by Tudor, C. J.
Like everything else in this strange but familiar house, the bathroom was huge. But cold. Painted white and dark green. A large claw-footed bath stood in the center, across a checked tiled floor. There was a sink and a separate shower which looked newer. On the windowsill were bowls of pebbles and shells.
Izzy took a breath and walked toward the sink. She looked down into the basin, counted: “One, two, three.”
And then she looked up. Into the mirror.
The pale girl looked back at her. Behind her, the sea churned. The wind tugged her white hair this way and that. The girl smiled. Then she raised a hand to her lips.
Shhhhhhhh.
Gabe padded softly along the silent corridors. Too quiet. Too still. Like Isabella, the house existed in a state of suspended animation. Neither living nor dead. In perpetual limbo.
He reached the door to the south wing. A double fire door with a keypad for entry. He typed in the code and the door buzzed open.
Whenever he entered this wing of the house a heavy melancholy settled on him. He sometimes wondered if this was what men walking the green mile felt like. A long, slow trudge to a certain fate. Despite attempts at homeliness, with pictures of brightly painted beach houses on the walls, low lighting and carpet, there was no escaping the institutional feel, the chemical smell and the staleness of the air.
He found himself wishing, again, that he had the strength to let Isabella go, to release her once and for all. But he didn’t. He was too afraid of the consequences and unwilling to bear the responsibility for her life. What right did he have to determine how and when it should be ended? Him, of all people?
He passed the kitchen, the store cupboard, a small bathroom. There were two bedrooms down here, where the nurses slept, but the doors were ajar and they were empty. Upstairs, there was another spare bedroom, bathroom and the master, where Isabella was sleeping. He took the stairs, slowly, pausing on each step, conscious that he was only delaying the inevitable.
Finally, he reached her room. He hesitated. Waiting for something—anything—to prevent him entering—his phone to ring, the ceiling to cave in, the earth to open up. But there was nothing, except the stern stillness of the house.
He pushed the door open and walked inside.
The pale girl sat near the shoreline. Izzy hesitated for a moment and then sat down beside her.
The sea was hard and choppy today. Angry brown waves drew themselves up into small mountains before throwing themselves recklessly at the shore. The blustery wind tugged at the girls’ hair. One light. One dark. But Izzy didn’t feel the cold. She didn’t feel anything when she was here.
They sat for a while in silence. Then the pale girl said, “He’s near.”
“The Sandman?”
The girl nodded.
“Who is he?”
“Death. Salvation. A man. The coming of the end. He came here once. A long time ago. He took a piece of the beach back with him. And now I sense him all the time, like a discordant note, getting louder and louder.”
“Is he a bad person?”
The girl turned. Izzy realized it was the first time they had sat so close. The girl was far older than she had thought. Not really a girl at all but, somehow, still childlike.
“You know what a mirror does?”
“Reflects?”
“It reverses everything. There is no good or bad. It just depends which side of the glass you’re standing on.”
Izzy thought about Fran. How she loved her but was also sometimes scared of her.
“I suppose.”
“Miriam used to tell me two stories about the Sandman. In one, the Sandman sprinkles sand into the eyes of children to send them to sleep and give them wonderful dreams. In another, he steals their eyes. Two sides of the mirror. The giver of dreams. The stealer of eyes.”
“That’s horrible.”
“It’s like this place,” the girl continued. “I’m safe from the darkness here, but the longer I stay, the more in danger I am of losing myself.”
Izzy looked out to the sea, rippled with black and silver. The sky loomed overhead, full of pent-up fury.
“I don’t understand.”
“Do you remember when we first met?”
Izzy tried. She searched her mind, scrunched her eyes.
“Not really. It feels like I’ve always been coming here.”
“You were just a baby. But we made a connection. You kept me tethered here. To life. It made my existence bearable. But it’s not enough. Not anymore.”
“Why? What will happen if you stay?”
“What do you think the beach is made of?”
Izzy glanced around. The beach was mostly shingle that petered out to sand at the water’s edge.
“Pebbles, sand?”
The pale girl held up a hand. The wind blew through her fingers and the tips slowly crumbled, flesh dissolving into fine grains which sprinkled back down to the beach.
“That’s what this place does eventually.”
Izzy stared at her in horror. “What can I do?”
“Help me leave. With a friend, I don’t think I’d feel so scared. Are you my friend?”
Izzy stared into the pale girl’s eyes. For a moment, they didn’t seem friendly. They seemed…something else.
She hesitated and then said: “Yes. Of course.”
The girl held out her mutilated hand.
“Then come with me.”
She slept. A pale girl in a white room. Machines surrounded her. Mechanical guardians, they tethered the sleeping girl to the land of the living, stopping her from drifting away on an eternal, dark tide.
Their steady beeps and the labored sound of her breathing were Isabella’s only lullabies. Before the accident, Gabe knew that she had loved music. Loved to sing. Loved to play.
