This was where the idea had come to him. This was the place where he’d decided to create the game. Focussing on writing the game had kept the demons at bay. Living in a Druid past had made his present bearable.
The Druids believed in sacrifice. That there was no life without death. At first he had been content to make the deaths merely symbolic, a drug-induced unconsciousness from which the player would eventually awake, but it hadn’t worked out that way. The first one had died, and it seemed so right, so clean, when that happened, that it was inevitable the others would follow.
Those who live by the game must die by the game.
He chose the stone with the white cross, and sat down, his back against it. It was still warm from the day’s sunshine, although clouds now amassed on the horizon. He could taste moisture on his lips. The rain would come soon and wash all evidence of him from this place.
Between the hill and the southern watches of the city, the lights of the motorway linking east to west streamed past in parallel lines. Up here, he was safely encircled by the stones, their energy encompassing him.
He roused himself. The girl was slim and light and, in her current state, easy to drag. The man would be more difficult. Even the power of the drugs wasn’t enough to prevent him fighting his way back to consciousness. The man they called McNab was the enemy, yet at times he felt like a version of himself.
Josh stood up and walked the short distance to the parked van.