High Moor (29 page)

The platform was a solid piece of engineering, secured to the branches and trunk of the old oak with half-inch-thick steel bolts. Branches had been removed at strategic points to allow Steven a three-hundred-and-sixty-degree view of the woods around him. A high-powered rifle with a night vision sight rested in a weapons rack bolted to the platform’s base. A small goat, chained to an iron spike in the ground, waited in a clearing to the west of Steven’s hide.

He had thought about the best way to handle High Moor’s latest werewolf. There were two options. If The Pack were trying to flush John out of hiding, then the effort and expense of setting this trap would have been wasted. They would ignore the goat and go for John. If John managed to survive the attack, then the problem was solved. If John fell to the other werewolves, then they would, in all likelihood, leave the area afterwards, in which case the problem was also solved.

If, however, this had nothing to do with The Pack, and he was dealing with a lone lycanthrope, then the trap should bring it right to him, like it had done so many times before. Again, the problem would be solved and he could go back to what remained of his life.

The sky had cleared earlier that day, and the last of the afternoon sun shone through the trees from a clear blue sky, although the air remained cold with a chill wind gusting from the northwest. Without cloud cover, the night temperature would drop like a stone. Steven imagined the uncomfortable night ahead and did not relish the thought.

“This is the last bloody time. I’m too old to be climbing trees in the middle of the night, waiting for monsters. You hear me, Carl? After tonight, I’m done. You’ve had your money’s worth.”

The only answer was the rustle of wind in the bare branches of the trees and the roosting calls of the birds. Steven settled into the padded seat bolted to the centre of the platform, poured himself a coffee from the thermos flask by his side, and waited for his prey to take the bait.

***

13th November 2008. Treworgan Farm, High Moor. 16.14
.

The last twinkling rays of sunlight glimmered on the horizon and then vanished. It would be dark within the next hour. The moon was due to rise an hour after that. John put the last of his clothes into a suitcase and looked around the room. Everything he needed was packed, along with a few precious mementos that he’d come across. The rest could rot as far as he was concerned.

He lugged the case downstairs and placed it in the hall, next to several other bags, then looked at the closed basement door. He’d failed here. He wasn’t even sure what he thought he could achieve. Steven was right. His presence in his hometown was risky at best. He’d sensed nothing of another werewolf, and Marie hadn't returned any of his calls after their last disastrous encounter. There was nothing left for him here. He'd lock himself up for the night and leave first thing in the morning.

He jumped at the sound of his mobile telephone and dashed across the room to where it rested on the windowsill. The phone’s display showed the name of the caller. Marie.

He picked it up and placed it to his ear, trying to control the butterflies in his stomach and the sudden lack of strength in his arms.

“Hello? Marie?”

“John? Hi. Listen, I’m sorry for not calling you sooner. I’ve been a bit busy, and to be honest, I wasn’t sure how I felt about the way we left things.”

“Marie, I’m so sorry for that. I panicked. I’d had a few drinks and I thought we might end up…well.”

“I thought we might as well. Was the thought of that so bad?”

“Oh God, no. Nothing like that. It’s just that…well…I’ve got something wrong with me. A kind of contagious blood infection. I didn’t want to risk you getting sick.”

“An infection? You mean like Hep C or something?”

“Yeah, something like that. It’s pretty rare. I don’t even think the doctors have a proper name for it. It’s spread through body fluids, and I couldn’t risk kissing you, no matter how much I wanted to.”

“You can catch it through kissing? Is that how you got it?”

“No, I’ve had it since I was a little kid. It’s manageable, but not something I would be prepared to inflict on someone else. I admit, I handled it badly.”

The line was silent for a moment. “So, if you’ve had this since you were a kid, does that mean you’ve never kissed anyone? Ever?”

John’s face flushed. “No. Never. It’s not worth the risk.”

“So…if you’ve never been kissed, does that mean…oh my God, are you still a virgin?”

