The Wood

Ten

Detective-Constable Alan Lee sat on the cold muddy bank of a reedy bog and buried his face in his hands. The girl was gone, lost forever perhaps just as the others were. And it was all his fault; he let himself go, wept. Sobbing, contemplating suicide, wondering if he had the courage. He did not think so. He had seen the plane crash, watched in bewilderment as the parachutist had come sailing down. And after that he knew that he had to be crazy. They would have to lock him away somewhere where he couldn't do anybody any harm. He tried to think logically, piece together the events of the past few hours. Jesus, to think he'd done that to the girl! It was unbelievable. You are charged with rape and attempted murder! No, it wasn't me, it was somebody else. It was you, Alan Lee, a police officer on duty who betrayed both the Force and the public you serve. I tell you, I'm not guilty. You have been found guilty and sentenced to.

Sweating profusely. No such thing had been in his mind when he'd picked Thelma Brown out in the headlights, or even when she had got into the car. Not until

he hit that bank of fog lying across the road!

The transformation had been as sudden as that. Up until that moment his thoughts had been concentrated on the case in hand, negative ones. Reconstructions were a dicey business but there was always a slim chance. You only needed to jog one person's memory, the right person. In the States they sometimes used hypnosis on witnesses. Whatever the method all you needed was one clue that would lead you to the killer. But it had been a foul night when Carol Embleton had disappeared and in a village like Droy most people would have gone to bed. But now the police were trying a long shot; no real harm if it didn't come off. Nothing to lose.

Those clothes of Foster's gave him an uncomfortable feeling, made him think about the man himself. A pervert, a mind that would defy all the efforts of psychiatrists, he had to be locked away and kept there for the rest of his life. A judge had been lenient and now they had a murder on their hands and two missing people as well. It could be, and probably was, a triple murder case now.

The moment he drove into that bank of mist Alan Lee began to understand Foster, not consciously but picking up wavelengths. It began with an erection, followed by a sideways glance at the girl by his side. God, she was beautiful; he envisioned her naked, lying beneath him, responding, urging him on. He came pretty close to an ejaculation just thinking about it. The car was stationary, just the facia lights left on giving a dim glow. They could be here a long time, just the two of them. Maybe she fancied him too. And if she didn't.

Just touching her was electrifying him and he knew that kiss he forced upon her wasn't going to be enough. Then she'd started playing the hard-to-get game. She wanted him really, of course she did. A bit of playing about is fine but if it goes on too long it gets very frustrating. I want to screw you, baby, please\ Well I'm going to whether you like it or not. Lust taking over. I don't want to think about the rest. Maybe it didn't happen, it was all a dream, a fantasy. But it did, that's why you're here now shivering in the nude, lost in a wooded marsh, and she's out there somewhere. Foster, too; he might already have killed her.

And that plane crash. It had all gone quiet now, not a sound to be heard except the steady dripping of condensation off the trees. There should have been sirens wailing, crowds gathering. It couldn't have been more than half a mile away. But there was nothing except the stillness of a foggy night. He had to find the girl. Maybe if he could just talk to her, try to explain. Look, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to rape you. Can't we settle this business without reporting it? I've got a bit of cash saved up and I'm prepared to be generous. I'm not like you think I am, really. But she wouldn't understand. All the same he had to find her because for the moment he was still a policeman.

It was making a valiant attempt to get light, a weak greyness in which you could just make out silhouettes, trees and tall reeds. It doesn't matter much which way you go, but you'll have to tread quietly. If she hears you she'll hide; you're the last person on earth she wants to meet right now. Moving slowly, his bare feet sinking in the mud, making glugging noises as he extricated them. This was a path of some kind, God knows who made it. Follow it all the same.

Drier ground, probably higher than the rest, piles of leaves that rustled. It was getting much lighter now.

A cry, so faint at first that it might have been the calling of some distant sea-bird. Echoing in his brain. He stood still, head cocked to one side, listening. The roaring in his ears didn't help. It was probably his imagination — like the plane crash and that bloke parachuting down out of the sky. This place did strange things to you, there was no doubt about that. He heard it again, louder this time and he knew instantly that it was real. A scream. Christ, Thelma Brown was in some kind of desperate trouble. A flash of hope for himself; it had to be Foster and nailing that bastard could solve a lot of problems. A scapegoat if Thelma was already dead, leniency if she wasn't and he saved her. Look kid, I'm not like that really. Suppose we just forget about what happened last night.

