Raising Dave Chapter 15

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He was holding up his warrant card.

“Police Officer Alex Bateman,” he said. “May I come in?”

What did he want? What could I say?  I felt like turning around and running, but that would’ve been pointless. He’d have caught me. Or he’d have called his colleagues at the station, they’d put out an APB, and I’d be captured within an hour.

So, if I couldn’t run, what then should I do?

I decided to brass it out.

“What if I were to refuse to let you in?” I asked.

He studied my face closely.

“Then I’d have to arrest you and take you to the station for a chat.”

I didn’t think it’d be a good idea to provoke him into arresting me. There was a chance I could convince him that I hadn’t committed any crime.

“You better come in.”

I led him through to the kitchen. Moloch the black cat was curled up next to the radiator. He opened his eyes, looked at us, decided we weren’t worth the effort of keeping his eyes open, and shut them again.

I pulled a couple of chairs out from under the table.

“Take a seat,” I said, sitting in one myself.
He sat down. We were within touching distance, the copper and the prime suspect in Dave Carrion’s murder case. I wondered if he was going to caution me, or begin with an informal chat.

I decided to get him onside with a show of hospitality.

“I could do with a cup of tea,” I said. “Do you want me to make you one while I’m at it?”

“Yes please.”

I brewed the tea and brought it to the table. His eyes flickered up and down my face.

“What’s your name?” He asked.

“I’m called Kali.”

“There’s something we need to talk about, Kali,” he began.  

“What is it you do want to discuss?”

I knew the answer even before he opened his mouth.

“A young man called David Carrion. I believe he was killed near a flat you used to occupy.”

He sat back and waited for my reaction. He wanted me to incriminate myself in some way then he’d probably question me under caution. I squirmed in my seat, shaking my head I was trying to keep a lid on things, but felt myself reddening.

“I don’t know anyone called David Carrion.”

“I think you do,” he said calmly. “I’ve made a few enquiries. It seems that you and Carrion used to frequent the same places together. You were captured on video at the scene of the crime, actually committing the crime. What do you say to that?”

I remained silent. I didn’t want to rush into a reply. I needed to come up with something that wouldn’t give any hostages to fortune.

“Well?” He asked.

I opened my mouth to tell him that it was a case of mistaken identity, but before I could speak, there was a loud knocking from the cellar.

Bateman’s brow furrowed.

“What was that?” He asked.

“What was what?”

“That knocking noise.”

I was about to deny that there had been any noise, when it happened again, louder this time.

“I think it must be the central heating,” I said. “It does that sometimes. I’ll go turn it off.”

“You’re going nowhere,” he said. “That’s not the central heating.”

He stood up, grabbed my arm, and pulled me roughly to my feet.

“It sounds to me as if you have someone imprisoned down there,” he said. “Someone who might end up meeting the same fate as David Carrion if I don’t stop you. Show me where you’ve put him.”

Bateman forcibly propelled me out of the kitchen and up the hall to the cellar door, which he opened, before turning on the light.

 “Who’s down there?” He shouted.

There was no response.

He marched me down the steps, still gripping me firmly by the arm. We reached the last step and entered the cellar. Bateman looked around.

“Christ, it stinks down here,” he said. “What the fuck does it smell of?” 

I heard a meee-ow, and we both looked around. Moloch the cat had followed us.

There was a knocking noise from the coffin.

“Fuck, there’s someone in there,” said Bateman.

He went over to the coffin, dragging me with him.

“Wait a minute. It’s been shut and locked from the outside. You’ve locked him in there. You’ve fucking well locked some poor bastard in there. What were you planning to do to him, eh, you fucking evil bitch?”

He let go of my arm.

“Don’t you dare try and run off, or I’ll have you, I swear I will,” he said. “Now stand over there where I can see you.”

I was pretty sure he’d catch me if I tried to escape, so I stood where he told me to.

He unscrewed the wingnuts which held the coffin lid in place. When he’d undone the last one he stepped back.

“You can come out now,” he said. “I’ve unfastened the lid.”

The lid lifted an inch as if by magic then began to slide to one side, scraping against the carcass of the coffin. It reached the tipping point then fell sideways to the floor with a clatter.

Moloch jumped then he froze to the spot with his fur all on end.

“My God,” said Bateman. “I don’t know what that smell is, but it just got lot worse.”

