Childes saw the eyes glow larger in the mirror, as the thing - the grinning thing - in the back was leaning forward, was reaching out for him, strong, numbing fingers touching his neck, nails pressing into his skin…
The car veered to one side, scraping the hedge.
'Jon!' Amy screamed.
The gloating eyes. Steely fingers clamped around his throat. Fetid breath on his cheek. He pulled at the hand and touched only his neck.
The car swerved to the right, hit a low stone wall on that side. Sparks flew off metal as the Mini sheered along the wall's rough face. Bushes and branches lashed at the windows.
Amy grabbed the steering wheel, tried to wrench it to the left, but Childes' grip was solid, frozen. The rending of metal screeched in her ears.
He could hardly breathe, so constricted was his throat. His right foot was hard against the accelerator as he tried to flee from the snickering thing behind. But how could he escape when it was in the car with him?
The road curved. He pulled at the wheel, turned it slightly, just enough to swerve the car, not enough to carry it through the bend. He jammed his foot on the brake pedal, but too late. The car skidded, the wall seemed to rise up and throw itself at them.
They crashed at an angle, the vehicle brought to a shattering halt, Childes thrust against the steering wheel, his arms reflexively bearing his weight, softening the blow.
But Amy had nothing to cling to.
She hurtled forward, the windscreen exploding around her, screaming as she pitched over the car's short bonnet to land writhing and bloody beyond the wall.
38
Childes leaned forward and rested his head in his hands, the dull throbbing inside making him nauseous. There was an aching in his chest, too, and he knew it had been bruised by the steering wheel. But he had been lucky. Amy hadn't.
A double-door swung open at the end of the long corridor and a figure in a white coat came through. The doctor spotted Childes waiting on the cushioned bench and strode briskly towards him, stopping to speak to a passing nurse on the way. The nurse hurried on, disappearing through the same doors from which the doctor had emerged. Childes began to rise.
'Stay there, Mr Childes,' Dr Poulain called out and, on reaching him, said, 'I could do with a sit-down myself- it's been that kind of day.' He sat, giving a grateful sigh. 'And, it would seem, an eventful day for you.' He scrutinised Childes with a professional eye. 'Time to have a look at you,' he said.
'Tell me how she is, Doctor.'
Poulain ran his fingers through tousled prematurely-grey hair and blinked at the other man through gold-rimmed spectacles. 'Miss Sebire has extensive lacerations to her face, neck and arms, one or two of which I'm afraid will leave small but permanent scars. I had to remove some glass fragments from one of her eyes - now don't be alarmed: they had hardly penetrated the sclerotic coating and were nowhere near the iris or pupil, so her vision shouldn't be affected; the damage there was purely superficial.'
'Thank God.'
'Yes, He is to be thanked. I wish the States government would follow the mainland's example and declare it unlawful not to wear seat-belts in cars, but I'm sure they'll continue to dither for years to come.' He clucked his tongue once and gave a shake of his head. 'Miss Sebire also sustained a fractured wrist as well as severe bruising and lesions to her ribs and her legs. Nevertheless I'd say she's a very lucky girl, Mr Childes.'
Childes released a long-held breath and rested his head in his hands once more. 'Can I see her?' he asked, looking back at the doctor.
'I'm afraid not. I want her to rest so I've given her a sedative; she'll be sleeping by now, I should think. She did ask for you, by the way, and I told her all was well. Miss Sebire seemed very happy about that.'
At once Childes felt totally and utterly exhausted. He watched his hands shaking uncontrollably before him.
'I'd like to take you down to an examination cubicle,' Dr Poulain urged. 'You may have been injured more than you know. There's a rather nasty bruise developing on your cheekbone and one side of your lower lip is swelling considerably.'
Childes touched his face and winced when his fingers found the bruising there. 'I must have turned my head when I hit the steering wheel,' he said, gingerly probing the puffed lip.
'Take a deep breath and tell me if it hurts,' Poulain told him.
Childes complied. 'Feels stiff, nothing more,' he said after releasing the air.
