The Shadow Fabric

by Mark Cassell

  And she’d found more than a picturesque countryside.

  She sat sideways in the passenger seat with the door open, and Victor and I listened to her story. Occasionally, she would wipe her cheeks with a sleeve. She told us how temptations were hard to resist when networking online. Things soon became serious when she met a user named tulipmoon73. This Moon paid big money for small jobs. The kind not to be found at the employment centre, or advertised in agencies. Those which yanked her back into her past—unfortunately, a past she wanted to leave behind.

  The offer of such ridiculous money had been hard to refuse, and given her illegal entry into the UK, and difficulty at gaining a respectable new career, she soon said yes. Petty theft to begin with, and Isidore believed Moon was testing her loyalty. The jobs escalated to subtle threats, and then to violence. She admitted to having no idea how that came about. Plus, on occasion, there would be arson. Still having never met her employer in person, the money kept coming, and eventually Isidore lived a new life of greater crime than before. Not only was she back to being a thief, she’d also become a criminal in everything short of murder. Her bank balance outweighed morals, and it got easier to accept the jobs. She’d been manipulated by Tulip Moon, something she’d known all along.

  “Things went bad.” She wrapped my jacket tighter around herself—earlier, I’d been a gentleman.

  Victor hadn’t said much while she spoke, and neither had I. I hoped what she had to say would explain everything.

  She shivered. “I wouldn’t have pulled the trigger on you. I am not a killer, I’m a thief. Just a thief. That’s all I am. I didn’t want to do anything else.”

  I thought of how it was to stare into the barrel of her gun.

  “Oh?” Victor’s voice contained an edge I’d recently been hearing a lot.

  “The threat was good enough,” she told him. “I’m glad you didn’t push it, because I don’t know what I would have done.”

  “Why have that gun if you’re just a thief?” I asked. With her puffy eyes and red cheeks, she was still attractive. Her blonde hair did little to disguise her Mediterranean origins, betrayed as they were by her olive complexion and intense brown eyes.

  “Money.” She scratched her cheek. “It always comes to money, yes? Stealing is one thing. Threats and violence? That is something else. Black magic of the devil is another thing entirely.”

  Victor’s forehead furrowed. The glow from the interior light gave his face an almost plastic sheen.

  “Last night,” Isidore said, “I saw strange things going on, and that prompted me to seek you out.”

  “What happened?” I crouched beside her, shoulder against the car.

  “I contacted a hacker friend. Old habits. Breaking my own rule of contacting anyone back home.” Isidore offered a weak smile. “He managed to trace Moon for me. Yesterday, I decided to watch her, this Tulip Moon, to see what she was doing.”

  “What does she look like?” Victor asked.

  “A tall woman. Very skinny. With dark hair and piercing eyes.” Isidore’s own eyes flashed wider. “And what I saw was evil. There is no other word for it.”

  I nodded as I recalled the time when I’d first met Polly’s assistant. Tulip Moon was the same person, the person behind everything.

  “She went out last night,” Isidore continued. “Driving a van. The front was badly damaged.”

  Victor turned towards me. I didn’t look at him—we thought the same thing.

  “I followed her to a farm.” Isidore’s voice wavered. “Hiding, I saw four men get out of the van. They were tied up. Then they were taken into an old barn.”

  Victor and I exchanged glances. We knew which farm she spoke of. I thought of Thomas, Lucas’s contact, with the shard of mirror rammed down his throat, his body pierced like a pin cushion. I thought of the family sitting at the table, hands together as if in prayer, with their bodies drained of life. I was conscious of my breathing and I tried to slow it down.

  Isidore hung her head. “I recognised all the men. They were those I’d threatened last month. Four men that I’d been cruel to. More than cruel. I’m sorry for that. When I saw them yesterday, they looked like broken men. Beaten up. Sad. I never did see the fifth one.”

  “Who were they?” Victor stepped forward to the open door and leaned on it, folding his arms across his chest. He no longer held the gun. Clearly, he had the same idea as I did about Isidore. She’d been a proverbial pawn in this game of light against dark.

