by Amy Cross
Chapter Forty-One
Charley Lucas
Today...
Sitting in a cafe near the church, I type some more questions into my phone, hoping to figure out exactly what's happening to me:
What is fainting a symptom of?
So far, I haven't really come up with very much. Fainting seems to be a symptom of so many conditions, and I haven't really been able to narrow things down. I might be stressed, or I might have a brain tumor, or there might be lots of other things going on in my head. One thing's certain, however; I've now fainted several times in the past week, and I don't think that's a coincidence.
I think something's really wrong.
The waitress brings my tea over. I thank her, and then I glance across the cafe. There are quite a few people here, although after a few seconds my gaze falls upon a man who's sitting at the very back of the room, all alone. I think he catches my attention for two reason: first, he doesn't seem to have any food or drinks at his table; and second, there's something about his appearance that doesn't feel quite right. I watch him for a moment longer as he sits staring at the window, and that's when I realize that he doesn't seem to be in the same light as everyone else. It's almost as if he's sitting in a kind of gloom, even though there's a light right about his table.
A moment later, I think back to something that the guy on the beach said to me a few nights ago:
“Everyone's seen a ghost. Most people don't notice it, of course. They spot a figure in the distance, or at the back of a crowded room, and they don't realize that something's wrong. Or they realize, but they just put the matter out of their mind. There aren't people who see ghosts and people who don't. There are merely people who realize they see ghosts, and people who won't, or can't, accept the truth.”
I tell myself that the whole idea is nonsense. At the same time, I can't help staring at the man, and I swear he looks almost as if he exists in a whole other world. I want to believe that this is just some kind of optical illusion, but he actually doesn't seem right somehow. And then, just as I'm about to force myself to turn away, he looks straight at me as if he knows that I've spotted him.
I should break eye contact, but I don't.
For the next few seconds, we simply stare at one another, and his dour, mournful expression doesn't change at all.
And then, suddenly, a woman approaches his table. He looks up at her, gets to his feet, and smiles as they hug. Having apparently forgotten all about me, he starts talking to the woman as they both sits down, and then the waitress goes over and takes their order. The man still seems to be in a slightly different light, but I breathe a sigh of relief as I realize that he's definitely alive. I guess that little wobble was a good example of how easy it is to start believing crazy things.
Still, I can't help looking out across the rest of the cafe, watching out for anyone else who might look a little 'off'. There are a few people sitting alone, but I think I can confidently say that they all seem to be alive. Finally, realizing that I've been letting my mind wander quite a bit, I turn and instead look out the window in the hope that I'll be able to clear my head.
That's when I spot Judith's dog Bonnie wandering past, dragging her lead along the wet ground, with Judith nowhere to be seen.
***
“Hello?” I call out as I reach Judith's garden gate and find that it's been left slightly ajar. “Judith, are you here? I found Bonnie in the street, she was out all alone.”
I wait, but I don't hear a reply.
Looking down at Bonnie, I still find it pretty odd that she was out by herself.
“Where's Mummy?” I ask, even though I know there's no real point. “Where did Mummy go? Can you fetch Mummy?”
Bonnie looks at me for a moment, before turning and looking back along the street. I don't think she's trying to give me any directions; rather, she seems like a pretty dopey dog. There's no way I can spend all day wandering around in the hope that we'll bump into Judith, however, so I push the gate open and step through into the yard. I really don't want to be here, especially given how crazy Judith got the other day, but I can't just abandoned Bonnie so instead I make sure that the gate's properly secured and then I release her from her lead.
She immediately runs to the back door and pushes it open, disappearing into the house.
I head after her and stop at the door, looking through into the corridor.
“Judith?” I call out. “Hello? It's Charley Lucas from the pub! I found Bonnie outside and I brought her back. Are you home?”
I wait.
Silence.
I guess maybe she's out at the shops. Alternatively, maybe she knows Bonnie's on the loose and she's out looking for her. I guess Bonnie's safe enough now, so I turn to go back out to the street. At the last moment, however, I spot a shoe on the floor in the door to Judith's front room, and then I feel a shudder in my chest as I realize that there seems to be a foot in the shoe, almost as if Judith has collapsed. I hesitate for a moment, unable to believe what I'm seeing, and then I hurry through to find that she's flat on her back on the floor, with Bonnie gently nudging the side of her face.
“Judith!” I shout, rushing around her and dropping to my knees. “Judith, can you hear me?”
Her eyes are open, staring glassily toward the ceiling.
I check the side of her neck for a pulse, but there's nothing. I check her wrists, and still there's no hint of a heartbeat. I don't think she's blinked once since I found her, and Bonnie's letting out a series of whimpers as she continues to push against Judith's face.
“It's going to be okay,” I stammer, desperately trying to figure out what to do next. “Judith, if you can hear me, I'm going to call an ambulance! I'm going to get help!”
I wait, but deep down I already know that I'm too late. I still want to believe that I can save her, but it's clear that there's no hope. I hesitate, and I swear I can feel my heart pounding in my chest, and a moment later Bonnie comes over and paws at my arm as if she wants me to do something.
