| Billy Part 17 - Hoppers |
1946
The safe job had been easy enough. Billy was aware that the police suspected he had been involved somehow. He also knew that if they could, they would fit him up for just about anything. The newly promoted Sergeant Allen in particular was a nasty piece of work.
Takes one to know one
Switch had been fair with Billy up until now, so he had no complaints. He had initially misjudged Gorgeous George and Dan the Man -– they were a bit barmy, mean to be sure, but not bad with it. You knew where you were with them and the consequences of crossing them, he could handle that. So far, there had been the one explosives job, a few lorry heists and a huge amount of black market profiteering.
His little side job with RoYds was proving to be a good number too -– money for old rope. He wondered what they had in store for him this time as he walked up to the now familiar open oak door and stepped inside.
“Afternoon, Mr Lawrence. Dark out isn’t it?”
Wilfred never changed. Billy wished he would take the stick out from up his arse and cut the brownnosing.
“Stanley in?” he asked, throwing Wilfred his coat and starting off down the passageway.
“As a matter of fact, Sir, Lady Mabel would like a word with you this morning. You will find her in the office, Sir, first door on the left.”
Lady Mabel! He had yet to have the pleasure! He whistled merrily to himself as he continued down the opulent cobalt blue-decorated corridor and waltzed into the more practical office, usually reserved for unsuspecting members of the Living who required the services of RoYds.
***
“You want me to what?” Billy snarled, closing the distance between them. “Where the hell do you get the idea that I would do something like that? What do you think I am -– your lap-dog?” He was furious.
Jumped up little tart
Billy stopped thinking when his back slapped against the wall behind him and his head smashed up against the ceiling. A split second later the door slammed furiously open and shut leaving him alone in the room.
He looked down, the view was just like he suspected it would be from this angle -– not that he had ever given it much thought, mind you. He would probably break a bone or two if he just fell to the floor and said a silent prayer that whatever power was keeping him up would let him down slowly.
Tashriel appeared in the room below and Billy found himself standing by his side.
“Silver.”
“What?” Asked Billy exasperatedly, brushing the plaster from his made-to-measure navy suit and exercising his neck in an attempt to ease the newly acquired crick in it.
“Silver. Offers no protection against your own kind, but if you carry some on your person, Lady Mabel -- and other factions -- will not be able to harm you. I doubt Lady Mabel intended you any real harm. You are still breathing.”
Smarmy pretty boy
“And who would you be then?” Billy replied sarcastically. “Someone she just mistook me for?”
“I could always put you back up there if you prefer,” Tashriel volunteered, looking up at the space Billy had so recently occupied.
Calmer now, Billy considered Tashriel’s offer. “Er...no thanks!” He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his inside pocket and helped himself to one before offering the packet to Tashriel.
“I know that Stanley enjoys a fag,” he said hesitatively.
Tashriel politely declined. “What was it about Lady Mabel’s request that enraged you?”
“I’m no cold blooded murderer!” snapped Billy in reply, removing the lit cigarette from his mouth. “Seems to me that witch is quite capable of doing the deed herself!”
Tashriel sighed, “As I said, keep something silver on you at all times to prevent it happening in future. Better still, try to get control of your temper.”
Something about Tashriel’s tone brought Billy to his senses. “Aye. Suppose you’re right.”
“Besides, you are simply being asked to contain a situation,” Tashriel remarked casually. “The real John Sweeney is already dead -– your role is merely to evict the entity that is squatting in his body.
***
It had been drizzling all day, perhaps all week, he couldn’t remember. Billy wondered if it would ever stop and, upon further consideration, whether it was possible for an entire town to weep. Personally, he had no time for tears. As far as he was concerned, they would not serve any purpose and only distract from the job at hand.
He buttoned up his navy overcoat, pulling the collar up as far as possible as he did so. Casting his eyes down towards the grey flagstone pavement, he took the identity of a grey man amongst other grey people. The house was straight ahead.
