Secrets of the Dead

  Micky shouted, ‘Is this your father, Ben?’ He kicked John’s hip. ‘He looks like you.’

  Agony flashed through John’s hip bone. He forced himself to lie still, feigning unconsciousness, yet he still kept his eyes open by the tiniest amount.

  ‘You two.’ Micky gestured at Ingrid and Vicki. ‘Get down … kneel … hands on top of your heads.’

  John tried to watch what happened next without moving his head and without raising his eyelids any further. He didn’t even feel the pain in his own head now. What he saw shocked him so much he could hardly breathe.

  Micky filmed Vicki as he pointed the gun at her face. ‘OK, Ben. Tell me where you put the coke, or I’ll blow her head off.’

  At that moment, John felt like he wanted to die. He could do nothing to save his daughter. All he could do was lie there and watch her be murdered. He’d never felt so helpless in his life. It was as if all the bones had vanished from his body, leaving him as useless as a lump jelly.

  ‘You’ve got to believe me,’ Ben panted where he lay beside John. ‘I do not have those drugs. OK? Someone stole them.’

  ‘Who?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Alright, you’re to blame for this, Ben. This is your fault. You watch when the bullet goes through her mouth and rips off the back of her head.’

  Vicki screamed, ‘Dad! Wake up!’

  John would have given anything to be free of these bonds. He’d leap to his feet and beat the thug to death with his fists. Instinct, however, told him to pretend he was out cold. That might just give him a precious element of surprise.

  Micky snarled, ‘On the count of three I fire.’ He positioned the phone so that it filmed a close-up of Vicki’s terrified face. ‘One.’

  Ben wept. ‘No, Micky, please.’

  ‘Two.’

  Ingrid spoke softly: ‘Micky, look at me. I’ll do anything you want me to do.’

  ‘Three.’

  John closed his eyes tight, waiting for the sound of the gunshot. A long pause. A night bird called. The breeze rustled leaves in a tree.

  ‘BANG!’

  John’s heart convulsed. He almost screamed. A moment later he breathed again. That BANG hadn’t been the sound of the gun being fired. That had been Micky shouting; the sadist had made them all think that he’d shot Vicki. Micky Dunt was just playing mind games – OK, they were the cruellest of mind games – and he clearly didn’t intend to kill anyone just yet.

  ‘OK, Ben.’ Micky pointed the gun at Vicki, Ingrid and Ben in turn. He ignored John, clearly believing him to be still unconscious. ‘I’m going to find another way to make you tell me where you’ve put my property.’

  He took hold of Ben’s leg in its cast and hoisted it upwards. Ben, lying there on his back, grunted in pain. Micky rested Ben’s foot on a chair. After that, he collected a candle where it burned in its holder on the table. Micky positioned the candle so that the tip of the flame licked where the back of Ben’s knee was encased by the fracture cast.

  Micky filmed the candle beneath the leg. ‘So … how long do you think it’ll take that flame to burn through the cast and start roasting your skin, Ben?’

  Ingrid whispered, ‘Please, Micky. Stop hurting Ben. We’re all frightened.’

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘Remember what I told you. I’ll do anything you want. Why don’t just the two of us go back inside the house?’

  Oliver Tolworth tried to make sense of what he saw in the back garden of his house. Candles and lamps illuminated the scene. His father lay on the patio, while his mother and sister knelt on the ground. For some bizarre reason Ben lay on his back on the ground with his leg raised, so his foot rested on a chair. A candle had been positioned under his leg. Ben’s head rolled from side to side as if he was agitated. His father didn’t move at all. Were they playing some kind of joke? A trick of some sorts? Were they all drunk? Oliver couldn’t understand what was happening.

  One second later he understood perfectly. A man stepped out of the shadows. He held a pistol in his hand, which he pointed first at Oliver’s mother and then at this sister. The man was laughing and talking. He was too far away to allow Oliver to make out any actual words. Oliver, however, knew exactly what the man was doing.

  Fletcher stood beside Oliver; he, too, stared at the people in the garden.