'H'mn. No sharp pain?'
'No.'
'Still needs checking.'
'I'm all right. A little shaky, maybe.'
The doctor gave a short laugh. 'More than just a little; your nerves have been shot to pieces. This afternoon, when you came in with the schoolgirl - what was her name? Jeanette, yes, Jeanette -I recommended a mild sedative for you, but you refused. Well now I want to suggest something stronger, something you can take when you get home and which will make you sleep soundly.'
'I think I'll sleep okay without any help.'
'Don't be too sure.'
'How long will Amy have to stay here?'
'Much depends on how her eye looks tomorrow. She'll need a couple of days under observation even if all's well in that department.'
'You said -'
'And I meant it. I'm almost positive her eye hasn't been seriously damaged, but naturally we have to take precautions. Incidentally you haven't explained how this accident occurred.' He frowned at the fear that abruptly changed the other man's countenance.
'I can't tell you,' Childes said slowly, avoiding the doctor's gaze. 'Everything happened so fast. I must have been distracted for a moment just as we hit the curve.' What could he say that Poulain would believe? That he had seen eyes reflected in the rear-view mirror, staring eyes that were somehow obscenely evil and which were watching him? That he'd seen someone in the back of the car who wasn't there at all?
'By what?'
Childes looked at the doctor questioningly. 'You were distracted by what?' Dr Poulain persisted. 'I… I don't remember. Maybe you were right - my nerves were shot to pieces.'
'That's now. Earlier today you were most definitely shaken up, but not quite that badly. Forgive my curiosity, Mr Childes, but I've known the Sebire family for a number of years and Amy since she was a child, so it goes beyond mere professional interest for me. Had you been quarrelling with her?'
Childes could not answer immediately.
Dr Poulain went on. 'You see, I think you might have to explain to the police the other marks that are beginning to show around your throat. A discoloration that looks to have been caused by a hand - the pressure points are quite clear.'
A wild, momentary panic seized Childes. Could there be such power? Was it possible? He had felt the hand, the tightening fingers; yet no one other than Amy had been with him in the car. He forced the panic away: no one - nothing - could physically mark another by thought alone. Unless the victim was a helpless accomplice and the injury self-induced.
There was no time for further speculation on his part, or more questions from the doctor, for the lift doors along the corridor opened and Paul Sebire and his wife stepped out. Childes had rung the Sebire home soon after arrival at the hospital and had spoken to Vivienne Sebire, telling her of the accident. Paul Sebire's concern instantly turned to anger when he saw Childes who, with the doctor, had risen from the bench.
'Where is my daughter?' the financier asked Poulain, ignoring Childes.
'Resting,' the doctor replied, then quickly informed them of Amy's condition.
Sebire's expression was grim when Poulain had finished. 'We want to see her.'
'I don't think that's wise at the moment, Paul,' the doctor said. 'She'll be asleep and you might be more upset than necessary. In this kind of accident injuries often look much worse than they are. I've just advised Mr Childes here that she shouldn't be disturbed.'
Pure hatred shone from Sebire as he turned to the younger man. Vivienne quickly reached for Childes' arm. 'Are you all right, Jonathan? You
didn't say too much on the telephone.'
'I'm fine. It's Amy I'm worried about.'
'This would never have happened if she hadn't been such a fool over you,' snapped Sebire. 'I warned her you were nothing but trouble.'
His wife interposed once more. 'Not now, Paul, I think Jonathan has been through enough for one day. Now Dr Poulain has assured us that Amy will recover without permanent injury -'
'She may have been scarred for life, Vivienne! Isn't that permanent enough?'
Poulain spoke. 'The scarring will be minimal, nothing that minor plastic surgery won't easily repair.'
Childes rubbed at the back of his neck, the movement awkward because of the painful stiffness in his chest. 'Mr Sebire, I want to say how sorry I am.'
'You're sorry? You really think that's good enough?'
'It was an accident that could have…' Happened to anyone? It was a sentence Childes could not complete.
'Just stay away from my daughter! Leave her now before you cause her more harm.'