It was not his first visit here; he had recce’d the place on several occasions at various times of the day and night. He knew exactly where he was heading -– some would say straight to Hell. He had no doubt that he would be on the guest list if such a place existed.
Nearly there now, he unbuttoned his overcoat, turned off his wandering thoughts and went into autopilot mode. He knocked on the door and it was answered almost immediately. Billy put his full weight into it, pushed the occupier backwards and into the hallway. Slickly kicking backwards he closed the door in one fluid movement.
Looking into the target's eyes, he saw fear and savoured it for a moment. The anticipation of what he was about to do almost managed to break through the ice encasing any emotion that still existed within him. He washed it back down with a blink and advanced on his captive.
“Who are you? What do you want? The...there’s no money in the house.”
His weapon, of limited choice, was a Webley revolver, but on this occasion it would remain inside his overcoat. “Upstairs.”
“What? There’s no money upstairs either... I don’t have many possessions...”
They were at the bottom of the stairs so there was nowhere his prey could run but upwards, herded expertly by Billy like a Collie dog at a sheepdog trial. When they reached the top of the stairs he speedily herded his quarry into the bathroom and half-filled the bathtub with cold water.
“Get in the bath.”
“What?! I... I don’t understand.”
“Get in!” Billy’s voice, although barely raised above a whisper, was commanding and did not broker refusal.
“Now look here...”
Billy pulled the revolver from his overcoat and snarled in the direction of the bath. The message was conveyed without argument this time as John Sweeney shed his fleece and sat down in the water. Billy returned his revolver to its resting place within his overcoat then lowered the wooden toilet seat and sat down.
Sweeney, or what was left of him, frowned and then looked away, clearly unsure whether or not he should make eye contact.
Billy reached into his pocket and took out a silver ring. At last, Sweeney made the move Billy had been waiting for and reached urgently for the bath plug. Billy leaned forward and threw the ring in the direction of the bathtub. They both watched as the ring flew through the air and descended into the water.
The water fizzled and so did the body sitting in it. Out of its mouth flew a dark shadow no larger than a small moth. It flew to the light of the closed window and banged against the pane.
Damn hoppers
Billy made his way down the stairs and buttoned up his navy overcoat pulling the collar up as far as possible as he did so. He exited through the back door and casting his eyes down towards the grey flagstone pavement he took the identity of a grey man amongst other grey people.
The clock of St. Birch’s told him it was 8 pm. It would be at least a further hour and a half before the body of John Sweeney would be discovered. Billy did not want to think too much about the fate that had befallen its original occupant; those kinds of thoughts might lead to madness.
PrevLabels: 1940s, Billy, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
posted by Miladysa @ 22:00  |
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| Billy Part 16 - Fae |
2008
Elizabeth wished she had not made the decision to take this particular route into the dell. The soles of her boots kept slipping on the uneven stone-strewn surface of the makeshift pathway she was attempting to pick her way over. There was enough sunlight to make her way through; the problem was the amount of rain that had fallen throughout the night. What had earlier been a reasonable path had subsequently been transformed into a ribbon of mud.
She was about halfway through her reckless early morning trek when she consciously acknowledged the singing. At first, she thought her mind was playing tricks on her and that it was some kind of insect. After a while, she realised that it was definitely singing, although no matter how hard she tried, she could not make out the words, or even any tune come to that. There seemed to be a number of voices and they never grew closer or further away.
She decided to step off the path and continue over the short carpet of weeds and bushy plants that edged it. It was a good decision and she was able to improve her speed marginally.
The singing was beginning to irritate her -– who the hell could be making such a racket at this time in the morning? It had been a long time since she had made such adventurous early morning forays into the dell. Just then, she stopped abruptly and took a good look around.
Peg darted from the undergrowth to the side and ran, panting heavily, towards her. Hughie in hot pursuit.
“Quick, lass,” he cried. “We need to get to Annwn’s as fast as we can!”
The look on Hughie’s face did not warrant any argument. Elizabeth took heed and raced behind them as the singing, accompanied by a newly acquired scurrying, pursued them from the distance.
