Steven Dunne - The Reaper

‘No. Please. I didn’t kill her. It weren’t me.’ He struggled again but it was useless. The ropes immobilised him from the shoulders down. Talk. That’s all he could do to stop this. Think what to say.

Brook’s face was close and Jason could see the glint of the old-fashioned razor. He felt a hand on his jaw, pulling his head round.

‘Look at the picture, Jason. Listen to the music. Let go and feel the beauty. Look for some in yourself. There must have been some once.’

‘There’s coppers…watching.’

‘We pulled them away two days ago, Jason. According to our budget, you’re no longer at risk.’

‘You’re supposed…to protect…to help…’

Brook smiled and nodded. ‘Protect the innocent, Jason. That’s what I’m doing. Obeying the law sometimes makes that harder. I’ve seen too much thoughtless destruction, too many victims. I’ve seen Mrs Ottoman cowering in her living room after what you did to her. I’ve seen young girls raped, torn apart by lowlifes. Jason, I’ve seen Kylie. I can see her now.’

‘Don’t.’

‘It’s true.’

Jason’s eyes squinted through the tears. ‘What?’ What was the copper saying to him? ‘Where?’

Brook placed a hand on Jason’s head. ‘Here in your thoughts. I can see her struggling, fighting to be free. Her hair’s trapped under your elbows. She can’t move. Her pyjama bottoms are in a heap on the floor. You’re hurting her. It burns! She doesn’t like it, does she? She wants you to stop…’

‘What you saying? Give it a rest. You’re creeping me out.’

‘…but you didn’t stop, did you, Jason? Even though she begged you. She promised not to tell her mam if you stopped. But you weren’t worried about that. Did your mother already know? Did she care? Your dad didn’t. He told you what women were for, didn’t he? Only good for one thing, son-even your own sister.’

‘How do you know all this?’

‘The Reaper showed me when he let you live. It’s the only explanation. I thought it was your father but I was blinded by The Reaper’s other victims. Fathers and daughters, you see.’

Brook stepped away from Jason. The music played on. When he looked down the razor was in his hand. He stared at it as though he’d never seen it before.

Jason’s eyes bulged. ‘You killed my family.’

Brook shook his head. ‘No, Jason. You killed them.’

‘Well, yer can’t kill me. It ain’t right.’

‘Listen to the music, Jason.’

‘Don’t do it. I’ll do ’owt you ask.’

‘Look at the picture, Jason.’

‘I’ll sign the paper. I’ll tell you everything. You can have the names.’

‘You’ll die with angels kissing your face.’

‘Please don’t. Kill Bianca. Not me. I haven’t lived yet.’

‘You shouldn’t have been so anxious to start…’ Jason tried in vain to get to his feet. The chair fell onto its side. Brook was reminded of Tamara Wrigley He hoisted it upright again and burned his eyes into Jason. ‘Fantastic isn’t it, Jason? The last minute, the last second. Have you ever felt so alive?’

‘Don’t. Please.’

‘Savour every second.’ Brook stepped behind him and pulled Jason’s head back by his hair and touched the cold steel of the blade against the bulging, contorted neck.

‘Feel the air going in. Feel your lungs filling. Feel the blood coursing, your heart pounding away under the hammer of adrenaline. Life. Amazing, isn’t it?’

‘Please…’ Jason was sobbing now. Brook remembered the exhilaration this moment brought. The music surged through Brook’s consciousness, echoing around his mind like a shout in an underground cavern.

‘The Reaper had you at his mercy. He could have killed you. But he knew you were special. That’s why you’re still alive, Jason. He left you for me. He came to Derby for me. Not you. The Reaper can’t die, you see. He must go on. His work must continue.’

Jason howled, ‘Please. I don’t wanna die. Let me go. I won’t tell. Nobody would believe me. Please! I’m sorry, Inspector. I’m sorry. You’re right about Kylie and me. And the old woman. We killed her and we enjoyed it. It was a laugh at first. But I wish I never. I see her at night when I go to sleep.’ Jason sobbed violently, his shoulders shuddering. He tried to bury his head in hands that couldn’t obey. Then more quietly, ‘I’m sorry. I’m real sorry for what I’ve done, mister. Swear down. I can’t change it. But if you let me off, I’ll change. I will. I’ll turn myself in. And the others. Just give me a chance.’

For a moment there was only the music and the quiet sobbing. Brook didn’t move as he stood over Jason. His face was set in stone. The music played on, climbing and descending but the sobbing stopped and finally Jason looked up at Brook.

Brook took a pace forward and lifted the razor. He slashed the blade at the rope.

The boy was unable to speak. His face crumpled and he broke into a flood of tears and as he began to free himself, Brook pulled on his leather gloves and gathered the rest of his things into the bag including the whisky bottle. After rinsing the whisky glass, he folded the severed rope under his arm.

‘You’ve got seven days to give yourself up. I’ll leave the picture to remind you,’ said Brook, moving to the door.

Jason stopped rubbing his wrists and turned his tear-streaked face to Brook. ‘Remind me of what?’ His eyes were fearful again.

‘That The Reaper’s watching.’

Brook stood as upright as he could manage given the weight of his rucksack and the steepness of the slope. In a few metres he’d be at the top, but the fire in his lungs and calves demanded immediate rest.

He turned to look back down the sharp incline of Thorpe Cloud and watched Wendy panting after him some thirty metres below.

‘Hurry up. It’ll be dark in eight hours,’ he shouted.

An indecipherable grunt emanated from below accompanied by a vigorous V-sign to guarantee clarity. Brook grinned and struck out for the summit.

Once there he flung the rucksack to the ground and, when his lungs had recovered, did a full turn to take in the sun-dappled panorama-the sleepy houses of Ilam, dozing in spring warmth to the north-west, Bunster Hill to the north and the deep scar of Dovedale, gouged out by the river, further east.

By the time Jones joined him ten minutes later, he had the flask and the sandwiches ready and was comparing the map to the view of their route along the River Dove to Milldale and Hartington beyond.

Jones flung herself onto the ground next to Brook and sucked in air until her breathing slowed. ‘Thanks for waiting,’ she gasped.

‘Have some coffee.’

Wendy took the plastic cup, drained it, then laid her head next to Brook’s and closed her eyes to the morning sun. ‘It’s beautiful up here.’

Brook sat up and looked down into her face. ‘Yes.’

‘So what did you want to talk to me about?’ She opened her eyes briefly to check his face then closed them again.

Brook paused, sweeping his gaze around the horizon. ‘I’m resigning…’

She sat up now and searched his expression. ‘You’re giving in?’

‘No, Wendy. I’m getting out while there’s still a chance for me. Carrying on is what Charlie did so he wouldn’t have to live with himself, wouldn’t have to face up to a life without hope.’ He looked back at her. ‘I’ve found something to live for. And a way to live with myself.’

‘Is this anything to do with Sorenson?’

‘Yes. He had plans for me.’

‘What plans?’

‘A way for me to cope with despair.’ Brook gave a half-laugh and looked into the distance. ‘But he needed me in the Force. He didn’t envisage my finding happiness and making peace with the world.’