The Return of Rachel Stone

by Amy Cross

  “She thinks she can hear her baby crying,” one of the locals added.

  “I can hear her!” she hissed. “Are you all deaf? She's somewhere nearby, she's in one of these houses and she's crying out for me! I'm her mother, we have a bond. She knows I'm here to rescue her.”

  “I don't hear a baby crying, Mrs. Stone,” the officer said, as his colleague came around from the other side of the patrol car. “Maybe we should get you inside to somewhere warm, and then we can call your husband and -”

  “You don't understand!” she stammered, pushing him away as he tried to lead her toward the car, then pushing the other officer away too and starting to make her way along another street. “I can hear her. Why are you all lying and pretending you can't hear her too? Did he pay you to trick me? Is my husband behind it all?”

  “Mrs. Stone,” the first officer continued, hurrying after her, “I don't think we can let you go wandering around like this. If you'd like to come with us and -”

  “Leave me alone!” she snarled, before stopping and staring ahead at the dark, empty street. For a moment Rachel's cries seemed to ring in the air all around, but then suddenly Diana turned and looked over at a nearby blue door. “She's in there!” she muttered, hurrying over and banging her fists against the door. “Let me in! Why have you taken my daughter? Let me in there right now!”

  Above, lights switched on in one of the cottage's bedrooms.

  “Mrs. Stone,” the officer said as she stepped up behind her, “I'm going to have to ask you to come with us.”

  “My baby's in this house!”

  “I really don't think she is, Mrs. Stone.”

  “I can hear her! She's crying!”

  “There's no baby crying in there, Mrs. Stone!”

  “But I can hear her!” she yelled, still banging on the door as tears streamed down her face, and as the sound of Rachel's cries continued to fill the air. “I can -”

  Stopping suddenly, she looked over her shoulder, toward the door to a different house.

  “Or she's in there,” she continued breathlessly, starting to make her way over, only for the officer to place a hand on her arm. She tried to pull free, but his grip was too tight. “Why are you all trying to keep me from my baby? Why are you all working against me?”

  “Mrs. Stone -”

  “Leave me alone!” she screamed, swinging a fist and punching him in the face, sending him stumbling back as she began to hurry across the street. “You're working with them! You're trying to take her away from me!”

  The other officer rushed over and tried to restrain her, but Diana tried to punch her and then resorted to scratching at her face. As the first officer, recovering from the punch, rushed to help, Diana's screams rang out through the town and she continued to struggle toward the house, convinced that she could hear Rachel crying.

  At the far end of the street, a small crowd of bewildered onlookers had gathered to watch as Diana was subdued. Even as the officers struggled to get her into the car, however, she was crying out and screaming her daughter's name.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Today

  “Why can't I play this bloody thing?” Diana muttered drunkenly, as she picked out a few more keys on the piano. She blinked a few times, as if she was trying to clear her vision, and then she leaned forward and rested her forehead against the sheet music. “Sometimes,” she continued, slurring her words, “I think I'm just...”

  Her voice trailed off and her eyes closed, and she slipped off into sleep.

  After a moment, Rachel appeared in the doorway, eyeing her cautiously and waiting to make sure she was really out. Once she was sure, she glanced over her shoulder to make sure that nobody else was up and about, and then she slipped into the room and made sure to stay quiet as she crept over to the bookshelf. Sliding a large, leather-bound volume from one of the higher shelves, she carefully set it on a nearby table and began flicking through, while constantly looking back over toward the piano to make sure that Diana still hadn't stirred.

  “Accounts for the year to April 2006,” she whispered under her breath as she carefully turned to the back of the volume. Sighing, she slid the book back into place and then took out another, opening it to find accounts from 2004. “At least these people keep good records.”

  For the next few minutes, she checked book after book, searching for the accounts from one particular year. Finally she found what she was looking for, and when she opened the book she found page after page of handwritten notes relating to the Stone family's companies. She flicked through, checking each month, until she came to the page covering the specific week when the family had been rocked by the disappearance of their only child. She ran a finger down the list of entries, before turning to the next page.

  “Come on,” she whispered, before glancing at the piano again as she heard Diana starting to snore.

  She hesitated, listening to the silence of the house in case the snores brought anyone else to the room, and then she looked back down at the book.

  “It's got to be in here somewhere,” she told herself, turning to the next page and then the next, and then to yet another before -

  Stopping suddenly, she saw that halfway down one of the pages, the handwriting changed noticeably. She turned to the next page and saw that this new handwriting seemed to change more and more with each passing day. The loops of some letters, the bars of others, seemed to be in a constant state of flux, almost as if somebody was consciously trying to alter the way they wrote. And when she turned to the next page, she saw that this new handwriting was slowly morphing to become more like the writing that had gone before, until the accounts were once again written in a hand that matched the pages from the start of the book.

  “It's true,” she whispered, with a hint of shock in her voice. “It's really true. These people are...”

  She paused, before hearing a very faint creak from upstairs. Worried about being caught, she slipped the book back into place and then hurried past the still-sleeping Diana. Once she was out in the corridor, she began to make her way toward the stairs, only to stop as soon as she realized that someone was coming down. She looked around for someone to hide and finally she ducked behind the old grandfather clock just in time.