  Isidore moved her head slightly. “Keepers of something or other.”

  Victor puffed out his cheeks and let out a long breath. “Something to do with the Fabric, by any chance?”

  “Yes.” Her voice was small as she looked up. “Moon tracked these men down herself, and offered me a big payment if I was successful. It could have been my last job, and of course, Moon offered me even more money to stay working for her.”

  “You got them to hand over pieces of the Fabric, didn’t you?” Victor said. It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes. I didn’t know what they were at the time. Four leather bags, each holding a piece of black cloth for all I could tell. When I opened one of the bags, I was sick, really sick, and I had strange thoughts.” Her eyes flashed wide and wet. “I never did that again.”

  “By this point,” Victor said, “you still hadn’t met Tulip Moon?”

  “No, it was all by email. I left the package at the usual drop-off. Inside were the leather bags.”

  “Back to last night.” Victor knelt and held her hands. Gentle, undemanding. “What happened to these men?”

  “I got closer to spy on them, finding a part of the barn wall which had broken away.” She swallowed, blinking away tears. “Inside was lit by lanterns. Not a lot of light and it was difficult to see. Those men looked weak. Drugged perhaps. They had collapsed against stacks of hay.”

  Perhaps it was the same one I had peered into, the hay bales, the piled clothes in the centre. Maybe those clothes weren’t empty.

  “What else did you see?” Victor released her hands. “Was there a blind woman?”

  She shook her head.

  “No. No. I did see another person inside the farmhouse with Moon, but I couldn’t tell if it was a woman or a man, and the way they walked around, they didn’t look blind.”

  Victor dragged his hand from his forehead to his chin, then to his neck.

  Isidore continued. “In front of the men was the package I’d left at the drop-off. Its side had split and all I saw was darkness. It oozed out like some kind of liquid.”

  A wind rustled the leaf-strewn ground and I shivered.

  “Moon handed them something,” she said. “Something small. And they moved their hands together as if they prayed. Like that, they…they…”

  “Go on, Isidore,” Victor said.

  “Sitting straighter, they began to move. Slow rocking at first, like madmen. After a minute or two, their heads shook. Then their bodies as well. It was like they had a seizure.”

  I hunched and my hands became fists. Those clothes heaped in that barn weren’t empty after all.

  Isidore wiped her eyes. Her cheeks sparkled in the soft light.

  “I don’t know how long it lasted.” She sniffed. “But I watched their heads become skulls. Their skin shrinking, eyes falling into their faces.” She raked fingers through her hair. Her eyes bored into Victor’s. “Death,” she said. “That’s when I saw Death.”

  Victor stood up.

  “No,” he said. “Stitching. That’s what you saw.”

  CHAPTER 26

  Saturday

  I made a decision that it was time for me to approach Goodwin. About everything. Fuck Victor and his game. I wanted answers.

  With the morning sun spotlighting her, Isidore strolled from the bathroom, towelling her hair. Like the first time I’d seen her, she caught my eye. This time, I didn’t look away, and she gave me a different kind of look. I liked it. I couldn’t deny it: I fancied her. Somehow, s
he managed to take the edge off my thoughts of Goodwin. She wore the same clothes from the previous day, as did Victor and I.

  His gentle snore broke the moment and I grabbed my boots. My thoughts returned to Goodwin and his deceit. Who the hell was he to me? Was he a friend of the family? And what of my family? Were they who I thought they were? I only knew of them through Goodwin’s stories. Stories? Were they just that?

  After meeting Isidore in the woods and learning her story, we’d explained how Annabel and Tulip Moon were the same person. We also explained Stanley and Goodwin’s involvement—or the little we knew of Goodwin’s involvement, at least—and we shared our concern as to Polly’s whereabouts. We didn’t, however, reveal much about the Fabric or The Book of Leaves. I guessed things would be answered in time for all of us. Then we returned to her hotel, close to the motorway services. Luckily, she’d been able to get a family room, so it was comfortable for us all. Victor had the double bed in the main area while Isidore took the kid’s room. I’d taken the sofa without bothering to remove my clothes. Isidore made a lot of noise, keeping me awake for a while. I suspected she blocked the door with furniture.