“It's going to be okay,” I say, turning to her as she lets out a mournful whimper. “I... I'm going to call someone.”
***
“And you didn't move her at all after you found her?” the police officer asks as he makes another note in his book.
“I only checked for a pulse,” I reply, sitting on a stool in Judith's kitchen and replaying that awful moment over and over in my head. “I've never found someone collapsed like that before. I didn't know what to do.”
“All the indications suggest that she'd been dead for quite a few hours,” the officer says. “It doesn't seem as if there was anything more you could have done. And you said you think she lived alone?”
“She never mentioned anyone else. To be honest, I didn't really know her very well at all. My father and I have only just moved to the area.”
“I'll need to take some contact details,” he replies. “Can we start with an address?”
“We lived above The King's Head.”
As soon as I say the pub's name, I see a trace of concern in the officer's face. He stares at me for a moment, before making a note.
“How long will it be before you know what happened to her?” I ask.
“There'll be an examination of the body in the next day or two,” he explains. “At the moment, there's nothing to suggest foul play, but we won't know anything for certain until the report comes back. Don't worry, we only need your details in case we have any more questions.”
As he says those words, another officer comes through from the rear of the house.
“You need to come and see this,” he says. “There are some signs of forced entry to the door of a structure at the far end of the garden.”
“The shed?” I ask. “Did someone break in?”
“There's no need to jump to conclusions,” the first officer tells me. “It might just be -”
“She has a dead body in there,” I blurt out.
He furrows his brow. “I beg y
our pardon?”
“It's old,” I explain. “She sort of hinted that people knew about it, but I wasn't convinced that could be true. She showed me the other day, it's the body of Muriel Hyde, the former landlady of The King's Head?”
“You're saying that Ms. Sinclair had an actual corpse out there?”
“I know it sounds crazy,” I tell him, “but I saw it with my own eyes. She has a kind of museum in the shed, full of things from the history of the town. It's like a hoarder's paradise out there. Not that I'm saying she was a hoarder, of course. I just mean... Well, she didn't throw much away.”
“Including dead bodies?” the first officer asks dubiously.
“We didn't see anything like that in there,” the other officer adds.
“I can show you,” I say, getting to my feet. “It's probably nothing to do with any of this, but it's still pretty weird.”
“Lead the way,” the first officer replies, and I head out into the hallway with them both right behind me.
As we make our way to the shed, I feel increasingly nervous. I don't particularly want to see Muriel Hyde's corpse again, but I figure that at least the police will take it away and give it a proper burial. Somehow I've not liked knowing about the corpse, even when I was safely in my room at the pub, and by the time we get into the shed I've managed to convince myself that at least getting rid of the body will be a good thing. When I reach the far end of the room, however, I stop as I see that there's no sign of the coffin.
I look around, but it's gone, and finally I turn to the two officers.
“Did you take it away already?” I ask.
“Nothing's been removed,” the second officer replies, and I can tell that he's getting increasingly skeptical. “There are some pretty lurid photos on the walls, including some that might show bodies. Are you sure you didn't just see those and... jump to conclusions?”
“I didn't imagine a dead body,” I say firmly, turning and looking toward the empty space at the far end of the room. “It was right there!”
“Are you suggesting that someone broke in and stole the body?”
I turn to the officers, and I can tell that they seem extremely dubious.
“We'll make a note of your claims,” the first officer says, “and see if we come up with anything. If any hundred-year-old bodies show up on the black market, we'll be sure to take some interest. There are signs of a possible forced entrance, so I suppose anything's possible. Thank you for your cooperation, Ms. Lucas, you've been very helpful. We'll be in touch if we need any further information from you.”
“It was right over there,” I say again, turning to look once more at the empty space. “I'm not making this up. The body of Muriel Hyde was here just a couple of days ago.”
Even as those words leave my lips, however, I know that I must sound like a lunatic. The worst part is, the more I insist I'm right, the more I'm gonna sound like an idiot. The truth, though, is that Muriel Hyde's body was here and now it's gone. And that seems like an awfully big coincidence, even if I can't imagine why anyone in their right mind would want to steal a corpse.
Chapter Forty-Two
Muriel Hyde
1910...
“I might have spoken to a few people,” Elsa says as I follow her through into the bar area, “but I didn't say anything I shouldn't have done. I certainly didn't say anything that's untrue.”
“You spoke to Randolph Hayes, didn't you?”
“He seems like a very nice man,” she replies nonchalantly. “Very powerful, too. I respect powerful men, they -”
“How dare you?” I snap, grabbing her arm and forcing her to turn to me. “You know those rumors about a child were false! Mr. Foster and I had a pure, platonic friendship, and now you're dredging up the worst gossip from the gutter!”
“I wouldn't be here at all if you'd provided for us better,” she says. “We're family, Muriel, even if you've changed your surname. Mr. Hayes was very pleasant, he gave me cups of tea and slices of cake. That's the sign of a gentleman, and you can't blame me for being grateful.”