  A moment later, her aunt Margaret wandered past, tying her dressing gown cord as she headed into the study and saw Diana slumped at the piano.

  “Oh, for God's sake,” Margaret said with a sigh, heading over and tapping Diana on the shoulder. “Don't you think it's time for bed now? You don't have to copy the poor woman's every fault, you know.”

  Diana stirred slightly and mumbled something, but she didn't fully wake up.

  “Hey!” Margaret continued, nudging her shoulder until finally Diana's eyes flickered open. “It's late! You're drunk! Go to bed!”

  “I'm not drunk,” Diana slurred, sitting up and placing her hands on the piano's keys, only to cause several notes to ring out through the house. She immediately began giggling, as Margaret moved her hands away and closed the lid over the keys. “Don't you appreciate the avant garde style, Margaret? Are you an old stick-in-the-mud? Maybe I should teach you a little of the showgirl way of living.”

  “You need to drink some water,” Margaret said firmly, “and go to bed. God knows what you'll be like in the morning.”

  “I'll be fine in the morning,” Diana replied. “I'll be fit as a flea playing a fiddle!”

  She immediately started giggling, evidently highly amused by her own little joke.

  “Wait!” she added suddenly. “I thought you left! I thought you went to stay with Bradley!”

  “I got halfway and turned around. How could I leave when you're all in this terrible state? Bradley looked like a sad little puppy, but I'll make it up to him some other time. I was angry earlier. I can't let anger push me into making a terrible mistake. Now come on, I'll help you get to bed.”

  Rachel pulled back, trying to make absolutely certain that she wouldn't be spotted as Margar
et helped an unsteady Diana to her feet.

  “You've got to stop doing this, you know,” Margaret continued, leading Diana out into the hallway. “You get drunk every single night. It's not good for you. You're taking this whole thing too far.”

  “There's nothing else to do in this house,” Diana murmured.

  “There's plenty to do.”

  “I hate it here,” Diana continued. “I hate everything about it. It's like the house turns people into monsters. Can't I leave?”

  “Don't be silly.”

  “But how much longer do I have to be here? It was never supposed to be this long.”

  “There's no point talking about this when you're out of your mind on white wine,” Margaret said, finally getting her to the stairs and starting to guide her up. “How many times have I told you to stay away from the booze? It's not good for anyone. How do you think that poor girl would feel if she saw you in this state? You've got to think of the future now, my dear. You've got a daughter to look after.”

  “Have I?”

  “Come on, don't be like that.”

  “But is she really my daughter?” Diana groaned, stumbling slightly on the steps. “I don't know. I mean, nothing's settled, is it? There are more questions than answers, and no-one seems like they can tell us for sure. Will we ever know?”

  “I'm not -”

  “Then again, Bradley seems to be on the case.”

  “Oh yes,” Margaret continued, with a hint of bitterness in her voice now. “Dear, sweet, interfering Bradley.”

  They continued to talk as they headed toward Diana's bedroom, but their voices were lost in the upper reaches of the house as Rachel cautiously stepped out from her hiding place. She hesitated a moment longer, listening to the sound of stumbling footsteps, and then she headed back into the study. Diana's room was directly above, so she could hear more footsteps as she went back over to the bookshelf, and as she took out several more books.

  Setting them on the table, she began to flick through the books, as if she was searching for something specific. For the next hour, she checked almost every book in the entire room, combing through them page by page and occasionally mumbling to herself. After a while she grabbed a sheet of paper and made a few notes, and she added some diagrams as if she was trying to make sense of whatever she was reading. Finally, a little before 3am, she put the last of the books away and folded the note, tucking it into her pocket and then she heading to the patio door. Turning the key carefully, trying to stay quiet, she slipped out into the cold night air and began to make her way across the lawn.

  Glancing back toward the house, she saw that all the lights were off upstairs.

  When she reached the trees, she looked out into the dark, silent forest and waited. All she heard, however, was a faint rustling sound as a breeze hit the tree-tops high above.

  “Great,” she muttered to herself finally. “No ghosts tonight, I guess.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  15 years ago

  “Do you really have to keep crying like that?” Mac said with a sigh as he leaned over the makeshift crib and patted the side of Rachel's head, almost as if she was a dog. He seemed uncertain and cautious, as if he'd never really tried to look after a baby before. “What do you want? You're driving me nuts.”

  Still the girl cried, wriggling in her bed of stained blankets.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked. “You can't be hungry, I only fed you a couple of hours ago. You haven't messed yourself again, have you?”

  Wincing slightly, he lifted her up and checked to see if she needed changing, but to his relief he found that the newest nappy seemed to still be fine. He was about to set her back down in the crib, before figuring that maybe he should try walking her around a little, so he arranged her in his arms and carried her first to the window and then over to the front door, where he hesitated for a moment before taking her out onto the porch.

  “See that?” he asked, looking at the forest as morning sunlight bathed the trees. “It's pretty, isn't it? Can't you just look at the forest and be happy?”

