Square The Circle. The Sons of Charlemagne Book Three

By Richard Hathway

As D.I Welch lies in the hospital, D.S George looks for a break in the case of The Bristol Butcher. Ian Harper and Riley Monroe take their own journeys of discovery and Jonathan Wigfield plans his escape. As reckonings collide and questions are answered at The Nursery, who is destined to die?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Richard Hathway
• Release date: Nov 24, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463751305

Richard Hathway

Richard Hathway lives in Bristol, UK with his partner and their son.

Book preview

Books by Richard Hathway.

Those Who Broke The Boy – The Sons of Charlemagne Book One.

Conditioned In Blood – The Sons of Charlemagne Book Two.

The Difficult Child – A Collection of Poems.

Square The Circle

Richard Hathway

Richard Hathway

Square The Circle. The Sons of Charlemagne Book Three.

©2018 Richard Hathway

Self-Published

All rights reserved

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, stored in a database and / or published in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

For Cat. Without you, there is no me.

PART ONE - SEBASTIAN WELCH

D.I Sebastian Welch landed awkwardly, and upside down, on the ripped and dirty sofa. Whilst his upper back connected with a seat cushion, his legs carried on and his lower back was wrenched and torn by the arm. He lay, unable to move, his feet not quite reaching the ground, and looked over at Parker’s lifeless body. From the crack in the base of his spine the pain shot up into his brain. The searing intensity of it flooded Welch’s mind in blinding sensation. The feeling and the knowledge of the pain seeped into every crevice of his being. Somewhere in the ancient systems of his brain, in those primitive strands of DNA carried over by evolution, the pain shone like the first sun after an arctic winter. In those first moments of pain, as D.I Welch closed his eyes to it, a long dormant creature felt the first rays of warmth from the pain. Being not more than a larval, shapeless idea, it could do no more than stretch and slither to begin with. But it was strong. It had power to control. Within minutes it had awoken and began bubbling up from the ancient depths of the brain like some dark and troublesome primordial ooze. Shortly after the ambulance arrived, the layers of Sebastian Welch’s mind, like the distinct parts of a beautiful entremets cake, had been smothered by the ooze. Like the mirror glaze on the entremets, the darkness that shrouded the detective’s mind sparkled with deep promise. Unlike the cake, it promised nothing sweet.

The paramedics that attended the scene assessed Welch correctly. They asked the right questions and Welch was still compos mentis enough to give the right answers. Suspecting spinal complications, the paramedics pumped Welch full of painkillers and lifted him gently onto a stretcher. As they wheeled him out of the garden towards the ambulance they misjudged a step and the stretcher bumped down and jolted Welch. He didn’t cry out in pain or swear at the medics. He didn’t even wince. Sure, the painkillers would be kicking in, but the paramedics would still have expected some response. D.S Spencer George swore at them. Then he saw the look on their faces.

What? What is it? D.S George asked the one that was clearly in charge.

It’s probably nothing but…

But what? Don’t keep anything from me! George was getting worried.

He seems a little unresponsive. It’s probably the painkillers kicking in, but we’ll get him to the hospital as quick as we can and check him out.

Yeah, you do that! George called out as he jogged off towards Parker’s flat.

The paramedics shared an anxious gaze as they started pushing the stretcher a little faster. They hadn’t told the detective sergeant that the painkillers wouldn’t have kicked in so much so quickly. They didn’t tell him that they suspected they had given him too much and that he was at risk of dying before he got to the hospital. They didn’t tell D.S George any of it because they couldn’t be sure. Maybe the patient’s pain was enough to nearly knock him out. They’d seen that before. Combined with the meds he could easily just be out of it enough to not register the jolt down the step. Just to be sure they jogged him back to the ambulance and got him in the back. As the driver pulled out and switched the blues and twos on, his mate in the back hooked D.I Welch up to all the monitoring equipment. None of it would tell the paramedic the truth of it though. Welch hadn’t registered the bumping or George’s swearing or the jogging or the lifting into the ambulance because that dark form that was growing in his brain had cloaked his mind and deadened his senses. Outside of the turmoil within Welch, the paramedic had enough information to make him happy. The patient’s vitals looked ok. The detective inspector would make it.