She still looked like that young girl. Perhaps that was why he continued to think of her that way, despite her now being a woman of thirty-seven. The intervening years had not carved their mark upon her face. No grief or joy. No excitement or pain. It remained smooth and unblemished by the passage of time. By the experience of living.
A small piano had been placed in one corner of the room. The cover was up, but the keys were coated in a fine layer of dust. On top of the piano there was usually an ivory shell, its silky pink insides like the delicate curves of an ear.
But not today. Today, there was no shell.
And Isabella was not alone.
A figure sat beside her bed.
Her grey hair was cropped short. She wore a plain blue nurse’s uniform and a single crucifix around her neck. Her head was bowed, as if in prayer. The machines beeped and whirred.
“Hello, Miriam,” Gabe said.
She raised her head slowly. “Gabe. This is a surprise.”
But she didn’t look surprised. She looked resigned and a little weary.
Gabe hovered at the end of the bed.
“I needed somewhere to stay, for a little while.”
“Well, of course, this is your house.”
“And yours.”
“Thank you.”
He moved around the bed and sat down in the other chair. “How’s Isabella?”
A pointless question, as the answer was always the same.
“She’s as well as she can be. We keep her clean and comfortable—and sometimes I pray.”
He nodded as she fingered the crucifix around her neck.
“Is that why you’re here? I noticed there were no other nurses on.”
“Often, it’s just me. I’m perfectly capable.”
“Of course. Look, Miriam, I thought you should know that there’s been a change in circumstances. It’s why I missed my visit yesterday.”
“Oh?”
“I found Izzy.”
“Your
daughter?”
Her eyes widened. She clutched the crucifix tighter.
“Yes.”
“She’s alive?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, my goodness. Well, that’s wonderful. But how?”
“It’s a long story.” He paused. “It involves a group called the Other People.”
She frowned and half shook her head. “I don’t think I’ve heard the name.”
“They claim to offer justice to those who have lost loved ones, who have been let down by the courts. An eye-for-an-eye, tooth-for-a-tooth kind of justice.” He paused. “Someone asked them to murder my wife and child as payback for what I did to Isabella.”
She stared at him. “Forgive me, but this all seems a little far-fetched. Who would do such a thing?”
“Someone who was angry, bitter, grief-stricken?”
“You mean Charlotte?”
“I thought so, to start with…but no, I don’t think it’s her style. She already had me where she wanted me. Besides, Charlotte died before Izzy was even born.”
“Then who?”
“How long have you worked here?”
“Over thirty years.”
“You’ve looked after Isabella all that time. Without question, with total devotion. You must care for her a great deal.”
“Yes, I do.”
Gabe nodded, his heart feeling like it might just burst with sorrow.
“Then please tell me that’s why you did it. For Isabella. Not just for the money.”
Katie woke with a start, catapulted from her dreams by…what? She blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dimly lit room. It took her a moment to remember where she was. Then it all came flooding back. The living room, in the big house. She must have fallen asleep on the sofa. What time was it? She checked her watch: 10:15 p.m. Hardly late, but it had been a long day.
Gabe had told her he was going to the other wing, to see Isabella. She had decided to stay here and finish her brandy before going to bed. The glass still sat, half drunk, on the coffee table.
She sat up and listened to the house settle. Something had woken her. A faint noise, a thud? She strained her ears. Any mother becomes attuned to the nocturnal noises of their children. She knows when they are sleeping peacefully and she knows, instinctively, when something is wrong.
Something was wrong.
She heard it again. A creak of a floorboard. Faint, stealthy. Someone was moving around. Not Gabe. His steps were heavier. This was a child.
She stood up, padded out of the room and up the huge staircase. The master was to her left, the bathroom at the end of the landing. She could see a thin yellow strip of light beneath the door. So maybe that was it. Maybe one of the children had just needed to use the toilet. Still, something—instinct—told her she should check. She walked along the landing, fingers tracing the wall in the darkness until they found a light switch. She flicked it on and the landing flooded with pale yellow light.
She reached the bathroom door and knocked gently.
“Hello?”
Silence. No reply. Not even the sound of water running.
She knocked again. And then she pushed at the door. It was unlocked and swung open. She stepped inside. The bathroom was empty. But the mirror above the sink was split with a huge, jagged crack and the sink was smeared with bright red blood.
Shit.
She hurried back across the landing to the master bedroom, fear squeezing her heart. She could make out Sam straight away at the bottom of the bed, one leg poking out of the covers. Another curly blonde head poked out of the top. Katie padded across the room, up to the grand double, and gently pulled back the covers. Next to Gracie, just a faint dent in the pillow.
Izzy was gone.
“You’re wrong.”
“I really hoped I was. And I admit, it took me a while to see it. Perhaps I didn’t want to. The will was watertight. Even if something happened to me and my family, the estate went into trust.” He paused. “I called the solicitor on the way here and asked who the trustees were. That’s when it all fell into place. There’s only one. You, Miriam.”