Now it was John’s turn to be silent. He had no idea how to have this sort of conversation. He’d never needed to before. He tried to sort out the jumble of words and emotions that flooded his skull before he answered. “Erm…technically…yes.”

“Oh, John, you silly bugger. We need to talk. Now. Can I come over?”

John felt the tug of the rising moon in his blood. Somewhere deep inside, the beast stirred from its dreams. “I really can’t tonight, Marie. I know this looks like I’m giving you the brush-off again, but I’m not. Can we meet up tomorrow morning? Maybe grab a coffee or something?”

“John, this can't wait. There are some things I need to tell you. Things you need to know. I’m coming over.”

“No, please. I have to go away tonight. Business meeting in Bradford. I’ll be back in the morning. We can talk then.”

“John, I’m coming over now. See you in a bit.”

“No, Marie, wait!” he said, but the only response was the dial tone. He tried to redial Marie’s number, but the phone went straight to voicemail. “Listen, Marie. Don’t come over here tonight. I’m begging you. Please. Call me in the morning and I’ll explain everything. Just promise me that you’ll stay away from here tonight.”

John put his phone down and massaged his temples. “Great. Now what the hell am I supposed to do?”

***

13th November 2008. Shafto Road, High Moor. 16.43.

Marie disconnected the call and turned her mobile off. John was proving to be a neurotic mess, no wonder, considering his upbringing and lack of human contact. She’d caught glimpses of the real John Simpson at the restaurant, once he relaxed and let his guard down. She wanted to see that man again, to rescue her childhood friend from the prison that he’d built himself. It wasn’t going to be easy though, especially given his reluctance to talk to her tonight.

She realised that she didn’t care. There were a whole lot of things that had been left unsaid, and it was time to get it all out in the open. Time to stop playing games. Leaving it until tomorrow would give John time to build his defences to the point where she might not be able to break through. It had to be tonight. She pulled on her coat, put her car keys in the pocket of her jeans, then opened the front door and stepped out into the night.

The cold air stung her cheeks, and she wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chill as she took the concrete stairs down to the street. The tarmac arteries of the town were clogged with traffic, commuters heading home after the day’s work, or parents taking their children home from school. She crossed the street to the car that she’d been renting.

Something seemed odd about the vehicle that she could not put her finger on until she got closer. Someone had let the front driver’s side tire down. A wooden matchstick protruded from the valve, and she could just hear the last of the air hiss out.

“Oh, that’s just perfect.” She looked up the street and saw a small child’s head vanish behind a wall. “Thanks a lot, you little shit. Shouldn’t you be out playing in traffic?”

Despite her annoyance, she couldn’t help but be amused. She’d done much worse as a child. She opened the boot and pulled back the carpet to retrieve the spare tire only to discover that it was missing.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Marie retrieved the mobile phone from her coat pocket and turned it back on. The display showed six missed calls, all from John, plus three text messages and two voicemails. She ignored them and scrolled through her contacts until she found the number she wanted, then hit dial.

“Hi, when’s the soonest I can get a taxi from Shafto Road in High Moor? Going to Treworgan farm. Yes please, I'll be waiting in the bus shelter.”

***

13th November 2008. Treworgan Farm, High Moor. 17.48.

The white van drove along the country lane and passed the turning for the old farm. It stopped, reversed back, and turned onto the track. The lights flicked off and the engine stopped. Billy, Lawrence, and Simon clambered out of the vehicle.

Simon pulled on a black balaclava and rubbed his arms. “Why do we have to walk all the way? It's miles, and it's fucking freezing.”

Billy punched him on the arm. “Don’t be a tit. We don’t want him to know we're coming. He might notice us driving a bloody transit van up to his front door. And why are you putting that on now?”

Simon adjusted the balaclava until the holes lined up with his eyes and mouth. “I don’t want anyone to know it’s me. Besides, it’s nice and warm.”