In the stark sterility of the operating theatre the medics moved in orchestrated and well-practised harmony. The anaesthetist administered the drugs to keep Welch unconscious. The surgeons assessed the body before them. None of them liked to think of the patient as a person while they were operating. It was better to keep emotion out of it. It helped that the posterior interbody fusion was a procedure that required an incision in the back. The patient, lying face down and covered except for the portion of the back needed for access to the spine, hardly looked any different than a side of pork, albeit a hairier one.

Welch’s conscious mind was unaware of any of it. But somewhere deep inside him the first incision registered. The six-inch cut was made along the line of his lower spine. The consultant expertly drew the scalpel across the skin. The blade released the deep red flow of life as it sliced through epidermis, dermis and subcutaneous layers of the body. The blood that welled up out of the intrusion carried with it part of that thing that was growing inside Welch. The dark being screamed and reached out to stop the attack, but the body was useless. No muscles responded to the order. As the nurse swabbed away the blood the being cried in hatred. More of him leaked away as the fascia and muscle was cut and pulled away from the spine. The surgeon continued his calm and intrusive work. Facet joints were trimmed to give the nerves more room. The bone that was trimmed was sucked free of the body and the being wailed its mourning. The nerves themselves were pulled to one side so that the disc could be removed. Like fire onto an open wound the pain of it was unbearable for the unconscious mind. The body lay still on the operating table but within it Welch’s new being was tearing at the skin in ravaged pain. The cages containing the bone graft were pushed into the disc space. The final piece of the puzzle was to screw a rod to either side of the spine. These metal interlopers would hold the spine in place while the bone grafts took and fused the spine back together. Welch would need three screws for each rod. The grating and tearing of metal screws twisting into bone jarred and vibrated a dull and deep throbbing pain throughout the unconscious body. As the final screw was tightened in Welch’s back, the being gave up and fell into a broken slumber. The operation was over. Welch was sewn up and everyone in the sterile room congratulated themselves. Within the filthy confines of the body the trauma of it was fuelling a whispered memory of desperation and surrender that Sebastian Welch would feel but not understand.

At 6.28 pm, four hours after he had been wheeled into the operating theatre, D.I Welch was wheeled out again. The three vertebrae in his lower spine that had been fractured in the fall were now fused together with metal rods and screws.

He was taken, still unconscious, to the recovery ward and monitored as the general anaesthetic wore off. After an hour or so he began to come around. Consciousness came in small blurry moments at first, his eyes opening briefly, not registering anything and then closing again. Then he was awake for maybe a minute at a time before once again slipping into the drug induced slumber. At some point during the night he awoke, his head still fuzzy and his faculties not quite with him. Did he feel terrified? Or was it cold? It was something, but he couldn’t recognise it. As his eyes searched the room for clues to what he was feeling inside he saw a hooded figure at the foot of his bed. Sebastian wasn’t sure if he was dreaming since he didn’t recognise the room or the figure at his bed. As he tried to take everything in, tried to stop the strange language, he wasn’t even sure it was a language, in his head, the man spoke. His speech was soft and throaty, almost monotone like he was deaf and hadn’t learned to use his tongue to articulate properly.

The infant and the girl didn’t die in vain, I will guide you to The Sons of Charlemagne.

Without saying anything else the man left. Sebastian’s mind was foggy and swirling and different somehow. He didn’t feel like himself but maybe he felt more like himself than he ever had. As he wrestled with his mind the exhaustion took over and he fell asleep again.

By the time the nurse came to see him the next morning Welch had made his peace with the pain. Somehow it didn’t seem to bother him as much as pain had used to do. He took the Co-Codamol and Naproxen that the nurse bought, the pain was still very bad, but he told her he no longer needed the morphine. He only needed to dull enough of the pain to think straight. Feeling the pain felt good. It felt right.

Your doctor will want to talk to you before I can do that. the nurse replied.

Welch felt a strong urge to strangle her.

Besides you’ve got the physio coming to see you this morning, you might need it after that!

Mia is it? he said, looking at Nurse Bagley’s badge.

