‘DC Knight turned your head, didn’t she? If you’d minded your own business you wouldn’t be here now. I had no quarrel with you, but you forced my hand.’ Bert turned over the second card, revealing his present. His position in his job, his affair with Jennifer, everything was brought in front of him. Will wondered just how long the killer had been watching them to know so much. He was clearly insane, and his motive for the murders made him all the more unhinged.
‘The prophecy cannot be stopped once it has commenced. As soon as I read your future, it will happen. Maybe now, maybe tomorrow. Who knows?’ Bert cackled, his face set in a deadening grin.
Will conveyed his anger by shaking his head. But it was pointless. In the mind of a cold-blooded killer, everything is justified.
He blinked away his blurred vision. The shaking had subsided, and the only plan he could think of was to launch his body at the man if he came towards him. Slowly, he tried to wriggle out of the barbed wire, each movement bringing intense pain.
‘I’ve wasted enough time. Now it is time for your future.’ Bert rubbed his hands together before slowly turning the last card over, nodding and mumbling as he responded to the voices in his head. ‘I am to do you a great service,’ he said.
Will’s heart leapt. Was he going to release him after all?
‘You are to become acquainted with the blade of my knife, but it won’t be a quick death. You have a whole day to make your peace with it, before your body expires.’
Will bellowed through the cloth in frustration, making Bert jump and topple the candle to its side, spilling hot wax on the dusty floorboards. Bert swore, patting his pockets for his matches. He shook the half-empty box before striking another, making it kiss the extinguished wick.
Bert’s face darkened like thunder as he grabbed Will by the jawbone, his long nails digging into his skin. ‘You shouldn’t have done that.’
Unable to raise himself from the ground, Will bellowed for help, but was silenced by the tip of cold steel piercing his stomach. A trickle of warm blood ran down his side, and a fresh wave of nausea passed over him as he realised he had just been stabbed.
‘The prophecy has been set in motion,’ Bert said, transfixed by the bloody blade. ‘Your body will sustain you until tomorrow, then you will die here, drained of blood.’ Bert laid the bloodied knife on the floorboards behind him before stretching his limbs to walk away. ‘So it will be done. You have twenty-four hours to live.’
Will sank into dark oblivion.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Bert
He was getting stronger, he could feel it in his bones. Every cell was repairing, knitting together, expelling the sick, and cleansing his blood. The police officer may not have been part of his plan but he had come too far now, he could not risk getting caught. Now all he needed to complete his mission was to fulfil two more prophecies. The bound and gagged police officer was a good bargaining tool. If the homeless man did not bring Jennifer Knight to him, the death of her colleague would. He needed to arrange a meeting, and he needed her to come alone. This had to be personal, so personal that she would want him solely for herself. She was close. He could feel her energy reaching out to him, probing the darkness. It was all coming together, and he was ready.
Like a vampire, he would feed from the essence of her soul. Only then could he be free. Bert smiled as he watched in his rear view mirror of his mother’s car. The ragged man slowly ambled up the road, his face wracked with discomfort as he clutched a rucksack over one shoulder, and his scruffy dog under his arm. A grey blanket enveloped the terrier’s body, its small black nose peeping out from the layers. Bert pressed the brake, allowing the man to catch him up. The drizzly weather had kept people inside, and Bert felt his confidence in his mission grow. The car came to a slow halt as he unwound the dirt-streaked window, a spray of drizzle providing fresh vigour.
‘Can I give you a lift?’ Bert craned his neck to peer up at the man.
George pulled the scruffy terrier up under his right arm as he shuffled on the pavement towards town. He hunched his shoulders in a determined march, throwing a glance at the driver of the car crawling alongside the kerb. ‘Do I know you?’
‘Don’t you remember? We shared a drink the other night. Can I give you a lift?’ Bert tried to hide the glint of excitement in his eyes. Such enthusiasm tended to unsettle people, and although his prey may have overlooked it for the sake of a drink, in the empty streets with nothing but blackbirds circling overhead, he may not be as keen. He could also have been warned of a suspicious man in the area.
‘I’ve got a little nip of something that should help warm you up,’ Bert said, his patience running thin. His eyes flicked to the mirror to check the streets were clear. A knife lay hidden in the pocket of his door well. The dog could prove difficult, but if the old man didn’t get in voluntarily, he would take him by force.
George came to a sudden halt, his dog shivering under his arm. Bert willed him to climb inside, wondering if the sight of rosary beads hanging from his mirror would give him some much needed reassurance.
George hoisted up the dog under his shoulder, his own discomfort evident by his pained expression. ‘I need a lift to the vet’s. Me dog is sick. I think he’s caught a chill.’
Bert leaned across and pulled the passenger door handle. The bottom of the door scraped across the pavement and it protested with a loud creak. It hadn’t been opened in years, and an earthen mossy odour escaped with a barely audible whoosh.
‘Hop in,’ Bert said, with his most reassuring smile.
George ducked his head as he climbed inside. ‘Thanks very much, mister. Can ya drop me to the Haven Veterinary clinic on the far side of town? You’ll have to turn around. Do ya want me to direct ya?’
Bert checked his mirrors as he pulled away from the kerb. ‘No need. I know exactly where I need to go.’
George drew the seatbelt across his dog, strapping him onto his lap. Tinker blinked before narrowing his eyes at Bert, and a low rumble of a growl ensued.
‘Tinker, stop that,’ George said, stroking down the white hackles forming on the dog’s back. The car veered left and began to gain speed as it took a country road out of town. ‘You’re going the wrong way, mister, the vet’s back there.’ George jabbed his thumb behind him.
Bert stared firmly ahead. ‘In good time. There’s a few loose ends to tie up first.’
George’s straggly Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, his liver spotted hands shaking in tune with Tinker’s nervous shiver. Probably desperate for a drink, Bert thought, knowing that would be the least of his worries soon. As if reading his thoughts, the dog gave a low growl, enough to tell him he was up to no good. Bert smiled in satisfaction. He had George exactly where he wanted him. There was no way he could get out of the car while it was moving so fast. The metal box shook as it hit the country lanes, the worn-out suspension making every bone in his body rattle.
‘I don’t have time for this,’ George said, his teeth jarring as the car bounced out of another pothole. ‘Just bring me back to where you found me and I’ll be on my way.’
Bert tightened his fingers over the narrow steering wheel and threw George a poisonous look. ‘You’ll go when I say you can go. Now sit tight, this won’t take very long.’
George’s voice rose up a pitch. ‘What do ya want with me? Sure I’m just an auld fella on the street. What interest do ya have in me or me dog?’