He broke into a run, ducking beneath low branches, suddenly the trained policeman again. Remembering that he had been armed at the start of this mission; his pistol was still in the car. He had nothing except himself, not even his clothes. Foster was nude, too, unless he had found some garments in the meantime. A confrontation that might have been taking place thousands of years ago, man against man in a primitive land.

She was screaming hysterically now, the mist muffling her yells to some extent. Not far away now, a hundred yards at the most. Seconds later he burst into the wide clearing, his sweeping gaze taking in everything. A deep hole of some kind, that was where the screams were coming from; she was still screaming. Swirling mist as though that pit boiled and was giving off clouds of vile-smelling steam. A half-light; was it really light, did it ever get any different in this place, or had it been light for hours and this was how it always was, a depressing timelessness?

Alan Lee was moving towards the pit when he noticed the man standing on the opposite side watching him, recognising him instantly. It was James Foster!

The other was naked, wild in appearance as though he had lived this way for months, his body caked with dried mud. There was a mark on his throat; it looked like a wide gash that had bled and congealed. A scratch perhaps, inflicted by a trailing briar; it couldn't have been very deep, the policeman reflected, otherwise he would have bled to death in a matter of minutes. Lee's keen trained eye noted something else, brought a grimace to his lips as well as a sense of guilt. The rapist had a full erection. Just like I did last night.

The girl was down there somewhere. What the hell was going on?

'You're just in time, copper,' a taunting maniacal laugh from Foster. 'She's down there now and he's raping her!'

Lee froze with indecision. Across the gulf stood the man who was currently Public Enemy Number One. Within his grasp. Down below Thelma Brown was being raped by. someone. Go for Foster and you could be too late. Save the girl and you'll probably lose him. A dilemma requiring a split-second decision. Save the girl!

Detective-Constable Alan Lee ran for the side, stared down into the depths of that murky pit-hole, recoiled at what he saw. It had to be another nightmare for no way could anything exist like that! Human in shape, a grotesque figure that dripped slime, covered in black mud, bearing the screaming girl down into the shallow water, her struggles threshing it to a foam, sending up foul odours. Fighting to keep her head out of the water, perhaps her mind had already snapped.

'You see it?' Foster called jubilantly. 'He's raping her, copper. And I'll bet right now if she had the chance she'd change him for me. Or your Peals of insane laughter. 'What's it feel like to be a rapist, copper? They'll give you fifteen years, maybe life if that girl dies, because you killed her. Just remember that, you're a murderer, just like me!'

But Alan Lee wasn't listening. He was fighting to drag his brain back into action, break the spell of petrification, dismissing Foster; he had to save Thelma Brown. His eyes flicked round the top of the pit once, a vain hope that there might be a ladder or even a rope handy. There wasn't and he knew then what he had to do.

That creature had her head under the muddy water now, deliberately drowning her whilst he lifted the lower half of her body up, a kind of wheelbarrow stance that facilitated the backward and forward movements of his filthy thighs. Slamming faster and faster, rotted lungs wheezing loudly under the strain. Oh you filthy fucking bastard, you've no right to exist! Maybe you don't and it's another trick of this bloody fog, but whether it is or not the girl is going to die if I don't do something fast. Lee balanced himself, took a deep breath. Don't think about it or else you'll chicken out. You're demonstrating a life-saving exercise to a bunch of rookies at the baths. You're on the high springboard. Nothing to it, just don't look down. Fill your lungs, relax your muscles as you go; go right down and come up fast.

Airborne, somersaulting once, judging the distance in his own mind. Lukewarm chlorinated water that'll make your eyes smart. Impact!

A soft landing that threw him flat, reality coming back as he wallowed in the mud, clawed himself up to the surface. It sucked viciously and he knew he had gone in above his knees, was temporarily trapped in the morass. Take it easy, struggle too hard and you'll sink deeper. Move the right leg a few inches, now the left, work your way steadily upwards. Then lie flat and ease yourself out; training instructions for rescuing people trapped in quick sands, as per manual.

