Dark Confluence (13 page)

With trembling fingers, she picked up the phone, dialled a number and waited anxiously for someone to answer.

“Lynn Black speaking.”

“Lynn, Amelia here. We need to urgently contact the other ladies.” Miss Crane’s voice was trembling.

“Amelia, whatever is the matter?”

“It’s started again, Lynn...I saw one of them... in my trees! Took my rooster...oh my God, it disembowelled it. I swear upon my Mother’s grave, Lynn,” Amelia was almost stuttering with reaction.

“What has returned Amelia? You’re not making any sense.”

“Them...the creatures,” Amelia took an unsteady breath. “Fifty years ago...remember what happened.”

“Fifty...oh my heavens!” the voice on the other end of the phone faded away in shock.

“We need to ring the others. Supplies need to be bought and distributed...salt, horseshoes, herb bags...do you remember what the CLS did last time to protect our families.”

“Not really, it’s been such a long time,” Lynn fretted.

“Check the minutes of the meetings,” Amelia said, “We’ve got record books going back decades.”

“I’ll go fetch them,” Lynn stated.

“Not yet, we have to keep this quiet and close,” Amelia advised in a whisper. “Only members should know, otherwise we’ll be laughed out of town, not to mention what the State Committee would say!”

“What about the newcomers, the outsiders?” Lynn asked. “There are many new families that have come into the area.”

“I don’t know” Amelia said. “Perhaps once we have sorted out our own, we can get in touch with neighbours, but our own families are our primary responsibility now. We need to get moving, there is no knowing how long this will last.”

*

Senior Sergeant Maxwell was baffled, three mysterious deaths in as many weeks and two unsolved child abductions. He drew his hand through his close-cropped, dark hair in some frustration. Fellow police divers had finally located the body of their colleague who had gone missing two weeks before in the local dam. They had dredged the waters and brought up all manner of flood debris. However, the diver’s body had not been located until much later. It was odd, all his dive gear had gone missing and he was discovered naked, his body wedged in the branches of a submerged tree.

Then police Senior Sergeant shuddered; it was not as if he was unused to death. He was originally from Melbourne and had dealt with numerous dead bodies over the course of his policing career. He had seen bodies as the end-result of accidents, of misadventure, of murder, of suicide, or simply the body giving up due to extreme old age. He had dealt with complete bodies, body parts and bodies so old that they were bloated, rotten or simply bones. He did not enjoy dealing with death, but it was all part of the job.

However, the last three bodies he had dealt with were making him seriously reconsider his career. It was not so much the manner of death – drowning was always nasty, especially when the bodies started to bloat with gas. What had seriously put the wind up him was the look on the faces of the dead. In all the years of policing, he had never seen such grimaces of horror and fear. It seemed as if all three bodies had died in such terror that the marks of their torment were forever incised upon their features.

The coroner too had commented on it; his normally serene complexion blanching. He was a strange, dry sort of chap, the sort of man who would never blink twice around a dead body. He had a macabre sense of humour too, perhaps cultivated in order to be able to do his job properly, and then go home, and sleep well afterwards. Senior Sergeant Maxwell had worked with the coroner a couple of times in the past after bodies had been discovered in the Emerald Hills region. There had been nothing particularly out of the ordinary about those deaths, just two dead bikers from one of the criminal gangs operating drug rings on the coast. Investigations had uncovered that the murders were due to a payback from a rival gang, and arrests were made. Gunshot wounds were messy, but at least you could rationally explain them. The coroner had thought nothing of it. Yet these latest ones seemed to affect him, his eyes looked haunted for a long time afterwards.

To make it worse, over the last forty-eight hours, the Senior Sergeant had been fielding phone calls from the press since the news about the publican had broken. Just as soon as morning staff had arrived for work at ‘The Royal’ the mess of alcohol was found, and then shortly afterwards they discovered the body of the publican in the cellar. The coroner had determined that he had died from a fractured skull from falling onto the concrete stairs, although the small bites on his legs and the piece bitten from his ear could not easily be explained. The coroner had immediately considered rats, although the evidence seemed to point to the fact that the bites had happened prior to death.

The Senior Sergeant had known the publican well. In fact, most townsfolk were on speaking terms with him and his death had hit the town hard. The coroner had assured him that a DNA profile was in process on whatever had bitten the publican, but the Senior Sergeant was not mollified. The publican’s death rankled and he would be glad to know the results of the investigations.

That afternoon, the second corpse had been discovered. Hikers had discovered a backpack and clothing by a local waterfall, and investigating further, had noticed the bloated body of the man partly visible in the pool. Police divers were again called, and the body and evidence removed. The coroner, who had set up a temporary office in Emerald Hills, had advised that the body had been in the water for a couple of days.  At least the cause of death was clear this time, drowning due to being under the influence of a prohibited substance, even if the look of horror on his face could not be explained away – perhaps the hippy had experienced a bad trip. The mushrooms had been impounded as evidence, and a search of the area had located a few more growing, some obviously interfered with. Senior Sergeant Maxwell had been tempted to remove those as well. However, he was not sure if the local national parks ranger would have approved. He marked the location on a map and reminded himself to ring the ranger office as soon as possible.

