Selene: A disturbing DS Jason Smith thriller (A DS Jason Smith Thriller Book 6)

  SELENE

  BY STEWART GILES

  A DS JASON SMITH THRILLER

  FOR MAGGIE.

  The most beautiful creature ever to

  walk on this earth.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Borsa, Northern Romania

  Saturday 4 May 1985

  The crowd of people waited. The clouds were preventing them from starting. Eighty or ninety figures huddled together in the cold May mountain air. In brown cloaks with black hoods - all of them naked underneath and barefoot, they waited. All eyes were on the sky. Time seemed to stand still in Borsa. Nestled in the valley below the Carpathian Mountains, a few miles from the Russian border, Borsa appeared to be stuck in another time zone - a time when superstition triumphed over reason. A time when pagan rites thrived. It was the time of the full moon.

  From her hiding place tucked inside the rocky outcrop, Selene had a perfect view of the proceedings. The cloaked figures seemed to mingle into one brown mass of movement. They swayed to and fro. Selene was ten years old. She knew she shouldn’t be there. If anyone found out what she was doing she knew she would be their next sacrifice but Selene didn’t care. Her curiosity was stronger than her fear of being discovered. Besides, her hiding place had been well chosen. It would take a very keen pair of eyes to make out her slender form hidden between the rocks.

  The clouds started to play their part in the performance. Slowly, they dispersed and there it was. The full moon shone down on the squirming mass of bodies. Hoods were removed and eighty or ninety pairs of eyes were fixed on the lunar display. Selene watched as the figure in the red cloak stepped forward and raised his hands in the air. Her heart was beating so quickly, she was scared that somebody might hear it. The man in the red cloak lowered his arms and began to speak. Selene couldn’t hear the words that came out of his mouth but it didn’t matter - she knew she wouldn’t be able to understand the strange language anyway. The noise was more of a drone of sound than words being spoken. The people bowed down before the man in the red cloak as he walked amongst them. His hand came to rest on the shoulders of one of them. The chosen one stood up and walked the few paces to the small incline and stopped. He removed his cloak and stood naked in the moonlight.

  Selene closed her eyes and breathed deeply. She opened them again and watched. Her eyes were focused on the naked man on the hill. She knew who he was - he was a farmer from a neighboring village. The figure in the red cloak started to speak again. His voice was much louder now. Selene could make out every word - his voice rising and falling like the waves on the Black Sea. She watched as he stepped forward and raised the ancient dagger in the air. The cloaked disciples started to chant. It was a sound that Selene would never forget. It was not a sound that ought to come from the mouths of human beings.

  The man in the red cloak gazed at the moon and ran the dagger over the naked man’s throat. The man didn’t move. He stood transfixed. A trickle of blood ran down his neck. The man in the red cloak shouted something at the moon and sliced open the naked man’s throat. The crowd started to scream and the naked man fell to the ground. Blood was gushing from the wound in his neck. Selene let out a high shriek and the crowd fell silent. The man in the red cloak looked up to where she was hiding. She could feel his eyes boring into her soul. He started to walk quickly towards her. The crowd of people followed closely behind him. Selene shot up and ran. She ran as fast as she could. She could hear the footsteps behind her. They were also running and they seemed to be getting closer. The moon wasn’t helping her - she may as well have been running in daylight. She veered off the path and ventured deeper into the forest. At least here she would be able to hide. She tripped over a tree root and fell to the ground. A sharp pain ran through her leg. She put her hand to the source of the pain and felt the warm blood. She’d cut herself quite badly. She crouched down behind a dead tree stump and waited. She could hear the footsteps on the path. She was breathing very heavily. She tried to calm herself down - they would hear her panting. The footsteps were getting further and further away now. Selene stayed where she was.

  Maybe they’ll give up the search, she thought although she knew that wouldn’t happen.

  She had seen them. She was not supposed to be there and they wouldn’t stop until they found her.

  Selene could no longer hear the footsteps. The crowd was far away now. She took a risk and rejoined the path. She ran back towards the place she had been hiding earlier. The pain in her leg was getting worse. She ran down to the valley below and stopped. There was nobody around. She carried on running, making sure not to look at the dead man on the ground as she ran. She came to the part of the valley where it met up with the imposing mountains.

  Russia is not far away, she thought, I’ll cross the mountains and hide on the other side. They’ll never find me there. She started to climb. The hope of escape seemed to have given her more energy and she climbed quickly. She stopped for a rest on the mountainside. She looked down to the valley. There was nobody there. She was about to resume her climb when she felt a strange sensation. It was as if somebody was watching her. She walked quickly upwards. The feeling was still there. She looked around her but saw nothing. The moon was about to disappear behind a group of clouds. A pair of hands appeared from nowhere and Selene turned round. She looked into the black eyes of the man in the red cloak. His hands were tightening around her neck.

