The Cheshire Sect

By Dan Frazer

Range Rovers, Rape and Retribution in the heart of the Cheshire footballer belt...

Sebastian Bonham is a highly intelligent thirty-something trying to come to terms with a tragedy that left his brother in a vegetative state. He is restless and looking for something to give his life meaning.

One night he meets a disturbed young woman and later discovers she has been raped by a satanic sect deep in the woods of Alderley Edge.

Unable to go to the police, he sets out to discover who they are and destroy them using his own unique skills.

Follow Sebastian as he jumps feet-first into a collision between the mysticism of the past and the conspicuous consumption of the present.

But can he stop the sect before they kill him? (Obviously he can. Otherwise we wouldn’t be able to write the sequel.)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dan Frazer
• Release date: Oct 5, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301102914

Dan Frazer

Dan Frazer is a little bit schizophrenic. It's hard not to be when you are, in fact, two entirely separate people: Dan Smith and Frazer Fearnhead.They met over the garden fence when Dan moved next door to Frazer in 2007. Soon discovering a common love of cooking pretentious food (because of greed), watching pretentious French cinema (because of the naked girls) and listening to pretentious music (because it made them sound cultured), they also found they loved the same sort of books: unpretentious thrillers.One drunken night, they began a well-trodden rant, bemoaning the fact that all the wisecracking heroes in thrillers were American. Most British thrillers seemed to be gritty police procedurals or gruff SAS-types saving the world. Despite loving books about dysfunctional, grumpy protagonists like Rebus or Tom Thorne, they wanted a British hero who was, well, cool.They had a Martini-fuelled epiphany; stop moaning and start writing.Surprisingly, even when sober it still seemed like a good idea. They chose to write about the place they knew best: the “footballer belt” of North Cheshire/South Manchester. A place of contrast, where brash, ostentatious consumption meets picturesque countryside, they wanted to share why they loved the place so much.They also wanted a hero who would fight for justice, but solve problems in a unique way, using his brain rather than violence.What followed was two years of arguing, bitching, sniping, pedantry (Dan), haranguing (Frazer) and lots of laughter. They loved every minute of it. Sort of.The Cheshire Sect is the result.

Book preview

Dan Frazer

Copyright

Published by Charles Stuart Publishing 2013

Copyright Dan Smith and Frazer Fearnhead 2013

Frazer Fearnhead and Dan Smith assert the moral right to be identified as the authors of this work

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 9781301102914

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. Names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be produced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the authors and publishers.

http://www.danfrazer.com

Dedication

Frazer: This book is dedicated to my parents Jack and Jennie. I always said I wanted to be a writer. Now I am. It’s only taken forty or so years. Thank you for all your support.

Dan: To my long-suffering wife and parents.

Contents

Title

Copyright

Dedication

Contents

Prologue

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

Epilogue

Acknowledgements

About the author

Tell us what you thought

Prologue

Nikki remembered being in the car. Big, rich leather seats and walnut dashboard. Mercedes? Or maybe a Jag? She remembered being helped out of the passenger seat and the reassuringly heavy clunk of the door as the man slammed it behind her. But, hard as she tried, she couldn’t remember what she was doing in the car in the first place, or what she was doing here with a hand on her arm, gently, but firmly, guiding her along a path through a dark wood. The path was faintly lit by the full moon overhead. She could feel the cold night air on her skin, which was barely covered by her spaghetti-strapped top. The thought flitted across her mind: why am I dressed for a night out at Panacea? In her peripheral vision, shadows shifted as the overhanging leaves swayed in the wind. She recognised the Wizard’s Well with water trickling out beneath the carved bearded face. She must be on Alderley Edge. She and her friends had used the well when playing games of hide and seek as a child. The memory briefly comforted her.

She realised she was feeling light-headed and a bit spaced-out. Grinning, for no particular reason – like she’d smoked some really strong weed. An owl hooted in a nearby tree and she felt a strong sense of déjà vu. The owl’s hoot was somehow familiar to her, as though she had been at this exact same point in time before. Was this a dream? The man’s grip on her arm noticeably tightened and she felt a momentary stab of fear in her stomach. What was she doing here? Who was this anyway? She couldn’t really see him as he was slightly behind her, pushing her forward by the elbow but, still, she allowed herself to be led deeper and deeper into the wood.