The phone rang again, interrupting his thoughts. He picked it up and almost groaned aloud, yet another reporter sniffing out a story. The press had scented blood.

*

Chapter 11

Jen sat down to lunch and perused the local paper. She immediately noticed that the death of the publican had been relegated to page three. A photo of the local waterfall dominated the front page of the local rag, followed by a picture of a group of police carrying out of the rainforest a stretcher on which lay a covered figure. Alarmed, she read on. The newspaper report was sketchy, only that an interstate man had been found drowned in the pool, along with a supply of prohibited drugs.

Jen subtly relaxed. Surely, this death could not be attributed to the actions of the Fae. It was just another needless, pointless death brought about by the actions of a man chasing a drug-induced high. The publican was another matter, she had been to town to shop and everyone was speaking of the condition of his body and the unexplained dumping and wastage of very expensive alcohol. After finishing lunch, Jen had immediately started more research, and discovered a member of the fairy race who might be responsible. The clurican seemed in legend to have both a benign and malign nature. Jen wondered what the publican had done earn to warrant his death.

Not for the first time, she cast back to what Fionn had told her over a week ago. That she had to stop what ‘was being done’. What did he mean? She wished she had the presence of mind to quiz him back then. However, back then she was beyond rational thought. She had been caught by her emotions, thought only of the moment, captured by the immediacy of his desires. She knew that the only way to understand what he meant was to call him again, but she knew she could not. She knew that she would succumb and submit. His true name hovered upon her lips, yet Jen still refused to call him. She would figure this puzzle out, there had to be another way. Yet she still thought of him, remembered the taste of his lips upon her own, the feel of his hands upon her skin. Jen wondered if she was under some kind of enchantment, but the way Fionn made her feel...she shook her head in disgust at herself.

It had been over twenty years since she had attended chapel. She had in her new life grown away from the church that she had so diligently attended back home in Scotland. Vaguely, she wondered if she should return, to make her peace with God, to see if the pastor could aid her. Jen turned off the laptop, closing its lid and sat back trying to work out what she should do and if anything could resolve the problem. What
did
Fionn mean? She had no idea what he had meant by his enigmatic statement. It was almost as if he was challenging her to call him again in order to receive more of the puzzle. Instinctively Jen knew that the church could not help. These creatures seemed to be neither angels nor demons, and Jen wondered if they were even subject to God’s laws. Oral legends stated that in olden days the church used to provide comfort or protection for those afflicted, even perform exorcisms. She shook her head again. No, that was then, and this was now, and now was twenty-first century Australia. Jen could not conceive of a country or society so far removed from European pagan fairy-faith, that it seemed impossible to reconcile that fairies could exist here, let alone battled by the Church or contained by its Laws.

She left her office and walked out her front door to get some fresh air and some perspective. Over two weeks had passed since the fury of the storm, and slowly the garden was getting back to normal. A local contractor had removed or trimmed the storm-damaged trees and everything was green and lush. Summer’s bite was waning now and soon Jen would need to order in some stacks of firewood for autumn and winter.

Over the last week, Jen had done a lot of research into the fairy folk and she felt that she was better prepared to deal with them. Her own home had quieted back to normalcy, and with her small armoury of protective charms, the dreams and voices that had disturbed her days before, no longer troubled her. Jen had put salt across her windowsills and doorways, and she had hung horseshoes bought from a local farrier. The salt had been troublesome, as it seemed to make its way into every corner of the house, but Jen considered it a necessary nuisance. Today she planned to visit the New Age shop and purchase some herb bags and bells, since the old stories stated that both were useful in dissuading the attention of the fairy folk.

Yesterday, Jen had rung Tom and told him of her discoveries, and he had assured her that he was making similar preparations. Jen had also mentioned the child vanishings and Tom agreed with her that, perhaps the fairy folk had been responsible. However, what could be done about it bemused him as much as it did her. They had rung off with a promise to keep in touch and to keep over each other up to date with what was going on. Jen thought about their conversation, and wondered why she had kept her meeting with Fionn, secret from Tom. He would be able to suggest some advice, yet Jen felt that Fionn was her secret, not to be shared, even if she deliberately denied herself his presence.

Jen closed her eyes, remembered again his lips on hers, his taste, his scent, and sighed. She knew she was acting like a lovelorn teenager, but after decades of being alone, it felt nice to be wanted, even if the wanting brought heartbreak. Time could heal heartbreak, but not feeling could be no longer. For too long. she had lived a life cocooned from others, sheltered and secluded, but since Fionn had touched her, kissed her, part of herself had woken from dormancy and cried for succour. She did not care that she might be under enchantment; it was just wonderful to feel something, anything again.

*

Chapter 12

Carma had long since finished her lunch break and she drove leisurely back through town to reopen her shop. As she turned into the main street, she looked at all the footpaths and roads that had had been dug up and smiled. The underground power action had developed a life of its own and both council and the power company had been insistent that this should be their primary concern.