Chapter 14
Something to Believe In
Helen’s fingers gripped tightly onto the steering wheel, her gaze fixed directly ahead as they made their way along the motorway towards London. Her head was still spinning from her recent ordeal and so she maintained station in the inside lane, their speed rarely exceeding sixty miles per hour. A steady stream of cars and trucks flashed past her window, their occupants keen to reach their destination without delay. All of them existed in a world that was now divorced from her own. Their every day worries and concerns were, she was sure, of the type that she had entertained herself until only recently - until Sleet. To be plagued only by the inconveniences of having to pull pints, pay bills and produce her father’s accounts each month now seemed akin to an idyllic existence, felt like a different life altogether. If only those mundane tasks were all there was to worry about, she thought, what a simple, uncomplicated life she could lead. But then, of course, there was Sleet. To not have him in her life; to not care for him or worry about what he was up to - that, she knew full well, was not something that she could easily fore-go. And where he was at this very moment was now her primary concern.
Moira, who had been sat very quietly in the passenger seat, now turned towards her questioningly. “What did you mean earlier on,” she began, hesitantly, “when you talked about my nightmare? You said that it was more than just a dream. How can that be so?”
Helen took a deep breath before responding. She had known that this moment was coming and had wondered how she should deal with it. She was, she realised, now in the same position that Sleet had found himself in. Of having to convince someone that the unbelievable; the inexplicable, was actual reality and that she hadn’t completely lost her mind. So much more difficult though for Sleet, who had had no-one to turn to; no-one to confide in. At least she had him - when he turned up or when she figured out where he was. She had eventually come to the conclusion that she should structure her reply based upon what she thought was the only fair course of action. Moira was, most certainly, already involved, the machinations of the creatures had ensured that - had caused her to be drawn in to their coercive web. And yet Helen thought that it was, perhaps, not too late for her to make her escape. If she could persuade Moira to distance herself from recent events and even, temporarily maybe, from her day to day life, maybe she could remain safe. Without expounding the details Helen could certainly relate to her that Sleet had gotten in over his head and that the two of them had been taken as erstwhile hostages in order to ensure his cooperation. This would, she realised, involve the hatching of some half-baked story if it was to have any credence whatsoever – a gangland vendetta that he had become inadvertently involved in, maybe?
What she knew for certain, however, was that she was absolutely useless at telling lies. Notwithstanding this, she was aware that she had to provide Moira with some kind of choice. She couldn’t bear the burden of embroiling her further whilst she remained in her present innocent state. But how to begin? If she had ever known a quandary, then this was most surely it.
“Helen,” Moira prompted, “can you tell me what you meant?”
“You need to make a decision first, Moira. Please try and bear with me whilst I try to explain.” She took a deep breath, not taking her eyes from the road ahead, “Sleet has gotten himself involved in certain events. He has put himself, and us to an extent, in a dangerous situation – a situation beyond any of our control. It’s not his fault though,” she hastened to add, “not of his making.”
Moira remained quietly intent, and Helen was glad of it as she continued to stare at the carriageway that stretched out before them. “It’s a situation,” she continued, “that he cannot easily extricate himself from – it’s something that he has to see through to the finish. I’m sure you know his nature as well as I do – he’s not one for running away, is he?”
“Perhaps,” Moira replied stonily, “you don’t know him quite as well as you think. Running away is precisely what he did do – after Sky’s funeral.”
“I know – he told me. But these events had begun even then, you see? He was not running from his family Moira, or from you. In a way he was trying to protect you; keep you from danger. And he wouldn’t want you to be in danger now, either. He would want you to run now, Moira – to get away whilst you have the chance. Go abroad – somewhere even Sleet would not be able to find you.” A location which they would not be able to extract from him. “You don’t need to be involved in this, Moira. Sleet certainly wouldn’t want you to be.”
“And you?” Moira asked, “is that what you’re going to do, Helen?”
She hesitated, knowing that any mistruth would sound unconvincing. “No. I can’t give up on him. I’ve no idea where he is right now, but I have to try and find him. There’s no reason for us both to be involved, though. I want you to be safe, Moira. Sleet would never forgive me if anything happened to you.”