  Oliver was surprised at how calm he sounded when he spoke. ‘That man’s holding my family at gunpoint. He must have come here to rob us.’

  ‘Why isn’t your dad moving?’

  ‘He’s not dead.’ Oliver spoke more in hope rather than absolute conviction. ‘There’s tape around his arms and legs: he’s been tied up.’

  ‘It’s something to do with the drugs, I’m sure it is. This is what happens when drug dealers fall out. Drug wars.’

  Oliver started walking down the slope towards the house.

  Fletcher caught him by the arm. ‘You can’t go down there.’

  ‘I’ve got to help them.’

  ‘What can you do, Oliver? You’re eleven years old.’

  ‘I’ve got to do something. That man might kill them!’

  ‘Look.’ Fletcher pointed into the shadows. ‘They’ve come to watch. They knew that this would happen tonight.’

  Oliver followed the direction of the pointing finger. There, standing in near-darkness beneath the trees, was a line of five figures. Oliver saw that the figures were absolutely still; they didn’t make a sound; they stared at the people being held at gunpoint in the garden. Oliver used the word ‘stared’ in relation to the five. But how could they ‘stare’? They had no eyes. Five bodies that were husks of dried flesh, partly wrapped with strips of linen, stood not fifty feet from Oliver and Fletcher. They did not react when the man with the gun laughed and jabbed the pistol into the side of Vicki’s neck. When she screamed, the man laughed louder. And what else was he doing? He held a phone in his hand. The way he moved it suggested he was using the phone to film Oliver’s family.

  Ben gave a yelping sound. He began to squirm. The man filmed the candle burning under Ben’s leg. For now, he seemed more interested in what the candle was doing to Ben’s leg than terrorizing Vicki.

  ‘He’s going to hurt them all, isn’t he?’ Oliver said with a sensation of dread. ‘Then he’s going to kill them.’

  ‘I’ll call the police,’ whispered Fletcher. ‘But we’ll have to go back home for my phone.’

  ‘Come on, then!’ Running as fast as he could, Oliver headed down the path that led to the gatehouse where Fletcher lived. Fletcher followed, panting hard. A sense of urgency seemed to pulsate in the air, and Oliver knew with absolute certainty that time was running out. He blanked the mummies from his mind, and the strangeness of them coming back to life and standing there to watch events unfolding in the Tolworths’ back garden. What was vitally important now was reaching the phone and making that emergency call to the police.

  When they approached the gatehouse, a figure emerged from a doorway in the building. Oliver recognized the figure as Philip Kemmis, the man with one hand. Oliver’s heart lurched with fear. What if the man went crazy now and tried to hurt him and Fletcher? The man strode from the shadows into the moonlight. The wrist stump revealed itself as a pale shape. On the other hand, a black leather glove.

  ‘Fletcher.’ He held up both the stump and the hand to stop them. ‘Is that you, Oliver? What’s wrong? Why are you out so late?’

  Oliver would have preferred to rush indoors to telephone the police; however, words spurted from Fletcher’s lips. ‘There’s a man with a pistol,’ he panted. ‘He’s got Oliver’s family up at the house. He’s hurting them. He’s making them scream.’

  Philip Kemmis started running in the direction of Oliver’s house. ‘Come with me,’ he called.

  Oliver protested, ‘He’s got a gun. We need to call the police.’

  Philip stopped dead and looked back at Oliver. ‘It’ll take the police at least twenty minutes to get here. It could be too late by th
en. Besides, I’ve been expecting this for three thousand years.’ The man wasn’t joking. His expression was set like stone. ‘History’s repeating itself. Kadesh failed to save the lives of the family that are now mummies in the castle. Now your family are in danger – I must save them. I have to break the cycle.’

  Fletcher’s voice rose as if he had a revelation of his own. ‘That’s why the mummies walk, isn’t it? Their spirits are restless.’

  Philip’s eyes gleamed strangely. ‘I see it now. I am Kadesh … Kadesh is me. Fundamentally, we’re one and the same person. I’m being tested again. If I can save John and his family I will be healed, too. I’ll be healed in here.’ He pointed at his own head.

