A Body Displaced (Lansin Island 2)

by Andrew Butcher

  Looking around, Nick was interested to see the variety of people and the contrast between those who’d made a big effort, like painting their faces green and making their own costumes, and those who either weren’t religious or had made a more subtle effort, like Mora had.

  Nick was expecting to stand out in his dull clothes, like a pigeon among peacocks, but he felt comfortably invisible.

  Staying close to his manager, he helped to erect the stage where the coven planned to perform a show after the dance. When all the setting up was done, The Ritual Leader, dressed as the May Queen, was suddenly picked up by a man costumed as the Green Man. He took her to the maypole and lifted her while she stretched to put a garland over the head of the trunk. Not hard to guess what that symbolises … thought Nick, being a bit of a prude, as the crowd cheered and clapped.

  Soon after, all the ribbons were taken up by men, women, adults, and children. The Ritual Leader, now back on her feet, gave a countdown. Then the music began.

  It sounded like a lower school music class led by a teacher clapping the beat. Pipes shrilled, tambourines jingled, and drums were hit in a developing rhythm. Nick avoided the instruments when they were handed out, and now stood back watching the event.

  The last time he’d attended a maypole dance was at lower school, and he’d joined in, merrily weaving his ribbon under and over his friends’ colourful threads. But at that age he hadn’t realised the giant pole he skipped around was a phallic symbol.

  Clapping. Cheering. Wooing. Laughing. It went on and on. Nick watched the spectacle, fascinated. It looked like a rainbow that had been torn apart and was now being pulled back together, remade with a new pattern. The crowd urged the dancers on, some of them recording the festival on their mobile phones, gently swaying to the improvised music.

  With his eyes resting on the show, Nick began to feel entranced. It was hypnotic, like the state that brought on his premonitions ... the tree growing out of him, roots and branches entwining with the world.

  Seeing the ribbons coming together, mixing their colours and becoming part of a whole, relaxed him until he felt isolated yet connected, as if he could see beyond his present location, see anything he wanted, in any place or any time—if only he could effectively direct his consciousness.

  His eyelids gradually slipped down.

  There was screaming and commotion. Bodies jostled past. They rushed. Towards something? Away from something? He heard Mora. ‘Quickly, Nicolas!’ Her voice was breathy, panicked.

  A smell occupied the air. Gunpowder. And the taste of smoke ran into Nick’s mouth, irritating his throat, drying out his tongue. He coughed as it itched his eyes and squinted to see Mora. Something glinted below him, a silver food tray, upside down on the ground.

  Pop! From behind came crackling, sudden bangs, squealing. Pop-pop! Peee-yewww!

  Turning to find Mora, he saw something shoot towards her. It struck her in the ribs, and a flash of blood splattered out. The missile rebounded and flew off to one side, before exploding in a deafening cloud of colours and sparkles.

  Nick ran to his manager, her cries as loud as the ringing in his ears. He saw her clutching an open wound on her side. Blood trickled to the ground, the red at contrast with the green grass.

  She was alive, but badly injured, and something buzzed in Nick’s mind ... I have to get her up, we have to get away... but he didn’t know what he was eager to distance himself from.

  He twisted to see more, to figure it out, but all he saw was smoke and flashes of light.

  He sucked in air. A vision? The music went on. The dancers were almost finished now, so close to the pole that they tripped over one another as they weaved their ribbons lower and lower.

  The May Queen stopped and inspected the rainbow-coloured tree trunk, then threw her arms up with an excited squeal. A declaration that it was done. Everybody cheered, some dancing in joy, while the ones with drums gave an exaggerated drumroll.

  Nick saw Mora smiling; a sense of dread made him queasy. His manager came over and stood by his side while the group of Pagans stood around the pole, reaching to touch it, worship it.

  As he watched, a seagull appeared in the sky, camouflaged at first by the murky clouds, and flew down to land on top of the maypole. It tilted its head, trained one of its yellow-rimmed black eyes on him, then squawked. Before it took off, it screeched some more and flapped its wings manically.

  What is it doing?