We stared at the coffin - me, Bateman, and even Moloch.

A pair of hands grabbed the top edge from the inside. It was hard to tell what colour they were in the poor lighting conditions in the cellar, but if I had to guess I’d have said they were green. The next thing we saw was David Carrion pulling himself up into a sitting position.

He looked our way.

It wasn’t just the back of his head that had suffered when he’d fallen down the stairs near my flat; his face had been lumped and bumped in the fall. After that, it’d rotted some while he’d been stored in the spare room. Finally, in the damp conditions of the cellar, it’d been colonised by a thriving patch of fungus.

It’s fair to say he didn’t look too healthy.

He fixed me with an eye which was threatening to part company with its socket.

“Oh, my, fucking, God.” said Bateman. “What in fuck’s name is that?”


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When I got back to the bungalow, I parked in the garage and cleaned up the front of the car as best I could, hoping I’d got all Olly’s blood off. Then I hurried indoors, averting my eyes from a rat I saw skulking in the bushes.

I couldn’t do anything that night due to my feelings of utter despair at having robbed Olly of his life. When daylight came, I found myself strangely drawn to the scene of the accident the night before, so I put on a headscarf and dark glasses, Jackie Kennedy style, and went there on foot, with the Harvesting Stone in my pocket. It was essential to keep it on me at all times. It contained the Life-force of three people and that made it the most precious thing on the planet.

There were dark stains on the pavement with police tape cordoning them off from pedestrians. I loitered around, trying to come to terms with what I’d done.

A woman emerged from the nearest house and walked down the drive. She saw me looking at the stains.

“It was a hit-and-run, love,” she said, in a Northern accent. “Some bastard knocked down a little boy and drove off. Lovely little lad who lives round the corner. Oliver Chadwick. Made a right mess of him, and didn’t even call an ambulance.”

“That’s awful,” I said. “How could anyone do a thing like that?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t know. I’ll never understand it. Anyway, at least he survived.”

“What? You mean he wasn’t killed?”

“That’s right. The car made a terrible mess of him but he wasn’t dead. I could tell as soon as I saw him lying there. I called an ambulance right away.”

“So he’s in hospital?”

“Yes, and he’ll be there for a long time, I imagine, with the injuries he’s got. I just hope he pulls through.”

Even though this news meant my Harvesting Stone only contained the life energy of two people, not three, and I now had to start all over again with killing my third victim, I also hoped he pulled through.

“I wonder where they took him.”

 “Probably to the Royal Free Hospital, that’s the nearest one with an Accident and Emergency department. Anyway, must go now. I can’t stand here chatting all day.”

She headed off in the direction of the shops. As soon as she was gone, I made a call from a payphone to the Royal Free Hospital.

“There was a young boy called Olly taken into casualty last night,” I said. “I mean, Oliver Chadwick. He was the victim of a hit-and-run incident. I’d like to know how he’s doing.”

“I can’t tell you that, I’m afraid. I can’t disclose that information over the telephone.”

“Can you tell me what ward he’s on?”

“Are you a relative?”

“Yes, I’m his older sister.”

“He’s on Ward nine.”

I set off for the Royal Free Hospital on the tube. I had to see how Olly was doing. On the way I heard a whispering in my ear.

“You know what you could do while you’re there? You could finish him off. It’d be easy. You could do it the same way you did for Dorothy and Victor. Then you’d be able to resurrect Dave and your life would be happy again.”

It was the voice of Moloch. I ignored it.

As soon as I entered the foyer, the smell of cleaning agents, medicines, sickness, and death, assaulted my nostrils reminding me of Olly’s plight. I put it to the back of my mind and used the antiseptic hand-wash near the door to clean my hands, before following the signs to ward nine.

The doors to the ward were locked. I pressed a buzzer, heard a click, pushed open one of the doors and went inside. All was deathly quiet as I proceeded along the corridor to the nurse station.

On my way, I passed a small waiting room. There was a woman asleep on a chair. I couldn’t help but wonder if it was Olly’s mum. Possibly she’d been at his bedside all night, and had to crash out. His Dad was probably too ill to be there, both from his cancer and from the fall he’d taken when Olly had pushed him out of the way of my car.

I got to the nurse station. There was one nurse working there with her head down over some papers.

“Excuse me,” I said. “I’m looking for Oliver Chadwick.”