“What did you tell him?”
“About you? Everything. All the truth, and all the rumors.”
“You came here to ruin my new life,” I snarl.
“If you put yourself in a position where the truth is ruinous,” she replies, “then that says more about you than it does about anybody else.”
I step toward her, meaning to slap her hard on the side of the face, but I somehow manage to restrain myself. Still, for a moment I feel murderous rage boiling over in my chest, and it takes every ounce of self-control for me to hold back from wrapping my hands around her wretched throat.
“You look troubled,” she says finally. “Is all that guilt starting to catch up to you?”
“Where's Jack?” I ask, as tears run down my face. “Have you seen him?”
“I don't know where your lover has gone,” she replies, “but if he's got any sense, he'll be far from here by now. Apparently he ruffled a few feathers and broke a few noses. They say he's rather handsome, though, so I can imagine the appeal. Maybe you'll have need of a visit to an orphanage yet, if -”
Suddenly I slap her hard, harder than I ever dreamed possible. This is not the first time I have struck her, of course. It is not even the first time this week. Somehow, though, I feel as if some invisible inner line has been crossed, a line that leaves me feeling utterly cold to my own sister. And whereas she laughed before, this time her expression is one of pure hatred, and for a moment I truly believe that she might be able to strike me in return.
“You'll regret that, Muriel,” she says. “Oh, believe me, you'll regret it more than you can ever imagine.”
Turning, I hurry through to the hallway, and then I make my way upstairs. I am overcome with emotion, and there are tears in my eyes as I reach the bathroom and lock myself away. Leaning back against the wall, I try desperately to regather my composure, but I feel as if my entire life is starting to fall apart. I came to Malmeston and started afresh, and for a while everything seemed to be working very well. Now it's all failing, and I can't help thinking that perhaps there is something about me that hinders all attempts at happiness.
I step forward and look down at the sink. I need to splash some water on my face, but – at the last moment – I glance at the cracked mirror on the wall and I am startled to see some other face staring back at me.
For a moment, I can only stare at a young girl, no older than fifteen or sixteen, who is looking at me with a stunned expression. I have never seen this girl before in my life, and I have no idea how she is reflected in my mirror. I turn and look over my shoulder, but she is not there. When I look at the mirror again, she is gone from there as well and I see only my own reflection. I step back, and then I slide down against the door until I am on the floor. Putting my face in my hands, I start sobbing wildly.
I must be losing my mind. And this time, perhaps there is no way back to sanity.
Chapter Forty-Three
Charley Lucas
Today...
“Come on, Bonnie,” I say as I lead Judith's dog into the hallway at the back of the pub. “Don't worry, I'll talk to Dad and make sure he lets you stay while we figure something out. I'm not gonna let you end up in one of those awful shelters.”
Once we're inside, I head into the tiny kitchen and fetch Bonnie a bowl of water. I have no idea how Dad's going to react to the idea of us having a dog, but I figure I'll go for the sympathy angle and make him understand that poor Bonnie has just lost her owner. I mean, Dad's got a heart, he has to be able to see that we can't just toss poor Bonnie out onto the street. I've never really thought about having a dog before, but this feels like the right thing to do.
“There you go,” I say as I set the bowl down and give Bonnie a pat on the head. “I'll go and find Dad and lay it on a bit thick.”
I make my way through to the bar area and look around. The new window's looking good, and the pub's definitely open, but there's n
o sign of Dad. I guess maybe he's in the cellar room and I just missed him, but then – as I head back to the hallway – I suddenly hear a bumping sound coming from nearby. I look around, and then I go to the bar and look over the other side, only to see to my surprise that a hatch in the floor is open and there's clearly someone down there with a flashlight.
“Charley?” Dad calls out, his voice echoing slightly. “Is that you? Come and see what I've found!”
Bonnie wanders through and looks at the hatch, before heading over and peering into the space below.
“Uh, Charley?” Dad continues, sounding a little confused. “Are you up there?”
***
“What is this place?” I ask as I finally manage to shift myself down into the space beneath the hatch, which turns out to be a surprisingly long space. Almost like part of a tunnel.
“The hatch was properly sealed,” Dad replies, “as if someone really didn't want it to be opened again. But I heard a banging sound so I figured maybe there was a loose pipe. I definitely wasn't expecting to find such a large area down here.”
He turns and shines the light past me. I look over my shoulder and see that there's a brick wall blocking what seems to be the tunnel's other end.
“I think I saw something about this in a book I'm reading,” I say. “A lot of the old pubs in Malmeston were connected to a kind of tunnel system, back in the smuggling days. Things used to be brought ashore and then squirreled away in the tunnels and then they'd pop up into the various pubs. The book said that most of the tunnels were bricked up a long time ago, after smuggling faded away.”
“Both ends of the tunnel have been blocked,” Dad points out, “so I don't think there's going to be much smuggling down here anymore. It's crazy to think that these tunnels could run for miles and miles under the town, though. I knew smuggling was a big part of the town's history, but I didn't know it was this extensive.”