Moira sighed deeply, gazed out of the passenger window as the city blocks of London hove into view. “But I’m already involved, surely? Somehow, I was taken from my home only to wake up, God knows how many hours later, in the middle of that old airfield! How do I know that I can even be safe when I don’t know what we’re dealing with?”
“By trusting me?”
“I do trust you, Helen. I shouldn’t – I don’t even know you. But I can tell that there isn’t a hurtful bone in your body, and I appreciate the fact that you’re trying to protect me.” She turned towards Helen abruptly, “will you answer one question for me? It would really help.”
What harm could it do? Helen wondered, if it helped secure Moira’s safety. “I’ll try,” she replied.
“This situation that you talk about. Did it begin with Sky’s death?”
Helen hesitated. It wasn’t that much of an intuitive leap, she supposed. She also knew that her answer would be likely to lead them down a path from which there could be no going back – unless Moira would accept a monosyllabic response. “Yes,” she ventured.
A steady silence grew between them then, Helen sure that Moira was turning this answer over and over in her head – trying to fit it into her limited knowledge of those events. She realised suddenly that her motorway exit was upon her and she indicated to briefly announce her departure as she swung the little car into the slip-lane.
“But,” Moira said, “it was inexplicable. They never would release the details to the family – to Sky’s mother. Sleet was the obvious suspect, of course – he was immediately taken into custody, yet he was released a couple of days later without charge. All that he would tell us was that he had cooperated fully. But when we pressed him he just clammed up – said that he couldn’t talk to us about it, couldn’t put himself through it. I berated him at the time, thumped him and told him what a selfish pig he was. He knew what Sky meant to me and he wouldn’t even talk about him. And the post-mortem was no use whatsoever. We had to demand to see it in the end, and all it said was ‘Inconclusive’. Their poor mother was torn apart.”
“What happened to him?” Helen asked with a sense of guilt – it was the one part of the story that Sleet had never confided to her.
“He went to see a doctor and then a psychiatrist. It was a condition of his release, apparently. Almost immediately he was on a cocktail of medications. And then he became totally reclusive. Apart from his compulsory appointments he wouldn’t leave his house. And he wouldn’t let anyone in either – not me and not his mother. The only time we really saw him to talk to was at the funeral, but even then he was so distant – like a different person.” She paused momentarily, “if you know what happened to Sky, Helen – how he died, you have to tell me. You know that, don’t you?”
Helen swallowed before replying, concerned as to how (or even whether) the other woman would take to the truth. It was too fantastical to believe, after all. Moira would probably think that she was on some strong medication herself.
“Moira,” she began, “I know that you desperately want to know the truth and yes, there are things that I can tell you about how Sky died and what Sleet is involved in. But I am so afraid of getting you caught up in it all – and it would all sound so terribly unbelievable to you anyway. You’ve said that you trust me – why not accept my word that it might be better for you not to know, and safer too?”
“For the same reason as you,” Moira asserted without hesitation. “You love Sleet, I can tell by the way you talk about him and how you refuse to abandon him. I loved Sky, Helen, and I wouldn’t be able to rest – knowing that you could tell me what really happened.”
“But it won’t give you closure, Moira, believe me. And the more that you know, the more dangerous it could be for you.”
“None of that matters, Helen. I have to know, I have to.”
Well, Helen mused, she had certainly tried! Sleet would be far from pleased about it, if she ever saw him again – her heart sank at the prospect of losing him. “Look,” she said, “we’ll be at mine in a few minutes. Let’s get back and put the kettle on, then I’ll tell you what I know, okay?”
Moira nodded, “yes, thank you.”
“Ah, Helen, you’re a sight for sore eyes, so you are! A man could die of thirst waiting for this place to open up!”
“You can keep walking, Brian Kelly. If it’s copious amounts of alcohol you’re looking for, you should have been on that bus to Cheltenham with me Father!”
“But you’ve barely been open since he left, girl! He won’t be happy about it, surely?”
“Oh, I’m sure he’s happy enough right now. And it’s none of your concern, is it?”
