Page 55 of The Cut

The grass in the meadow was overgrown and the old willow on the bank of the brook was bent double with age, its own majestic size weighing it down into the water. Ben stood in the centre of the clearing, unsure of what he was supposed to do next. His phone buzzed in his jacket pocket.

Keep going, you know where this road ends …

Ben trudged across the waterlogged meadow towards the bank where they’d played as kids.

A frayed foot of rotting rope was still knotted to one of the high branches of the willow, the remains of a tyre swing.

He stared out over the river to the dark silhouette of trees that ran along Doggers Dive.

As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could see that a car was parked up in one of the bays.

‘It can’t be …’ As Ben moved closer, the sound of water cascading down the weir grew louder. There, in the car park, was an old blue Ford Fiesta, hazard lights flashing, signalling to him. Ben’s head reeled. ‘What the hell?’

In that moment, there was a flash of light overhead and the rain seemed to increase suddenly, but the downpour was freezing cold.

Ben shivered and pulled his jacket tight around him and scanned the river.

He daren’t move. A faint light flicked on from inside the car, the passenger door opened and then was violently slammed shut.

The horn of the car shrieked out in a constant siren, sending a shock wave through his spine.

A figure in a flowing white gown tumbled out of the passenger door, crawled a few feet on their hands and knees, then stood and 304 tried to sprint over the bridge, slowed down by an injured foot.

Ben couldn’t breathe. This was like one of his nightmares, except he was wide awake.

As he dropped to his knees, he tried to cry out, but his throat was constricted in shock and no sound came.

He wasn’t prepared for this. He’d come here for a fight, full of rage, but now he felt afraid.

At that moment, the driver’s door flew open, and another figure spilled out, black robes billowing out in the wind, chasing his limping prey across the car park.

‘Oh my God … no.’ Ben knew what was going to happen next.

He tried to focus on the girl stumbling over the bridge. As he gained ground, she glanced over her right shoulder and Ben recognised her immediately.

‘Lily?’ Ben was on his feet. ‘NO … LILY … STOP.’ He hurtled after his daughter.

‘COME BACK!’ The man chasing her over the bridge was nearly on top of her now.

‘Lily, what are you doing?’ Lily hauled herself up on to the wall of the mill race and then suddenly dropped down over the side, disappearing from sight.

An overwhelming rush of rage coursed through Ben.

He bolted like an animal in the wake of the man pursuing his daughter.

His feet pounded into the wet earth, heavy with mud, screaming like a savage as he gained on her attacker.

His arms reached forward, fingertips touching the black velvet cloak fanning out behind the attacker in the wind.

‘GET AWAY FROM HER!’ He tore at the fabric and wrenched the man backwards. ‘LEAVE HER ALONE.’

Ben surged forward and rugby-tackled the man to the ground.

They both slammed into the concrete a few feet from the door of the mill and skidded at speed into the stone wall.

Ben’s arms wrapped around his opponent’s neck as he tried to pin him in a chokehold, but he was strong and couldn’t be contained.

His neck 305 snapped back, head-butting Ben in the nose.

Ben’s hands shot up to his face as a searing pain sliced through his skull and the blood started to flow.

Flipping over on to his back, Ben found himself pinned to the ground, a knee crushing down on one arm, fingers grasping his throat.

Then the rain came to an abrupt stop as if a tap had been turned off.

The doors to the mill swung open and a stark blinding floodlight snapped on.

Ben lay on his back in shock, his nose pumping blood, as he tried to focus on his attacker.

Through his blurred vision, dotted with stars, a face drifted in and out of focus. Everything stopped.

‘Hello, old friend.’

Ben opened his eyes and tried to catch his breath. ‘Who … who are you?’ He stared at the man looming over him. ‘Why are you doing this to me? Where’s my daughter? Who are you?’

‘Oh, come on.’ The face slowly moved closer to his. ‘Surely you remember?’ It was a familiar face, older now, hair grey at the temples, but the pale almond eyes, drooping with sadness, were the same.

‘Mark?’ The fingers gripping his throat relaxed. ‘Mark … Cherry?’

‘I guess.’ The accent had changed. ‘I was Mark back then … but you can call me Max.’

Ben lay on the ground, panting heavily, as the man he had once known as Mark Cherry slowly climbed off him and sank back against the wall.

His eyes scanned his surroundings as he tried to orientate himself.

A scaffold-like structure was propped up on both sides of the meadow, fire hoses trailing across the ground towards a small clearing on the north side of the mill. Ben flinched in confusion.

‘Rain machine.’ Max studied him. 306

Ben’s eyes widened as his head turned to the open doors of the mill behind him. Two massive floodlights with thick cables trailed around the corner in the same direction as the fire hoses, towards the dull hum of a generator. Ben’s eyes met Max’s; his expression was one of bewilderment and pain.

‘It’s a set.’ Max leant forward with his hands on his knees. ‘This is what I do.’

The confusion continued as Ben’s voice trembled. ‘A set-up?’

‘One way of looking at it.’ Max’s eyes flicked to someone standing motionless in the shadow of the mill and he raised his hand as if to stop them from moving in closer.

Ben swallowed. ‘Where’s Lily? Where’s my daughter?’

Max sighed heavily but didn’t answer.

