In the Light of Madness (43 page)

She inched her way along the dark corridor and found her way to the staircase. She crept up as quickly as she could, anxious for Vera not to be warned of her arrival.

Listening to Vera’s voice, she mounted the tiny wooden staircase and groped her way to the entrance of the attic. Although the door was closed, chinks of light shone through the cracks in the wooden door. Wednesday strained to see if she could hear her mother’s voice, but all was quiet apart from Vera’s periodic responses to Lennox.

Wednesday put her ear to the door. Vera had stopped talking and Wednesday could not detect any sounds of movement. Wrapping her hand around the handle, Wednesday gently turned the white ceramic knob and opened the door until she could peer through the gap.

Her eyes had to adjust to the intense light in the room. Gradually she saw Vera standing by the full-length window. In the corner furthest away from her, she spotted a crumpled figure huddled under a blanket.

Wednesday took a deep breath and entered the attic. She looked towards Vera and called out her name. Vera swiftly turned her head then glanced in the direction of the far corner. The bright lights glinted off the butcher’s knife she was holding, and cast deep shadows allowing the evil in the room to multiply.

Vera glared at Wednesday then rushed towards the huddled figure. “I couldn’t save her,” she said, pointing the knife in the direction of Joan.

“How did you try and save her?” asked Wednesday, shuffling forward almost imperceptibly.

“Re-birthing of course. That’s the way for people to be cleansed and purified to move forward.”

Wednesday’s puzzled look made Vera smile. With one hand on the knife and the other on her abdomen, she tilted her head and stared at Wednesday. “You have questions, I can tell.”

“What does re-birthing involve?”

“It involves wrapping someone up tightly in a blanket, then lying on top of them to mimic being in the womb. They have to fight their way out of the birth canal to be re-born, without the remnants of trauma from the first birth to cloud their character.”

The blanket shifted and both Wednesday and Vera looked towards it. Wednesday bit her lip; it was too soon to make a move.

“Who is present when you do this?”

“I think you already know one person. But he is weak and no longer worthy of my affection.”

“You mean Colin Pollock.” Wednesday inched forward slowly. “I’d feel happier talking to you if I could come closer.”

“Stay where you are. I’m in charge here,” Vera hissed as she brandished the knife’s thick blade in her direction. “You asked who else was there. Would it surprise you to know that the mothers were there? Mothers are essential at a birth after all.”

“Emily Dolby and Judith Wright were there?” Wednesday replied incredulously.

“Emily was a lot more functional than Judith, but they’re all the same. They watched as their child struggled in the womb—reliving that fateful day that would change their lives forever.”

“Was killing the boys an accident then?”

“I’m not sure. I hate the people around here with their perfect lives as parents. I wanted to be a parent, but my husband was too focused on caring for God’s children to have one with me.”

“Is that why you set him up, led us to believe he was guilty.”

Vera laughed and said he deserved it. The blanket moved again, and Wednesday could no longer resist.

“Let my mother go. You don’t need her in here.”

“What do I get in return?”

“What are you asking for?”

“I want to keep my baby. I want to finally be the mother I’m supposed to be.”

“You won’t be able to keep your baby in prison, if that’s what you’re angling for.”

Vera’s legs stopped supporting her for a few seconds. Her head dropped so she could see her burgeoning belly which she rubbed in a circular motion. The light caught a silver globe hanging around her neck.

“My husband and his god have made me be this way. If the deaths were accidents I’d get to keep my baby, right?”

“What about Claudia’s death. How was that an accident?”

“She deserved it. She was blessed with a baby, and she flushed it out, caring not for the life of the unborn. She had to be punished.”

Vera recounted how Colin Pollock knew Claudia’s parents would be away, and so he faked his car breaking down and requested to use the phone. “He drugged her and took her to the rambling hut, where I was waiting. He thought we were going to cleanse her through re-birthing.” At that moment, she chose to let out a long sigh. She recounted how she found beating Claudia very therapeutic and soothing.

Feeling the moment was right Wednesday moved towards her mother as Vera backed away towards the balcony. Joan stirred on Wednesday’s touch. She felt clammy and appeared drowsy, unaware of her surroundings. Wednesday helped her mother to her feet and guided her to the attic door where an officer was waiting to take her to the attending ambulance.

Wednesday found she was able to move closer to Vera, close enough to smell the hint of vomit that followed her around.

“You know there’s no way out for you, you’ve killed three children. You won’t be allowed to keep yours.”

Wednesday held her hand out which only made Vera move a leg over the balcony rail, so she was perched precariously on the rail.

“Where’s George?” she asked.

“I’m here.” His voice came from the doorway.

“See what you’ve done to me,” she said, turning to look at him. “I’m going to take you down with me. It’s your fault these things happened and there’s evidence all over the vicarage linking you to the crimes. Your name will be blackened.” The bitterness in her voice was palpable.

“I have a solid alibi for the nights of the murders, Vera,” he said as he leant against the door frame, wringing his hands. He was dressed in casual clothes, and smelt of soap.

“Is God your alibi, you miserable excuse for a man?”