  He tilted Rachel up, hoping that she'd be mesmerized by the view, and after a moment her cries became more of a faint gurgle. Looking down at her face, however, he found that she was staring back up at him with her large, brown eyes.

  “What are you looking at me for?” he asked. “I'm an ugly bugger. You wanna be looking at nature and at all the other stuff like that.”

  He waited, but slowly a faint smile crossed Rachel's lips.

  “Poor little sod,” he continued. “You've got no idea what a bunch of crazies you've been born into. You know it's your father who had me bring you here, right? He paid me to kidnap you.”

  Again he waited, and finally he returned the girl's smile.

  “You need to keep that in mind, Rachel,” he added. “I know you won't remember what I'm telling you right now, but maybe it'll stick somewhere in your head and later on it'll be useful. The Stone family are a bunch of complete nutters, they're all out of their minds. Herbert's a bully and a tyrant, his wife's a drunk, Jack's a worthless, scrounging waste of space, and Margaret's... Well, maybe she's the most normal one, but then again you know what they say about still waters. The point is, you don't wanna end up like them, okay? You wanna -”

  Suddenly Rachel giggled slightly, as if she found him amusing.

  “Stop that,” he replied.

  She giggled again.

  “This isn't funny,” he continued. “I'm taking you back to those assholes in a day or two. Excuse my language. Anyway, this is just a short vacation for you. When Herbert gives me the all-clear, I have to deliver you right back to that house, and then you're gonna grow up with the Stones, and God knows how you'll manage. They're gonna do a number on your head, little girl, and you're gonna have to be mighty strong if you wanna not end up like the rest of them.”

  She let out another faint gurgle, and Mac sighed before turning her once again so that she could see the forest.

  “Don't look at my ugly mug,” he muttered. “Look out there. Isn't the world beautiful? I'm not a baby kinda guy, so I apologize if I'm not treating you right. Just look at the world, and try to somehow remember what I'm telling you, okay?” He paused for a moment, watching as the trees rustled in a light breeze. “Good luck, Rachel,” he added finally. “You'll need it if you're gonna keep from ending up a total freak like the rest of your wretched, twisted family.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Today

  Morning sunlight streamed through the forest as Jo made her way along the riverbank. She'd been walking for a while now, following the signposts that pointed toward the viaduct, and the only sound now came from the river as it flowed gently away from town. By the time she finally reached the viaduct itself, Jo had almost begun to let the peace and tranquility of the English countryside wash away her fears.

  Almost.

  Once she'd checked to make sure Rachel hadn't arrived yet, she headed over to the start of the viaduct and clambered over some large stones, although a rusting metal fence prevented her from going too far. The viaduct crossed a small valley, and finally she settled on one of the larger stones and sat down, looking out across the scene. Taking a pill bottle from her pocket, she tipped out her pills for the afternoon and then swallowed them, washing the medication down with a swig of water. A ripple of nausea ran through her belly, but she told herself that was mostly psychological.

  Still, she felt a little green around the gills as she slipped the bottle of pills back into her pocket, and finally she closed her eyes and tried to calm her thoughts.

  In her mind's eye, she immediately saw a dead little girl on a metal slab. No more than five or six years old, the girl had been carved open from her shoulders to her belly, revealing glistening intestines. Her ribs had been cracked and parted, exposing her heart and lungs. The girls eyes were staring straight up, as Jo stared straight down.

  After just a fraction of a second Jo opened her eyes.

/>   “Yeah,” she muttered out loud. “That never works anyway.”

  Ninety minutes later, having spent some time throwing rocks into the river, she checked her watch and saw that it was almost 2pm, which meant Rachel was an hour late. Still, she figured the girl might have had trouble getting out of the house, and she was also wondering whether she might just fail to show at all. She'd come to see Rachel as a volatile personality, as someone who might feel one way in the evening and another way the next morning. In the back of her mind, she was even wondering whether the whole arrangement had been a set-up, although she was sure she'd detected some sincerity in the girl's words. Figuring she should give her a little more time, she hauled herself to her feet and began to take a look at the other side of the clearing.

  Finally 2pm became 3pm, and she realized it might be time to head back into town. Sighing, she turned and headed toward the dirt track that led along the side of the river. Since she still hadn't replaced her lost phone, she figured her best bet was to find Nick and ask to use his.

  “Wait!” a voice called out. “Stop!”

  Turning, she heard the sound of someone racing through the undergrowth, and a moment later Rachel came crashing into view. Stumbling on a tree root, the girl almost fell, only for Jo to grab her at the last second and hold her up.

  “I thought you weren't going to come,” she explained as she helped the breathless Rachel onto one of the nearby rocks.

  “I ran all the way,” Rachel replied, wincing as she leaned back. “I'm not fit. I really need to work out more.” She paused, before glancing both ways over her shoulder as if she was worried about being followed. “I couldn't get out of that bloody house for hours. Herbert and Diana... I mean, Mum and Dad... They were going on and on about this trip they want to take. It's like they can't get me out of the country soon enough.”