Secrets of the Dead

  Lying there on the larder floor, John heard Ben cry out. The screams came every few seconds – long, loud, filled with so much pain.

  ‘Do something,’ hissed John. ‘Think … think. What can you see?’ His eyes swept the room. ‘Shelves, food, vacuum cleaner, stepladder, string, water pipes, shoes, jars, empty bottles, carrier bags … Wait, just wait.’ He stared at the plumbing fixed to the wall. ‘That’s not a water pipe – it’s gas.’

  He bent his knees, drawing his taped-together feet up. He bided his time until he heard Ben’s next scream echoing throughout the house. That’s when John kicked out. The bottom of his feet struck the metal gas pipe – it was old and, hopefully, brittle.

  Even though he’d kicked the pipe as hard as he could, he realized he hadn’t made so much as a dent. He couldn’t kick again when it was quiet in the house, otherwise Micky would hear the noise and investigate. The thug would probably kill John there and then to make sure he didn’t try anything else. So when Ben screamed again – Micky was working hard to inflict pain – John kicked out at the pipe once more. The scream covered the sound of his shoes slamming into the pipework.

  This time … success! The pipe snapped clean in two. Gas instantly jetted from the broken pipe. It didn’t just breeze into the larder, it gushed forcefully from the open end of the pipe. In fact, the rush of gas was so powerful that it raised a dust-storm. Bunches of herbs fluttered in that jet of foul smelling vapour. John felt it blast into his face, tugging at his hair. He knew that domestic gas wasn’t toxic. Even so, the smell made him nauseous. And although the gas flooding into the room wouldn’t poison him, it was inflammable. In a few moments, when enough gas had poured out, all it would require was a spark. That gaseous fuel would create one hell of a fireball.

  John struggled into a sitting position. So far so good: now he must find something that would produce the spark which would ignite the gas.

  Philip reached the house where his childhood friend John Tolworth lived with his family. The time was well after midnight. Oliver and Fletcher were with him. Philip put his finger to his lips; the two boys nodded, knowing that both stealth and silence were vital. Philip glanced again at Oliver Tolworth. Just for a moment, the boy’s face revealed wide cracks in the skin, shrivelled eyeballs, and tufts of hair attached to a decaying scalp. Instead of clothes, the boy wore the linen bindings of an Egyptian mummy. The moon shone down on a living boy by the name of Oliver Tolworth, but for a few seconds Philip had seen the mummified child known as Ket. Fletcher remained Fletcher, of course. He wasn’t part of this strange convergence that was taking place between the mummies from the castle and the Tolworth family. Philip concealed the revulsion and fear he’d felt when he’d seen Oliver take on the appearance of Ket. Of course, Oliver wouldn’t have felt any change in himself. Fletcher had noticed no change either. Only Philip saw the mummy’s shrivelled face superimpose itself on the face of the living child.

  Philip steeled his nerves for what he needed to do next. He carefully approached the house. In the back garden he saw burning candles. There was no one there, but a sudden yell from the house told him where the gunman had taken his hostages. Philip padded in the direction of the lounge window. Before he got any closer he gestured to the boys to stay back. They obediently crouched down in the shadows. Philip knew that all hell would be let loose if the gunman caught sight of them.

  He edged his way to the window. The lounge was brightly lit and Philip took everything in with a glance. He saw a youth on the sofa flanked by Ingrid and Vicki. All three had their wrists and ankles bound together. No sign of John, however. A man in his forties held a pistol in one hand and a phone in the other. He struck the youth’s head with the butt of the gun. The youth cried out.

  Then it happened again: Philip felt strange sliding sensation in his head. When he peered in through the window he saw Ingrid, Vicki and the youth transform in front of his eyes. Suddenly, Philip was seeing three mummified bodies sitting on the sofa. They were from the collection of mummies at the castle that he knew so well; once those husks had belonged to his family. He saw the mummies called Isis, Amber and Bones. The youth was the most horrific of all. Parts of his flesh had decayed away, exposing the ribs and sections of skull around one eye and alongside the jaw. The teeth were fully exposed on that side of the head. The gunman saw nothing amiss with his hostages, though. He jabbed the pistol at the three as he intimidated them. Philip, alone, saw the living people transform into the mummies. The hideous sight was deeply disturbing. Philip bit his lip hard to stop himself from crying out.