  Fletcher followed Philip Kemmis. The boy’s face shone in the moonlight: there was a kind of eagerness there that was more than being simply eager. His expression was one of ecstasy. It disturbed Oliver so much that he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry out in alarm. His own emotions were in turmoil. He was afraid for his family. He was afraid of Philip and Fletcher, too. They looked strange – it was as if both had madness inside of them. All this about history repeating itself and Philip’s claim that he and that ancient mummy, Kadesh, were actually the same person freaked Oliver out. At that moment, Oliver decided he was the only rational one of the three.

  Once again, he tried to reason with the man and the boy as they ran. ‘We should still telephone the police.’

  ‘There isn’t time,’ Fletcher shouted. ‘Come on!’

  Oliver Tolworth shot a single, wistful glance back at the gatehouse; that’s where he’d find a phone that would allow him to call for help. With a helpless shrug, he realized he must go with Fletcher Brown and Philip Kemmis. They were heading into danger, but what else could he do but follow?

  Philip Kemmis had not been as clear-headed as this in years. He was in complete control of his thoughts. ‘I know what I’m doing,’ he murmured to himself as he ran along the path in the direction of John Tolworth’s house. ‘This is the right thing to do. You must break the cycle. You have to stop history repeating itself.’

  Philip didn’t question whether his actions might be regarded as irrational. No. He knew with absolute certainty that Samantha Oldfield had spoken the truth when, a few hours ago, she had explained that he and that dried-out husk of a corpse known as Kadesh were becoming increasingly more alike. Yes. I am Kadesh, and Kadesh is me. Three thousand years ago an Egyptian family were attacked and murdered by an unknown enemy. Kadesh tried to protect the family. He failed and died during the attack. Kadesh and the family were mummified and buried in the Gold Tomb. Now those mummies have undergone physical changes to the point that they uncannily resemble the Tolworth family. The Tolworths are in danger. A man holds them at gunpoint. History repeats itself. This is the opportunity for me to save their lives and prevent the same tragedy from happening again.

  Yes … it all made perfect sense to Philip. Even though his right hand had vanished thirty years ago, he sensed a tingling there – the flesh had gone, but it was as if a ghost hand still remained. The moon shone down through the trees to cast patches of silver on the grass. Where the moonlight didn’t reach the ground, the shadows were the darkest Philip had ever seen. Already, the nature of the earth seemed to be changing, just as the mummies were changing. Tonight would be extraordinary. There would be mir-acles. He knew there’d be horror, too, just as there was horror when some unknown individual had murdered a mother and her three children long ago in Egypt.

  Philip glanced back. Both Fletcher and Oliver followed. Instinct told him they must be part of what happened tonight. No matter how violent, how bloody, or whether this sequence of events had fatal consequences.

  A smell of burning, followed by a yell. Ben Darrington, lying on the patio, arched his back as the pain slammed into him. Micky Dunt realized that the candle had, at last, burnt through the fracture cast, and the intense heat was searing the back of the teenager’s knee.

  Micky used his phone to film Ben convulsing. Funny how just a little candle can cause so much pain, Micky told himself. Imagine how agonizing it would be if a blowtorch was used on someone’s leg.

  ‘That’s enough!’ The woman called Ingrid shouted the words. She darted forward, batting the candle away with her hand.

  ‘Hey!’ Micky shouted. ‘I didn’t give you permission to move, did I?’

  ‘I won’t let you torture that boy.’

  ‘Boy? He’s nineteen, and he stole valuable drugs. I want them back.’

  Ben gasped, ‘I haven’t got them any more. Someone stole them from me.’

  ‘Keep telling me lies, Ben, and I’ll keep hurting you.’

  Ingrid stepped forward. ‘He’s not lying. After the way you’ve hurt him, don’t you think he’d have given you the drugs if he still had them?’

  Micky sneered, ‘All he need do is take a bit of pain tonight. After I’ve gone, he can sell that coke for a hell of a lot of cash.’ Suddenly, Micky felt uneasy. He had a sensation that eyes were boring into his back. He turned round. Ben’s father still lay unconscious on the ground. Come to think of it, though, had he moved? Micky thought he’d been lying nearer the patio wall. Now he seemed closer to Ben.

