A Body Displaced (Lansin Island 2)

by Andrew Butcher

  His throat closed; he coughed violently.

  No, shout! I have to find her.

  A wardrobe was open, with only an item or two hanging up, but no Kerra to be seen. Kerra’s mobile phone was screen-down in a corner. Nick’s eyes scanned, his mind struggled to keep up, and he darted into the ensuite. Nothing, no one. He turned back.

  Callum and his wife appeared at the doorway. As quick as lightning, Callum brought out his mobile phone and dialled. His wife screamed and tried to muffle it with one hand. She squinted, averting her eyes from the scene.

  So much blood. Nick forced his eyes shut for a second to regain focus. Cold swept in through the open window. The window … He twisted to find it. On the sill was a magpie, perched proudly. Side to side, its head danced, its beady eyes glinting.

  Nick staggered towards the opening in the wall. He reached a hand out for balance.

  ‘Don’t touch anything,’ said Callum speedily. ‘You’ll mess up the evidence … You should get out of the room.’ Nick stared indignantly at him, but the man continued, ‘The police will be here soon, lad. They’ll look for her, and an ambulance is on its way.’

  Sense was somewhere in Nick’s head. He avoided touching objects as much as possible, and stepped around the spots and smears of gore to look outside. Startled, the magpie flew off. Nick peered down. A trellis laddered the side of the wall, and the ground was a gravelled side alley that connected the back of the hotel to the front.

  No Kerra. He pivoted and asked, ‘Did you see her leave the room?’ His breath was short. ‘Did anyone come in?’

  ‘No, I don’t know. My wife was taking so long that I went back into our room to wait.’ He shook his head dismally.

  His wife covered her eyes and mumbled, ‘Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god.’

  Think! Nick remembered the curly-haired man who’d run from the front of the hotel and suspiciously slowed down as Nick pulled in.

  ‘Mate … you need to calm down, and get out of the room,’ said Callum. ‘What if there are footprints that you’re messing up?’

  ‘No! I have to find her!’ He ran out, shoving past the two at the door, and sprinted up the hallway.

  Mr Hayworth appeared at the top of the stairs. ‘Did I hear scream—’ he began, but Nick collided with him and lost balance, tumbling down one flight and smacking the side of his head on a stair post. He rolled over on the landing and strained to see through heavy eyelids.

  ‘Mr Crystan, are you alright?’

  Mr Hayworth? The man’s face was smudgy, blurred.

  Something trickled from above Nick’s ear, under his hair and down his face. Not cold—warm. It seeped between his lips with a sharp taste.

  Kerra, Kerra … But his thoughts drowned into blackness.

  CHAPTER TWO

  JULIET’S ARMS SHOT up to block the blow. She dropped them to her side, waited, watched, and repeated. The second time was better, more precise. But would it be enough? She hit the replay sign and viewed from the start again. Her laptop malfunctioned though. Even for a high-end model, too many programs were open at once. The image on the screen froze while the audio continued.

  At that moment, Lillian Kitchener walked through the front door.

  ‘… ensure your elbows are at the same angle as mine for maximum defence and that your hands are brought together like this…’ the YouTube clip went on.

  Her gran’s sudden appearance took Juliet by surprise. She jolted, then punched various keys on the laptop before she resorted to slamming the lid down.

  Lillian frowned at her suspiciously. ‘What was that you were listening to? It sounded like a self-defence program.’

  It wasn’t like Juliet Maystone to lose her composure so easily, but for a moment, she became stuck for words. There was no point in lying or denying it, though. She answered, ‘It’s sensible to learn how to protect myself.’ Her response came out stronger than intended.

  ‘I suppose it is,’ said Lillian, clearly unconvinced. ‘But, sweetheart, why would anyone want to hurt you?’

  And now the lies. Lies lies lies. She hated bending the truth, deceiving people, treating them like they were stupid. She believed it best not to coddle others, but in these circumstances, she couldn’t be honest without sounding crazy or endangering herself and the other people involved.

  ‘No one.’ Then, as convincingly as she could tell such an ominous line, she added, ‘But you never know when someone might try to hurt you.’ Like when Aldrich forced me to attack Nicolas.

