A Body Displaced (Lansin Island 2)

by Andrew Butcher

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘That’s not what you told me. I thought you asked to see the manager.’

  ‘Well, yeah, you are the manager, aren’t you?’ He shook his head theatrically. ‘Look’—his tone turned heavy—‘what is this all about?’

  ‘How did you know my name?’

  ‘Juliet ...’

  ‘How?’

  The water boiled and bubbled in the kettle behind her. Louder. Louder.

  ‘I found your name in a directory when I was doing my research.’

  She went motionless. The lies hurt—and she was certain he was lying. ‘You told me you only noticed my café that day.’

  ‘Well I checked on my phone, then! I saw your café, I stood outside, and I searched for your details on my phone!’ He said it all as if he didn’t care whether she believed him or not. ‘What is the matter with you?’

  She began to edge towards the exit, but Austin slowly did so as well, until her path was blocked. A knife set was on the surface behind him, easily within his reach.

  Where’s my personal alarm? Juliet’s hands slapped over her pockets, feeling desperately for her keys. ‘Who are you?’

  Austin’s eyes scrutinised her, making her feel worthless ... or worth only whatever he decided.

  ‘Who are you?!’

  Sighing a massive sigh, Austin shook his head disapprovingly. ‘You really should have stopped asking questions.’

  The switch on the kettle flicked up—click—as Austin reached into a pocket in the inside of his jacket. What he revealed looked like a pruning saw, curved like a boomerang, and its handle was black rubber. Though, unlike most gardening saws, it was double-bladed, each blade deeply serrated and running parallel on the same side of the weapon.

  Juliet’s body locked. Aldrich. Tommy. Images of the ancient-looking knife sticking out of Aldrich’s chest blindsided her, leaping in front of her eyes. Quick. I have to be quick. She turned and grabbed the kettle, then launched it forwards over the granite-topped island. Water slung out, soaking the ceiling, the walls, the floor.

  Steam rose.

  Austin dodged the projectile. It crashed into a vase of fresh flowers, smashing the pot to pieces.

  After seeing the look on Austin’s face, Juliet darted out of the kitchen. She got into the hall that led to the downstairs living room and ran, not daring to look back. At an awkward corner she tried to turn, but Austin shoved her hard in the back. Air flew out of her chest as she struck the wall.

  She saw the double-bladed weapon rise in front of her. Austin’s intent beamed from his eyes. His chocolate-coloured eyes. Just in time, Juliet flung her head aside. The weapon that had been aimed at her face wedged into the wall behind her, impaling the empty schedule that hung there.

  Trying to yank the blades free with one hand, Austin used the other to grip her by the throat. He squeezed, making her eyes water, pinning her against the wall.

  Self-defence. Come on! What did I learn? … Her knee flew up to his groin, connected. The thud against his pubic bone was dull and sudden. He arched forward so fast that he head-butted her shoulder, but before his grip weakened he managed to throw her to the ground.

  By the time Juliet got up and peered towards the front door in hope, Austin had stumbled his way to the front of the house, having wrenched his weapon free. He stood clutching his groin, wincing, and brandished the double-bladed knife out to one side.

  Where did I leave them? Juliet’s personal alarm was attached to her set of keys, which would be in one of a few select places; being a neat freak, she always put objects in set locations, which meant she rarely misplaced them. With eyes glued to Austin, she edged backwards towards the kitchen. She pivoted and sprinted up the hall.

  No sounds followed her. She twisted to look over her shoulder, but Austin hadn’t pursued.

  The keys were in a small wicker dish she chucked commonly used items in, like jewellery, loose change, her mobile, or whatever she emptied from her pockets while at home.

  Her eyes flicked to the back door. She could escape through there. Jump the garden fence and run. For a split second she considered doing it …

  But this was her house. And she had the upper hand now.

  As she crept back towards the entrance of her home, a keenness coursed through her, like when she exercised. Where is this courage coming from? Her limbs yearned for the movement, craved the challenge. The headache she’d suffered a moment ago was completely gone, replaced by clear thoughts and clear intentions.

  Permanently self-actualising.

  Austin was in the same spot she’d left him, but his face was turned towards a window that showed the front garden. He jumped behind cover and waited by the hinges of the front door. Not understanding, Juliet frowned at him.

  He gave a triumphant smile.

  Jingling, rattling, and the front door slowly glided open, with Austin hidden behind it.

  Lillian came in cheerfully. ‘Oh, hello, sweetheart,’ she said, before noticing Juliet’s expression. Her features screwed up. ‘Are you—’

  She didn’t finish her sentence. It turned into a short yelp as Austin grabbed her from behind and put the weapon’s blades against her neck.

