Cath Staincliffe - Towers of Silence

He scrabbled after me. “They know I’m here,” I called but my voice was cracked and weak. “The police are coming.” If he heard me he took no notice.

At the bottom of the hill there was a stony path and a barbed wire fence separating the woods from the private farmland. I got to my feet, my knees soft and heavy as sand. I tried to run but it was hard to achieve any speed. He was catching up. My skin was burning with the exertion, my heart thumping. Cramp stabbed through my left calf. Up ahead were more fences, we were nearing the far end of the estate. I began to climb the bank, the sheer gradient made it horribly slow. Up at the top there’d be people. The police would be on the way by now, wouldn’t they? Faster. He was at my heels, his breath ragged. He grabbed my ankle. Please, no. I used the other one to kick down hard, connected with something and his hold slipped. On the skyline among the trees I made out a horse and rider cantering, surreal against the steely light.

I reached a plateau and stumbled across it. In the centre was a large pit, an old quarry. Trees crowded the slope behind it, I’d have to skirt it then keep climbing. I spat blood from my mouth, wiped the string of saliva as I moved. He was on me. His hands grabbing my neck again. No. I collapsed, deliberately, dead weight pulling him over, making him let go of my neck. I scrambled to my feet and took a step away. The quarry behind me. I didn’t have enough air to run any further, not uphill. Both legs were cramped. He stood swaying, blood slicked his face and one eye was swollen shut.

“The police,” I tried to shout but the words were hoarse. “You can’t…”

“Bitch,” he ran at me again, roaring, arms coming up to push me. For a moment he was slow motion, I watched his arms, getting ready. As he got to me I reached out to grab him, and went into a backward roll using his momentum to guide him over me and on over the rim of the pit. It was clumsy and he banged my head with his knee but it was effective. I heard a thump and the brush of foliage as he landed.

I lay there knowing I had to get up, go, escape. Trying to move, feeling weak and uncoordinated as a new-born. Move. Move. I rolled over and got on my hands and knees. I shuffled forward and looked down, panting. He was looking back at me, with his one eye. A bright blue marble. He kept twitching his arms and legs but he couldn’t get up. I noticed then that one leg was bent strangely, the knee didn’t look right. His face had gone the colour of lard.

I hesitated, wanting to make sure he couldn’t come after me any more. Trying to slow down the breaths that hurt so much. Then I heard a shout, a child. I looked up and saw a man and a small boy slithering down the hillside.

“Help,” I shouted, “help.” My voice croaky.

The man swung his head, caught sight of me. I knelt up. “There’s been an accident. Get an ambulance. And the police.” Shouting made me feel sick. I clamped my mouth shut and tasted the tang of blood.

“Come on, Rory,” he turned and took the boy’s hand, led him up the bank.

Eddie Cliff had stopped twitching. Both eyes closed. He was moaning, a little like the sound a dog makes in pain. I put my legs over the edge of the quarry and went down on my bottom. My hands were freezing and bright red like lobsters, swelling too. I’d torn a thumbnail deep and it hurt as much as my throat. When I got to the quarry floor I walked over to him, my legs trembling. I fell twice; the place was a jungle of fallen trees and brambles hiding uneven rocks. He had fallen onto a rock. He lay across it like a sacrificial victim. He heard me approach and opened his good eye, the other eyelid flickered, looked like cranberry jelly inside.

“I know about Miriam.”

“Suicide.”

“She was scared of heights. Did you know? Did that make it easier? She’d have been frozen, incapable, drowning in fear.” It hurt to talk. I coughed and spat blood. I wiped my face with the palm of my hand.

Beads of sweat stood on his forehead and nose and ran into the lines on his face. All those laughter lines. Ha ha ha.

“Why did she get in the car?”

He didn’t reply.

“She knew what you’d done to Melody, she’d promised to help but Melody begged her not to tell. She was frightened, they both were. Threats. Someone like you, it wouldn’t take much to have someone sectioned, sent to a secure unit. They knew you had the power, people would never doubt anything you said. But Miriam knew she should speak out. She wanted to do the right thing. And you couldn’t rely on her keeping quiet, could you; she wasn’t one of your victims, she was a witness. Was that the first time, eh? Oh, I know it wasn’t the first case of abuse – you’ve been doing that for years, haven’t you? But was it the first time someone actually caught you at it?”

He’d gone paler, his lips tinged with blue. Shock. He moaned. He was going into shock. It can kill. Hypothermia. I could go. Spit on him and walk away. Leave them to find him. I looked at him. It was hard to get my coat off, my hands were stiff and puffy. I draped it over his chest. White foam flecked the corners of his mouth.

He shook and his face spasmed in pain. “Help me,” he said hoarsely.

I bent and whispered in his ear. “Why did Miriam go with you? Why?”

No answer.

I could smell the salt of his skin and the acetate note in his breath.

“Why did she get in the car?” I demanded.

“Help,” he moaned.

“Tell me first.”

He groaned again, his face was waxy, covered with a sheen of sweat.

“Tell me. Why did Miriam go with you?”

He smiled. It looked like a death rictus. “See Melody. Told her… misunderstanding, sort it out… told her Melody wanted Miriam there… support.”

“She believed that?”

“Social worker wants to see us all,” he struggled to speak, I bent close to hear. “Take statements, Melody asking for you, Miriam.”

The bloody liar. Able with his clever words and ready assurances to persuade her to go with him, in spite of everything. Ladling on how much Melody needed her. Miriam confused, appalled at what had happened, frightened but wanting to do the right thing for the young woman. Promises of a civilised meeting, social workers and all.

Bemused and disoriented she had gone, for the best of reasons, sitting tight, loathing the man beside her and with no idea how brutal and ruthless he was. She had gone. In the car. How long till she realised he wasn’t taking her to see Melody and a social worker? Perhaps he said they’d meet at the Town Hall. But he drives another way, towards the Arndale Centre, into the car park. Her panic mounting, her terror of high places freezing in her veins. Perhaps still hoping that it would all come right, that nothing could happen here, in a busy city centre car park. That Eddie would never… Then what? He forced her from the car? Pulled her to the edge. Petrified she had finally seen his plan. Struggled then, for her life, for her children but he was stronger. Had she begged? Screamed for help? Had fear eaten her words? Those last frantic moments, calling on her God, praying for Connie and Martina and Roland.

He shook, the smile faded and his eyes slipped back inside his head, revealing one white orb like a hard-boiled egg, one crimson pulp. Blood dripped on my jumper, I felt the trees stagger and suddenly my knees buckled. I landed on bracken, wet grass, branches. Above me a Scot’s pine was silhouetted spiky black stretched out against the smeared grey sky. They wouldn’t be long now, would they?

A little later something warm and wet wriggled across my face, making the cuts sting. Digger licking me. He grinned and sat. Stinky breath curling from his lolling tongue. No barking, no fetching help, nothing. I closed my eyes. You, I thought, must be the most bloody useless dog in the whole known universe.