  I tied my bootlaces as Isidore disappeared into her room. She returned moments later tugging her hair into a ponytail.

  “Do we wake him?” She nodded at Victor.

  I shook my head. “Not yet.”

  “I am awake, my friends,” Victor said.

  His eyes popped open and he sat upright. The sheets slipped off and collected on the floor as he slid a hand underneath the mattress. He pulled out a familiar box. Its surface, although coated in matt-black lacquer, reflected the room’s lamps in a dead kind of way.

  I laughed. “You slept on it?”

  He scratched his silvery whiskers, eyeing the box.

  “I wouldn’t have done that,” said Isidore. “There’s something about that knife…”

  “Isidore,” Victor said, “you’re not the one who ransacked my flat, that was Annabel searching for the Witchblade.”

  She nodded.

  “Makes sense,” I added.

  “I’m sorry I took it,” Isidore said.

  “Not at all.” The corners of Victor’s eyes crinkled.

  “I was supposed to leave it at the drop-off, but didn’t. The day after I took it from you, I hid for a while. I needed time to think. I already knew things were getting bad.”

  “Oh?” Victor’s thumb hovered over the box’s clasp.

  “Moon ordered me to follow you to your brother’s house. I saw what happened. I saw the darkness come out of the violin case. I saw what it made you do to him.”

  Victor’s eyebrows twitched and his jaw clenched.

  “I saw him disappear,” she added. For a moment, she’d lost her radiance, and she resembled the fearful girl from the previous night. “Things were getting even stranger, and all I could think about was money. I didn’t want anything more to do with Moon, and so I hid for a couple of days. That’s why I tracked her. Found out where she lives and ended up spying on her.”

  Victor sat on the edge of the bed and stared at his bare feet. He rubbed his gloves together as if washing his hands. He’d placed the Witchblade case beside him.

  “I wish I hadn’t spied on them,” Isidore said, “I wish I’d said ‘no’ a long time ago. It’s all about money. Always has been.”

  I knew how she felt and remembered how I’d squeezed the cash in my pocket when looking at Stanley’s blood on the carpet. Always, it was about money. Yet this wasn’t how I expected my new life to evolve.

  It didn’t take us long to get ready, and skipping breakfast, we made it to Periwick House in excellent time. Isidore’s convertible kept up with me all the way, although I suspected she jumped one or two red lights. It was an old Mazda, sun-bleached red with its soft-top torn.

  She pulled into the parking space next to the BMW as I slammed the door shut. Victor hurried towards the House’s main entrance, his jaw firm. He held the Witchblade case tight to his chest. On our drive over, he announced it was time to approach Goodwin. I didn’t mention that I’d already made that decision.

  The morning sunshine reflected from several cars already in the car park, and I watched as another vehicle crunched into reverse and slid into an empty bay. Then I remembered: it was Saturday, and tonight was the concert.

  Victor had disappeared into the House and I shot my head over a shoulder at the sound of gravel underfoot. Isidore stood beside me, watching Victor.

  I stifled a yawn.

  “Fast for an old man,” she said.

  I nodded. “Yeah, he is. Doesn’t wear any socks either.”

  She laughed. “I’ve noticed.”

  I said, “Come on.”

  Inside, Victor hammered on Goodwin’s office door. By the time we’d joined him, ignoring Dean’s bemused attention, Victor had already entered.

  “Goodwin?” he shouted into the room. “Goodwin?”

  I pushed my way past Victor. I had no idea what I intended to say to Goodwin. Too many questions stormed my brain.

  Isidore followed us inside.

  “Where is he?” I said, my pulse quickening. I needed answers. To everything. I left the office and headed for reception.

  The manager’s eyes widened as I approached.

  “Dean.” My voice filled the foyer. “Where’s Goodwin?”