  Shivers poured down Micky’s back. Raising the hand that held the gun, he turned to face the hillside where all those trees were illuminated by the moon. Wait … just for a moment, I thought I saw someone up there. A tall, thin guy, staring in this direction. Micky got uneasy. Here he was, with four people, in a back garden lit by lamps and a shitload of candles. There was a pool of light, meaning he could be seen holding the gun. Micky felt too exposed. Perhaps there wasn’t anyone watching from the woods, but what if someone happened along? Didn’t they have gamekeepers and poachers out here in the countryside? What if someone saw him torturing the kid? They’d be sure to have a phone with them. They’d report this to the police.

  Micky experienced an urgent need to get indoors and out of sight. What he did next to these people must be done in private. He approached the guy on the ground – the one he now knew was called John Tolworth – and he kicked him in the side of the head. The guy didn’t open his eyes, or move (even though he couldn’t move much; Micky had taped the man’s wrists and ankles together). So, Micky reasoned, he must still be out cold.

  He waved the gun at Vicki and Ingrid. ‘OK, get Ben inside the house.’

  They didn’t protest and helped Ben to his feet. Supporting him between them, they helped him into the lounge of the house. There they set him down on the sofa. Micky ordered the women to sit on either side of Ben. Quickly, Micky taped Ben’s wrists together with the gaffer tape. Then he did the same to Vicki and Ingrid. He also bound their ankles together in case they decided the time had come to make a run for it.

  Ingrid said, ‘You won’t hurt us?’

  Micky clicked his tongue. ‘This isn’t my fault. It’s Ben’s here. You persuade him to give me the coke back, then I’ll leave.’

  Oh … but what a gem of a lie. Of course I’m not going to leave them here in one piece so they can tell the police what I’ve done. There’s going to be a fire tonight. A big, big evidence-cleansing fire.

  It took some doing, but Micky managed to drag John Tolworth in through the back door. Hauling Tolworth all that way to the lounge, which meant going up two steps, seemed too much like hard work. Micky found an easy solution to his problem. He dragged the unconscious guy across the stone floor and into the larder just off the kitchen. Micky had taped the guy’s limbs together, meaning he couldn’t move easily. Even so, just to play it safe, he shut Tolworth in the larder, then locked the door from the outside. If the man recovered consciousness he still wouldn’t be a problem. What’s more, he’d be nicely trapped in the larder when Micky set fire to the house.

  As soon as he heard the key turn, John opened his eyes. He knew immediately that he’d been locked in the larder that led off from the kitchen. A small window let in moonlight, revealing shelves of food, bunches of dried herbs, and plum
bing pipes running along the bottom of the walls. The kick in the head had been difficult to bear without revealing that he was awake, but he’d managed it. Once again, he understood he had one very small factor in his favour. Micky Dunt thought that John remained unconscious. Now, here was John’s chance to do something. But what? He was tied up and locked in the larder. How could he help his family? However, he must do something. Ingrid, Vicki and Ben were vulnerable. John had seen Micky hurting Ben. He knew that Micky wanted those drugs back. What’s more, John knew that they could all identify Micky when they reported this to the police. Would Micky simply leave here, knowing that he’d be arrested within hours? Hardly. Micky would have to deal with any witnesses that could testify against him.

  John Tolworth opened his eyes fully, straining to adjust to the few beams of moonlight coming through the window. He tried to wriggle free of the tape that held his arms and legs. Nope … no way could he break that strong tape. He’d have to come up with some other plan. He scanned the shelves full of cans and packet food, the pipes on the walls, and prayed for inspiration. He needed to act fast.

  Micky continued to demand that Ben tell him where the drugs were. Each exhausted shake of Ben’s head brought a punch. Each, ‘I don’t know where they are!’ triggered another outburst of rage in Micky that led to slaps being delivered to all three on the sofa.

  ‘You will tell me where they are.’ Micky pulled a knife from his pocket and set it down on the coffee table in plain view. ‘Because if you don’t I’m going to start cutting your face.’