***
Despite her fear Elizabeth gasped with delight when she glimpsed the round, stone built and thatched cottage amidst the trees in the distance.
How on earth
Peg raced through the open door, followed quickly by Hughie. Elizabeth reached it a few seconds later. Her brief view of the dark interior from outside was limited to the glow of a fire and the long back of a wooden settle. The building appeared to be on one level above ground and was no more than fifteen feet wide at its extreme.
The singing and scurrying noise increased dramatically. Elizabeth felt trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea. Just then, Peg poked her small head around the door frame. With one red ear cocked she gave Elizabeth a wide-eyed look.
Elizabeth rushed inside.
***
“You took your time!” said Hughie, closing the door firmly.
“Where did all this come from?” Elizabeth asked incredulously, taking in the room around her.
The interior of the cottage was spacious and full of rustic charm. Peg settled down upon a woven rush rug before the open log fire and Hughie walked over to join her. He rubbed his hands together over the open flames and then turned to toast his backside.
“Always been here, lass.”
“But...but...I’ve never seen it before! In fact, we first met here -– remember? There’s only ever been the remains of a building on this spot before today.”
“Not so,” said Hughie with an air of joviality. “Just cos yer’s never seen it -– doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist!” he chuckled.
Elizabeth walked around the room marvelling at all the wonderful old objects it contained. Carved animal figurines, hammered pewter ornaments, even a small silver mirror. Everything was whispering temptingly to her. She wanted to reach out and touch it all, yet she respectfully refrained from doing so. Just then she remembered the beings they had been running from.
“Fae,” said Hughie distastefully. “Nasty little buggers! It’s the weather yer see -– cheeses ‘em off when the rain washes the iron ore out of t’soil into t'river. What they need is an ASBO -– the flaming lot of ‘em.”
“I’ll second that!” said Elizabeth enthusiastically. “If Gemma Bolton is anything to go by, anyways!”
Hughie frowned. “What? That wee lass? I’ve noticed yer’ve had yer differences -– seems to me that you have a knack of bringing out the worst in each other,” he lectured, helping himself to a green apple from wooden bowl upon a dresser at the far side of the room. “Besides she’s not really fae -– not strictly speaking that is.”
Elizabeth’s was somewhat annoyed to hear Hughie defending Gemma, her green eyes flashed. “What do you mean by that? I should know, I have been at the receiving end of her mischief!”
Hughie shrugged. “Story goes, her Nan was never a full shilling. Wandered off from the Living when she were a nipper and turned up twenty years later, same age as when she disappeared. Claimed to have been away with the fairies -– of course none of the Living believed it.” Finishing the apple, he tossed the core into the fire where it hissed and spit, disturbing Peg momentarily from her slumber.
“S’pect any magic she has is probably ter do wiv something she has in her possession rather than owt else. Maybe her Nan was gifted with something by ‘em? She wouldn’t be the first and I doubt she’ll be the last come to that. They can either love you or hate you.”
Elizabeth considered Hughie’s words carefully. Hughie, with his back towards her, peeked at the breaking sunshine through one of the stone-lintelled windows.
“All I’m saying is, it can’t have been easy for her growing up with a foot in each camp can it? After all, you’ve had a similar experience yersel.” Peg jumped up onto the windowsill and joined Hughie in his observations.
“Is it safe to leave yet?” Elizabeth asked, changing the subject and walking over to join them.
“Shouldn’t imagine so,” said Hughie, glancing at the latched door. “It’ll open when it is. Anyways, what are you doing down here so early?”
“Thought you might be able to help me figure something out,” smiled Elizabeth warmly.
PrevLabels: 2008, Elizabeth, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 12:13 |
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| Billy Part 15 - Desires |
1976
Elizabeth ran up the stairs two at a time and slammed her bedroom door shut. She threw herself face down on the bed. Her right hand reached out of its own accord and pressed the play button on her cassette player. Music flowed alongside her tears.