  His frown leapt from me to the gaping office door, and back again. “What are you up to?”

  “Where is he?” I leaned against the desk. Heat rushed to my face.

  Dean’s eyelids peeled back further and he scratched his chin. “He had a visitor earlier. Not long ago, half an hour, I think. It was that man, Stanley.”

  I thought of Polly’s disappearance and of Stanley dying in front of me, yet not truly dead. What about Isidore’s story of those men stitching? And where was Polly? And Goodwin? Even though my trust for him had crumbled, he remained a part of my new life. I still saw him as a son would a father, despite everything, I still cared. But what part did he play in all this?

  “Where are they now?” I asked.

  “They should still be in his office.” Dean’s cheeks reddened with each passing second. “He always buzzes to let me know he’s going for a walk in the gardens, and they haven’t come out.”

  From across the foyer, Natalie’s voice bounced towards us. “What’s going on?” Her curious eyes followed the movement in Goodwin’s office. She wore a figure-hugging shirt and skirt—not her usual beauty therapist uniform.

  Immediately, I thought of Isidore, of how uncomfortable she’d be in such an outfit. I looked back at her, standing close to Goodwin’s desk. She stooped slightly, leaning to read something. She wore her own clothes well. Very well.

  My gaze returned to Natalie, and I gave her a smile I didn’t really have.

  “Not sure,” I mumbled. And it was the truth. I sprinted across the shiny floor and into the office, pulling the door behind me. It slammed shut.

  Isidore spun, eyes wide. She almost dropped some papers.

  “Look,” she said and handed them to me.

  I heard Victor rummaging in the other room.

  “Your friend Goodwin has interesting contacts,” Isidore mumbled.

  Each sheet contained a list of names, none of which I recognised. There were three columns on each page: the first contained the name, mostly male, the second listed a County. It was the contents of the last column that concerned me the most. What did all this mean? My lips parted to say something as Victor charged into the room.

  “Nothing.” He clenched and unclenched his hands, the leather gloves creaking. “We have to find Goodwin… What’s that?”

  He pointed at several gouges in the parquet floor.

  “Looks recent.” I bent down.

  Their depth suggested the desk had been shoved under a great weight, and next to them was a collection of red flecks. I gingerly prodded one.

  Victor and Isidore loomed over me.

  Suddenly, I fel
t small. “Blood.”

  Both of them remained silent.

  “Dean told me that Stanley’s with him,” I said, and stood up.

  Isidore’s nose twitched. I knew the feeling. It wasn’t safe in the room. Nothing was real anymore. She sidestepped towards me.

  Victor motioned to the papers bunched in my fist; I’d forgotten all about them. I handed them over. After several seconds listening to my pounding heart and watching Victor’s furrowed brow deepen, he threw the sheets on the desk.

  “What has Goodwin been up to?” he said. “Tranquillisers. Handcuffed men. Now this.”

  I shrugged, somehow feeling responsible for Goodwin’s deceit. It was as though I should’ve known what was going on, I should’ve been aware something was up. Emotions clashed in my head in time with my racing heart. I was worried about Goodwin and hated him for his deception. I dragged my feet towards the French doors and shook the handle.

  “They couldn’t have gone outside, it’s locked.”

  “They must’ve gone back through the lobby.” There was an edge to Victor’s voice.

  “Dean didn’t think so.” I pressed my forehead against the glass. It was cold and quite soothing. Across the terrace, in the gardens, was Neil. A row of recently planted silver birch swayed behind him.

  “He must’ve blinked.” Victor shoved a hand inside his jacket and pulled out the Witchblade case. He flicked it open and removed the athame. Throwing the box on a shelf behind him, he slid the blade behind his belt. It reflected the blue of the morning outside.

  “I think you need to see this.” Isidore’s voice came from beneath the desk. She traced her fingers along a cable, revealed because of the shifted leg. It joined a tangle of wires from the computer.

  “What’s that?” I squatted next to her.

  “It’s the only one separate from the computer leads. The one which doesn’t end at the wall sockets.”