Shepherd's Cross (8 page)

‘Mr Wilson seems to have told you a
great deal,’ said Blackmoor, a hint of bitterness evident in the tone of his reply.
‘But he happens to be correct. You see, as a historian, I know better than most
the suffering of the world that has gone before. The torment of mankind is intrinsically
linked with his evolution; there can be no progress without challenge. If, like
me, you are able to accept that sin is as much a part of our makeup as virtue,
you arrive at the conclusion that evil should not be feared. Furthermore, you
come to welcome its presence as an essential ingredient of society. For mankind
could not exist in a world without sin; it is not in his nature. So you see,
the emptiness of Fellside Hall poses no threat to myself or Dr King. On the
contrary, we respect the energy that still lives within its walls; good or evil
as it may be.’

‘Fair enough, but rather you than me,’
said Jennings. He glanced across at Cara and nodded. ‘Well, you obviously have a
lot to be getting on with, so we’ll leave you in peace. We appreciate your time
and wish you all the best with your work. And if you happen to need any Police
assistance, you can contact us down at the village Station. We’ll be only too
happy to help. Although I shouldn’t imagine you’ll be bothered by anybody up
here.’

Blackmoor looked at him and smiled
unconvincingly. ‘Thank you, Sergeant Jennings; that is very reassuring to know.
Rest assured, we will accept your kind offer should the need arise. We intend
to start our research in a week or so, as soon as the weather allows. We have
plenty of firewood and provisions to last us until then.’

‘Very well,’ replied Jennings. ‘In which
case we’ll say goodbye for now.’ He turned away from Blackmoor and began
heading with Cara towards the front door. With a deft turn of speed, King beat
the two officers to it, grabbing the handle before them and courteously pulling
the door open. Cara thanked him for the gesture, and before he had time to
close it behind them, she turned to take a final look at Benedict Blackmoor. He
was standing by the fire with his arms folded. She smiled at him, but he did
not smile back; his expression devoid of the kindness and hospitality of only a
few moments earlier. This time there was no charm in his eyes or hypnotic force
pulling her into him; he was glaring at her in a manner that gave her the
definite impression that she would be wise not to return in a hurry.

Cara and Jennings found themselves
standing alone outside in the falling snow. As they headed to the car, Jennings
commented that although he found the strangers decidedly odd, there was nothing
to suggest anything untoward going on. Cara chose not to reply; while she
didn’t have anywhere near the experience of her boss, she trusted the accuracy
of her intuition. And her intuition was telling her in no uncertain terms, that
this would not be the last time she would be required to pay a visit to Fellside
Hall.

Inside the Hall, Reuben King returned to
the fire and looked at his friend. Blackmoor smiled at him, and after a
moment’s contemplation, he reached out his arms and placed his hands on his
shoulders. He bent forward and kissed King’s forehead, tilting his head to the
side as he whispered into his ear: ‘And so it begins.’

3.00pm:
Ben Price was enjoying a rare moment of happiness as he stood waiting outside
his daughter Chloe’s primary school in Newcastle. The terms of his divorce
granted him the right to spend every other weekend with her. He’d fought hard
for equal access; after all, it was his ex-wife Jane who had left him, but the
judge had ruled in her favour, leaving Ben with no other option than to accept
the limited time he’d been granted to spend with her. He’d spent the whole week
looking forward to this weekend. His job was too stressful, his mortgage too
big, his commute too long, his insomnia too wearing – he’d even started
hallucinating about demonic cats, for Christ’s sake - but all of that paled
into significance compared to the opportunity to hold his daughter and see her
smile. Yep, today he was happy.

The bell rang to signal the end of the
school day. For two minutes, everything remained deceptively quiet, after which
the doors opened and children flooded out like rats deserting a sinking ship;
huge numbers of excitable bodies scampering in all directions, seeking out the
appropriate mother, father, grandparent or child-minder.  Chloe noticed her
father waving at her and smiled at him in that innocent, beautiful way of which
only children and young lovers are capable. Ben’s heart melted, and he knelt
down and held out his arms to wrap around her as she ran towards him. When she
eventually reached him, he hugged her for what seemed like an eternity; no
intention of letting her go, unconcerned with the extent to which, in the eyes
of the other parents, he probably resembled a divorced father with too little
custody of his child.

‘Daddy, daddy, I got a smiley face today
for spelling!’ said Chloe, pointing to a large round sticker stuck awkwardly on
to her coat. ‘Can I have a treat?’

