Silent Hills

The Silent Hills by Derek
Thompson

Harlton nestles in a hidden valley, largely
untouched by the fearsome pace of progress. There's no Internet caf?
and, since the railway station was downgraded, precious little contact
with the outside world. It's a place of farming and town buses, where
the slow, relentless days flow into the seasons like spilled paints in
a paint box. I came to Harlton on a whim. I had to get away from
Bristol quickly - a complicated little story.
Anyhow, Harlton
received the drawing pin so Harlton became my new home. I learned years
before to draw a line under the past and I've been drawing thick, ugly
lines ever since - family, school friends, lovers; all distanced by
lines as thick as railway sleepers.

The locals call
me Peter - as good a name as any, plucked from a headstone where I once
slept for the night. Peter Marlow. Something vaguely Dickensian about
it, don't you think? I spent the first month in Harlton lodging at the
Railway Inn. More public house than five star accommodation; it suited
my needs well and left my options open. I arrived like an evacuee, with
few possessions to my name and fewer explanations. I was 'on a walking
holiday' while looking for business opportunities. Though I stopped
short of declaring what line of business I was in. Let's just say that
I'm a prospector- with an eye for opportunity. I have never cheated
anyone who did not ask to be cheated, never conned anyone who did not
delight in thinking that they were conning me. But that's all in the
past now - another line drawn. In Harlton I sought a life that is, if
not entirely honest, then anonymous.

Money was not an
issue since my departure from Bristol had inadvertently made ample
provision for the foreseeable future. I should tell you now that I did
not choose to become a thief. It was a quirk of fate to spend my last
day at the Solicitor's office, as the same day that old Smithers had
decided to loot the safe. My crime, if crime it was, was to empty out
one of his bags before leaving. I had expected to relieve him of his
diary and keys, inconvenience the old blusterer a bit as payback for
his spitefulness. But life is seldom a simple affair and the money I
discovered in his bags was totally unexpected. I left him enough, mind;
greed was never my motive. Next day, so I read in the papers, there had
been a burglary and a mysterious fire. As I say, I was already going,
and fires are not my style.

I idled my first two
weeks away like a tourist, filling my time with hill walks and shopping
trips to nearby Selsley. A thriving market town that evidently eclipsed
its neighbour at some key point in history, Selsley boasts a cinema,
the obligatory banks, building societies and estate agents, a smart
parade of shops and a supermarket. At first I had no plan, other than
to survive and lie low. But over time Harlton began to grow on me. The
landscape seemed to mould my mood, drawing me to solitude on those
grey, desolate days when the cows in the high fields seemed to moan
with despair. I must have walked miles from the village before arriving
at the lake for the first time. I'd never ventured so far before and
was surprised to see a solitary car parked beside the water. It seemed
out of place to me so I kept a safe distance, edging close enough to
make out the silhouettes of a warring couple. I could see the pressure
build by their animated gestures, rising to a fever pitch where
violence was inevitable. But when he struck her full across the face I
flinched. I am not given to violence - paradoxically, the army trained
that out of me - but I felt my fists involuntarily curl up. I made a
note of the number-plate and make of car and left them to their
quarrel, retreating to the safety of my digs. I make it a rule never to
interfere in the lives of others if I can avoid it.

I thought nothing more about the incident until I
saw her a day or so later in the village, her face a mosaic of magenta
and purple. It was, even in defeat, a beautiful face and I fought hard
not to stare. I quickly looked away but our eyes had already met and
she headed towards me.

  "Thank you for being
there" she said, as if I'd somehow made a
difference.

  "Your husband needs taming," I
replied, flushed with embarrassment.

She didn't
answer other than to look down at the ground, like a caged bird. I knew
when I heard the roar of the car that it was the husband so I dived
into the nearest shop and watched the drama play out from the window.
The car skidded to the kerb and he ordered her in like a
dog.

  "Dan Fletcher's nothing but a drunken
bastard!"

I turned, finding myself in the Mrs
Jarrowby's Provisions Store.

  "Someone should
have sorted him out years ago. Sally'll get no peace until he's cold in
the ground, you mark my words."