As she walked she became acutely aware of the shifting patterns of moonlight converging into a monochrome kaleidoscope of senses. She heard colours: black, and red; the sounds filled her imagination. Rustlings in the undergrowth coagulated into dark creatures in her mind. Another stab of fear came, then went, and gradually she felt a oneness with nature; she started to relax as warm, gentle waves of pure joy caressed her body and she breathed luxuriantly in and out. In and out. In and out. Pure bliss. Everything seemed so beautiful.

Then, with a start, she realised she was all alone. Again there seemed to have been a jump in time and she couldn’t remember how she arrived at this place. She was now in a clearing with high cliffs behind and to one side. Probably one of the disused quarries deep in the heart of the woods. She had a clear view of the full moon peering back down at her. Just her. And it felt like it was watching her, judging her. Her back was pressed against something cold and hard. She was lying on a flat rock. The coldness permeated her skin, chilling her bones, and, despite the euphoric warmth pulsing out from her chest, she shivered uncontrollably.

What? Why? How?

But her mind couldn’t focus long enough to answer anything and the questions quickly dissolved as faces started to emerge from the shadows around her. She briefly recalled a time, long ago in Ko Phangan, when she had eaten magic mushrooms. She had spent hours watching the palm trees on the hillside transform into dreadlocked Rastafarians, swaying their heads gently to the reggae beats pumping out from the beach bars. She smiled, confident that the faces were just tricks of the light. Had she taken something? She couldn’t remember. Did someone spike her drink? Did it matter? This was fun.

Then, in an instant, everything changed. Blurred white figures emerged from the wan rock face. Animal faces with dark, hollow spaces where their eyes should be. Scary faces.

Alarm bells rang loudly in her head, cutting through the pleasant haze. These were not hallucinations. She started to panic, tried to get up, but her limbs wouldn’t work. They simply didn’t respond to the commands issued by her brain. It was in a frenzy, trying to gain control, yet her body felt so relaxed; so very, very heavy. She felt disembodied, completely unable to move.

Her panic increased as the figures approached, circling her. Hands moved over her and started to remove her clothes. Her top was loosened and slowly lifted over her head. Her skirt and her thong were carefully pulled down and off her legs. It felt as though several hands were all over her body now. Groping her, fondling her breasts, squeezing her buttocks. Then she felt strong hands gripping her knees, forcing her legs apart.

She tried to scream but couldn’t emit any sound. She was completely mute. Her eyeballs rolled into the back of her head. She was only faintly aware of the ghost-like shapes as they moved around her, chanting some ancient incantation. A hand grabbed and twisted her hair, lifting her head up and to the side, towards the figure standing above her, as her mouth was prised open. She vaguely sensed that she was being touched and penetrated as the blurry white shapes floated above her, moving round. The chanting gradually became louder, more rhythmic, more excited. She faded into unconsciousness. Then, suddenly: a searing hot sensation to the back of her neck, and for a split second she felt her raw nerve endings were on fire.

Then nothing but darkness.

Chapter 1

Sebastian was bored. He toyed with the heavy-bottomed glass, appreciating the way the light danced on his Woodford Reserve as it swirled round the ice. What was he doing here? He could have waited and seen Mark on Monday instead. Why come here – The Bubble Lounge? Looking for something to distract him from moping round the house, searching for an answer that probably didn’t exist?

He scanned the bar. More champagne was drunk per head in Alderley Edge than anywhere else in the world, and tonight was supporting that statistic. At the tables people were drinking and laughing loudly. Having fun? Occasionally they glanced sideways, as if to check whether the next table had ordered a more expensive bottle.

Looking to his left, he noticed the face of a girl that, underneath the make-up, had a surprisingly innocent look. She glanced over in Seb’s direction, and caught him looking at her. Winning smile and sparkly blue eyes. Interesting. Way too much fake tan, but interesting anyway.

