THE KILLER OF THE DARKNESS

EPISODE TWENTY-FOUR

TWENTY-FOUR

Rodwell lay under the bed eyes fixed on the restrictive gap between the door and the wall. It was not there now. But he knew it would be back, that it would kill him.

For the first ten minutes it had gone mad trying to get in at him. He had thought he had been a goner then. After a while it had stopped, and had stood in silence watching him, eyes glinting, that funny noise coming from the pipe.

He had checked out for something to use to defend himself, and when he looked back it had gone. But it would be back. Of that he had no doubt.

*

I stood up.

"Well, if you're okay now..."

Joanne said nothing, lying with her hair curved and shiny on her shoulders. Without taking her eyes off mine, she pulled back the bedclothes.

I searched her face for any hint that it might be a joke, that I had not misread her intentions.

With a surge of excitement, I understood I had no doubt about one thing. She was inviting me back into her bed. But was it just to comfort her because she was more than afraid? Or is it something more? Am I being taken back into her life?

There is only one way to find out.

Not hurrying, I undid my pyjama-jacket. Her breathing started to become pronounced, but she made no attempt to stop me.

Sure, of myself now, and with an animal urge thrusting through my mind and body, I let the chinos fall away. She took her eyes from mine dropping to my loins. The female challenge, the trigger. I bent down and cupped her face back and up, holding her captive, and plunged my mouth down over hers, my tongue deep into her.

Our love-making primitive, violent. She had taunted and offered, and I now took and chastised.

When we concluded, she curled submissive and content within the fortress of my arms, soon in a deep and untroubled slumber.

I lay awake for a long time, looking at the moonlight on the roof. Just before I went to sleep, I caught a glimpse of a soft pink glow that made me feel warm and content.

Out through the window, away to the north-west, the fire reflected on the clouds that now obscured the stars.

*

Sam Rodwell smelt the smoke before any sign of the fire, became visible, but only when the flickering red light accompanied by the roar of the blaze had entered the concourse, did, he accepted what had happened. 'The Thing' had set alight to the overflowing oil.

The fire roared up the corridor as though through a chimney. Soon the room became full of fumes. Gagging, he pulled a sheer from the bed, soaked it in some water from a corner sink and covered my face.

He opened the small window and thrust out his head. The cold fresh air hit him, helping to clear his brain as he tried to focus. No sign of 'It'.

Flaming bits of a plaster began to drop around him. He rushed about putting out the small fires with water thrown from a shaving mug.

One wall became red-hot and bulged inwards. Rodwell acknowledged it must be well ablaze on the other side, there was not much time before it gave in. Then the full force of the inferno would sweep into the room, if the roof had not collapsed before then.

Face blackened and streaked, fighting for breath and sobbing, he staggered back to the small square window. Outside the fire lit up the snow for hundreds of yards around. Millions of sparks were leaping and funnelling high into the night sky.

The whole place was going up like a bonfire.

The end wall split with a minor explosion. Immense tongues of flame licked into the room the tinder-dry bunks burst into a firestorm. The room was fast becoming an inferno.

He picked up a chair and smashed at the other half of the window. The glass shattered out, leaving the middle part still obstructing his escape. The flames roared after the increased oxygen.

He considered his surroundings, his eyes falling on the metal legs of a table, the top of which is on fire.

Desperate to protect his hands, he grabbed some towels and pulled it over to the sink. When he turned on the tap on, a roar of jetting steam that forced him to back away.

The tap shuddered, water coughing out in regular, air-locked thumps. Lifting the table, he got one leg under the stream and moved it along. A hiss as the metal cooled. Sweat dripped from him as the intense temperature increased. He realized how little time is left and panicked. His lungs were paining him now, the air so hot and brittle.

Rodwell threw the table on the floor and pulled at the leg. With a snap, it broke free with torn wood still attached. He ran over to the window and started to lever at the upright. With a creak of protesting nails, it moved.

On the other side of the building, an explosion. A red-hot blast ripped through the room bringing an acrid cloud.

He continued attacked the crooked stanchion, choking on his spittle. He tried to move it once, but it refused to budge. The ceiling started to fall in flaming lumps.

He tossed the bar to one side, placed a chair up against the wall, climbed on and forced himself into the narrow space. Rodwell got one shoulder and his head through and then jammed tight.

Screeching now, his hands were pinned to his sides. His corduroys began to burn. Vapour poured around his face and he could perceive the rubber melting on the soles of his boots.

A wooden timber, blazing from end to end, fell across his exposed back. With a tremendous crack and a brilliant shower of colours in his eyes, the pain in his limbs disappeared.

His back had broken.

He lost all feeling as the lower half of his body became a human-torch. Only when the stench of his blazing flesh reached his nostrils that he acknowledged what was happening to his legs, finishing his sanity.

The yelling seemed to be coming from somebody else, waking him from his dream. Warm and comfortable, lying by the fire on his stomach. Mum said tea would be ready soon. He observed out of the window, snow on the ground.

He is afraid. That thing is about, he knew. He strained his eyes into the gloom.

Now, as his eyes grew accustomed to the dark, he could make out a strange-shaped rock. But when he checked out again, the tall menacing figure loomed from the right.

He began to cry. Then his mummy came, and he passed away.

*

Roome slept in his office when one of his men knocked and entered.

"Excuse me, sir."

He shook Roome by the shoulder.

"Sir?"

Roome groaned and pulled a hand from under the blanket to protect his sleep-filled eyes from the light coming from the door.

"What do you want?"

"A fire - a big one, sir."

Roome pulled the bed cover aside and across the room in one movement, pulling the curtain off its track.

He said nothing, staring at the red sky and occasional emission of heat that licked heavenward, reflecting on the pupils of his eyes.

He turned away and looked at his timepiece

"It will be daylight in two hours. Has Doctor Walton and Joanne Burton's boyfriend notified - we will have to risk it and go by watercraft? Go on to the boatyard and asked David Riches and have his biggest one ready and fuelled - now!"

"Yes, sir."

The copper strode to the door.

"And another thing - get some coffee made, will you?"

"Yes, sir."