  Lillian laughed casually, her wrinkles creasing. ‘Well I suppose you better teach me, then.’ When Juliet smiled back weakly, Lillian continued with, ‘No, I shan’t bother. I don’t believe the world is a cruel place. I try not to do bad to others, and I’ve never been attacked in all my years. I like to think that’s how it works.’

  Of course her Gran’s words made Juliet wonder, What bad have I done to others? But, rarely one for self-pity, she quickly dismissed that line of thought. She walked towards the kitchen and said, ‘I’ll make you some tea, Gran.’

  They sat together for a while, Lillian asking questions. ‘Are you going to see that gentleman again? The one you went for a meal with.’ Lillian smiled, her interest apparent. She had a genuine way about her. When she grinned it seemed whole, and when she laughed it came out hearty. Juliet had moments when she looked at her gran, and for a second didn’t recognise her. After years of separation, her mind automatically saw Lillian as the woman in her childhood memories. But now her gran’s hair was a fine and silvery-grey collection that met her shoulders, she had leathery skin, and her teeth had a yellow sheen. Even sitting down she was obviously a short woman.

  ‘Yes.’ Juliet nodded. ‘We’re seeing each other again soon. Monday, maybe.’ She’d only met Austin Townsend a few weeks ago, but they were texting a lot, and Austin seemed eager to get to know her.

  ‘Good. It’s nice to see you getting out of the house.’

  Juliet compressed her lips, then said, ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. I don’t mean to invade your personal life. I had simply noticed that you’ve not been to your café lately. You’ve been spending a lot of time indoors.’

  Her gran was right, and maybe hearing it aloud was what Juliet needed. The past few months, she’d left the house less and less often. She used to jog along the coastline most mornings, up to the hills, but now she stuck to her indoor gym. She used to obsess over her café, Chanton Hillview, but now she avoided the interaction, leaving Roy and Sandra in charge. She used to volunteer at a charity shop, but the owner asked her not to bother after Juliet cancelled two shifts in a row (once due to visiting Grendel Manor, and the next because she was afraid to be in public after the reports of a body discovered at The Burning Grounds). She’d known right away it was Aldrich’s.

  She chewed her bottom lip while a frown shaped her face. ‘Don’t worry, Gran. I’ve just had a lot on my mind.’ She smiled, aiming for reassuring.

  ‘Okay. Well, I’m here if you wish to speak with me.’ Lillian grinned mischievously. ‘Maybe we should visit London again? You seemed to enjoy that.’

  Christmas and Juliet’s twenty-sixth birthday had crept up on her. The stress of everything made her want to get away, so she went to London for a week with Lillian to ‘celebrate.’ In England’s capital, they enjoyed the Christmas lights: brilliant archways like stars strung together, buildings with frames of fairy lights (orange, yellow, silver, red, green, purple), trees taller than buses, and of course the bright halo of the London Eye. While there, they also visited Winter Wonderland in Hyde Park, but left after an hour or so; the cold weather had been tough on Lillian, and after such a long day Juliet began to struggle with her ability. She saw spirits everywhere she turned.

  ‘Yes,’ Juliet answered. ‘Maybe.’

  Lillian responded with an understanding smile, then got up steadily and walked out of the kitchen. She disappeared upstairs, taking the steps with slow, careful movements.
/>   For a minute, Juliet simply waited, tangled up inside. It was almost unbearable; her mind urged her to do something, forget about it, get on with the day, but what was there to do? With Lillian about, the house was always spotless and the front and back gardens were perfectly maintained. Lillian had even added to the flower beds. And since discovering her parents had deceived her, Juliet had given up learning Spanish. She was not a quitter, but she’d mainly wanted to learn for the sake of visiting her parents in Marbella (which she now didn’t plan on doing any time soon). Another time-filling hobby was lost back in February when her certificate with distinction arrived for completing a diet and nutrition home-study course. So far, she hadn’t selected any further education to replace it.