Her smile was blocked by a male, slim, well-toned back, clothed in expensive silk. The tattooed head of an eagle peered over the top of the shirt collar. Sebastian imagined the eagle’s wings spread out over the shoulders beneath the shiny suit. No doubt it looked very impressive in the changing room, but less so in a suit. Sebastian tried, with difficulty, to ignore the loud cockney voice but the occasional phrase snuck through his mental barriers. ‘… my agent … a Premiership club … in Europe next season … Gallardo, know what I mean … 0–60 in four seconds innit … another bottle? Cristal, like Jay-Z, innit.’

You didn’t need to be Morse to figure out what the man did for a living. Ever since the industrial revolution, the newly rich have flocked to Alderley Edge; footballers were simply the latest wave to join in the never-ending cycle of conspicuous consumption.

Her friends were busy flirting with Shiny Suit’s mates, one of whom Sebastian recognised as an Everton player. Another, the one with the Simon Cowell bog-brush haircut, deep jowls and glasses, he recognised as Denny Walker, the eighties ex-footballer turned sports-agent-slash-TV-pundit. Walker, a good twenty years older than the players he was with, kept looking over anxiously at the girl and his young charge. Sebastian presumed he was worried about another kiss-and-tell tabloid exposé involving one of his clients.

Sebastian’s attention returned to the girl. Initially, he had dismissed her as just another aspiring WAG, desperate to get herself in the papers. But occasionally, her smiled dropped and a fleeting look of boredom passed over her face. Perhaps he was being too judgemental. He caught her looking at him. She grinned and looked down, covering her embarrassment. That decided it. A woman in need is a friend indeed. Or something like that.

With magic, as with comedy, timing is everything. So Seb planned, watched and waited until just the right moment. As Shiny Suit shifted his position, giving the girl an unobstructed view of him, Seb expertly palmed the Zippo he had been toying with and set his hand on fire. Flames shot out from his open hand and the girl gasped so loudly that several others turned to see what she was looking at. Seb, ignoring the fact that a number of people were now staring at him, let the flame dance across his fingers, then jump to the palm of his other hand. There was an immediate flash and he quickly cupped the flame with both hands. When he opened his hands again there was a red rose. He looked up at the girl, smiled with raised eyebrows and offered her the flower.

She laughed and shook her head but, after a moment’s hesitation, came over to collect it.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘You’re welcome.’

Shiny Suit, annoyed that he had been upstaged, pivoted to face Seb and wrapped a proprietary arm round her shoulder.

‘What are you, some sort of professional magician?’

‘Strictly amateur.’

‘Yeah, well, in my game being an amateur don’t pay for the cars and giving the ladies a nice time. Know what I mean?’ he said, pulling the girl towards him.

‘Are you having a nice time?’ asked Sebastian, who hadn’t broken eye contact with the girl.

‘I suppose,’ said the girl.

‘See. And I’m the one with a brand new Lamborghini Gallardo? What do you drive?’

Sebastian said wearily, ‘Just a 1974 Jensen Interceptor.’

‘Never heard of it. What is it – some old banger?’

Seb smiled indulgently and nodded as Shiny Suit carried on. ‘Which is why you’re going home to a Pot Noodle and a wank, and the lady will be coming home with me in the Lambo.’

‘I wouldn’t be so presumptuous.’

Shiny Suit looked confused. After a beat, Sebastian continued. ‘To use your own language, it means: this is a game of two halves, and you’ve conceded two own goals before half-time.’

The girl failed to stifle a giggle. Shiny Suit shot daggers at her.

‘Look, I’m sorry for interrupting your drink,’ Seb said, still blanking the footballer and looking directly at the girl. ‘It’s just that I couldn’t resist your wonderful aura. Let me see if you have magic in you – hold my hands …’

She complied, whilst Shiny Suit looked on, clearly puzzled as to why being a Premiership footballer wasn’t proving enough to get this girl into his Lamborghini and into his bed.

‘See? Can you feel the heat? That shows you have magic about you …’ Sebastian said, half expecting that the girl would remember that he’d just set his hands on fire.