The thing in the pit was aware of his presence, turned slowly, released the girl and she flopped back down into the water, lay partly submerged, face downwards. Not moving, half-floating. Oh Jesus, I'm too late, — she's already dead!

Stupefaction bordering on hypnosis as Detective-Constable Alan Lee stared up into the malevolent features of a behemoth in human form. A vile stinking body, from the pelvis downwards just skeletal; that inhuman sex act had been a pointless simulation then, a last blasphemous attempt at procreation. Symbolic rape.

Bubbles formed and burst on nose and mouth cavities, eye sockets pouring watery filth like acute conjunctivitis, that wheezing now a liquid sound. Advancing unsteadily, arms stretched out towards the man helplessly trapped in the mud.

The policeman knew that his brain had to snap, that it had reached the limit of human endurance, could not accept what it saw. Lying forward, the way the manual taught you, but his legs still wouldn't come free. Laughter somewhere reminding him of the taped mirth producers use to boost unfunny comedy films on TV. Laugh or we'll laugh for you. Foster, of course, up there savouring every second. Just remember you're a murderer, copper. She's dead and you killed her.

Lee closed his eyes for a second, one last try, and then he opened them again.

'I'm a police officer.'

The other took another step, coughed up a solid lump of slime that plopped into the water.

'D'you hear me, I'm a police officer! You're under arrest, for rape and murder.' Stop that fucking laughing up there, I'm serious.' Anything you say will be taken down and may be used in evidence against you.'

It towered over him now, Christ it had to be well over six feet tall, a colossus that pissed stagnant water all over you. Cold stinking water, the stench making you retch. Lee pulled for all he was worth, got his right leg almost free; the mud beneath him shifted, started to suck it back down again. A noise to his left; Thelma had submerged, rolled over, surfaced again, was floating free on her back, arms stretched right out over her head as though she was doing the backstroke, staring vacantly up at the lowering grey sky above the pit. A rush of trapped air made bubbles on the water, big ones that burst slowly one at a time. She might not be dead yet, very close but not quite. I've got to give her artificial respiration, it's my duty. Get out of the way, you bugger, let me go to her.

'You're bloody well under arrest.''

Crying hysterically now, not caring for himself when a huge hand reached out, caught him by the hair and jerked his head back, almost dislocating his vertebrae. Hair came out by the roots, floated on the surface like the feathers of a mallard in moult. Still telling the fucker he was under arrest, that he had to accompany him to the station where he would be required to make a statement. Some bugger was still laughing, jeering. Their mates always acted up when you arrested one of them. Ignore it, get on with your job. Fingers prised his mouth open; he tried to bite on them but it didn't seem to make any difference. A sudden snap, instant pain and his jaw wasn't working any more, a ventriloquist's dummy that had bust a spring. But the show went on.

The creature was bending down, scooping up handfuls of cold black mud, feeding them into that open limp mouth, stuffing the morass in with its fingers, shoving it right down the back of its victim's throat. Handful after handful, poking it up the nostrils, a macabre nose-pick in reverse. The policeman was not struggling any longer, gasping one last time for breath and then giving up, accepting that he was going to suffocate. With bulging eyes that threatened to pop at any second he studied the limp floating figure of the girl. She had touched the far wall of the pit and it had swung her round; she was coming back this way. Almost doing the splits, letting him feast his eyes on her ravaged flesh, a final act of revenge even after death. Take a good look, Constable. I'm all torn about, still bleeding. You did that to me. Not him, because he doesn't have anything left to do it with. You tricked me, took advantage of your position and the situation. Now I'm dead and you're not far off. I'll give you another thirty seconds at the most. Neither of us will be leaving here. We'll be down here for ever with that, and eventually we'll become like him. Just waiting for somebody else to fall in here and then we'll fight like hell over them. Bye for now, copper, you dirty bastard. See you soon.

Alan Lee tried to scream one last yell of remorse, wanted her to understand how it had all come about, but the effort was too much for him. And even after the constable died, foul mud was still being crammed into his mouth, slipping steadily down his throat and into his lungs.

Up above, the man who had once been James Foster turned away and walked off into the dense fog, idly fingering at the open bloodless wound in his throat, a subconscious action which was fast becoming a habit with him.