I read the fire in
her eyes all too clearly and found myself nodding. I picked some items
to justify my presence, paid for my goods and left, with Sally
Fletcher's name upon my lips. The landlady at the Railway Inn and I had
found an agreeable proximity. Mostly it was cold pleasantries but
occasionally she would fill me in with details of local history. She
was village stock, born and bred, content to live within the bounds of
the valley with no thoughts of wanderlust.

 
"What's the story with Sally Fletcher," I asked as we sat in an all but
empty bar.

  "There's a tale" she nodded,
reaching for empty glasses. "Poor Sally. Married at seventeen. Family
all gone now, god bless 'em. And him, that piece of work - no family
and no shame. Lives by his own rules, does Dan. Locked up at the
farmhouse the two of them, but no one interferes. Don't see her for
days sometimes, then she comes to the village looking like she's been
in the wars."

I told her what Mrs Jarrowby had said
and she nodded darkly.

I didn't see Sally
or her excuse for a husband for a whole week but I found myself
thinking about her. I made two trips into Selsley to check on my
investments and visited the lake as often as discretion allowed. My
patience was finally rewarded, though rewarded is hardly the word. I
lay there, watching through binoculars, little realising what would
transpire. Dan Fletcher evidently got his kicks from mauling his wife
in the privacy of his Ford Sierra. She was less inclined to his
attentions, hence his particular brand of physical persuasion. I
retreated again, furious and helpless.

I came down to
the bar one afternoon to the guttural sounds of Dan Fletcher. I ducked
out unobserved and scoured the village for Sally. I had almost given up
hope when I saw Mrs Jarrowby standing by the shop
door.

  "Why Mr Marlow, how lovely to see
you."

Her voice was elevated, emphatic, drawing me
across the street like an aged siren. I soon saw why. Sally was in the
shop, weeping like a child.

  "Come through and
have some tea," Mrs Jarrowby fussed over her, opening the door behind
the counter. "Perhaps Mr Marlow would be kind enough to join
us?"

  "Peter," I said, alarmed by the sudden
welcome.

Mrs Jarrowby's back room - parlour I suppose
she'd call it - looked untouched by the last forty years. We sat,
uncomfortably chaperoned, listening to the slow tocking of a
grandfather clock.

  "Well, I'll just be out
front," Mrs Jarrowby declared, standing abruptly and making for the
door in a fluster.

I felt trapped, though happily
so.

  "Legend says that the sleeping hills hold
the spirits of the knights of old," Sally said, sniffing back the last
of her tears. "Evelyn used to tell me that a woman in distress could
call them back to life."

It was a strange,
incongruous start to our friendship. I knew about the Iron Age hill
fort remains found up there, but nothing pointed to gallant knights,
however much Sally seemed to need them. We chatted on for ten minutes,
barely touching Mrs Jarrowby's - Evelyn's cakes and crockery. I felt
like the two of them were weaving a strange magic around me, and I
didn't know where it was leading.

Evelyn Jarrowby
stuck her head around the door.

  "He's out the
pub. Best have you off now, dear."

There was a brisk
optimism in her voice, as if the world were suddenly aright. Sally and
I shook hands awkwardly and I watched her go with a strange sense of
longing. Evelyn Jarrowby was in no hurry to see me
leave.

  "Mr Marlow," She buttonholed me, "I'm
looking for a reliable lodger. I don't offer much in the way of
luxuries and I may need the odd job done around the place. But I don't
pry and I don't ask questions."

I stared at her a
full thirty seconds, marvelling at her marble
gaze.

  "I'll take it," I said, without
bothering to ask check the rent.

I felt I'd outstayed
my welcome at the Inn and besides, I could come and go easier with only
one pair of eyes to worry about. The landlady at the Railway Inn seemed
pleased to see me move on. Not pleased maybe, but agreeable. As if she
was passing me on as a good cause, or to one. Evelyn Jarrowby quickly
became the closest thing I had to family or a friend in many a long
month. In some kind of unspoken pact, I found myself helping out in the
store, infrequently save for every Thursday when Sally called in.
Evelyn and I took to talking together about Sally when she left.

One afternoon when Sally's tears had struck me to
the core, I called Evelyn aside.

  "Why are you
doing this?"

She made no attempt to evade my
question.