The girl gasped. ‘Oh my god! That’s scary! What does it mean?’

‘It means that you’re attuned to the spirit world – you probably feel things that others don’t …’

‘Really. That doesn’t surprise me. The other day, I felt my grandma in the room even though she’d died three years ago …’

Sebastian was starting to feel a little embarrassed at how this was turning out. It had sounded much less cringe-worthy in his head. But the girl hadn’t stopped looking at him since the flames, and Shiny Suit, sick of being ignored, started up again and said to the girl, ‘It’s a bit sad being impressed by some guy, just ’cos he can do some fancy tricks.’

Sebastian pulled a mock quizzical expression. ‘You’re a footballer … Do you not have any sense of irony?’

‘Huh?’

‘Irony. It’s a bit like goldy, only made of iron,’ Seb said, then added mockingly, ‘Innit, mate.’

By now, the girl was grinning broadly.

‘What you on about?’ asked Shiny Suit

‘Nothing really. Just paraphrasing an old comedy programme.’

‘Whatever.’ He pushed the girl towards Seb. She stumbled, spilling his drink. Then the footballer turned and walked away. ‘You’re welcome to her. Dick,’ he muttered as he returned to his mates.

Seb helped the girl stand upright and they looked at each other, slightly embarrassed. Before they could speak they overheard the footballer speaking loudly to his friends, obviously wanting to be heard by as many people as possible.

‘Oi fellas, guess what that tosser over there drives. Some shit heap called a Jason fuckin’ Interferer or summit! What a loser!’

Denny Walker, a look of relief on his face now that his client had moved back to the group, glanced over at Seb with raised eyebrows.

‘I think it’s called a Jensen Interceptor, Gary. Very cool car back in the seventies.’

‘Yeah. Seventies, I knew it. Dickhead drives an old banger. Know what I mean. Probably hasn’t got the money to even buy a drink. Twat.’

Seb and the girl ignored him.

‘You certainly know how to make friends.’

‘Yeah. I did try studying How To Win Friends And Influence People – turns out I’m shite at it.’

‘Yes, well, sorry about Gary. Thanks for saving me from a night of pretending to know what an Everton is.’

‘That’s all right. I can’t really get offended by someone who probably thinks the inter-fada is an Italian football team.’

She laughed. ‘So does anyone actually fall for that aura crap you tried to pull on me?’

‘Yeah, that was a bit lame, I have to admit.’

‘Have you got any more tricks up your sleeve? Can you make a drink appear?’

Seb smiled and moved his eyes to her side. ‘Funny you should say that.’

She followed his gaze to where a waiter was standing with a bottle of Puligny-Montrachet and two filled glasses on a tray.

She laughed. ‘Okay. Am I supposed to be impressed?’

‘Aren’t you?’

‘You think you’re really something special don’t you?’

‘Well, I hate to fly in the face of public opinion.’

‘I somehow doubt that. And by the way, don’t think I haven’t noticed that’s the second Blackadder line you’ve nicked tonight. Too lazy to think of something original?’

Seb liked the way she raised her eyebrow, challenging him. ‘Maybe it was a test to see if you’d spot the cultural reference.’

‘Maybe you talk shit. You thought I’d be too young to recognise them. Unfortunately for you, it was my older sister’s favourite show. She used to quote it all the bloody time. Drove me mad.’ The girl paused for a while, as though considering her options. ‘So tell me, where is this charm school you went to?’

‘No school necessary.’

‘Naturally talented are you?’

‘Some things just can’t be taught.’

‘Really. So are you going to introduce yourself, or are you into the whole no-name thing?’

‘Sorry. Sebastian.’

‘Selena.’

‘Nice to meet you Selena,’ he said sincerely.

‘And you, Sebastian. So, what’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?’

‘Oh. It’s just a façade. I’m not very nice really.’

‘Ooh. How exciting. A real bad boy are you?’

‘Terrible’. Sebastian repressed a smile, liking her sarcastic tone.