The disconsolate Irishman shuffled past them as Helen ushered Moira towards the front door, “I was only asking is all,” he voiced as he ambled off down the pavement, “no need to bite a poor fella’s bloody ‘ed off!”
“Ignore him,” Helen chuckled, turning her attention back to Moira who was studying the sign which hung over the doorway.
“You run a pub?” she asked.
“I help to run it,” Helen corrected, “It’s my Father’s place. He’ll be back tomorrow – worse for wear and out of pocket, no doubt.” She glanced back at the car which she had left a little way down the street, wondering if she should have abandoned it further afield. She consoled herself with the knowledge that the key was left in the ignition and the driver’s window was wound down. It was highly unlikely that it would remain there for very long.
“Where to begin?” Helen said, once the kettle had boiled and they were seated at the kitchen table with a steaming mug of coffee before each of them.
“Why not get straight to it?” Moira suggested, her face all seriousness, “who killed Sky; how did he die?”
Helen looked her in the eye. “It’s difficult, Moira – and hard to believe for someone who hasn’t seen it with their own eyes.” Then a thought occurred to her, “But, I suppose that you have, in a way.”
“You mean in my nightmare?”
“Yes,” Helen said, “only it was no nightmare. Tell me again, what you remember. It will make it simpler for me to explain.”
“Okay,” Moira agreed, “it’s not vivid or anything. I can only recall that face.”
“A human face?”
“No. Like I said before, it was a monstrous face – like a devil or a gargoyle; something out of a horror movie I must have seen, only I can’t place it. And its eyes – it was as if they were burning in to me. It was horrible. I don’t know how I managed to dream it up.”
“You didn’t,” Helen stated, face deadpan, “you saw and experienced exactly the same thing that I did. I recall climbing into a taxi cab. You remember answering the door to an unexpected deliveryman, and that same face appeared to both of us as a result…Oh, wait a moment!” she exclaimed suddenly, before jumping up and rushing through into the bar, returning momentarily with a phone handset held to her ear. “Auntie?” she spoke, “Auntie, it’s Helen….yes, I’m fine, how are you?.....shopping, right…..no, he’ll be back tomorrow, I’ll have him call you. Auntie, I’m sorry but I have to go, the bar is very busy.....okay, bye.”
“Your Auntie?” Moira queried, one blonde eyebrow raised.
“It’s why I got into the taxi,” Helen replied, “I took a call from the hospital to say that she had had a bad fall and I was on my way to see her.”
“But she’s fine?”
“Never felt better, she said. Bridge club last night and a shopping trip by bus this morning. She certainly hasn’t been hospitalised in the last twenty-four hours!”
“So it was a ruse? To lure you? Well, I’m glad your Auntie’s okay.”
Helen frowned, “yes, but that’s not the point. What’s just sunk in is the fact that they had human help – either accomplices or under their control, maybe – like Perry.”
“Helen, back up! You’re not making any sense. You’re talking about something not human!”
“I know,” Helen replied, “I told you that it would be difficult, didn’t I? The creature which you thought you’d dreamed up, Moira – it was real, very real. Most definitely not human though and, Sleet is sure about this, not from this Earth.”
Moira’s laugh was disconcerting, “you mean alien abduction, like the x-files or something? Helen, I didn’t come here to listen to this!”
Helen fixed the other woman with a stony glare, “you came here to listen, and you said that you would. I told you that it would be hard to believe, and guess what? It is! That post-mortem was inconclusive because your boyfriend had been reduced to a charred shell of a human being in the middle of a totally undamaged room – the very life sucked out of him by the burning red eyes of a demon, a monster just like the one you remember seeing. A creature that took control of your mind, and mine, and more than likely used us both as hostages to force Sleet to do their bidding.”
The shock was palpable on Moira’s face, a tear making its way down one cheek as she attempted to come to terms with what Helen had said, “I…I don’t have to listen to this,” she whispered.
“No,” Helen said, “you don’t, and I didn’t want you to – remember that. You can walk out that door over there right now, just promise me that when you do you’ll get on a plane somewhere and keep away, for a few weeks at least.”
