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The next morning Bert tentatively touched his face. It had returned to normal size. He rolled off his low cot bed, rubbing the crusts from his eyes. Slouched in the cramped space, he picked up his mirror and gasped at his reflection. It was as if his beating had never taken place.
‘And so shall her passing soul nourish mine,’ he whispered, as his stomach rumbled. ‘But I need money,’ he said. Like a chick in a nest, he cast his face upwards, waiting for sustenance, but all he could see was the yellowed roof lining of his dingy van. Bert cast his mind back to Emily Clarke. He staged the body, as if she were sleeping, her red hair framing her face, her mouth pursed in a silent ‘O’ of surprise. Locking the bedroom door from the inside, he had wandered around her poky room. The blue dress had hung limply in her wardrobe. It was a testament to her efforts to get her life back on track. But it had not been enough. She, like many, had laid their secrets bare and did not deserve to live. He picked up the phone handset and lay it on the table, the curled cord recoiling like a snake as he jabbed 999. He didn’t need to speak. Police were obliged to respond to abandoned calls regardless of whether they heard a voice or not. He had been careful to cover his tracks. The tights were too embedded in her neck to bring with him, but he knew enough of police investigations to ensure he had left no sign of his presence.
Bert scratched the back of his neck as he felt his skin flare. He continued with the raking, scratching his arms, and then, pulling up his trouser legs, he dug his nails into his flesh and moaned in short-lived relief. The loss of Emily’s life had healed his injuries, but only eased the skin condition that drove him to the edge. It would take the death of a very special person to provide him with such power. Jennifer Knight. She carried an aura that drew him in like a magnet. He imagined her visiting the scene of Emily’s murder, her slim graceful fingers touching the places he had been. She would not be able to resist the shadow of his presence, even if she did not understand why.
‘Please, Bertram, don’t …’ Mother’s voice echoed faintly in the recesses of his mind. He rubbed his forehead as his thoughts became jumbled. It felt as if there was too much packed behind the small space, and his skull was unable to accommodate it. But soon it would clear. Soon everything would be better. So much of his life was spent in the past, and there was no getting away from the memories that weighed heavily on his mind. He climbed into the front of the van. He would have to visit mother, if only to silence her pleading and get on with the task in hand. Sighing heavily, he climbed onto the driver’s seat to make the journey home.
Chapter Sixteen
Bert
As Bert grew, so did his love of the outdoors, which was sorely stifled by his mother in daylight hours. A cold virus left him unable to leave his room in the unguarded night, and too weak to chase the raven that cawed outside his window. Globules of Vicks smothered his chest, and screwed-up tissues dotted the old comics. Callum had read them to him until he knew the stories off by heart. The stifling room smelt of cleaning fluid and watered-down chicken soup, and mother hummed a nursery rhyme as she pottered around the kitchen.
Callum did everything he could to ease Bert's confinement, and his latest visit was accompanied with gifts. As he laid the shiny conkers on the bed, Bert masked his resentment with snuffled ‘thanks’, and raised them to his nose. He breathed in the woodland smell. It tainted him. Just like every breath Callum took.
Bert didn’t choose to hate his brother. Hate got him all angry and stirred the black nest of creatures inside. They told him to do things his body didn’t have the strength to facilitate. He knew Callum kept things from him because he didn’t want him to feel bad. It didn’t make any difference; his mother had a knack of announcing it on the front porch as Callum left.
Good luck at the football today, score one for me! Be careful on those rides now, sweetheart! And Bert's favourite: Have a great time at the party, dear, shame I’ve got to stay at home and look after your brother.
It was always followed by that little sigh, her martyrdom a touching sight. But it was all a lie. She loved the attention from her church friends when they came to visit, speaking in sympathetic whispers as they peeped in on her bedridden child. He was called such because nobody knew what was wrong with him, and nobody had the heart to ask. Sitting around her kitchen table with their gifts of freshly made scones, his devoted mother was almost nominated for sainthood. And when the sympathy waned, she’d cut his hair into a concentration camp style, restricting his food to complete the look. Clutching their hands to their chest, the women promised a mention in every mass before returning to town to spread the word.
It would have been enough to drive him to the edge of his sanity, had it not been for his moonlit excursions. School had interfered with his sleeping pattern, but it was easy to feign sickness then sleep all day and wake at midnight to visit his special place. The forest felt like another world, a place where he belonged and his presence was welcomed. The only birds that lived in the forest were the magnificent black ravens that nested in the branches of the tall domineering trees. They were attracted by the energy of the land, just as he was, and while it bolstered their spirit, to others it created a feeling of unease. His special raven was always at his side, his blue-purple iridescent feathers cloaking his body and bringing colour to the night. Bert set traps in the forest, and then hung the corpses of the gutted rodents from tree branches as offerings. The raven repaid him in loyalty and guardianship, something his life had been lacking up until now.
Chapter Seventeen
Jennifer had taken on the role of mature adult long before she reached her teens. The stress of losing her mother at such an early age, combined with taking responsibility for her sister, had left its mark. She was fully aware of her failings, and they took up many pages of the journals kept neatly hidden in her bedside locker. Having little knowledge of a normal loving relationship, she usually hoped for the best and expected the worst. Such thinking had lived up to her expectations so far. That was, until she met Will. Although he held a rugged charm, he was the complete flip side to everything she went for in a man. Her usual boyfriends were self-assured, selfish and often unpredictable men, not dissimilar to her DI, Ethan Cole. But there was something about Will that warmed her, a caring, protective nature that told her this was the way it was meant to be. Slowly he had grown on her, and in recent months she found herself looking at him in a different light. She even found herself welcoming Will’s company, since the discovery of the envelope in her car.