Redemption of a Haunted Man

part three

Chapter 15

The pub could only be described as a "dive". The carpet was nothing more than a thread bare rag, its pattern long since worn away, to be replaced by beer stains and grime. The bar stools were placed to cause the maximum amount of disruption in walking from A to B and were often knocked flying by drunken patrons making there way to the Gents. The tables all had a permanent sticky coating, deep scars cutting into their wood, intelligently proclaiming who was a wa**ker and who was Sha**ing "Shaz". The windows had not allowed day light through since at least 1950, coated as they were with filth both inside and out. The décor was tatty, paint and paper peeling away from the wall, their original colour indiscernible under the build up of years of nicotine stains. A dart board and battered pool table the only source of entertainment.

He sat with a bottle of Budweiser, not his normal drink, but at least he knew it was not beer slops in a dirty glass. He wouldn't normally be caught dead in a place like this. He sat facing the door his back against the wall not taking any changes. The land lord was watching him, strangers were not welcome especially ones as out of place as him. He waited watching the door. He had left money at the bar and instructed the Landlord to draw him a pint when he came in.

The door was pushed open and a stocky man entered, he approached the bar and looked questioningly at the landlord who handed him a pint. The landlord nodded at the stranger and the man walked over. The stranger drew out a photograph and put it on the table. The man's face twisted into snarl.

"Sit down. Lets talk" The stranger invited.

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The sun had barely risen as he made his way along Cardingmill valley. The National trust car park was empty at this time in the morning. Even the people who staffed the café had not yet arrived. Peter enjoyed the peace and solitude of his early morning run. The valley leading up to the Long Mynd had entered his soul, just as his native Yorkshire Moors had. The only sound to be heard, was from the sheep dotted along the hillside and the babble of the stream, that ran down the valley. In another few hours this part of the valley would be full of tourists. Walkers making their way up into the Stretton hills, retired folk and young families who came to picnic. The stream would be full of children paddling, their joyful laughter ringing in the air. Peter sighed deeply as he ran over the ford, he always found this part of his run brought back poignant memories. The dog his constant companion running at his side, his lead looped loosely round Peter's wrist, loved this part of the run especially when they double backed to return home and he could flop in the cool water.

As he ran his mind wandered, it had been two weeks since Rebecca was trapped in the cellar. Peter had listened in horrified silence as she told him her story. She had grown up in Southampton a pleasant childhood, like him an only child. While at college her parents had been killed in a car accident and shortly after she had married Brian Daniels, a mechanic who she had met at college. It was a whirlwind courtship, Rebecca devastated by her parents death had turned to the first person who offered friendship. He hit her for the first time two weeks after she was married. She should have left then , but he had cried and said he was sorry, promised not to do it again. An empty promise, one of many he made over the years. At first he only hit her when he was drunk but that changed and by the third year of there marriage he had begun to hit her on a regular basis. He controlled her life, she had no friends, he would not permit that. He chose her clothes, if she wore something he didn't like a few slaps would remind her not to do it again. She got used to hiding the cuts and bruises. Things came to a head when she failed to fall pregnant, following numerous tests and investigations it was apparent that Rebecca could not conceive and never would. She had sat in silence, as the doctor's words sank in she had felt her heart shatter. If she had not been immersed in her own misery she might have seen it coming, might have avoided it. He had grabbed her by the hair and smacked her head against the dinning room wall. He pinned her to the floor ripped her clothing. Stopping only to free himself from his trousers he had enter her forcefully, The rape seemed to go on for ever. She tried to scream out but he covered her mouth with his large hand. When he had finished he had hit her so hard he broke her jaw. and kicked her into the corner. Where, in final act of depraved sadistic terrorization, he had urinated over her. He had left her whimpering in pain barely conscious. She still didn't know how she had done it but she managed to crawl into the neighbours garden before she collapsed into unconsciousness.