Billy rolled his eyes and turned to Lawrence. “You got all the gear?”

Lawrence opened the van’s side door and removed a large canvas holdall. “Yeah. Got it all. Cable ties, duct tape, hammer, blow torch, hacksaw. Once we’ve used that lot up, we might have to improvise a bit.”

Simon shuffled from one foot to the other. “Are you sure about this, lads? I mean, we could get in a lot of trouble for this. I don’t want to go back inside.”

Lawrence hefted the bag onto his shoulder and looked at the other man with disdain. “Stop being such a big bairn, Simon. We’ll go there, have our fun, and make sure he knows that if he goes to the cops then there’ll be worse on the way. I’ll break a couple of fingers when I’m telling him, to make sure he gets the message.”

“What if something goes wrong?”

Billy slapped Simon on the shoulder. “You worry too much. There’s three of us and one of him. What could go wrong?”

***

13th November 2008. Treworgan Farm, High Moor. 18.04.

John had been a nervous wreck since Marie’s call. He’d tried to call, but her phone was still turned off, and he’d been expecting her to turn up on the doorstep at any moment. Now the moon was rising. He could feel the beast stir inside, testing his defences. In another ten, maybe fifteen, minutes, he wouldn’t be able to keep it in. He had to be locked away before that happened. He couldn’t wait for Marie any longer.

He opened the door to the basement and was about to descend into the darkness when he heard two sharp knocks on the front door.

“Oh, Christ. Not now, Marie.”

He had to get rid of her. There was no time to be pleasant about it. Better that Marie spend the rest of her life hating him than any harm come to her. He almost sprinted across the living room and pulled the front door open.

“Listen, Marie, I…”

The person at the door was not Marie. Three masked men surged forward as soon as the door opened, grabbed John’s arms, and dragged him into the living room.

He lashed out with his feet and tried in vain to free his arms. “God, don’t. You don’t understand. You have to get out of here.”

One of the men took a claw hammer from his pocket and brought it down onto John’s right knee with a sickening crack. “If it’s all the same to you, John, I think we’ll stick around for now. We’ve got one or two things to chat about.”

***

13th November 2008. Treworgan Farm, High Moor. 18.05.

The taxi stopped at the bottom of the lane. “Sorry, luv. That van’s blocking the track up to the farm. I can’t get you any closer than this.”

Marie took a ten-pound note out of her jeans and handed it to the driver. “That’s alright, mate. It’s a nice night. I can walk from here. Keep the change.”

“You sure you’re going to be alright? It’s a good half-mile up to the farm from here.”

She unlocked the door and stepped out into the cold night air. “Thanks, but I’ll be fine. I’ve got your number in case I need to get picked up.”

“You want me to wait here for a while?”

“No, seriously, I’ll be OK. I think this might take a while.”

The driver shrugged. “OK, have a good night, miss.”

Marie watched the taxi turn around and head back to town. When the tail lights disappeared around the corner, she stuffed her hands into her pockets and started the long walk up to the farm.

13th November 2008. Treworgan Farm, High Moor. 18.11
.

The hammer came down again, splintering John’s other knee cap. A wave of pain and nausea washed over him and he screamed in agony. Lawrence grabbed his arms and tied them behind his back with vinyl cable ties. Simon removed a roll of duct tape from the holdall. Billy swung the hammer again, this time connecting with John’s ribs. Two shattered, driving bone shards through his skin.

John could hardly breathe, let alone speak. He felt the damage repairing itself already, the bones in his kneecaps crunched back into place, and the bone shards from his ribs sank back into his body. He spat blood onto the floor and gasped. “Stop, you have to stop. Oh God, you don’t know what you’re doing.”

Billy laughed. “You hear this, lads? We don’t know what we’re doing.” He leaned in close. “I think you’ll find we know exactly what we’re doing, John. This won’t be the first time we had to teach someone to mind their manners.”