  "It was that day in the shop when
you were watching her. I saw something in you, felt something in you.
You're a special kind of person, Peter Marlow."

She
sounded out my name as if she quite didn't believe in it. I looked
away.

  "Why doesn't she leave him and get
away?" I changed the subject.

  "Why should
she?" Evelyn railed. "This place is her home; her dear mother and
father were laid to rest not ten miles from here. She belongs
here."

I cleared the cups away and unpacked the last
lot of deliveries.

In the evening Evelyn and I often
watched television, or else I strolled up the road to the Inn. I was
certainly wealthy enough to buy a television for my room but I enjoyed
Evelyn's company. She re-told the legend of the silent hills, and of
the old fort remains that overlooked the lake.

  "A man could drown in that lake and never be
found; it's that deep," she said calmly as she stirred her
cocoa.

A few days later Evelyn and I shut
up the shop for the afternoon. I'd promised to accompany her to Selsley
and, as I've said, I had regular business to attend to. True to her
word, Evelyn waited outside the bank to afford me some privacy but I
could see that her curiosity was piqued. We shared tea in a caf? and
she gradually came round to inquiring after my business interests.
Another ritual was born.

Evelyn took to share dealing
with relish, happy to open an account in her own name elsewhere and
share profits on my capital. She was no fool, and my craving for
anonymity matched her keenness to speculate seamlessly. We actually
started to do rather well. Evelyn took to reading the Sunday business
pages and eventually, after much deliberation, swapped her beloved old
TV set for one with teletext, to watch the companies' fortunes rise and
fall by the hour. Our Selsley trips became a secret shared.

On one occasion we returned to find a
note pushed through the letterbox.

Missed you
both.

Love Sally
x

It
seemed at once endearing and pitiful. Evelyn was characteristically
blunt that night as we sat down to watch
television.

  "We'd never tell, you
know."

  "Never tell what?"

I
wanted to draw it out of her, make her say the words once and for
all.

  "Never tell what happened if Dan Fletcher
was to disappear."

  "You can't be serious," I
said, searching her face for a hint of
reservation.

  "My Reggie was a soldier, just
like you. He did what he had to do?"

  "Like
me?" My head was spinning; surely I'd been more careful than
that.

  "It's in your bearing, just like
Reggie." She said proudly.

I felt trapped,
manipulated.

  "What exactly are you proposing?"
I confronted her.

  "I'm not sure yet, exactly"
She replied. "All I know is that Sally is fond of you - she said as
much, never you mind when. Seems to me that Dan Fletcher is making both
your lives a misery."

  "You're talking about
murder!"

  "Don't you think he's murdering her
slowly? How long before one of his fists does some permanent damage?
Are you going to stand by and let that happen?"

I
didn't sleep well that night. A dancing cavalcade of memories slipped
their bonds and returned to haunt me.  Next morning, I was sombre
at the breakfast table and Evelyn gave me a wide berth. It was as if
we'd both said too much. I took sanctuary in the habits of old, taking
to the hills and the fort. I'm not one for superstition but I felt a
presence on those hills, and even before I rounded the last mound to
the lake I knew they'd be there, Sally and her thug of a husband. This
time I kept on walking; I don't know why I did it but I went right up
to the car where I could hear muffled shouting. He was bent over her,
grappling with her arms and cursing. She looked at me and froze. He
turned round suddenly and we just stared at one
another.

  "What are you looking at?" He snarled
but I just kept staring straight at him, studying his face, burning it
into memory.

He was about my size but clearly in no
shape for a fight. I watched, stunned, as he clambered off Sally and
meekly started the car up. I stood there as they drove away and I knew;
I knew it had to be. I didn't get back to Evelyn's until late that
evening. I had a lot to think about. For the first time I could
remember, someone wanted my help - needed my help. I have told you
little about my past but I will tell you this now. I have killed
before, a nameless enemy sniper intent on my demise. I killed willingly
but not gladly, in the service of my country. This though was
different. I had looked him in the eye and I knew, I knew that he could
never be reasoned with. It was the only way Sally would ever be
free.

Evelyn must have suspected something had gone
on. She'd laid on a meal fit for a conqueror. She watched me eat, much
as I imagine she'd done with her husband when he was
alive.