Gemma Bolton was a bitch of the highest order. She replayed the night’s events over and over in her mind. Occasionally, she imagined herself acting or speaking how she had would have liked to have reacted rather than the way she did. If only she could turn back time, she would do it differently and Gemma would have been the one in tears tonight, not her.
Outside, she could hear a large tipper lorry with its open tailgate crashing loudly as it tackled the narrow road on its way up to the quarry. The sound of the night-time traffic rushing through the rain-swept road was exaggerated as were the chattering voices of people passing by. Every man and his dog seemed to be out tonight and here she was, sobbing her heart out and wishing the world would go away.
How different everything had appeared earlier. She had barely been able to contain her excitement whilst getting ready to attend the end-of-year school disco. Elizabeth adored the long flowered maxi-skirt she had bought at the outdoor market and the skinny ribbed Lurex threaded jumper had set it off nicely. She had even allowed herself to believe she looked attractive with the curled flicks in her long blonde hair and the accentuated gold eye shadow she had worn.
Gemma had looked so much better though. Her petite figure clothed in a pair of wide caramel culottes and a luxurious gold satin blouse. Somehow, that creature managed to outdo her every step of the way. Elizabeth could live with that. She could give up all desires to be more attractive, cleverer, slimmer or more popular if only she could have been Tashriel’s favourite. Now, thanks to Gemma, she knew she never would be.
What hurt the most was that Gemma had known exactly what she was doing, had even planned it. Gemma had wanted to hurt her and she had walked right into her trap. What a sap she had been! How Gemma and her friends must have laughed at her desperate attempts to fit in, at her desire to be part of their group.
Why couldn’t Tashriel see through her? Maybe he could, but he loved her so much it didn’t matter to him. Elizabeth wrapped her arms around herself and replayed the night’s events again.
Gemma bumping into her
The spilled drink
And insincere apology
The offered handkerchief
Then seeing
Tashriel and Gemma
Together
The biggest humiliation of all was standing there while Gemma gloated.
PrevLabels: 1970s, Elizabeth, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 11:57 |
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| Billy Part 14 - Heyleigh Stones |
2008
Elizabeth opened her mind and locked eyes with the barguest. His pupils contracted and she let her mind hover above the hillside beyond the graveyard. The panoramic view of the landscape was amazing. The whole valley appeared to be covered with a series of eerie silver lines and boundaries which were not normally visible. Some of the boundaries mimicked the stone walls and hedges laid by man while others detoured.
Elizabeth recognised a series of well known ley lines criss-crossing the farm land on the other side of the valley and up towards the quarry. For every one she had been aware of, there were at least three more previously unknown to her. Other groups ran down toward the dell and across the moors.
She was directly above an area clearly defined by one of the silver boundaries. It took in a portion of the graveyard, the hill itself and a section of the moorland beyond. This boundary appeared more defined than any other, Elizabeth was certain it was the area to which the barguest was restricted. It could travel across the moor and hillside freely but only part way into the cemetery and no further.
A group of Neolithic stones known locally as Heyleigh Stones dominated the moor and was the boundary core. A ley line ran straight through its centre and a number of small, freshly dug pits pockmarked the earth in which the stones stood.
Elizabeth observed as a heavily set man cast aside a collapsible spade which landed beside what looked to be a metal detector already lying on the ground. He then sank to his knees beside the most recent pit. He buried his hands in the boggy moorland and extracted what appeared to be a small, mud-encrusted object before placing it in his rucksack. Retrieving his previously discarded tools, he hurriedly made his way back down into the valley as a thunderstorm broke overhead.
Elizabeth recognised the man as Ed Lord, the barguest victim she and Tashriel had met with recently at RoYds. There had been talk of a barguest but he had definitely not mentioned any treasure hunting expeditions on the moors!
The beast's pupils widened and Elizabeth watched as a coffin was laid into the ground half a dozen graves away from where Gemma and Paul were standing a few feet away from her and the barguest. Her attention was quickly diverted as the figure of Ed Lord appeared behind two of the male mourners; a hand on each of their shoulders.