  What did make him grunt out loud, however, was his own reflection in the glass. He saw Kadesh there. The mummy’s eyes were wide open. The eyeballs were glistening, living eyes, which made the dead face even more horrific. The contrast between living eyes and ancient, lifeless flesh was nothing less than an abomination. He gulped in a lungful of air, trying to hold on to his sanity – or what remained of his sanity. When he looked again he saw three living people on the sofa – Ingrid, the youth, and Vicki.

  Philip returned to the boys and whispered, ‘Stay there, I’ll be right back.’ He skirted round the house in order to look for John. He glanced in each window in turn. When he reached the kitchen he smelt a powerful odour. ‘Gas.’

  Surprised, he looked in through the kitchen window. Nobody there. He moved on. He wouldn’t have even noticed the tiny larder window if it hadn’t been for the incredibly strong smell of gas filling his nostrils. Approaching the window, he realized straight away that the gas was coming from there. He tried to open the small section at the top, where the stench of gas was at its most pungent, but it was held in place by a lock. The window was open by barely an inch. Philip, however, managed to see inside. There on the floor lay John Tolworth. Even though it was gloomy inside the larder, Philip could make out blood on John’s face.

  Philip whispered through the gap, ‘John … John. Up here. It’s me, Philip.’

  John’s hands and ankles were bound, too. Even so, he managed to raise his head. Their eyes met, and John’s expression of surprise and sheer relief was plain to see. He began talking in urgent whispers: ‘Philip! There’s a man with a gun. He’s called Micky Dunt. He says that Ben has drugs that belong to him.’

  ‘Ben?’

  ‘Ben Darrington. He’s my son … I can’t explain everything now. That guy, Dunt, is torturing Ben. He’ll end up killing us, because we can identify him to the police.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll tackle this Micky. I’ll make sure your family are safe.’

  ‘No, you can’t. He’s got a gun. He’ll kill you, Philip. Micky is a ruthless bastard.’

  ‘I’ll think of something.’

  ‘I already have.’ John nodded at a pipe that was snapped clean through. ‘I’ve broken the gas pipe.’

  ‘I can smell it.’

  ‘Look.’ He rolled sideways on the floor. ‘I’ve found a cigarette lighter; it was next to that box of candles.’

  ‘John, what are you planning to do?’ Philip stared at the man in horror.

  ‘I’m going to start shouting. When Micky opens the door I’ll ignite the gas that’s filled this room. It will blow Micky Dunt to kingdom come.’

  ‘You can’t, John, you’ll be killed, too.’

  ‘I’ve no choice, Philip. That guy will murder my family soon. I know he will.’

  Philip’s heart pounded with shock. ‘John, the gas won’t just burn, it will explode with the force of a bomb. You’ll kill your whole family.’

  ‘It’s the only way, Philip.’

  Philip stared in at the man on the larder floor. Yes, there lay John Tolworth. Thirty years ago, they’d ridden their bikes along the lanes here and they’d fished in the pond. But now Philip saw another man – one that looked like John, but who Philip had seen in another country, in another time, in another life. Three thousand years ago he’d met this man coming into a house made of mud-brick. The man had had a sword in his hand. Philip remembered what happened nex
t with brutal clarity.

  ‘I know you,’ Philip hissed. ‘I know who you were.’

  ‘Don’t flip out on me now. I need you to get my family out of the house when I start shouting.’ John positioned his fingers so they were on the lighter switch. He took a deep breath, ready to start yelling to the gunman.

  Philip hissed, ‘Samantha was right. Kadesh and I are one and the same, only we’re separated by three thousand years. Your family are clones of the mummies in the castle.’

  ‘Philip, that’s insane.’

  ‘No, it’s true. At first, I thought that in a former life you were the father of the three mummified children. I’m wrong. You weren’t the father. You were their murderer!’

  ‘Philip, stop this. I’m going to call Micky’s name. When I begin shouting, get Ingrid, Vicki and Ben out of the house. I’ll ignite the gas when Micky opens the door.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Philip, please save my family. You’re the only one who can do that now.’