  "How do we proceed?" I asked with a
heavy heart, for killing should never be
enjoyed.

  "I still have Reggie's old service
revolver," She said quietly.

I considered that for
less than a second.

  "Too obvious" I replied.
"It'd need to look like an accident."

  "Not if
he went missing - in the lake."

She lifted my plate
away with the calm, precise demeanour of a woman for whom the years had
eradicated fear. If I could have chosen a mother it would have been
from stock such as Evelyn. We eschewed the television and sat down to
talk business. She told me right away that Sally had said she loved me.
I know how ridiculous that must sound when we had not known love as the
modern world knows it, when we knew little about one another at all.
But I had spent the years writhing through a string of encounters where
desire was the only justification, and how many of those passing
strangers could claim to know me? So no, I wasn't shocked or even
flattered; it was merely a statement of the way things were. Of course
I felt empathy for Sally, coupled with a respect for her fortitude,
based on my own suffering. It could well have been a ruse to sway me
but there was little point; I had already given my word to the
deed.

Fortune is a fickle muse, whose gifts may best
be discerned with hindsight. On my next visit to Selsley I learned that
the bank was closing. Unwilling to travel even further afield, I
liquidated my assets there immediately, at some expense. It was though
less spontaneous than you might imagine since moving on seemed the only
logical conclusion once I had dealt with Dan Fletcher. I had some sense
of how it would be. The brute would need little to lure him to the
lake.

We had of course not discussed the matter but
I saw over our weekly meetings that Evelyn had brought Sally up to
speed with developments. She seemed to smile more and her eyes shone
with a resilience I had not seen before. Left alone together while
Evelyn served customers, she reached for my hand suddenly and held it
fast. We kissed, a gentle intimacy, which bore no taste of deception.
But when our lips parted, the spell endured. Evelyn returned. Sally
flushed a little but her hand stayed fiercely fastened to mine. Evelyn
merely smiled.

  "You won't have to go through
this alone," Evelyn said, though she could have been speaking to either
of us.

When Sally left that afternoon Evelyn warned
me gently:

  "We must prepare ourselves and take
the first opportunity."

The walks across those silent
hills became a macabre pastime. I've never killed with my bare hands
before and the prospect was not one that I relished. Still I was set to
my task. Evelyn had taken to accompanying me in those forays from the
village, when the light was receding and the hills turned through
shades of grey. She walked beside me in grim silence on our pilgrimages
to the lake and back, never knowing each occasion whether the time had
come.

It was Christmas Eve and Evelyn had closed the
shop early; an annual ritual I was told. We wrapped up warm and made
off, oblivious to the festivities that surrounded us. I suppose I could
say that we knew the car would be there, certainly Evelyn indicated as
much before we rounded the last hill. We could see the sickly glow from
the car's interior light as we approached. We walked at a measured
pace, shoulder to shoulder like comrades in arms. I could see Sally's
prone body beneath him, still, unyielding, while he fumbled about like
the drunken slob that he was. I stood outside, Evelyn beside me in
Reggie's old cape like some harbinger of doom, or deliverance.

I wrenched at the door and dragged him roughly off
her. At first he was shocked, cursing like a demon as he straightened
his clothes. He threw a couple of idle punches and flailed about,
trying to get his balance. I watched him, looking for an ounce of
humanity that would redeem his sorry soul. Evelyn was wiser than that
and while I looked on she produced Reggie's
revolver.

  "On your knees" She hissed,
levelling the barrel at him.

He didn't plead; he just
scowled at her like an opponent who had met his match. Sally emerged
from the car, dishevelled but unafraid. Our appearance on this cold
evening had given her new courage. She crept behind her husband and
lifted her hand. Then with a resounding whack she brought a rock down
on the back of his wretched head. He sank forward with a whimper.
Evelyn quickly put her gun away and prised the rock from Sally's rigid
grasp. Another crack and blood oozed from his skull as he lay there
silently. Then Evelyn held out the rock for
me.

  "Peter?"

I took the rock
without hesitation and carried out my duty. It was an act of mercy,
like putting down a vicious dog.

  "We'll take
him up the hill" Evelyn instructed us and we dragged the body behind
us, uncertain whether he was still breathing.