  Do something …

  In the past she would have popped into Chanton Hillview to help out. But the thought made her uneasy now. They look at me as if they know. Back when the redecoration of the café had been completed, and Juliet saw how much dedication her staff had put in, she’d been filled with a desire to be around people who cared: her colleagues, her gran, and her best friend Kim. But that desire was short-lived. The next morning she woke to the news of what had happened at The Burning Grounds. Panicked, she began avoiding Chanton Hillview and the people she had wanted to spend time with. Now she visited the café only occasionally, covering holidays and sickness, and she would call up most days to talk to Roy or Sandra.

  Learn more self-defence? her unsettled mind suggested, but it further irritated her . She couldn’t believe her gran had caught her practising. For three months she’d surreptitiously watched online videos to learn basic defence techniques. It was something she’d never considered before this year. But the more she hid indoors with nothing to do, the harder it was to avoid ruminating; the more she ruminated, the worse her fear became.

  So far, she’d learnt a simple stance for blocking punches aimed at the head and upper body, ways to break free from wrist grabs, shirt grabs, and hair grabs, and, if a situation called for it, she’d learnt vital places to strike: eyes, ears, nose, throat, groin, kneecaps. She may have lost some confidence, and she was too proud to go for face-to-face classes, but teaching herself was her way of trying her best. For extra safety, she’d ordered a personal alarm from the internet. It had arrived a few weeks back and was now attached to the keys she kept on her, where she could quickly set off the dizzyingly loud siren if necessary.

  ‘I’m just off to yoga, sweetheart,’ she heard her gran say, seeing her shuffle downstairs and towards the front door. Once a week Lillian took a bus into Amiton to visit the gym for an over fifties yoga class.

  ‘Okay. Have a lovely time.’

  About to slip into deep thought again, Juliet shook herself and got up. She changed her outfit to a black crop top, polyester shorts, and white trainers, then headed for the treadmill. She stretched and began. Ten minutes of steady running: She felt as if she’d not exercised at all. Twenty minutes: no aches, no shortness of breath. Thirty: She picked up the pace. Frowning, she sprinted to forty, fifty, one hour.

  When she stopped, she stepped off and waited expectantly. Her body wasn’t tired or sweaty, though, nor was her breathing laboured. Every day she had more energy. She could have run for longer, but she apparently didn’t need to; her health improved by itself. Not only did her physical stamina develop, but her mind rarely tired, her hair grew fast and shone bright, and her complexion was pure.

  ‘What is wrong with me?’ she asked the gym mirror, marvelling at her sweat-free face.

  For a large slice of the day she read a trashy romance novel in bed. It was the only fiction she indulged in, finding escapism in the easy writing style, but in general she stuck to academic works and self-empowerment books. Time drifted by, the main character’s over-the-top problems offering a welcome distraction. But when Juliet reached the final page, the tied-up-in-a-neat-bow ending irritated her.

  Afterwards, she sorted through her wardrobes, filling one with favourite clothes and the other with items she rarely wore. Then she texted Austin, talking about anything and everything. Hobbies. Films. Foods. Drinks. Books. Holidays. Work. Education … The weather. His tastes were different from hers, but she was careful not to point that out. It was refreshing.

  After a while he stopped replying, apparently busy. A buzzing under Juliet’s skin made her tense up. I have nothing to do, she realised. With free time galore, negativity seeped into her life. She was ordinarily an optimist, or at least skilled at purging gloomy contemplation, but anxiety seemed to breed in free time and isolation.

  Her mind went back to the trashy novel. Can I forgive my parents and have a happy-book-ending relationship with them? Her skin answered, cringing vexedly at the thought of what they’d done.

  Tension set into her jaw as she pondered it all. More topics drew uncharacteristic bitterness, but instead of moping, she decided to put a smile on her face. A knock at her bedroom door snapped her to alertness.

  Lillian had returned home, prepared dinner, and now invited her granddaughter downstairs. Juliet ate in a hidden mood, making conversation and frequent jokes. Lies lies lies rolled around at the back of her mind.

  At one point, Lillian stopped eating and winced.

  ‘Are you okay, Gran?’

  ‘Yes, sweetheart. It’s just my joints aching … Blame it on the yoga.’ She laughed pleasantly. ‘My hip has been playing me up a little. Nothing to worry about.’