The first mourner was substantially overweight and entirely unaffected by the solemnity of the ceremony taking place before him. Although Elizabeth could tell that he had known the deceased for many years, she sensed that he was there not to mourn but to network, the day merely a business opportunity. His name came quickly to her -– Davie Blade aka Switch. There was no need to search for the name of the second man; despite the fading light she recognised him immediately as Linus Howell!
PrevLabels: 2008, Elizabeth, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 17:26 |
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| Billy Part 13 - Switch |
1946
Billy Lawrence caught sight of his image reflected in the mirror behind the bar and smiled. He looked very dapper today, even if he did say so himself. He prided himself on always being smartly dressed; a desperate man could not afford to be otherwise. Rummaging in his overcoat pocket, he gathered together the few coppers huddled there and handed them to the barmaid with a wink. Not quite the right amount but she had a fancy for him and would let him get away with it. Most likely overcharge the next customer; it wouldn’t be the first time.
He held his breath as he passed through a heavy nicotine cloud and made his way towards his usual table beside the main door. A glass partition above the upholstered seating bay shielded him from the gaze of anyone entering the bar from the street and the position afforded him a full view of the main lounge area. He couldn’t be taken unawares here and he could easily slip into the street outside should the need arise. It was second nature these days to be prepared for any eventuality.
The dark brown liquid in his glass tasted bitter; the first mouthful always did. He reached into his pocket and ceremoniously placed a cigarette packet and box of matches on the table. There was only one fag left. He would have to make it last, seeing as he had just said goodbye to his last penny.
From underneath the brim of his hat he searched the shadows of the room, acknowledging those the strict protocol of such a place demanded he should, whilst remaining completely oblivious to the odd one or two that it was in his interest to pretend did not exist. Out of the corner of his eye he watched the accommodating barmaid as she patrolled the room collecting empty bottles and glasses. He leaned back into the cushioned seat and leisurely ran his eyes over her body as she approached his table grinning encouragement.
“You’re a bad lad, Billy Lawrence!”
“Aye. Just the way you like ‘em an all, Cora.” He held back from slapping her backside this time, he would save it for the next time the opportunity arose. He had a bit of business that needed taking care of first.
The rumble of the high street invaded the space between them as the main door opened and a number of dark-suited men entered. Cora blew Billy a kiss before sauntering back to the bar all lipstick and bravado. Billy reassuringly touched the weapon he carried with him and then took another sip of the beer which tasted much better this time. His luck might just be changing.
Frankie 'Switch' Blade was not a character to mess with. Billy knew his place. He waited quietly until one of Switch’s men approached him and invited him to join them. For someone with any sense at all, these were dangerous men to be getting involved with. Billy never claimed to have much sense anyway -- he had always been more brawn than brain.
Macca, a heavyset bruiser with a nose as flat as a pancake and ears to match, indicated with a grunt and a nod where Billy was to sit, a little to the side of those who were already seated. Billy took his place and waited patiently while Switch continued in whispered conversation with the small group gathered around him. Macca was Switch’s piece of muscle. The other two, Gorgeous George and Dan the Man, were known thieves and criminals of the lowest order. Billy had morals when it came to thieving; he’d rob anything from anywhere yet sticking up an individual was out of the question. Gorgeous George and Dan the Man had no morals whatsoever.
Billy couldn’t get a good look at Switch for the screen of smoke that surrounded him -- all five men, including Billy, were smoking roll ups. This, and the various hand and knuckle tattoos the men bore, indicated to any interested parties that it was a meeting of former jail birds. Billy adopted a casual air and tried to sneak a look at the other men’s lips without it looking too obvious what he was doing. Anyone with experience of working in a Lancashire cotton mill had the skill to lip read. Billy had worked as a card room doffer from the age of twelve until fate led him into a less salubrious way of life. He was only able to work out a couple of words before all activity stopped dead and Switch’s steel grey eyes cut towards him.
“Now then, Billy. Word’s reached me that you’ve got a quite a bit of experience with explosives. Do I hear right?”