‘WHERE IS LILY?’ Ben rose to his knees, ready to strike out again.

Max inched back slowly. In all the years that had passed, he had imagined this moment, prepared all his lines, replayed and rehearsed this script in his recurring nightmares. A million ‘what if’s. He’d considered the Maddock family and all of their ‘what if’s.

Where is she … where is our daughter?

Max wanted to throw that back into Ben’s face and make him suffer like they had. But he stayed silent, looking at the man who he had known as a boy.

Ben continued, ‘What do you want from me, Mark?’

‘I want you to tell me what happened that night.’ Max moved close enough to feel Ben’s heaving breath on his face. ‘What really happened.’

Ben’s pupils shrank in the floodlight. ‘Everyone knows … what happened. It’s all … in the past.’ Ben’s eyes shot to the mill as a clatter of falling masonry echoed from inside.

‘Who is that?’ Ben’s eyes strained against the burning lamps. 307

‘Look at me … tell me what happened. You need to say it, Ben.’

The well-prepared words tumbled out of Ben’s mouth. ‘Patel confessed, he served his time, he tried to attack me after his parole, the case is closed.’ He snatched a breath.

‘But we both know that’s not quite true. You know that I was filming you that night, on Patel’s camera. I saw everything. And you know that … because you stole the camera from me.’

Max turned to the figure lurking behind him and nodded. The vast stone wall of the mill was suddenly illuminated in a bright glare. A projector from inside the transit van parked up by the gate beamed a shaft of light on to the stonework, in a perfect rectangle the size of a large cinema screen.

A football match sprawled out over the mill wall: his daughter, Lily, moving at speed across a field, trips and falls.

Heavy boots kicking her in the ribs. Nate cradling her bleeding head in his arms. Next, that same boy walking down The Cut, violently struck down by a gang of boys with baseball bats, blood everywhere.

Ben covered his mouth to stem the sob building in his throat.

A sea of blood had flooded the image now, reflecting a universe of glittering stars that turned into the green of an iris edged with thick lashes.

The eye blinked, and a single tear of blood fell on to clear white skin as the frightened girl ran through a forest. A monster rising from the earth, soaked in mud, gave chase.

As she turned to look back in terror, the face of his daughter Lily burst on to the screen.

Ben stood slowly and moved closer to the projection.

The film became faster now, and more violent: a fairground and the Mouth of Hell, hands and arms reaching out, the face of his son as he choked, gasping for air.

Ben covered his ears to the sounds of his children screaming in pain. He moved closer still as the fire started to rage and the 308 flames from the projection licked up his spine. The furnace dissolved into fireworks and then to a vision in white.

There she was, on the screen, fifty feet high, immortalised forever.

The film eased to fifty frames per second as she turned and turned, her long white neck and perfect skin like poetry in slow motion.

Her arms swept up high above her as sunshine through the windows flared across the lens, bathing her head in a halo, like the angel she was. It was a masterpiece.

Ben stood still, barely breathing. Nobody moved as the face of Annabel Maddock turned to the camera and smiled.

Ben spun back to Max. He couldn’t bear to look at her. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as her face was projected on to his.

‘What have you done to them? Where are my children?’

A motorbike engine roared from across the meadow, and a dazzling headlamp lit up his face.

He watched the rider in the black helmet plough across the flooded plane, water spraying up on both sides.

The camera was strung on her back, one hand balancing the lens, one hand steering.

The bike charged directly towards Ben at speed as he cowered back towards the wall, his hand over his eyes.

As it came to a stop, the bike fell from between her legs and, without breaking the shot, Karine Mickelsen strode forward towards Ben, the lens close on his face.

‘Hey.’ Max matched her speed and pincered around to the riverside. ‘Hey, over here. Look at me, Ben.’ Ben’s eyes flicked to Karine, then to Max. Panting heavily, she instinctively moved alongside him, using Max as her ‘grip’, keeping Ben’s eye line directly into the lens.

Max tried to keep his voice steady. ‘How does the story end, Ben?’

‘Is that what this is?’ Ben was shaking now, drenched from the rain and trembling with rage. 309

‘You’re the only one who knows. So, what’s it gonna be?’ Max stopped and grabbed Karine by the sleeve, pulling her tighter into Ben’s POV. He whispered in her ear, ‘Get in close.’

Ben closed his eyes, as if willing the ground to swallow him up. Then he turned to Karine, glaring into the lens, and violently lashed out towards her, fingers grabbing for the camera. ‘Give it to me.’

‘Yeah, Ben, just like that, remember?’ Max stepped in front of him.

‘Remember that night when you chased me down to steal Patel’s camera?

’ Max began to walk backwards, not taking his eyes off Ben.

‘Because you knew what was on it, didn’t you?

’ He was baiting him. ‘You knew I had the evidence on that tape.’

Ben lurched forward again, like a cobra striking out at its prey. Karine stumbled backwards but held her nerve.

‘That’s right … Come on, Ben.’ Max goaded him, drawing him out towards the bank of the river. ‘Come after me like you did after Annie.’

In a sudden burst of fury, Ben lurched again towards the lens. Max stumbled back and guided Karine by the arm as they turned and sprinted away, luring him out towards the weir. 310