'Paul,' Vivienne warned, catching her husband's sleeve as he moved towards Childes.
'Please, Paul,’ said Dr Poulain, 'there are patients on this floor to consider.'
'This man isn't what he seems.' Sebire stabbed a finger at Childes. 'I sensed it from the very start. You only have to look at what happened this afternoon at the school to realise that.'
'How can you say that?' his wife protested. 'He saved the little girl's life.'
'Did he? Did anyone else see exactly what happened? Perhaps it was the other way round and he was attempting to murder her.'
The last remark was finally too much for Childes. 'Sebire, you're being your usual kind of fool,' he said in a low voice.
'Am I? You're under suspicion, Childes, not just from me but from the police as well. I don't think you'll be returning to La Roche or any other school on the island where you can hurt helpless children!'
Childes wanted to lash out at the financier, to vent his frustration on someone, anyone - Sebire would be ideal - to strike back in any way he could. But he didn't have the energy. Instead he turned to walk away.
Sebire clutched his arm, swung him round. 'Did you hear me, Childes? You're finished here on this island, so my advice to you is to get out, leave while you're still able to.'
Childes wearily pulled his arm away. 'You can go to hell,' he said.
Sebire's fist struck his already bruised cheek and he staggered back, caught by surprise, going down on one knee. He heard a jumble of sounds before his head fully cleared - footsteps, raised voices - and regaining his feet seemed an unusually slow and difficult procedure. Someone else's hand under his shoulder helped. Once up, he felt unsteady, but the person by his side supported his weight. He realised it was Overoy who held him and that Inspector Robillard was restraining Sebire from attacking him further.
'I'd have hated to have read your horoscope this morning,' Overoy said close to his ear.
Childes managed to stand alone, although he had to resist the urge to slump onto the nearby bench. His limbs felt sluggish, as if their blood flow had thickened, become viscid. Vivienne Sebire was pale beside her husband, her eyes full of apology. Sebire himself still struggled against restraint, but his efforts were slack, without vigour, the thrust of his anger dissipated in that one blow.
Perhaps there was even an element of shame behind the rage.
'Come on, Jon,' Overoy said, using Childes' Christian name for the first time. 'Let's get you out of here. You look as if you could use a good stiff drink and I'm buying.'
'Mr Childes hasn't been examined yet,' the doctor quickly said.
'He looks okay to me,' Overoy replied, gently tugging at Childes' elbow. 'A little battered maybe, but he'll survive. I can always bring him back later if need be.'
'As you wish.' Poulain then spoke to Sebire in an attempt to diffuse the situation. 'Perhaps it would be all right for you to look in on Amy, as long as you're quiet and she isn't disturbed.'
The financier blinked once, twice, his face still a patchy red from fading anger, then finally tore his gaze from Childes. He nodded and Robillard released him.
'Let's go,' Overoy said to Childes, who hesitated, opened his mouth to say something to Amy's mother, but then could not find the words. He walked away, the detective at his side.
Inside the lift, Overoy pressed the G button and said, 'The officer keeping watch on the schoolgirl got word to us that you were back at the hospital. You must like the place.'
Childes leaned back against the panelled wall, his eyes closed.
'We heard you ran off the road.'
'That's right,' was all that Childes would say.
The lift glided to a stop, its door sliding open to admit a porter pushing a wheelchaired patient, a grey-haired woman who gloomily surveyed the arthritically-deformed knuckles of her hands folded in her lap and who barely noticed the men, so quietly immersed in her own infirmity was she. Nobody spoke until the doors opened again at ground level. The porter backed out the wheelchair and whisked away his sombre patient, whistling cheerfully as he went.
'I've hired a car for the weekend so I'll drive us somewhere quiet where we can talk,' said Overoy, holding the doors before they could close on them. 'Even if your car were still driveable, I don't think you're capable. Hey, we're here, ground floor.'
Childes was startled. 'What?'
'This is as far as we go.'
'Sorry.'
'You sure you're okay?'
'Just tired.'