  ‘You should see a doctor.’ Lillian was generally sprightly, with only the natural caution for her age.

  ‘No, no, don’t you worry. It will be the yoga; I am getting old, you know.’

  Juliet gave a half smile, unconvinced. ‘If it gets worse, promise me you’ll have it checked out.’

  ‘Of course, sweetheart.’

  After dinner, Juliet bathed in silence, but soon switched on the sound system to fill the dreary nothingness. Then, in bed, she huffed, turned, puffed, and fidgeted.

  She was a jumble of contradiction: tension from constant worry, but then a mass of vitality and strength; her muscles locking up at the thought of Aldrich’s gored body, but then an eagerness for physical exertion; wanting control over her ability, but also wishing she had no psychic power at all; avoiding people and activities, but nagged by an active mind; wanting to forget Nicolas because of what Tommy did, but fondly recalling his brown-green eyes; trying not to get ahead of herself with Austin, but swiftly becoming attracted to him and the idea of a relationship … the closeness it could offer—something she’d never truly had.

  Eventually she fell asleep, frustrated. Although her neglected schedule didn’t reflect it, she at least had something to do tomorrow: visit the only living descendant of the Lansin Island Witches.

  ‘Juliet, come straight in,’ said the woman with orange hair. She stepped aside and pulled the cottage door wide open.

  ‘Hello, Tamara.’ Juliet walked in with her shoulders hunched up and her arms folded. Instantly she was too warm. She wore a long, thick coat almost every time she left the house now, zipped up and tightly buttoned. Although she occasionally received jealous glances from other women because of the blatant quality of the faux fur, she felt hidden wearing the coat in public. Or maybe even protected, as if the garment had its own forcefield.

  Tamara prepared a drink immediately. Juliet had attended enough appointments for the medium to know her preference: any fruit juice or plain water.

  After hanging up her coat, Juliet took a seat in the low-ceilinged living room. A fire was lit, as usual. Each time she visited, Juliet spotted more witchy paraphernalia she hadn’t noticed before: oils, wands, incense, herbs, crystals, and such. Tamara had never used these articles in front of her, which left Juliet wondering if they were purely for show, to please other clients.

  On her return, Tamara said, ‘I’m sorry I had to push our appointment so far back today.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. Thanks for still seeing me at this time.’ The session was meant to start late afternoon, b
ut earlier in the day, Tamara called Juliet and explained that one of her clients had an urgent matter. She asked to move their meeting into the evening. The witch had a flexible schedule to fit around her customers’ work patterns, but she’d already booked people in. Juliet ended up with a late slot: 8:00–9:00 p.m.

  The time wasn’t an issue, but it did mean Juliet had to get a taxi to Willow, rather than the public transport she’d ordinarily use. At first she’d felt bad about keeping the appointment, rather than making the suggestion to rearrange for another day, but she didn’t want to cancel. She needed to see Tamara.

  ‘So,’ Tamara began, ‘have you seen many spirits since our last meeting?’ She passed a clear glass filled with water to Juliet. The medium had on a full-length robe, the way she always seemed to dress, but today’s colour was mustard yellow. It clashed with her fiery hair less than most of her other robes did.

  ‘No, not many. I suppose I haven’t left the house enough, though.’ Ghosts rarely appeared in her home unless they wanted to contact her directly, or if a person the spirit knew was there.

  A couple of months back, an apparition of an elderly man had stumbled about the downstairs of Juliet’s house. Occasionally stressing, he murmured, ‘Cecilia, I-I-I can’t reach it. I shouldn’t be stretching with my back the way it is. No, no! Pffft! I’m useless? You climb up here and get the damn thing yourself … Didn’t think so!’ The spirit entered through the kitchen wall. Everything he brushed against or passed through glowed momentarily on touch. He ignored Juliet, but carried on staggering and mumbling until he cleared the length of the downstairs, and then exited through a wall in the lounge. The last thing Juliet heard him mutter was, ‘Fine, fine! But you’ll regret this, darling. If I fall. You’ll regret this.’

  That incident, and many others, still haunted Juliet.

  ‘You’ve not even felt a presence?’ asked Tamara.