  He looked around, wondering what had spooked the bird. Then he spotted it. Speeding across the park was a silver car, tearing up the grass. The crowd hadn’t noticed it because of all the cheering and celebrating, but it headed straight for them.

  ‘Move!’ Nick shouted, waving his arms for attention. Hardly anybody heard him.

  Mora grabbed his elbow. ‘Nicolas, what’s the matter?’

  People nearby gave looks as if he were wrecking the fun, but when he pointed towards the car, they began to panic. One woman shrieked. A few men started shouting things like, ‘Quick! Get out the way!’

  The throng of Pagans near the maypole flicked their heads about confusedly, then scattered and ran as they figured out the situation.

  Mora … Keep an eye on Mora, thought Nick, but already he’d become separated from her. People shoved past. The roar of the vehicle grew louder.

  With a loud crack, the car ploughed through a table the coven had set up as a small buffet. Food flew everywhere. Oatcakes splayed out, cookies showered down, and a silver tray was flung through the air before landing by Nick.

  This is it. He watched the car, noticing the back of it was stuffed with items, though he couldn’t tell what. It slowed down a little just before crashing into the maypole. The trunk snapped instantly and thwacked against the earth. The car came to a stop.

  There was a man dressed all in black inside the vehicle, and he leaned towards the backseats. Nick could see an orange flicker, glowing brighter, going out, then brightening again and again. Then he realised what the car was stuffed with: fireworks.

  ‘Quickly, Nicolas!’ Mora’s voice trembled at a distance.

  The man in black tumbled out of the vehicle. As he tried to run, there was a boom. Fire leapt up his sleeve. He batted at his arm while he hurried away. Even as he darted off he kept turning back, seemingly to observe Nick. But his face was covered in a balaclava. Some men who’d been involved in the maypole dance tried out their bravery, attempting to apprehend the man in black, but they were too slow and were taken off guard by mini explosions.

  Gunpowder tinged the air—Pop!—smoke frothed out of the glowing car—Pop-pop!—and Nick recognised the moment. Peee-yewww! Turning to find Mora, he scooped up the metal tray and dashed towards her.

  Hearing the firework take off, knowing he wouldn’t reach his manager in time, he stretched the tray out. The missile smashed into it, throwing the tray from his hand, then careened off and exploded at least twenty metres away. Mora stood frozen. The expression on her face revealed that her life had flashed before her eyes.

  The explosions left Nick’s ears ringing. He hurried over to Mora, grabbed her arm, and urged her towards safety. They ran a long way together, and Nick tried to look back to see the man in black, but all he saw was smoke crawling across the park.

  Mora shouted the name of the Ritual Leader, and after a while Nick found himself in a group consisting of the coven and other Pagans who’d attended the dance. As far as he could tell, no one was missing or had been injured. Janet Morgan was with her husband, and together they held their kids close. Both had thankful gleams in their eyes.

  Other people had already taken the initiative to call the police. As Nick waited, he panicked over interfering with what he’d foreseen. The last time he had done that, Juliet ended up displaced, and then a few days later a woman fell to her death exactly where Juliet was meant to hit the ground. Nick still didn’t know why that had happened; Juliet had spoken with the ghost of this woman and was going to tell him about it, but she hadn’t got
ten the chance.

  Does Mora have a fate? Did I change it? In the vision, Mora had only been injured, not killed. So with any luck she hadn’t become displaced. Will there be other side effects?

  The question that really played on Nick, though, wasn’t related to the premonition at all. After everything that had happened, and now this, he began to wonder, Was this a targeted attack?

  Then, in the distance, the car itself exploded. The ground shook.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  AUSTIN. SHE NEEDED to talk to him. The discrepancy between his version of events and Roy’s had grown its own life inside her head. As much as she tried to put faith in him and wanted to believe he hadn’t lied, her doubts were expanding.

  Any minute now he’d arrive. Better to talk sooner than later.

  He’d already warned her he couldn’t stay long, because he had to continue his research. He would only pop by for a chat and to see her. Hopefully, all Juliet needed was a short talk to get to the bottom of it. But she didn’t want to slap the subject in his face; she would have to ease into it, after they said their hellos.