Moira stood and turned away from Helen, facing the wall. She spoke quietly after a few moments, “so…he burned to death?”
Helen rose also and gently draped one arm around Moira’s shoulders, “in a way, yes,” she said, “but as Sleet explained it, it’s very sudden. There wouldn’t have been time for anything other than surprise, really.”
“They were arguing over me, you know?” Moira spoke in a hushed tone as if she hadn’t heard what Helen had just said. Helen became concerned that Moira was somehow trying to lay the blame upon herself for Sky’s demise. “Sleet didn’t think that Sky was treating me well,” Moira continued, “that he was neglectful. He had gone round there that night to give his brother a piece of his mind. How could it have ended like that? Why was this creature there, can you tell me that?” She turned to face Helen with an unflinching stare.
“Sleet didn’t understand it himself for a long while, and certainly not back then. He was angry and confused afterwards. Initially he blamed himself simply because he had been spared whilst his brother had lost his life. He ran, Moira, just like you said, but I don’t blame him. I’ve seen one of these beasts with my own eyes, the night that I met Sleet for the first time. He saved me from it – saved my life the way that he couldn’t save his brother’s.”
“But why, Helen? You talk about impossible monsters, but you haven’t said why. You still haven’t told me what the hell’s going on!” Moira’s voice rose to a hysterical pitch.
“Sleet wanted answers too, Moira, just like you. At first he decided that he would take the fight to them, spent each night hunting through the streets for them. And sometimes he found them, often ending up the worse for it. And then Perry turned up, right here one night.
“You mentioned that name earlier.”
“Yes. Sean Perry had fallen under the spell of the creatures somehow. Instead of…” she hesitated, “consuming him, they had decided that they had a use for him: to get to Sleet.”
“But, why?”
“We still don’t know. But please understand, Moira, that Sleet never wanted anyone else to get caught up in this, not Sky, nor you or me or any of the innocents that have been murdered along the way. That’s why he agreed to hand himself over to them yesterday, so that no one else would be hurt.”
“He did what!?” Moira’s voice became shrill once more and Helen realised that she was dealing with someone just as passionate and emotional as she was herself.
“He went with Perry, to surrender himself to them. He’d had enough of playing games, Moira. Once he knew that they needed him alive – Perry was most insistent about that fact – Sleet decided that giving himself up to them was preferable to others being caught in the cross-fire.”
“Then why take us?” Moira demanded, still in a desperate tone.
“As additional collateral maybe, like I said? I don’t know for sure, but it worries me. Sleet went to them of his own accord. If they felt that they needed hostages in order to coerce him, I’m afraid to think of what they actually had in store for him. I hope to God that he’s alright.”
Moira sat down at the table once more and cradled her coffee mug in her hands. “Helen, I hope you’ll understand when I say that I don’t honestly believe a word that you’ve said. Don’t get me wrong,” she hurried to add, holding her hands up defensively, “I’m not calling you a liar, I’m sure that you firmly believe what you’ve told me but, to me, it’s totally implausible.”
Helen sat down across from her silently, sensing that there was more to come.
“Having said that,” Moira continued, “I don’t have anything else, no other way of moving forwards. And I can’t go back either – no matter how improbable your story, if I tried to carry on as if nothing had happened I fear that it would play on my mind forever.”
“You don’t have to involve yourself, Moira.” Helen insisted.
“And what about Sleet, Helen? You have no idea where he is or what might have happened to him! Surely, you wouldn’t object to any offer of assistance?”
“Even though you don’t believe a single word I’ve said?” Helen smiled.
“Humour me,” Moira replied, “for Sleet’s sake. Now, are you seriously telling me that you’ve got nothing to go on whatsoever?”
Helen allowed Moira’s question to sink in and then her eyes lit up. She literally leapt across the kitchen to wrench open a drawer from which she withdrew two small pieces of paper. She placed them on the table before Moira. One was a small card that carried a mobile phone number. The other a letter, written by hand in a spidery scrawl.
“It’s not much,” Helen said, “but it’s something.”