  ‘No, you are going to kill that family all over again. History will repeat itself.’

  Philip sensed that he was becoming detached from the world; he was floating back and back and back … he stood in a mud-brick house in a desert at night. Dogs howled. The stars shone brighter than he’d ever seen before. He saw a river in the distance. On the far bank there were temples with gigantic statues standing outside. In this vision of the past, he saw himself block the doorway to the house with his body. He held a spear in one hand. A figure came out of the darkness. Philip saw that the man resembled John, though it was John in an earlier life. The man carried a sword, and Philip/Kadesh knew that this was the enemy, the assassin, the man who had come to kill the family that he, Philip, in an earlier incarnation, was protecting. The man rushed at him, thrusting forward with the sword. Philip fell to the floor. He lay there, blood gushing from a wound in his chest, unable to move as he grew weaker and weaker. He saw everything, though. Four people ran into the room. He saw figures that resembled Ingrid, Vicki, Ben and Oliver. They wore the same type of clothes as Egyptians wore three thousand years ago. The assassin that resembled John walked towards them. He swung the sword faster … faster … Then the bloodletting began.

  ‘Don’t use the lighter,’ Philip begged, back in the present. ‘You will kill them all over again.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Philip. You are ill in your mind. It’s a delusion. There are no such things as time twins, or mummies that come to life.’

  ‘You saw, though, didn’t you?’ Philip’s heart was nearly exploding. ‘Thirty years ago, there was enough light coming through the door from the staircase. You saw me pull back the sheet that covered Kadesh. You saw him bite off my hand. That’s why you blocked out the memory. You saw exactly what happened when Kadesh attacked me.’

  John’s eyes became strangely glassy. He seemed to be slipping into a trance. Nevertheless, he spoke in a dead-sounding voice. ‘I will count down to zero from sixty. Then, even if Micky doesn’t appear at that door, I will still use this lighter to ignite the gas. I’m sure the entire house will be destroyed. I have no choice, Philip. I’m going to do it. Whether you save those people is up to you. But when I reach zero I will detonate the gas.’ In that eerie, flat voice he uttered, ‘Sixty … fifty-nine … fifty-eight …’

  Philip’s heart thundered in his chest. Time’s running out … It’s almost zero hour …

  Oliver Tolworth couldn’t wait any longer. Screams came from the lounge window. He had to know what the man was doing to his family inside the house. Fletcher followed as he padded through the back door and into the kitchen. Immediately, he smelt a powerful odour. That was gas, wasn’t it? Despite the worrying notion that there was a gas leak, he couldn’t allow himself to be distracted.

  The man’s gruff voice echoed from the lounge. ‘One last time, Ben, tell me where you’ve hidden the drugs, otherwise I will start cutting the faces of these two pretty women too. Tell me where you’ve put the coke, OK?’

  Oliver felt an unearthly sense of calm as he pushed open the door. He knew what he must do.

  The gunman spun round and pointed the handgun at Oliver.

  In a clear voice, Oliver said, ‘I know where the drugs are. I took them from Ben’s bag.’

  ‘OK, kid,’ said the man. ‘My name is Micky. Tell me where they are.’

  ‘I can’t tell you, Micky. But I can show you.’

  With that, Oliver turned and ran from the house. He took the path alongside the woods that led to the old mine shaft. Fletcher ran beside him. ‘You’d don’t have to come with me, Fletcher,’ Oliver panted.

  ‘We’re friends. We stick together.’

  The man with the gun followed. ‘This better not be a piss-take,’ he growled. ‘Or you’re going to get the beating of your life.’

  The moon shone on the path, lighting their way.

  Philip stood at the window. The reek of inflammable gas was almost overwhelming. John Tolworth remained lying there on the floor. In that strange, dead-sounding voice, John slowly counted down from sixty. There was a fatal inevitability about this. Philip knew that in a past life John had killed a mother and her three children. He’d do the same again. History repeating itself. A lethal loop of events. A bloody end to lives that had been lived for a second time three millennia apart. At that moment, Philip knew that in the future this would be repeated by people with different names who, nevertheless, looked like the Tolworths, who in turn resembled the mummified corpses that had been found in the Gold Tomb in Egypt.