Billy gulped down the mouthful of beer he had just taken and used it to quell the cough germinating in his throat. He hadn’t been expecting that. This was a bit deeper than he had been led to believe.
“Aye...a bit. From the war.”
“Heard you were a handy lad with it. Heard you could be just what I need to help me with a little job. Heard you were looking for work.”
Billy’s stomach tightened and he fought to keep his face a blank mask. Switch scared him all right. Not what he could do to him, but what he wouldn’t hesitate to do to Anne or the kids if things didn’t go his way.
Eight spidery eyes watched Billy intently. Everyone knew it was a done deal. Billy rose to his feet and took a last gasp from the cigarette he was smoking. Leaning forward, he pinched out the glowing red tip and dropped them both into the tin ashtray on the table in front of Switch. He looked down at the bald man sitting before him and stared confidently into his cold calculating eyes.
“I’m yer man. What’s the job?”
PrevLabels: 1940s, Billy, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 00:01 |
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| Billy Part 12 - Playing With Fire |
1971
A heavy object hit the side of Elizabeth’s skull and tiny crimson sparks danced around in her head. There was a crunch of bone and she tasted blood where the inside of her cheek had grated against her teeth. She fell backwards and hit the floor awkwardly, catching her shoulder against the wall before crumpling to the floor in a heap. If it didn’t stop soon she would go mad!
Out of the corner of her eye she saw a grubby black boot heading towards her and managed to curl up in a foetal position before it made contact with her face and fingers. A tobacco scented scream managed to burst forth before she collapsed into unconsciousness.
Coldness rushed against her and she woke up with a start, gasping for breath and straining to make out anything at all in the silent, thick darkness engulfing her. The terror continued as she realised someone else was also there with her. She wanted to run and discovered she couldn’t move. This time her screams were silent.
“Elizabeth!” She opened her eyes and saw her mother standing over her. She dropped the scarf she had bought earlier.
“What the hell are you playing at, you stupid child!” The panic in her mother’s voice stilled any within herself and brought home the reality of the situation she now found herself in. She was for it this time!
Margaret frowned at the scarf lying on the bedroom floor and then at Elizabeth, “Where did you get this?”
Elizabeth shrugged, "It’s just a scarf.”
Her mother would never understand how much enjoyment she received from these little trips back through time. Up until now, she had never experienced such a violent reaction reading an object before. The experiences had always been comparable to reading a book or watching a film, only much better...
Elizabeth was shocked to hear a sharp intake of breath and looked up into her mother’s tear-filled blue eyes. “My God, you’re addicted to it! Do you have any idea what you’re playing with? You’re playing with fire!”
“Someone like you could never understand! It’s only a game... it’s only pretend,” she lied innocently. She wasn’t prepared to give it up no matter what anyone said. She would be more careful in future though. She didn’t want to experience anything as horrid as what she had seen just now. If her mother had not disturbed her, who knew how long it would have continued.
Feeling guilt-ridden and suddenly scared by her experience, a tearful Elizabeth ran forward and threw her arms around her mother. Burying her teary face in the warm-scented clothing she breathed deeply, the tones of Tweed perfume and talcum powder acting like a balm. She sensed a whirlpool of confusion within her mother; guilt coupled with powerlessness from being unable to prevent her from experimenting with the unknown. After a few moments Elizabeth felt strong enough to pull away.
“I’m sorry, Mummy! Really sorry! I didn’t mean to upset you and there's nothing to be frightened about -– honest!”
Margaret sighed, “I’m sorry too Elizabeth. I just wish that you would listen to me for once and stop messing around with things none of us really understand anything about. No matter what you may think, I’m not trying to prevent you from having fun -– I’m just trying to keep you out of harm’s way.”
“I won’t do it again, Mummy. Promise!”
They both knew it was a lie.
PrevLabels: 1970s, Elizabeth, Refuge of Delayed Souls, Web Fiction |
| posted by Miladysa @ 09:09 |
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