Blackwater

Paul Smith

Description

Two stories. One harrowing tale. The past and present collide as history repeats itself. If DCI William Constable is to catch a killer and expose an international drug trafficking ring before it is too late, he will need to stray from the path to which fate has called him. But nothing can deviate him from his preordained path to death, nothing except a ghostly reincarnation, whose timely appearances from beyond the grave are all that stand between him and his fate.

Sujets

• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 16 juin 2021
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781800465930
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Copyright © 2021 Paul Smith

The moral right of the author has been asserted.


Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.


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ISBN 978 1800465 930

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.


Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd

To Charlotte, Bethan and Erin

Original Text:
Hige sceal þe heardra, heorte þe cenre, mod sceal þe mare, þe ure mægen lytlað.

From The Battle of Maldon,
author and date unknown


Modern Translation:
The spirit must be the firmer, the heart the bolder, courage must be the greater as our strength diminishes.

Donald Scragg, 2006


Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Epilogue
Historical Note
Acknowledgements


Chapter 1
Essex, Thursday 16 January 2014
The street light flickered, dimly illuminating the carpark one moment then plunging it into darkness the next. I pulled back my sleeve and looked at my watch. Half past five in the morning. With no time to lose, I reached into the passenger footwell, grabbed the bolt cutters, then turned to leave. But as I faced the door, I found myself glued to the spot, my trembling fingers wrapped around the handle. I took a deep breath. Then some more. When at last I hit upon some courage, I seized the moment and dragged myself from the car.
I left the carpark and, taking care not to slip, descended the embankment into a blanket of mist. There was a coldness in the air. My heart pounded as I edged forward in the gloom.
I soon arrived at the fence. Taken by surprise, I faced an enormous hole. Beaten to it, doubtless by a group of bored teenagers, I tossed the bolt cutters to the ground, then squeezed through. I landed awkwardly, and my middle-aged body, less agile than it once was, let out an involuntary groan.
After picking myself up, I made my way through a short section of undergrowth to the edge of the stone ballast. Sick with nerves, I stopped. I strained to listen. Nothing. I glanced over my shoulder, scouring the scrub from which I came. No one. But I heard a noise. An owl. Hooting in the distance, it called out to its companion. Its cry drew no response, and I wondered if the owl, like me, was alone.
Making its slow ascent, the sun sat low in the sky. The mist had tamed its glare, and illuminated by the soft light, I crept forward, proceeding with caution as I navigated the ballast. When I arrived at the track, I stepped over the rail to stand on a sleeper.
As time melted into the mist, I sensed a stillness. Then something compelling drew my gaze. I turned and stared at the track. Dew had condensed onto the rails, making them gleam. I traced the silvered tracks as they fused with the fog. Although parallel to each other, they looked like they might converge beyond the mist. The scene enthralled me and, staunching the flow of time, it held my eye. Standing in absolute stillness, I forgot why I was there.
From nowhere, the calmness faded, lost time catching up with itself as heaven morphed to hell. Entombed by the slavery of my depression, a cloud of loneliness enveloped me as I waited to die. Gripped by a choking sadness, I knew what I must do. I just wished I had found the courage to end my life sooner.
As I waited for death, something stirred. Against my will, the powerful feeling forced me to cling to the dregs of my wasted life. A life I no longer wished to live. Working its black magic, it instilled a sense of fear – an inescapable feeling of uncertainty that forced me to question my sense of conviction. Though I longed to embrace death, I feared it. The paradox made me wonder if there is a light inside, a flame we cannot extinguish whilst our arteries pulsate with life. No matter how far we fall, how hard we try, perhaps we can never switch off our innate proclivity to survive.
It was this unconditional obligation to live, a survival instinct evolved over millennia to become forged into my DNA, that would intervene again that year. But having fallen so low, the light that once flared was now an ember. Despite my wish to extinguish it, sorcery was at play. And, like a comical re-lighting candle, the flicker refused to go out.
Mirroring a malignant cancer, my grey matter had taken on a life of its own, fashioning dark thoughts that contrived to torment and destroy. Time after time, they had played over and over inside my head. So it was no surprise they resumed.
My thoughts returned to the night I found the letter, the moment my life changed forever. I didn’t need to read it to know what it said. It had been coming for a while and I deserved it. My family deserved more; more than I could ever give. But they were all I had. All I ever wanted to have. And they were gone. Losing them left a void in my life I could never fill. Now, as I waited to die, memories of them flared in my mind and, tortured by my feelings, I wondered if my daughter remembered me.
No longer able to replay the memory of the day they left, I wrestled for control of my mind. Frustration switched my imaginings to how people might remember me, what people might say. I searched for something good that might live on in the minds of those who knew me. But nothing sprang to mind. All I could think of was the hurt I’d doled out to those closest to me, the crater my selfish existence had carved in their lives. I would soon become another railway death, a loser who took the simple way out. Hundreds of lost souls kill themselves on Britain’s tracks every year. And, weighed down with guilt, I couldn’t wait to join them.
It was then that a faint vibration and humming sound entered my thoughts. It was not these so much as the distant rumbles of thunder that focused my attention, the knot in my stomach tightening when I realised the rumbles were not coming from a storm. My fear returned as though it had never left. This time with good reason.
What followed is impossible to explain. But its memory remains etched in my mind, every recollection as vivid and profound as the last. Seized by panic, I turned to look away from the approaching train. I looked towards the undergrowth beyond the stone ballast. That was when I saw her, a ghostly figure standing as pure as driven snow by the side of the track. She looked soaked to the skin, the sodden fabric of her dress clinging to the slim contour of her body. Indifferent to the cold, her pale freckled face, framed by wet, shoulder-length, mousy-brown hair, bore an expression of celestial beauty.
Struck by her presence, I realised she was staring at me. And bewitched by her glare, I could focus on nothing else. Her icy blue eyes projected an aura of serenity that reached out and touched my soul. Her look severed me from time. In the void, I sensed an inexplicable but definite connection between us. The bond brought a stillness to the chaos inside my head. I no longer felt alone. I was no longer mindful of the approaching train.
As the gap in time stretched out, she held my gaze. But now something about her conveyed a hint of sadness. Touched by her sorrow, I realised that she shared my pain. And I shared hers. I felt the weight lift from my shoulders; it drove all sense of worry from my mind. Staring at me with damaged eyes, she gave me the strength to face that which lay ahead.
The deafening roar of the onrushing train forced me to close my eyes. As I braced myself for the impact, a blast of air hit me like a hurricane, taking my breath away and wrenching me from my feet. I curled up into a fetal position, about to exit life as I had entered it. The force of the draught almost blew me sideways. Still the noise came, a thunderous sound that shook me to the core. But still no impact. No end to the terror of it. My heart in my mouth, I heard the roar subside. The noise disappeared as fast as it arrived. I lay there until there was silence. When what seemed like an eternity had passed, I opened my eyes.
Numbed by a sense of disbelief, I lay where only seconds before I had stood. It seemed I had escaped death by a whisker. Had I fallen victim to some divine intervention, or had I imagined the entire thing? I didn’t know. Hauling myself to safety, I recalled seeing the youthful woman standing by the track. I swung round, my eyes sweeping the undergrowth to see if she was still there. But there was no one. Was she also a figment of my imagination?
I now know the woman I saw was neither an actual person nor even an apparition. She was a hallucination, a creation born of fear. Staring death in the fac