  A flutter began in her stomach as she imagined kissing him—something to look forward to after her stressful morning.

  Lillian had woken in pain again. Even though she’d promised to seek help this time, it still took some convincing to make her book an appointment with the surgery. The only available slots were in the afternoon, and so that’s where she was now. Juliet had wanted to go with her gran, but Lillian said, ‘No, sweetheart, don’t you worry yourself. I’ll ask Susan along. Being an oldie like me, she’ll understand whatever the problem is, and I won’t be so embarrassed.’ She laughed warmly. ‘Oh! But don’t tell Susan I called her an oldie.’ In her genuine way, she had hooted some more.

  As guilty as Juliet felt, she also felt some relief at having the house to herself. It wasn’t like she wanted her gran to move out. She didn’t. But when she was alone at home, she was in control of how everything was maintained; her mental checklist of tasks stayed the same until she completed a chore herself. She wouldn’t go to do the ironing, only to find it had already been done, and then have to unexpectedly (and frustratingly) adjust her mental checklist and try to pick an alternative way to be productive with that time.

  To her annoyance, she hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to Sandra during her week back at work. Sandra had called in sick every day, ruining her previously perfect attendance record. But because it would have been unprofessional to discuss the matter over the phone, Juliet planned on waiting for her employee’s return. She found it odd, though, that Sandra had fallen sick on what was meant to be her first day back with Juliet.

  To pass the time, Juliet went about cleaning the house. Even though Lillian kept everything spotless, Juliet ruthlessly inspected and attacked every nook and cranny. She began to feel more like her usual self again; the argument with her mother had forced a new resolve in her. Before, she’d hoped there would be an explanation for their actions. Some big reason for why she was lied to. But now they’d blown their chance. It had been easy to deny her parents’ lack of interest in her life while they were in Spain and she was busy-busy-busy in Chanton.

  If her parents wanted inclusion in her life now, then they would need to change their ways. Juliet nodded to the clock she’d picked up, intending to wipe the underneath of it, as if it had made the suggestion and she was simply agreeing.

  When Austin arrived, he looked so handsome that Juliet almost forgot her concerns. She had an urge to touch his unruly black hair.

  ‘Well, hello, gorgeous,’ said Austin, in a comically sultry voice.

  To hide her blush, Juliet kissed him. ‘Hello, handsome.’ She tried to play along … but it felt odd. ‘I know you’ve not got much time, so let’s just talk in the kitchen.’

  ‘Fine by me.’

  Juliet led the way. One half of the kitchen had black granite worktops, cream cabinets, and an island in the middle, all proudly supported by a floor tiled in natural stone. The other half was a dining area with a long rectangular table, a wine rack that covered half a wall, and a brown sofa placed casually in the corner. The window by the sink looked out onto the decking, the hot tub, and the seemingly interminable garden. Natural light flooded in.

  Juliet moved close to Austin. She kissed him again, feeling optimistic. It must just be a misunderstanding. As she pulled away, she put a hand on his forearm. He recoiled and sucked in a breath through his full lips, which had tightened up.

  ‘Are you hurt?’

  ‘Huh?’ He looked down at his wrist. ‘No, I just—’

  ‘Show me.’ She grabbed his hand and pulled back the sleeve. A bandage covered most of his arm, and bright red skin surrounded it. ‘You have hurt yourself. It looks like a burn ...’

  Austin’s expression was anxious. Excuses seemed to skitter around behind his eyes as he mentally evaluated their believability.

  What’s he trying to hide? And why? Then Juliet recalled a story she’d seen on the news that morning. ‘The explosion at that maypole dance … Were you there?’

  Austin’s flittering excuses must have been weak, because he shrugged and said, ‘Yeah ... I thought I’d check it out ... and, you know, when all the drama went down, I tried to put the fire out. Like, with everyth—’

  ‘You told me you’d be in Birmingham.’ She stepped away from him. ‘Seeing your sister.’

  ‘She cancelled on me.’

  ‘Right,’ she said noncommittally, and locked her eyes on him. ‘But why didn’t you tell me that? And why didn’t you talk to me about the maypole dance? I would have gone with you if you’d wanted.’