“He’s down the corridor in room five,” she said, without looking up.

I entered his room and found him asleep in bed, with wires snaking from various parts of his body to a series of monitors at his side. Electronic displays flickered and bleeped at regular intervals.

His face was a mess, but at least he looked peaceful.

I regretted ever having come into contact with him.

Then I was seized by a desire to take the pillow from under his head, press it over his little face, and finish him off.

There was a whispering in my ear.

“Now’s your chance, there’s no-one around. You can do it. Just use the pillow.”

My arms moved without any volition on my part. I was like a robot. I grabbed the pillow and began to tug it free of the weight of his head. The movement disturbed him, and he opened his eyes. They widened in terror.

I’d seen that look on his face once before, when I’d driven directly at him in the car.

I had to hide that terrified face from my sight, cover it up with the pillow.

The monitors bleeped more frequently. The flickering graphs began to peak and trough.

“Kali,” he whispered.

It brought me to my senses. I let go of the pillow.

Footsteps sounded along the corridor. The bleeping of the monitor must have alerted someone. I left his room. The nurse and the woman who I’d presumed to be Olly’s mother were heading towards me looking grim. I pushed past them to the exit.

Behind me they rushed into Olly’s room, and as they did so, I heard the monitors flat-lining.

It was in the local newspaper the following day that the boy involved in the hit-and-run incident had died in his hospital bed.

Was it the shock of seeing the driver of the car which had so badly injured him, that killed Olly?

How long it would be before his mother worked out that his final visitor had been the person responsible for his death?

Those sorts of thoughts could drive a person mad. I couldn’t afford to dwell on them, and besides, I had work to do.

I grabbed my Ankh (the cross I’d made from a wire coat-hanger) and Shen (the loop I’d fashioned from a piece of clothesline) then opened the door to the cellar. I hesitated at the top of the stairs. The thought of what was waiting for me at the bottom of them filled me with apprehension. For a moment, I couldn’t bring myself to go down them.

But I had to. I’d come this far and I couldn’t afford to blow it. I’d killed three people. That couldn’t be for nothing.

I turned on the light and slowly descended.

It was icy cold down there

I went to the table where Dave was lying, as if resting in state, holding my breath, due to the rank smell he was giving off.

I placed my Ankh on the floor with the Shen around it, and put the Harvesting Stone on Dave’s chest. It now contained the life force of all three of my victims - Dorothy, Victor and Olly. I tried not to think about any of them. But most of all, I tried not to think about Olly.

With the Harvesting Stone in place, I stood within the Shen and recited the ancient Egyptian words needed to raise Dave from the dead.

I pictured him breathing again. I knew his face would be a mashed up rotting mess when I resurrected him, but as far as I was concerned, that wasn’t my problem. My job was to raise him from the dead. After that, anything else that was wrong with him was for the medics to sort out.

When I’d cast my spell, I waited for something to happen, a movement, or cry from him, perhaps. But there was nothing.

So this was the final horror.

Dave wasn’t going to be resurrected.

I was disappointed and felt the crushing weight of guilt on my shoulders. I’d killed three people in vain. Four counting Dave himself.

I went upstairs and ordered a lightweight coffin. I’d have to leave Victor’s house pretty soon and another refuge. But before I did, I was going to do the very least I could for Dave – put him in a coffin so he could have a bit of dignity in death.

When it arrived I somehow got him into it and screwed on the lid with the brass wingnuts that were stationed at regular intervals around the edge. When it was on good and tight I turned to leave, planning to go on the run as soon as I could get some things together.

That’s when I heard a loud knocking. My heart jumped, but then I realised that it wasn’t coming from the coffin. It was coming from upstairs. Someone was at the door.

I remembered that Moloch hadn’t appeared immediately after I’d summoned him. He’d waited for a while, and when he had appeared it’d been when I’d least expected him to.

Could something similar be happening with Dave Carrion? Could he be standing outside, knocking at the door?

I hurried up the steps. There was another loud knock on the door. I rushed up to it and stopped. I hardly dared see what was on the other side. But I had to. I turned the handle and pulled the door slowly open.

I didn’t know what to expect.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when I opened it fully, but I was.

So much so that my heart jumped into my mouth and I was, for a moment, paralysed with fear.

Note: I'm aiming to publish the 16th and final chapter on Sunday the 27th August

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