“No, my partner and child are. I have a three-year-old son whom I visit regularly. Nancy has always known about you and has been understanding about the situation. I didn’t know how to leave you, but you’ve helped me with that conundrum. I’m also leaving the Church to be with my family. I will serve God another way.”

Vera gasped for air as the reverend’s words sunk in. She held a hand to her throat, so the sapphire in her engagement ring glinted in the harsh light. “You . . . You have a family?” Vera’s high-pitched voice grated the air, and the pain of what she had heard seized her chest so hard she struggled for breath.

“I do, but I’m suffering with the guilt of suspecting you of doing something nefarious and not saying anything to the police. All the rumours in my last parish were because of you. It was never to do with me. I should have spoken up and now these deaths are a heavy burden I’ll have to carry in my heart forever.”

Wednesday watched as Vera’s grip on the rail got tighter, and her hips shifted further over the rail. The reverend’s contribution was literally sending her over the edge. Wednesday needed to re-focus Vera’s attention on her.

“Was it you who left Scarlett Willow cryptic messages?”

Vera gave a short, mirthless laugh. “I thought I’d have more fun with your sister, but she holds madness within her that translates her fear into nothing but smoke. I thought I could unbalance her mind, but I failed.”

Wednesday refrained from answering back and signalled to the reverend to back away.

“I hate the very air you people breathe. The ungrateful and selfish mothers deserved to lose their kids. They couldn’t cope with teenage tantrums. I gave them their freedom back and this is how I get thanked—hunted like a witch.”

Vera hoisted her other leg over the rail. “I won’t let you take this child from me.”

Wednesday lurched towards her, arm outstretched, but she was too late.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Maria Jones knocked on Wednesday’s office door.

“A call has come in, a suspected suicide. Here’s the address. Hunter wants Lennox to go with you.”

It was another day of constant drizzle, and the ambulance was still outside the house when they arrived. Curtains twitched as they walked up the path to the already open front door.

They found James Dolby standing in the hallway with one hand twisting the hair on top of his head, his eyes red rimmed. He registered their presence after a few minutes.

“I can’t believe this. I feel like my life is spiralling towards an abyss.”

“Could you tell us what happened?”

He stretched out his arm and handed Wednesday the suicide note left by Emily. In it, she explained her rationale for seeking help from Vera Olong, who seemed to empathise with her difficulties raising a difficult teenager. Vera’s suggestion seemed harmless enough, rather like acupuncture. She was so convincing, leading her to believe the re-birthing session would cleanse Tom’s soul.

Emily went on to describe the harrowing session, where she witnessed her son struggle under the blanket until ultimately, she and Vera had crushed the very breath out of him. She wanted to stop the process, but she got swept along with it all, and then it was too late.

The letter went on to ask James to forgive her for never wanting to be a mother, and for being a deficient one when Tom finally arrived. For being only half a wife for him, and for bowing out of life in such a way that God would shun her forever.

Wednesday asked to keep the letter as evidence, until her death was confirmed as suicide.

Wednesday and Lennox left as Emily’s body was taken away, leaving James Dolby standing in the middle of the lounge, staring out the window.

“So much misery,” said Lennox, climbing into the car and reaching for the packet of cigarettes. “Hunter offered you a few days leave to be with your mother, why don’t you take it?”

“Because that would be admitting I’m flawed and couldn’t hack it. Hunter would never forget it.”

Lennox lit his cigarette.

“Don’t you think we smoke too much?” she asked before lighting hers.

Chapter Thirty

Like every year, an opulent Christmas tree stood at the entrance to the church. Everything looked the same except for the new reverend who was greeting his new parishioners on Christmas Eve. He had been warned of dwindling numbers, but he hoped his blemish-free career would encourage people to return.

A man in a dark grey suit wandered up to the church door and hesitated before accepting the reverend’s outstretched hand.

“James Dolby,” he said before quietly stepping inside and sitting in a pew at the back. He bowed his head and said a prayer for his son but not for his wife.

People around him shuffled in their pews, averting their eyes.

The reverend watched as a couple moved towards him, swaying as they walked. As they reached him, the smell of alcohol made him flinch backwards before extending his arm to greet them.

Judith Wright paused to speak to him, ignoring his hand. “I hear there’s free wine on offer.” She sniggered before pushing Des forward.

At the other end of the town, The Crow was crammed with people. Dick Pennymore was happily filling his cash register with money. Rowdy Christmas songs played in the background, and the sound of an occasional party popper pierced through the thick wall of sound. A fire roared and crackled, and groups of young people wearing silly hats and tinsel, giggled and flirted with one another.

In a grey prison cell, Stewart Cleveland sat on the edge of his bunk, with his head in his hands. He contemplated how he had gone from being a headmaster, to a prisoner for fraudulent theft, all thanks to his addiction to gambling. The judge had given him plenty of time to reflect on his actions, and to consider what he could do when he got out.

His cellmate coughed a smoker’s hack and turned over in his bunk, making the whole frame rock. Cleveland wrinkled up his nose at the man’s rank body odour which sat heavily in the air.