And,
it must be said, unperturbed. It was difficult to see in the light - or
lack of it - but we levered him into position, up on the rocky outcrop
over looking the lake. Evelyn picked up stones and thrust them into his
pockets, urging us to do likewise. The final send off was an
unceremonious affair. No prayer, no commending of his soul, if he had
one. The body seemed to take an age to sink but we waited till the
bitter end, watching as Sally's tormentor went to his watery
grave.

I assumed that Sally would drive home but it
turned out that she couldn't drive - Dan had forbidden her from taking
lessons. I took the wheel, intending to drop Sally back at the
farmhouse before making my way home on foot. Evelyn had other ideas. We
first went back to the shop and she brought out a box of provisions and
some spare clothes for both of us (all of my clothes in fact). It was
late when we reached the farmhouse but Evelyn insisted on preparing a
meal. Sally and I sat by the fire, swapping glances, numbed by the turn
of events. Evelyn called us to the table when supper was ready. It was
a good meal, arguably one of Evelyn's finest, but it was an
understandably strained occasion. Evelyn opened a bottle of port and
filled three glasses, raising an unexpected
toast.

  "May we all rest in
peace."

We echoed her words and proceeded to empty
the bottle. Evelyn shared some tales of Reggie, telling me I was a man
of the same mould. It turned out that dear old Reggie had been an army
deserter, after a fashion. He had done his stint at the front and grown
weary of the futile carnage. But Reggie was a clever man. He
disappeared among the lost and the dead, submerged beneath the chaos
and the killing, only to re-surface as Reggie Jarrowby. Evelyn said she
never found out his real name and never cared to know. War, she said,
required extraordinary things of us all. And Sally's war was over
now.

It snowed on Christmas morning. Quite typical
for Harlton, apparently. I thought I had never seen anything so
beautiful, the world remade. I woke by the embers of the fire, Sally
asleep in my arms. She stirred, unembarrassed, unashamed, liberated.
Evelyn was already up and about, tidying like a mother hen. Breakfast
was a simple affair. We were lost, out of time, out of step with the
rest of the world. Sally had brightened considerably, wrenching back
the curtains with abandon so that the light streamed
in.

  "I want to go back to the lake," She
said.

Neither Evelyn nor I tried to talk her out of
it; we had already fallen into an easy alliance of trust. It was still
early and I was thankful for that. Being seen with Dan's car would have
been a dead give-away, in every sense. We parked up and surveyed the
lake from the car, waiting while Sally decided what she wanted to do.
She gazed out at the water for some time without speaking, drinking in
her new sense of identity.

  "You'd think that
I'd feel sorry or guilty, but I don't; not a bit of it. I keep wanting
to pinch myself to make sure I'm not dreaming. It first happened here;
you know - him I mean. I was walking by one evening, down by the lake.
And he was waiting."

Her voice trailed off, leaving
little need to continue. Her hand reached over to mine. Evelyn leaned
in from the back seat and touched both our
shoulders.

  "Merry Christmas" She said,
smiling.

We returned to the farmhouse soon afterwards
and saw for the first time how the ravages of neglect and decay had
made their mark. We soon embarked on a campaign of restoration and
repair. I set about finding as many serviceable tools and I could while
Evelyn and Sally amassed Dan's clothes and consigned them to a bonfire,
along with any photos they could find. Assuming that the official line
would be that Dan had left her, I busied myself fixing the gate, and
just about every other menial task that Dan had forsaken for the bottle
and sloth.

On Boxing Day afternoon Evelyn announced
that she'd like to go home, adding, before I could deliberate, that I
should stay with Sally for the time being. Again, erring on the side of
safety, I drove her back when it was dark. The streets were deserted
and we reached the village in less time than I'd anticipated. I was
sorry to say goodbye.

  "Remember, you're not in
this alone" She reiterated as she got out of the
car.

Sally and I spent the next few days up to New
Year's Eve in isolation. It was, for both of us, the happiest time we
had ever known. There were no assumptions, no expectations, but we made
the transition from being accomplices to being lovers gladly, far from
the prying eyes of the world. There was, I discovered, an old telephone
which Sally used to order provisions ahead. Evelyn was thrilled to hear
from us and insisted we come down to the village for New Year. I was
nervous about it but she convinced me it would be good for Sally's
wellbeing.