‘Wow, a smiley face! Aren’t you a clever
girl? I definitely think you deserve a treat for that. What would you like? You
can choose for being such a clever clogs.’

‘Errrmmm. How about……an……ice lolly?’

‘An ice lolly? In the middle of winter?’

‘You said I could choose whatever I
want?’

‘Oh, alright then. We’ll buy one on the
way home. C’mon, we’ll need to get going. I heard it’s snowing in Shepherd’s
Cross; I want to get back before it becomes too dangerous for driving.’

‘Yippeeeee – snow! Can we go sledging?

‘You bet. We can play outside all day
tomorrow if you want.’

‘Yes please! And daddy?’

‘Yes?’

‘Can Jack come sledging with us too?’

‘Jack? Who’s Jack, darling?’

‘The cat that came to play with me last
time I stayed with you. The black cat with the funny eyes.’

Ben’s heart stopped in his chest. He stared
at Chloe in complete shock. ‘A black cat? What black cat? Chloe…what do you
mean? Daddy’s being serious now.’

Chloe laughed at him. ‘Oh, daddy,
you
didn’t see him. He came to see
me
. He came into my room and sat on my
bed and we played together. Well, actually he just sat on my bed for ages and
watched me play – I think he’s a bit lazy.’

Attempting to remain light-hearted so as
not to frighten her, Ben ruffled his daughter’s hair and asked, ‘Chloe, I know
this sounds weird, but did he…well…did he do
anything to you? Was there
anything…anything wrong with him?

‘Don’t be silly, daddy, of course there
wasn’t anything wrong with him – well, I suppose he
was
a bit smelly and
dirty - but Jack’s the friendliest cat in the world! Can we go and get an ice
lolly now?’

Ben let his daughter drag him by the
hand towards his car, completely oblivious to the overwhelming feeling of
disorientation she had inflicted on him. In spite of the cut above his eye,
he’d almost managed to convince himself that last night’s events were no more
than the delusions of an exhausted salesman. Maybe there
had
been a cat
in his house, and maybe it
had
knocked him over by accident; but surely
his overworked mind had twisted the facts to suit its own dark fantasy? He’d
lain awake all last night, just about convincing himself that he’d imagined the
whole damn thing.

However, what if he
hadn’t
imagined
it? The fact that this cat had also visited Chloe, without his knowing…what did
it want with her?

He strapped his daughter into her car
seat and kissed her cheek. ‘Chloe, how would you like to sleep in daddy’s bed
tonight, as an extra special treat for being so clever today?’

Chloe’s shrieks of happiness did little
to lighten his mood. While he might have genuine cause to doubt his sanity, he
would not let his daughter out of his sight until he dropped her back at school
on Monday morning. If this
thing
did decide to pay another visit, he
would be ready and waiting.

4.30pm:
Any remnants of daylight were silently strangled as Blackmoor walked to the
iron-barred window and drew the heavy, dusty curtains. Darkness enveloped the
room like a vampire’s cloak, depriving Ted Wilson of his ability to distinguish
even the slightest movement. Fortunately for him, this disabling situation only
lasted for a few seconds; natural light being replaced by artificial light as Blackmoor
pressed the switch by the door that served as the only way in, or out, of Wilson’s
cramped office at the rear of the building. Blackmoor stared at him, his face
hard and mean. He turned the key in the door, the lock clunking reassuringly
into place.

Wilson sat glued to his seat. He had
been taken completely off guard by Blackmoor’s sudden, unannounced entrance
into his office. ‘What are you doing?’ he asked, trying hard to maintain his
composure. He sensed no fear in the other man’s eyes, the hollow darkness of
which bore unflinchingly into his own with the dispassion of a shark circling
its prey. Blackmoor approached the other side of the table and sat down in the
empty chair.

‘Don’t be alarmed, Mr Wilson, I mean you
no harm. I merely wish to clarify certain aspects of our business relationship that
I believe you have failed to fully understand.’ Blackmoor’s unconvincing
attempt at a smile did little to reassure Wilson as to the cordiality of his
visit. Ever since their initial meeting yesterday, he had felt uneasy around
the two academics, having immediately sensed that their relationship was
unlikely to be without complications. If he hadn’t been so driven by making
money, he would have perhaps spurned their interest in Fellside Hall; he could
have easily found an excuse as to why he couldn’t rent it to them. But even for
a wealthy man like Ted Wilson, 2008’s almost overnight collapse of share prices
and property values had punched a sizeable hole in his retirement fund;
therefore the fortuitous arrival of two southerners with money to spend had
come as a welcome and timely surprise. His pride had been greeted with little
resistance as it slipped down his throat.