Yeah.

O.K Mia. I don’t want this morphine pump anymore, I don’t need a doctor to approve my decision about my body and I’d appreciate it if you would respect my wishes and cut the jokes, alright?

Jesus Seb, who pissed in your cornflakes? It was Tony. He had decided to come by early before going to work and happened to arrive just at that moment. I’m sorry nurse, my husband only has two settings, good guy policeman and sarcastic dickhead.

It’s not my fault she… Sebastian began but Tony held up a finger to silence him.

You shush. Tony said sternly, You’re obviously in no mood to be around people today. You saw the news I take it?

What news? Sebastian asked.

You need to apologise to… Tony started, gesturing towards Mia.

What fucking news Tony? Welch interrupted, the words spitting from his mouth. As Tony turned back to face him Nurse Bagley took the opportunity to make her exit.

You haven’t heard? Tony asked, annoyed with himself now that he’d mentioned it.

Tony, I swear to God you are really starting to piss me off now. What. Fucking. News?

They think they’ve found Heidi.

Heidi died seven years ago Tony, what are you talking about?

It seems she didn’t Seb. Her body, minus a sizeable chunk of her right thigh, was found last night.

Where? Do they have a timeline on her death yet?

By the water tower on the downs. Some students found her. Her body was still smouldering, it was the smell that alerted them. I called Selina, I figured you’d want to know everything. She said she’s got more tests to do but her preliminary findings are that she died no more than 12 hours before she was found.

Died? Or was killed?

Well that’s the thing Seb. Selina is going to run the tests but...

But what Tony? Tell me!

It looks like she died in childbirth. If that’s true, if it is Heidi, if she died giving birth, it means...

It means Parker didn’t kill her seven years ago. How the fuck is that possible Tony? All the evidence we had on Parker! the DNA we had for Heidi!

The DNA probably came from the chunk of thigh that Heidi was missing. Someone wanted you to think Heidi was dead. So...

So, either Parker had a partner, or he wasn’t the Bristol Butcher. Fuck! Get the doctor down here Tony, I’ve got to get out of here. Fuck!

Seb? If Heidi wasn’t killed seven years ago what does that mean for the others? Did they really die or are they being held somewhere too?

Welch wasn’t listening to Tony anymore. He was remembering the words of the hooded figure from the night. He’d assumed when he woke that the man and his words had been part of a dream. Then came the voice in his head. Was it his voice? It sounded a bit like him, but it was different. He’d never heard it before. Now it spoke, and it was so clear in his head that Welch had to listen to it.

The infant and the girl didn’t die in vain, I will guide you to The Sons of Charlemagne.

The infant and the girl didn’t die in vain, I will guide you to The Sons of Charlemagne.

The infant and the girl didn’t die in vain, I will guide you to The Sons of Charlemagne.

He just repeated it over and over.

Detective Inspector Sebastian Welch did not get his wish to leave the hospital the day after his spinal operation. Tony asked the nursing staff if the consultant could come and see his husband as soon as possible. He was told, politely but firmly, that the doctors did their rounds when they did them and there was no changing the schedule. After he had relayed the information, and gotten a mouthful from Sebastian for his troubles, Tony had left for work. He kissed his surly lover on the forehead and suggested he get some sleep. At the very least try to relax. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Sebastian muttered something about it being a load of bullshit, but Tony ignored it. He would allow his husband a certain amount of attitude given what he’d been through. He knew that Sebastian hated even being a little ill so being laid up after major surgery was both physically and mentally painful for him.

Despite what he had felt when he first woke that morning, Sebastian did use the morphine pump. Tony had given him the news about the discovery of Heidi Murphy’s body and the stillborn baby. The adrenaline flooded Welch’s body as he considered the implications, but Tony had left for work so Sebastian was left alone and unable to move. His mind whirled with thoughts of The Bristol Butcher, but he had no way to do anything about them. He wanted to jump out of bed, get dressed and get down to the station. He wanted to go back to Parker’s flat and search for clues. He wanted to solve the case, but he was trapped in the airless confines of the hospital. After an hour or so the adrenaline of the chase that he couldn’t take part in had begun to