I made the drive over with trepidation but
Sally positively revelled in her new-found freedom. Evelyn had left a
note on the shop door, saying we were to meet her in the Railway Inn.
My hand trembled as I pushed the bar door, Sally steadying me with an
unashamed hand at my hip. It was surreal. The whole village had turned
out, pretty much, and just about all of them were looking at us. I
sought the safety of the bar, my companions trailing behind
me.

  "On the house" The landlady proclaimed,
increasing my discomfort. "It's traditional."

Then
the whole bar raised their glasses - to us it seemed. I went up to the
bar for a second round, surprised by how few eyes were on me. I ordered
the drinks and dug into my jacket pocket for cash, retrieving a rag tag
of bunch of notes and coins. But no driving licence. I brought the
drinks back, ashen-faced, and whispered my concerns to
Evelyn.

  "You can't leave now," She said,
pointing at the clock.

Only half an hour to go. I
watched those minutes tick by, desperate to escape. The pealing chant
'Should old acquaintance be forgot' carried an eerie irony for me as I
stood among the villagers, arms entwined. It was an occasion I'd never
forget. When we brought Evelyn back to the farmhouse I was quiet in the
car and suspicious. Could I really have been so careless as to leave my
driving licence out by the lake? Neither Sally nor Evelyn showed any
kind of concern, which worried me all the more. My instincts were to
get away - as far as possible and as soon as possible. But I'd grown
fond of Peter Marlow and his life, especially of late. Besides, I
didn't know for sure and the snow had stubbornly refused to thaw. The
next few days passed agonisingly slowly for me. Evelyn returned to her
routine at the shop while I holed up at the farmhouse with Sally,
praying for the weather to break. A week went by before the rains came,
relentlessly turning the lanes to mud and the hills to a place of
foreboding. Evelyn promised to search for me once the weather had dried
out. It was an ill-conceived pact; it rained for three solid weeks. I
tried to put my fears beyond me and lose myself in the newness of
Sally, showing her how to drive the car in the fields, unconsciously
preparing her for my departure.

Evelyn's call came
late in the evening.

  "A body's been found in
the lake. You'd better come down here."

I made the
journey like a condemned man, my pounding heartbeat the executioner's
drum. A police car was outside the Railway Inn as we passed Evelyn's
shop with no sign of her. I could have made a run for it but what of
Sally and Evelyn? Believe or not, I am at base an honourable man. My
courage to the fore, I pushed the door, Sally clinging to my arm. The
police sergeant was in full swing.

  "The body
has been in the lake for a matter of weeks" He explained, pausing to
sip at his drink.

We entered the bar and the room
fell deafly silent.

  "This is the Fletchers,
sergeant," Evelyn announced, "Down from the farmhouse at the top end
fields beyond the village."

  "Evening Dan,
what'll it be" The landlady asked warmly.

A chorus of
'Evening Dans' reverberated around the room and into my brain. Sally
stayed close like a devoted wife - like my devoted
wife.

The sergeant continued,
nonplussed.

  "The suicide was one Peter Marlow.
We got a positive identification from the driving licence in his
jacket. I gather he stayed here for a time?"

The
landlady and Evelyn then painted as bleak a picture of Mr Marlow as any
man I ever hope to encounter.

  "H?how do you
know it was suicide?" Sally asked with a fearful look in her
eyes.

  "Doesn't seem to have left a note but
there was quite a bit of cash inside his jacket so it certainly wasn't
robbery. And from what you folks have told me Mr Marlow seemed like a
troubled soul."

Money in his pocket - our money. She
was a wily old bird, that Evelyn.

I suppose you'd
like me to say I have the occasional twinge of conscience - murder is
murder after all. I don't though. I sleep peacefully. I look at Sally
and the life we've made and I know without question it was all worth
it. I'm convinced that the whole village knows that too or why else
would they collude with us? Even when we sold the farmhouse and moved
in with Evelyn to run the shop, no one asked about how Dan ended up in
the lake with my driving licence. I guess they all assume it was a
suicide and that he'd found evidence of an affair. We don't discuss it,
either way. Apart from Evelyn, Sally and myself, only the silent hills
know the truth of the matter, and they aren't
talking.