‘Which particular aspects of our
business are you wishing to discuss? And is there any reason why we need to
conduct our affairs behind a locked door with the curtains drawn?’

‘I was visited earlier by two Police
officers who appeared to be very good friends of yours. I take it you are
familiar with Sergeant Jennings and PC Jones?’

Wilson’s face gave no clue as to where Blackmoor
was heading with his line of questioning. ‘Yes, of course I know them:
especially Jennings; he’s been here for years. But good friends? No, I wouldn’t
say that exactly. I occasionally have a few drinks with Brian, I mean Sergeant
Jennings, but I certainly wouldn’t describe our relationship as close. As for
PC Jones; I rarely have anything to do with her. She’s only been here a few
months. Why do you ask?’

‘I ask,’ replied Blackmoor, leaning over
the desk to emphasise his response, ‘because their questions were based almost
entirely on information that you’d obviously provided them with.’ As he spoke, his
eyes appeared to grow darker and wider; beckoning Wilson’s attention towards
them like a net pulling a trapped fish towards the riverbank. ‘From our very
first correspondence,’ Blackmoor continued, ‘did I not make it perfectly clear
that our relationship was to be based on trust? That any dealings we had with
each other were to remain strictly confidential?’

Wilson felt sick, his stomach seeming to
rise into his chest, as if he was suddenly hurtling down a track on a
rollercoaster ride. He could feel himself weakening under Blackmoor’s gaze,
whose eyes continued to tighten their grip on his senses, controlling them
against his will. ‘I…I hardly told them anything. Only…only that you were here
to study Roman forts. Really, there’s no cause for concern. I apologise if I’ve
upset you, but…’

‘SILENCE!’ cried Blackmoor, his face
twisted with the anger of a madman. He stood up and leaned across the desk,
grabbing Wilson by the knot of his tie and throwing him effortlessly across the
room against the wall. Wilson groaned as he slumped to the floor, his body
curling up in a futile attempt to defend itself from the next blow. A blow
which, fortunately for him, was not dealt. Instead, Blackmoor picked him up off
the floor and held him up against the wall by his throat; his legs dangling and
thrashing like a man hanging from a noose. ‘Look at me! I said: LOOK AT ME!’ Wilson
slowly lifted his sagging head. He found Blackmoor staring straight at him, his
face now only a matter of inches from his own, his foul breath clogging up Wilson’s
lungs like poisonous gas. But there was no longer any sign of anger in his
face; any hint of violence had vanished as swiftly as it had appeared. He
loosened his grip on Wilson’s throat and lowered him to the ground.

When Blackmoor spoke next, his voice had
become softer and more sympathetic; almost gentle. ‘You’ve disappointed me, Mr
Wilson, but I believe it wasn’t your intention to do so. Therefore, I am
prepared to strike a deal with you – a deal that you would be very wise to
accept.’ Wilson looked into his eyes: whatever the deal was, he knew he would
have little choice but to go along with it. But those eyes, drawing him in
again, deeper and deeper - to a place he wanted to be more than anywhere else
in the world.

‘I want you to come with me, Mr Wilson. I
want you to help me prepare for the arrival of someone very important, someone who
will change your life forever.’

Wilson was no longer able, or willing,
to resist the hypnotic force of Blackmoor’s presence. He’d been hypnotised once
before: that had been ten years ago, when his doctor had given him the option
of either ending his life or his forty-a-day nicotine addiction. He’d been
referred to a hypnotist in Newcastle, an unassuming Scot called Gerald
Dalgliesh. He could remember the experience as if it happened yesterday: he had
walked into the clinic full of scepticism, only to walk out forty-five minutes
later and throw his crushed cigarette packet into the nearest bin. He hadn’t
smoked a single cigarette since.

But this was different – Blackmoor’s
hold on him was so much stronger. His aura was too powerful, too enchanting. Whatever
it was that Blackmoor was referring to, Wilson knew he wanted to be part of it,
to be consumed by it. Blackmoor placed his hands on Wilson’s shoulders and stared
directly at him. ‘Will you come with me?’ he asked softly.

Wilson made no effort to back away; he
could feel himself floating in Blackmoor’s pupils. It was as if he could see
into his soul. All he could manage was a slight nod and a feeble attempt at a
smile. ‘I will,’ he replied. ‘I will.’

Without saying another word, the two men
left the office together, climbed into the car that awaited them outside, and
were driven away up the snow-covered lane, back to the welcoming arms of Fellside
Hall.