  “Esti al meu acum,” he said in a deep voice. “You’re mine now.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  York, England

  Saturday 25 December 2010

  The full moon reached its peak of brightness over the city of York at exactly eleven o clock on Christmas Day. Even the lights on the twenty foot high Christmas tree across the road from the old Minster couldn’t compete with the lunar light show in the sky. All around the city, the bars were calling last orders to the unfortunate souls whose Christmas Day celebrations consisted of drowning out the festive loneliness with a bottle or two.

  Christopher Riley was one of the wretched ones. His first Christmas alone since the divorce had been strangely painless. Christopher ordered two bottles of Brown Ale at the bar, promising to drink both before the pub closed. The Christmas carols that had been pouring out of the jukebox all night were turned off as a subtle hint to tell the patrons that they were overstaying their welcome. Christopher finished one of the beers and made a start on the second one. As he raised the bottle to his lips he noticed a pair of eyes on the other side of the bar. The eyes were focused on him. Christopher broke eye contact but he could still feel the gaze. He glanced over again and smiled. The woman with the raven hair smiled back. Christopher took a deep breath.

  What the hell, he thought.

  He stood up, picked up his beer and walked over to the other side of the bar.

  “Hello,’ he said to the woman. “Do you mind if I join you?”

  “What took you so long?” The woman said. “I’ve been checking you out all night.”

  “I’d buy you a drink, but they’ve just called last orders.”

  “I wouldn’t accept it anyway.”

  Christopher’s heart sank.

  “I don’t even know your name,” she said. “How can I take a drink from a man I don’t even know the name of?”

  Christopher detected a hint of an accent when she spoke.

  “Christopher,” he said. “But most people call me Chris.”

  “Nice to meet you Chris,” she stuck out a slender hand. “I’m Carol. What happens next is entirely up to you.”

&
nbsp; Christopher thought that this was a strange thing to say but he was feeling so drunk he pushed the thought aside.

  “Do you want to go on to a club? There should still be a few places open even though it’s Christmas.”

  “I hate clubs, they’re so crowded. I was thinking of something a bit more private.”

  Christopher decided to take a chance.

  “We could go back to my flat,” he suggested. “It’s not much but it’s all I can afford after the divorce.”

  “Interesting,” Carol smiled. “Sounds perfect.”

  Christopher unlocked the door to his flat and switched on the lights.

  “Go through,” he said to Carol. “I’ll make us something to drink.”

  He found an old bottle of Scotch and poured two large measures. He took the glasses through to the small area that served as a living room and bedroom. The moon was shining through the window. The ethereal glow made the woman sitting on Christopher’s bed appear different. There was something in her eyes - something Christopher couldn’t quite figure out.

  “Don’t you just love the moonlight?” Carol said. “Come and sit here on the bed.”

  Christopher walked over and sat next to her. He realised he was feeling very drunk now. He took a long sip from his glass.

  “So Chris,” Carol said. “Tell me your story. What are your dreams?”

  “I don’t have much of a story. I’m just a sad old divorced loser knocking on for forty.”

  “Everybody has a story.”

  “What’s yours?” Christopher finished the whisky in the glass.

  He realised that Carol had not touched a drop of hers.

  “My story is a long one,” she said.

  “I’ve got all night.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  Borsa

  Sunday 5 May 1985

  Selene woke up and flinched. The sun was burning her face through a small window. It was shining directly into her eyes. She sat up and looked around. She didn’t know where she was. She was in a small room made out of old stones. There was only one tiny window. On the floor next to the mattress she was sitting on was a glass of water and a plate with two slices of bread on it. Selene stood up and walked over to the window. It was just big enough to let in a tiny sliver of light. There would be no way a person would be able to escape through it - even a person as small as Selene. She went to the old wooden door and tried the handle. It was locked. Selene felt a stabbing pain in her leg and her neck was incredibly sore. She sat back down on the mattress and tried to remember what had happened. She’d watched the sacrifice under the full moon and she had been discovered in her hiding place. She’d been halfway up the mountain when he’d caught up with her. She remembered the hands around her neck. He’d been too strong and Selene had passed out. That was all she could remember. She stood up and looked out of the window. Fields spread out before her; they seemed to go on forever. They were not the fields around her village - she did not recognise them.

  Selene started to panic. She tried the door again and yanked as hard as she could. It still wouldn’t open. The stone walls were too thick and the window was too small. She was stuck. She went to the window and screamed.

  “Help me,” she shouted. “Help me.”

  The door opened and a big man stood in the doorway. He went inside and locked the door behind him.

  “Good morning,” he said. “You’re awake. Nobody can hear you here.”

  Selene backed up against the wall. She recognised the man as the one in the red cloak from the previous night. He had killed the farmer. His black eyes bored into hers.

  “Selene,” he said in an unusually soft voice. “I’m not going to hurt you but you cannot leave. You realise that don’t you? You saw too much last night.”

  “Who are you?”

  Her voice was raspy. She put her hands to her neck.

  “I’m your family now. I will take care of you but you cannot leave.”

  Selene started to cry.