'What condition did you leave your car in?'
'Sick.'
'Terminal?'
'They'll mend it eventually.'
'So like I said, we'll take mine.'
'Can you get me home?'
'Sure. We need to talk, though.'
'We'll talk.'
They left the hospital building and found Overoy's hire-car parked in a doctor-reserved bay. They climbed in, Childes relieved to sink back into the cushioned passenger seat. Before switching on the engine, the detective said, 'You know I have to leave tomorrow evening?'
Childes nodded, his eyes closed once more. 'So if you've anything more to tell me…?’
'It made me crash my car.'
'How d'you mean?'
'I saw it looking at me, Overoy. I saw it in the back seat. Only it wasn't really there!'
'Easy now. You thought you saw someone in the back of your car and that's what caused you to crash?'
'It was there. It tried to choke me.'
'And Miss Sebire can verify this? She saw this person?'
'I don't know. No, she couldn't have, it was in my own mind. But I felt its hands choking me!’
'That isn't possible.'
'I can show you the marks. Dr Poulain noticed them.' He pulled at his shirt collar and Overoy flicked on the interior light. 'Can you see them?' asked Childes, almost eagerly.
'No, Jon. No scratches, no bruising.'
Childes swivelled the rear-view mirror in his direction, stretching his neck towards the glass. The detective was right: his skin was unmarked.
'Get me home,' he said wearily. 'Let's do that talking.'
39
It stood inside the blackness of the ancient and solitary tower, perfectly still, perfectly silent, relishing the void. The dark oblivion.
The sound of waves crashing against the lower cliffs drifted through openings, echoing around the Martello's circular walls like many whispers. The thing in the dark imagined they were the hushed voices of those lost to the sea, forever mourning in their starless limbo. The thought was amusing.
Strong stenches hung in the air inside the crumbling tower - urine, faeces, decay - the abuse of those who cared little for monuments and even less for their history; but these odours did not offend the figure lurking in the comforting blackness. The corruption was enjoyed.
Somewhere in the night a tiny creature screamed, prey to another more swift and more deadly.
It smiled.
The forc
es were building. The man was part of that building. Yet he did not know.
He would. Before very long. And for him, it would be too late.
40
Estelle Piprelly searched the darkness, the incomplete moon consumed by thick clouds so that little was visible below her window. The lawns were still there, the trees were still there - and the sea still battered the lower cliff faces - but for all she knew there might be no existence beyond the confines of her room. So acute was her aloneness that life itself could well have been an illusion, a fantasy invented by her own mind.
Yet that could easily be borne, for loneliness was nothing new to her, despite crowded days, duty-filled hours; it was this new, threatening emptiness arousing a deeper, soul-touched, apprehension that was hard to bear. For the night's mood presaged menace.
She turned away, leaving the soft ghost of her reflection, a slight bending of her famously ramrod-straight spine appearing to change her character, render her frail. There was an aimlessness to her step as she paced the room which was part of her living quarters in the college, a listlessness in her movement. Lines frowned her face and her hands curled into tight balls inside the long, knitted cardigan she wore. Her lips were less firm, less severe than usual.
It was not just the sable bleakness of the night that haunted La Roche's principal, nor the unsettling quietness of late hours: Death had bid her a mocking hello that day. And its unholy visage had been present in the faces of a certain number of her girls. Just as many years before, when the mere child who could not understand but who could be aware had observed the imminent mortality of certain of the island's occupying forces, she had now discerned the death masks of her own pupils.
The disquiet weakened her, forcing her to sit. On the mantel-shelf over an unlit fire, a dome-shaped clock, its face set in lacquered wood, counted away the moments as if they were the beats of an expiring heart. She pulled the cardigan tight around her, clutching the wool to her throat, the chill from inside her rather than the air around.
Miss Piprelly, swiftly aged and almost tremulous, pushed her thoughts outwards, wanting to - desperate to - perceive, but knowing ultimately that the strength was not within her, the faculty not that great. By no means comparable to Jonathan Childes'. How strange that he himself did not know his own potential.
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