  Philip begged, ‘Please, John, stop. Don’t use the lighter. The explosion will kill everyone in the house. Do you really want your wife and children to die?’

  John continued, adrift in a world of his own: ‘Twenty-six … twenty-five …’

  When he reached zero he would shout in order to bring the gunman to the room. If the gunman didn’t appear, he’d still use the lighter to produce a flame. Then – BOOM.

  ‘Twenty-four … twenty-three … twenty-two …’

  From somewhere inside the house came the sound of shouting: women and a man yelling as loud as they could. Philip had reached the point of no return. He’d failed to save the family three thousand years ago in that desert kingdom. He might fail this time. But he had to try and stop them from being killed.

  He raced through the back door into the kitchen and headed for the lounge. He prepared himself to tackle the gunman and try and get the pistol out of his hand. To his astonishment, he saw that the man had vanished. The three on the sofa all shouted at once.

  ‘Philip! He’s gone with Oliver,’ Ingrid cried, trying to break the tape that held her wrists together. ‘Oliver said he knew where the drugs were.’

  Philip dashed back to the kitchen, unlocked the larder door, and entered the gas-filled room.

  John lay there, chanting the countdown: ‘Eight … seven … six.’

  ‘John, give me the lighter!’ Philip didn’t wait for an answer though. He ripped the cigarette lighter from John’s fingers. He then turned off the flow of gas at the gas meter. After that, he dragged John, one handed, into the kitchen. He opened the back door wide, allowing the breeze to flood in and wash the fumes out of the house. That done, he grabbed a carving knife and quickly cut the tape that restrained John. He hurried back to the lounge and did the same in order to release the others. He noticed that Ben was in a poor state. He was covered in blood. There were cuts around his eyes. Even so, Ben struggled to his feet.

  Ben shouted, ‘Find Oliver. Micky will kill him if he hasn’t got the coke.’

  ‘Where did he go?’ Philip asked.

  All three shook their heads; their expressions were helpless and frightened.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Ben said. ‘Off into the woods somewhere.’

  ‘I’ll find him! John’s in the kitchen. He might seem odd … He’s taken a hard knock on the head.’ Philip then ran out of the house and into the night.

  Oliver slowed from a run to a walk. Play for time,
he thought. The longer it takes to reach the mine, the more time Philip will have to help everyone back at the house. They’ll be able to telephone the police. Also, they’ll be able to lock the doors, so the man can’t get in and hurt them again.

  ‘Hurry up, kid, I haven’t got all night.’ Micky shoved Oliver in order to make him move faster.

  Oliver glanced sideways at Fletcher as he walked beside him. The twelve year old stared straight ahead, maybe trying to guess what Oliver planned to do next. The bushes at either side of the path seemed ghostly in the moonlight. Their leaves had a silvery glint, resembling staring eyes.

  ‘I told you to hurry up.’ Micky pushed Oliver again. ‘Where did you hide my stuff?’

  ‘Drugs,’ Fletcher announced. ‘Call them drugs, not stuff. Cocaine is a toxic chemical that harms the brain. It also helps finance organized crime and terrorism.’ The statement was typical of Fletcher Brown: precocious and maybe just a little bit odd coming from the lips of a boy.

  ‘I didn’t ask for a moralizing lecture.’ The gunman pushed Fletcher.

  Fletcher stumbled forward, landing on his hands and knees. ‘Ow! You made me hurt my ankle.’

  ‘Stand up.’

  ‘Can’t.’

  ‘Stand up.’

  ‘Can’t. My ankle hurts.’

  Oliver noticed the sideways glance that Fletcher shot him. He understood that Fletcher had deliberately fallen. He was playing for time, too, giving Philip a chance to help Oliver’s family back at the house.

  Micky jabbed Oliver with the toe of his boot. ‘Come on, you little shit, get back on your feet.’

  ‘It really hurts. I can’t stand up.’

  ‘OK.’ Micky pressed the handgun’s muzzle against Fletcher’s neck. ‘They shoot lame horses, don’t they? I’ll shoot you.’

  ‘I’ll help him, mister.’ Oliver grabbed Fletcher’s arm and helped him stand. ‘Don’t shoot him. He’ll be alright.’