  “Eat something,” the man said. “And drink some water. You need to keep your strength up.”

  “Who are you?” Selene asked again in between sobs.

  “You will have plenty of time to learn everything. This is fate. Don’t you see it?”

  He turned round and unlocked the door. He opened it and went outside. Selene could hear his heavy footsteps as he walked off.

  Selene lay down on the mattress and wiped the tears from her face. She knew her mother would be wondering where she was. Natasha, her younger sister would have woken up alone.

  They’ll come looking for me, she thought.

  She closed her eyes and thought about what would be happening at home. Her father would be gone already - he would’ve set off at first light to plough the fields. There would be the smell of coffee and porridge in the house. Natasha would be clinging to her mother’s apron.

  Selene opened her eyes again and studied her prison carefully. There was nothing in the stone room apart from the mattress she was sitting on. The stones were old - moss had started to grow in the corners and parts of the wall had crumbled away over time. An idea came to her. She thought that if she could manage to scrape away at the edges of the stones, she may be able to loosen one or two, just enough for her to crawl through and escape. She stood up and looked around the room. There was nothing she could see that could be used to loosen the stones. She ran her fingertips between the gap in two particularly worn stones and some of the mortar crumbled away.

  After twenty minutes, Selene’s fingernails were broken and blood was running down her hands. It was no use. The pain in her fingers was unbearable. She had only managed to scrape away a handful of crumbled stone. The door opened and Selene jumped. She turned round. Two stocky women approached her and grabbed her by the arms.

  “Come with us,” one of them said. “Don’t be afraid, you’ll grow to like it here.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  York

  Sunday 26 December 2010

  Detective Sergeant Jason Smith stood under the shower and felt the powerful warm jets blast down on the top of his head. He ran his fingers over the scar on his stomach - two inches long and shaped like the map of Chile. It’d been over three months since the crazed Harlequin had murdered his entire family. He had stabbed DC Yang Chu, Smith’s colleague and then he had stabbed Smith when Smith caught up with him. He’d plunged the knife into Smith’s stomach. Three weeks in hospital and another four away from active duty had left Smith drained.

  Smith turned off the shower, dried himself and got dressed. He went downstairs and turned on the kettle to make some coffee. Theakston, Smith’s Bull Terrier was banging his head against the back door as a hint that he wanted to go outside. Smith opened the door and a gust of freezing air blew in. It had been one of the coldest Decembers on record. Snow had cut off the remote areas of the moors for days now and more cold weather was forecast. Theakston quickly did what he had to do outside and ran back inside.

  “It’s not warm out there is it boy?” Smith closed the door, made the coffee and sat at the kitchen table.

  “Laura would’ve been twenty one today,” Smith said to the dog.

  Laura was Smith’s younger sister. She’d disappeared from a beach in Western Australia when Smith was sixteen. He’d found her again, years later in Talinn but she was taken away from him again. The people who had abducted her from the beach then took her away for good. She had been pulled out of the River Ouse with a young boy she had been trying to protect.

  Smith finished the coffee and made another one. He wasn’t sure what he was going to do - he had a day off. There was not much going on at work and half the team were on leave.

  “I’ve had far too many days off recently,” he said.

  He stood up, picked up his car keys and left the house. The River Ouse was a raging torrent of brownness when Smith crossed the bridge and headed for the city centre. It flowed dark and sinister. The heavy snowfall had melted and raised the level of the rive
r to almost flood point. The people who lived close to the river had been warned to brace themselves for trouble. Smith left the river behind and turned on to the road that led to the station. The Minster stood proudly in the distance.

  Smith parked in the car park and ran inside the station. The weather forecast had predicted minus five degrees but the wild wind had made it much colder. PC Baldwin was sitting behind the front desk as always.

  “Don’t you ever go home?” Smith asked her.

  Baldwin always seemed to be at work.

  “I was off yesterday,” Baldwin said. “Happy Christmas.”

  “You too,” Smith said.

  Smith hadn’t found a reason to celebrate Christmas in years.

  “I thought you were supposed to be off today,” Baldwin said.

  “I’ve been off for weeks. Who’s in today?”

  “Yang Chu, DI Brownhill and I think I saw Bridge earlier. There’s not much going on. I think the weather is keeping the criminals indoors.”

  DI Bryony Brownhill walked through to the front desk. Smith thought she looked different. She was wearing a long woolen coat that reached her knees and her face was made up. Smith realised what was different about her. The growth of hair that usually sprouted from her top lip was gone. She had obviously had a shave or waxed it off.

  “Morning boss,” Smith said. “You look nice.”

  “Less of the cheek,” Brownhill said. “I thought you were off today.”

  “I was, but I was climbing the walls at home.”

  “There’s nothing happening. Go home. Enjoy the break. You know what it’s like. It can all change in a blink of an eye in this place. I’m finished here. I just had to clear up some paperwork.”

  “Going somewhere nice?”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You’re all dressed up,” Smith said.