ghosts, magic. You choose,’ Mayfield replies sarcastically. Grimacing down at him. He walks behind him and removes the cuffs. But Jesse still can’t move. It’s like his brain is disconnected from his body. The messages, the signals to move are just not getting through.
Mayfield appears in front of him again, hands on broad hips. Jesse stares back at him, shaking violently, he can hear his own teeth clattering against each other. He wants to scream but he can’t. He wants to beg but he can’t. The energy, the power, whatever it is, it’s inside now as well as out. He’s a prisoner in his own body. Jesse has never spent time thinking about the possibility of Hell existing but now he imagines it must be very much like this.
‘She wants to keep you,’ Mayfield tells him in a slow, almost drowsy voice. ‘She wants to lure you in, train you up, make you one of them – one of us.’ His brow sits heavily over his piercing blue eyes. ‘She does that sometimes, you know. Collects strays. Ask Horatio.’ His top lip rises into a parody of a smile. ‘But me.’ He sniffs. ‘I say she’s wasting her time. It should have been you, not Paddy and I’d have seen you dead by now. I’d have hunted you down. If it was up to me, you’d be just like that one.’ He turns very slowly and jabs a finger towards the pile of bones in the corner of the first cell.
Mayfield leaves suddenly with no word or warning. Jesse has no idea how long he is left alone in the freezing darkness. He is only aware of something cold clutching him in place. He can barely breathe, barely think. And the smell… Like boiled guts and old vomit.
It’s Margaret who comes for him – bizarrely, sighing and rolling her eyes like an inconvenienced mother. She merely grabs his arm and pulls him to his feet and that’s it – the spell, or whatever it was, is broken. Jesse can breathe again. He moves after her, pounding up the steps then dashing across the pantry floor to escape.
‘Excuse me, I’d like a word with you,’ Margaret says in a sulky voice as she closes the pantry door and turns to face him, arms folded.
Jesse stares around the kitchen. It’s like nothing has changed. Hilda and Horatio are still in exactly the same place and position and as he stares, open-mouthed, Hilda picks up another Jaffa cake and lobs it at him again. This time it smacks him on the nose and he utters a bewildered ‘ow!’ before Margaret takes his arm again with an irritated sigh.
‘Hilda! Behave! Come on young man. We need to keep you occupied.’ She marches him outside and around to the other side where the patio lays. There is a shotgun propped against the wall there and she picks it up and cradles it. ‘Pheasant run,’ she snaps. ‘Follow me.’
He stumbles after her because he has no choice and she marches in a severe and frustrated fashion down the slope and into the pheasant copse.
She stops outside the shed and Jesse peers in at the enclosure. A number of birds are strutting about curiously. ‘I didn’t try and escape,’ he says, not looking at her. ‘I was curious about the river but I wasn’t gonna do it.’
‘Liar,’ she replies disdainfully. ‘Go in the shed please. There are a number of birds I’ve cornered in there and they all need dispatching.’
‘Why?’
She shrugs. ‘Old. Frail. Injured. Take a look.’
Jesse opens the door and peers into the dusty darkness. Margaret is at his side and points out a hen lying on her side in the straw. ‘That one, for instance. Do you know how to wring a neck, Jesse?’
He shakes his head miserably. He can’t get over how the bird is looking at him; right at him. There is a pleading look in those eyes. An almost human look.
‘Pick her up,’ commands Margaret.
He obeys, scooping up the brown pheasant hen and resting her tired body in his arms.
‘Well, get on with it then,’ Margaret snaps. ‘We’ve got plenty to keep us busy.’ She looks to her right and spots a huge raven watching them from a tree nearby. ‘Oh, and you can piss off as well!’ she says and raises the rifle.
The raven lifts up instantly, its keen shiny eyes fixed on her as it flaps up onto the pheasant shed.
‘Don’t think I can’t get you up there you miserable bastard!’ Margaret lines up the shot and closes one eye. ‘Jesse Archer, dispatch that bird right now or I’ll have to start considering Aaron is right about you.’
Jesse swallows tightly, grabs the hen by the head, closes his eyes and pulls until he hears a loud crack. She fires a shot but the raven takes off.
‘I couldn’t move in there,’ Jesse tells her desperately. ‘What was it?’
‘No questions.’ She moves away, gun lowered. ‘I’ll decide what you’re ready to know and when. Now get rid of that lot then clean the shed out for me. Should keep you out of trouble for a while.’
He looks on helplessly as Margaret stomps away through the trees and back towards the house. The pheasant suddenly feels like a guilty secret in his arms, so he drops it in disgust, wipes his murderous hands off on his jeans and examines the rest of them.
There are ten females in total. All old, or limping or with obviously damaged wings. No good for egg production; no good for churning out more pheasants for Margaret and her shoots to enjoy killing. Jesse stares at them all in dawning horror that spreads like a chill across his body. If Paddy is a hare and Mayfield could be something else, then what about these birds? His mind spins and his stomach feels queasy as he thinks of the missing people. Did they meet the same strange fate? How is any of it possible?
As if reading his mind or sensing his hesitance, the pheasants turn to look at him one by one. They blink at him slowly and solemnly.
‘I have to do it,’ he croaks. ‘I have to kill you all.’
Jesse realises that there is no way out. Whatever he does or doesn’t do will soon be seen or heard and reported in some way. So he does it. One by one, as quickly as he can, refusing to look into their eyes, he picks each bird up and pulls their necks.
When he emerges from the shed after cleaning it out, he is covered in dust and straw and feathers and he feels like a criminal, like the trees are judging him, like the very landscape itself is staring back at him in horror and pain.
The sky has darkened – low clouds are slung across the horizon and he’s about to head back to the house when he hears the distant bark of a dog. He would recognise that kind of bark anywhere. The bark of an adrenalin-filled sighthound in full flight pursuing its prey.
‘Paddy…’ he whispers, then starts running.
He races through the trees, bursts out of the other side of the copse then charges down a hill towards the thicker woods at the edge of Margaret’s land. He hears the dogs now, more than one, thundering on swift feet, carrying athletic bodies born to run – tearing after their prey.
He shouts and waves his hands at the glimpses of young men he sees between the trees further back. ‘Billy, no! Call them off! Call them off!’
But even Jesse knows hounds like that cannot be called off anything when in full flight. It’s pointless and useless and all the shouting and waving in the world won’t make a difference. Jesse keeps running, crashing and sliding through wet leaves and clawing brambles. He follows the dogs but he can hear Billy gaining on him.
‘What’s your problem?’ he yells from behind.
It’s too much to explain so Jesse doesn’t even try. He just runs faster. He can see the dogs now – three of them, two sandy coloured and one brindle, racing at top speed after a madly zig-zagging creature. Please don’t be Paddy, he begs, please, please, please.
Finally, he hears it. The dogs catching up with the creature. Barking, yipping, snarling, tearing and amidst it all, screaming.
‘No!’ Jesse surges forward.
‘Christ sake, Jesse!’ Billy is thundering up behind him.
Jesse gets there first. He runs up to find the three dogs standing back, panting heavily as their deep chests rise and fall, proud of the chase and the kill but not interested in eating it.
Billy shoulders past Jesse and whoops in delight as he picks the mangled creature up by one long ear and examines it in utter delight.
‘Oh my fucking god, a white one! Wyatt! Look at this! Jesse, can you believe this shit?’
Jesse stares in horror at the white hare’s bloodstained fur and its empty staring eyes. ‘Billy, what have you done?’
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 Twenty-Four “The White Hare”
The Glorious Outsiders 