  ‘Errh, I don’t know.’ He laughed. ‘I didn’t think you were into all that stuff, you know?’

  Juliet didn’t buy that for a second. She gave him a look that could only be read as: ‘Here’s your chance to tell the truth.’

  ‘Alright,’ he whined, as if she’d been badgering him for years. ‘I need to talk to you anyway … I suppose it’s about time I told you.’

  That was not a good line. ‘Told me what?’ She straightened her back.

  ‘You’ve been feeling different lately, yeah? Like, full of energy ... and you’ve been looking better and better, feeling healthier and healthier. Haven’t you?’

  How does he know this? A frown took over her face. ‘Why?’ The sensation coming over her felt like someone slowly covering her head, suffocating her. All this time, Austin had hidden that he’d known this. He’d known her biggest secret. But she couldn’t jump to conclusions just yet and assume his intentions were bad. Not after her affection for him had grown ... and his for her? ‘Do you know what’s happening to me?’

  ‘Same thing that’s happening to me.’ His tone perked up. ‘You’re soulless … So am I.’

  Having experienced what she had, she automatically believed him. How would Austin have known what she was going through otherwise?

  Spontaneously, she moved towards him. ‘How? How did you become soulless?’ Then she remembered caution, stopped, and regained her distance, careful to make it appear casual. And how did you find out about me? was the question she didn’t yet dare to ask aloud.

  ‘A sort of near-death experience …’ Austin said unconvincingly. ‘I don’t really want to talk about it. You know? It wasn’t nice.’

  ‘Okay, sure.’ She thought over the best way to handle the conversation. There were things she needed to know, and accusing him of lying would stop her from discovering them. ‘But what is actually happening to me? Why do I feel healthier? Why do I seem to heal faster?’

  He smiled in a mischievous, inclusive way, as if they were in a secret club together and discussing classified information. ‘You haven’t figured it out, have you? We are immortal. We’re permanently self-actualising.’

  The laugh that burst out of her was like one of Austin’s: sudden, uncontrolled. But as crazy as Austin’s words sounded, something in them rang true. Whenever Juliet saw her reflection now, she t
hought she appeared younger than a year ago. Was that because of her improving health? If it was constantly getting better, then could she ever become ill? Could she age?

  ‘Immortal?’ She huffed weakly.

  ‘Yeah. Souls are what age people. The soul wants to move on to its next existence, so it kind of pulls on the person, ageing them. So when they die, the soul is released and is free to go on to its next experience.’ He shrugged. ‘But we don’t have souls. We are pure life. And life is always self-actualising.’

  This was a ‘Tamara moment.’ Just like when the witch had explained why Juliet could see ghosts, this explanation was hard to swallow. Very hard. ‘I think I need a moment.’ She walked around the kitchen’s island, then rested against the worktop on the opposite side of the room.

  The kettle was in her periphery and reminded her that Lillian would hopefully be back from the surgery soon. She switched it on, boiling the water for her gran’s return. She almost began shuffling items about, tidying for the sake of it, but realised what she was doing. Avoiding the problem at hand. ‘So do you ...?’

  ‘See ghosts? Yeah.’

  She stared at him, astonished. ‘Can you control it? Have you learnt to block them out?’

  Austin guffawed. ‘I’ve learnt to do a lot more than that. You don’t know half the things you can do with your power.’

  I’m not sure I want to know.

  The expression on Austin’s face was disconcerting. An eerie hunger filled his eyes, a voracious glint that looked ruthless. He went on to say, ‘You know we can summon them, right? We can force them to come to us.’ Holding his hands out to his sides, he added, ‘How cool is that?’

  Alarm bells started clanging in Juliet’s head; her focus slipped, and an ache seeped from behind her eyes to every part of her skull. She hadn’t experienced a headache in months, but this back and forth of Who is he? What does he want with me? and Why don’t you trust him? Just give him a chance! was tearing her mind in two.

  ‘I spoke with Roy the other day, from the café,’ she began. Now was the time. ‘He said when you came into Chanton Hillview, you asked for me by my full name.’