‘Not too terrible I hope.’ And with that she leant suddenly into him, grabbed his shirt, pulling him towards her and kissed him full on the mouth, her tongue briefly darting inside before pulling away.

Seb looked slightly surprised. ‘That was … err … unexpected. Nice … but unexpected.’

‘Oh, come on? I can’t be the first woman to find those cheekbones and artfully mussed hair very sexy … despite your ridiculously large ego.’

He paused, considering her words. ‘No. You are the definitely the first … tonight.’

She rolled her eyes. ‘I can see you’re going to be a handful. What do you say we finish these drinks and go back to yours? I’m dying to know what a Jensen Interceptor looks like.’

He shrugged. ‘Sounds like a plan.’

They downed the rest of their glasses and got up to leave.

‘Oh, just a minute,’ Seb said. ‘I need to tidy up.’

He took the white linen cloth off the drinks tray, covered the bottle with it and smashed the bottle into the table. It vanished.

She laughed, and rolled her eyes as he grinned and shrugged. She shook her head and they started to make their way through the crowd. As they walked past, Gary the footballer deliberately stepped into their path and shouldered into Sebastian roughly. Sebastian paused, drew a deep breath, straightened Gary’s jacket, and patted him on the shoulder. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said, as he continued towards the door.

Gary, disappointed not to get a reaction, called after him, ‘Oi tosser, you spilt my drink.’

‘Leave it, Gary,’ Denny Walker said, putting a restraining hand on Gary’s arm.

Gary shrugged it off. ‘No. Denny. I’m not ’aving it. First he nicks my bird, then he spills my drink. I’m going to teach him a lesson.’ He pushed past Denny and started to elbow people out of the way to catch Seb up. Seb paused at the exit and noticed that Gary was following them. He muttered to himself, ‘Here we go. The Argos Vinnie Jones.’

He stepped out through the main entrance and the two bouncers, in smart black Crombies buttoned up against the cold, greeted him warmly. ‘Hi Seb.’

‘All right lads. How’s it going?’ Seb altered his slightly posh accent, giving it a definite Mancunian twang.

‘Yeh, doin’ all right,’ said the taller of the two, in a strong Salford accent. ‘Mark said he’s droppin’ by later. You around?’

‘No. Can’t stop. Can you tell him I’ll see him Monday?’ Seb looked casually back towards the bar entrance. ‘Listen lads, there’s some footballer in there called Gary who’s looking for a fight. I’m really not in the mood. Know what I mean? He’ll probably be out here in a sec. Think you can delay him for a minute whilst we get to the car?’

‘Yeh. That’ll be Gary Fletcher. Plays for City. Total knobhead. Sure thing, sorted, my man,’ said the taller one.

‘My pleasure,’ said the other.

‘Cheers. See you later.’ Seb winked.

As they walked towards the car, Selena slipped her hand into his and said, ‘So let’s see, in summary … good-looking posh boy sits all alone in a bar, pulls off a couple of pretty impressive magic tricks, pretends not to like attention, gets expensive wine brought over without seeming to pay, has bouncers do his bidding, and doesn’t say much apart from the odd witty remark. Who exactly are you?’

‘Me? Oh just a riddle wrapped in an enigma inside a mystery.’

‘How very … you. Well, I guess you know how to arouse a woman’s attention.’

‘Hopefully that’s not all I’ll be arousing,’ he said, tongue firmly in cheek.

Before she could say anything else, Seb stopped at the car.

She looked at it. ‘That’s it?’

‘That’s it.’

‘Err … It’s a bit strange looking.’

Seb laughed. ‘I guess it is a bit of an acquired taste – very unusual, even in its day.’

‘In its day? It looks almost new.’

‘Ah yes. Well, it’s a bit like Joan Collins. It’s had a few nips and tucks.’

‘A few? Wow, this is lush,’ she said, admiring the supple black leather and chrome dials lit by the soft interior light. She sat in the seat and expertly swung her legs in. The thought flicked across Seb’s mind that she had clearly had a lot of practice of getting into sports cars but he refrained from saying anything. He shut the door and walked round to the other side. He started the car and absent-mindedly reached into his jacket pocket. Pulling out a thick wallet, he said, ‘Gary’s going to struggle to pay without this.’