She stared at him, appraising. Her fingers fell away from the crucifix. “I’ve devoted my life to caring for Isabella. Sacrificed so much. When Charlotte died, I thought I might see some reward for my dedication, for all those years.”
“Instead Charlotte gave her whole estate to the man responsible for almost killing her daughter.”
“She left me her crystal,” she sneered. “Her crystal. How is that fair?”
“I would have given you everything if I could. That’s why I let you live here, in the house.”
“And what good is this place to me, a sixty-five-year-old woman with osteoporosis? I want to retire. I don’t want to rattle around this death house. But I’m stuck here. As long as you’re alive. As long as she’s alive. And if I leave, what will I get? A state pension and a drafty little flat somewhere?”
“I would have made sure you were looked after.”
“I deserved more. And Isabella deserved justice.”
“So, you contacted the Other People. How did you even find them?”
“A nurse who worked here for a while. We talked sometimes. On the day she left, she gave me a card. ‘They might be able to help you,’ she said. ‘But you won’t find them on the normal Web.’ I admit, I didn’t have a clue what she was talking about. But I was curious. I did some research…” She touched the crucifix again. “And I found the answer to my prayers.”
His fists clenched. “That Monday night I was supposed to drive straight home and discover the bodies of my wife and daughter. I’d be the prime suspect in their murders, especially with my past. If I was in jail and my family dead, everything would go to you.”
“It’s what I deserve. It’s what I’m due.”
“Isabella would have to suffer a tragic relapse but, without me around, that would be easy.” He paused. “Still, you had no guarantee I would be convicted.”
“Even if you weren’t, I know you, Gabe. You’re weak. You wouldn’t be able to live without your wife and daughter. It would only have been a matter of time before you killed yourself.”
“Except I didn’t. Because I saw the car. Because I knew Izzy was still alive.”
Her face darkened.
“Did you know?” he asked.
“I was informed that something had gone wrong. That there was a possibility Izzy was still alive. But I was assured that the Other People would find her and fulfill my Request.”
“And you had to be sure she was dead, didn’t you? You couldn’t run the risk that she would come back and claim her inheritance. We all had to be dead for you to get what you were due.” He stood, her presence suddenly sickening him. “I’m calling the police now. I want you out of this room and away from Isabella.”
She nodded. “I presume you’ve been recording our conversation on your phone?”
“Of course.”
She drew something from the pocket of her uniform. It took Gabe a moment to realize what it was, the object was so incongruous in her vein-stippled hand.
“Jesus!”
Miriam looked down at the gun, as if its appearance had surprised her, too. “I had a visitor earlier today. He called himself the Sandman, and he gave me this.”
“Miriam, please, put the gun down.”
“And he gave me a choice. To end things peacefully, to do the right thing, or to suffer greatly by his hand.” She raised the gun. “There’s only one bullet, you see.”
She pressed the barrel against the side of her head.
“Miriam, don’t.”
“But he misjudged me.”
She turned the gun around and pointed it at Gabe.
“He didn’t understand that I don’t fear him. And I will get what I deserve.”<
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“Miriam…”
She held her finger against the trigger. And then a voice cried:
“No!”
Izzy stood in the doorway, wearing just her T-shirt and knickers. Her hair was wild with static, eyes wide and glazed, and her hands were streaked with blood.
“Izzy,” Gabe said desperately. “You have to go back to bed. Now.”
But she didn’t hear him, didn’t even seem to see him.
“Your daughter.” Miriam smiled. “How nice.” She swiveled the gun around.
“No! Shoot me. You leave her alone.” Gabe turned and grabbed Izzy by the shoulders. “Izzy!” he pleaded. “Wake up! Get out of here.”
LET GO.
He felt the shock shoot up his arms. His hands were hurled back, repelled by an invisible current. And now, he could feel it all around him. Energy. Pulsing and crackling in the air. The hairs on his body stood on end; pressure bulged behind his temples.
“Stop this!” Miriam cried. “Whatever you’re doing. Stop it!”
Izzy gazed at the nurse, unblinking. The gun wavered in Miriam’s hand then spun from her fingers and flew across the room. Miriam screamed and clutched at her fingers as though scalded.
Izzy walked past her, toward the bed. Her eyes were fixed upon the sleeping girl now. They seemed a more intense blue than Gabe had ever seen. And he suddenly felt more afraid than he had ever felt in his life. Izzy reached the bed.
“It’s you,” she whispered.
No, Gabe thought.
She took the sleeping girl’s hand.
“Don’t!”
Isabella opened her eyes.
The windows blew out with a crash. Gabe was thrown backward, against the far wall, the force snatching his breath away. A furious wind clawed at the curtains, tossing lamps across the room, snatching at the bedding. Seawater stung his eyes. The piano lid crashed up and down, keys shrieking in a furious discord.
Miriam struggled to get up from her chair. The wind obliged her wishes. It picked her up and held her there, scuffed black shoes dangling in mid-air, before slamming her back down again, so hard the chair skidded halfway across the floor. Miriam landed with a scream, cut abruptly short.