Selena looked puzzled.

‘I know. I know. Pick-pocketing is stupid and childish … But then, so am I.’

Sebastian pressed his right foot down gently and the Interceptor purred forward. He opened the window and, with an insouciant flick of the wrist, tossed the wallet out of the window.

‘You just can’t stop showing off, can you?’

‘Hey, when you’re on a roll, you’re on a roll.’ Sebastian grinned. Selena shook her head, grinning with him.

Chapter 2

Three hours later Sebastian lay awake, unconsciously grinding his teeth, and staring at the ceiling. Selena was on her side, turned away from him and gently snoring. Seb pushed the sheets off so the air-con could cool his naked body, still hot and clammy.

They had collapsed exhausted about half an hour ago and already he was beginning to regret it. She was certainly good looking. And she had more to her than you’d expect from a girl who was out on a Saturday night stalking footballers, but she was hardly his type. If he was being honest, he’d let his ego run away with him. Something about the footballer had irritated him and Seb had felt like knocking him down a peg or two. Using a girl to prove a point: not something to be proud of. And hardly a challenge.

So he lay there, feeling guilty about using the girl in a childish power struggle with another man he didn’t know or care about. She didn’t seem too bothered once they had arrived back at his house – he’d watched her eyes as they evaluated her surroundings, rating him as a prospect and perhaps coming to the conclusion that he might have more potential than the footballer she’d forfeited.

And now he was left with the consequences: how to let Selena down gently. What would he do in the morning? Probably the straight-up approach, rather than lying and saying he would call her. He wasn’t sure which was the least reprehensible. Frankly, if she was looking for something meaningful, she was looking in all the wrong places. Not his fault. He was probably kidding himself anyway. She’d wake up, pissed off she’d missed the chance to get in the papers by shagging Manchester City’s new defender; despite the nice house, she had ended up with a moody, unemployed git who would do nothing to further her chances of getting her own reality TV show. The thought of the awkward breakfast conversation made him shudder slightly. Could he get away with ordering a taxi before she even woke up? Mind you, she’d probably get in first and be out of the door before he’d even offered her breakfast. Well … unless she was particularly hungry.

He looked round his bedroom. There was little in it other than his king-size bed, covered in Egyptian cotton sheets with a ridiculously high thread count, a Mies Van De Rohe chaise longue, a large plasma screen on the wall and a few heavy-looking hardbacks neatly stacked on his bedside table. It could have passed for an antiseptic designer show-bedroom if it hadn’t been for the striking photograph leaning against the wall. A large canvas blow-up depicted Seb sitting behind his brother on a motocross bike, both with windswept, sand-covered hair and carefree grins. Seb thought back briefly to that holiday at his grandparents’ house in Biarritz. He had just turned fifteen. A whole world of possibilities seemed available to them back then. But that was a lifetime ago – literally, if you assumed, as he had to, that his brother would never recover.

He returned his attention to the scene before him. The room was immaculate. Usually. Now it was strewn with discarded clothes, glasses on their side, spilt drinks on the American walnut flooring, empty vodka and champagne bottles and scattered CD cases smeared with the remnants of the coke Selena had brought with her. The room certainly told a story. But it wasn’t one Seb wanted to hear. He groaned, anticipating the inevitable guilt-tinged hangover that was waiting in the wings. Why did he keep doing this shit? He needed to find something to occupy his mind. Something that wasn’t so hopeless. So utterly depressing that he felt the need to behave like this. But, realistically, that wasn’t likely to happen anytime soon.

He checked his watch: 3 am. How long before she would leave and he could try and sleep? He had trouble sleeping at the best of times and her presence wasn’t helping. He could take some of the pills he had made but then he would be dead to the world for a solid eight hours. Luckily the coke was pretty weak so it would wear off soon. Seb did an impromptu analysis of what he had taken. About 40% pure, 20% local anaesthetic – given the initial five minutes of numbness – he reckoned, plus a hint of sugar, a dash of vitamin