  ‘No!’ shrieked Juliet. The terror in her gran’s face was one of the worst things she’d ever seen: Lillian had gone pale and her eyes stretched open, desperately trying to look down at the object pressed against her throat. Austin guided her closer to the living room, using her like a shield.

  A twisted smirk creased his face.

  ‘You hurt her and I’ll set off this alarm.’ Juliet waved it at him. ‘The whole street will hear it!’

  At her threat, Austin’s nostrils flared and his teeth clenched. He glared. Juliet could see the indecision roll around his mind. For the most awful second of her life, she panicked that her threat wouldn’t work. The truth was she didn’t believe any of her neighbours would hear the alarm anyway. And if they did, she doubted they’d respond.

  ‘Fine! But you drop this!’ Austin commanded. ‘Don’t come looking for me.’ He drew back the knife so fast, Juliet feared he’d slashed her gran’s throat. But Lillian was okay. At least she was, until Austin shoved her. She stumbled, fell, and met the living room table with her hip. Juliet lurched instinctively to catch her, but was too far away to make it in time.

  ‘If you call the police, I’ll tell them what you’re guilty of!’ Austin shouted at Juliet. It was hard to hear him over Lillian’s wailing. ‘I’ll tell them about Aldrich!’ he yelled, then hurried out of the house.

  How does he know? Juliet pulled out her mobile and called for an ambulance. She had to momentarily leave her gran so she could talk in the hallway, where the emergency service would hear her over Lillian’s cries of agony.

  When she hung up, she rushed back. ‘Gran?’ her voice came out fragile. Lillian just kept crying. Then she vomited. Juliet didn’t want to move her gran and worsen the injury, but she was forced to smack her on the back when she began to choke on sick.

  Juliet half wanted to cry … but Gran, Gran... She waited by her, and waited, and waited.

  Austin can see spirits. Did Aldrich appear to him? No, Aldrich didn’t leave a ghost … I would have seen it after Tommy murdered him. He would have haunted me. She worried some more before she realised it was selfish to think of her problems right now. ‘They’ll be here soon, Gran,’ she mumbled.

  Lillian stared fixedly at nothing, as if not seeing. She didn’t stop wailing, and she threw up again and again, until the smell lined the inside of Juliet’s nose.

  Eventually the paramedics arrived.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  TO BE HONEST,’ Alice began, ‘I don’t even feel safe on this island anymore!’ She’d been yapping for ages about the car-bomb attack, and Nick had grown tired of it. She hadn’t even been there, but from the dramatic way she went on and on, anyone would think she’d had a front seat … or maybe that she’d narrowly escaped death. Watching her chin wag, Nick realised why she o
ften complained about her fluctuating baby fat; she did look a little plumper today than the last time he’d seen her, which wasn’t long ago at all.

  ‘Ah, sorry, I’ve just got to help this customer,’ said Nick, and scurried off to someone who’d just entered Creaky Crystals. Even though Alice was a customer herself, she was so regular he figured she’d overlook his rude ploy to get away from her.

  To be honest, he hated it when people started sentences with ‘To be honest’; it made him wonder if the speaker was ordinarily a liar. If they weren’t, then why did they need the short preamble? He’d never heard anyone begin a sentence with ‘To tell a lie’ or ‘To be dishonest.’

  ‘Hi, can I help you?’ he asked the woman who’d entered.

  She gave a startled look. ‘Erm, no … thank you.’ She scooted around him nervously, and approached the section stocked with candles and incense. Nick didn’t really care.

  Alice Bicker had moved onto Michael now, who had started his shift just before Alice came into the store. Nick hadn’t had a chance to talk to him about the black-haired man yet, but once Blabbermouth was done blabbering, he would ask about that day.

  A long, drawn-out sigh escaped him. He was becoming extremely restless about everything. Knowing Kerra was alive, but being no closer to finding her. Waiting for promising news from the police. Worrying about who might be targeting him, and why. Feeling awful for Kerra’s family because he couldn’t reassure them that Kerra wasn’t dead without looking guilty of the crime.

  The maypole dance had been two days ago, and when the police arrived they took short statements from everyone who was still waiting around. Nick had taken a chance to speak with Mora before the authorities showed up, asking her not to mention how he’d deflected the firework that had soared towards her. At first she seemed perplexed, but then Nick added, ‘I don’t want the extra attention.’

  Mora nodded back understandingly and rubbed his arm. ‘Of course,’ she said, then smiled mischievously. ‘My hero.’

  Nick had laughed, but soon after that, the scene turned very serious.

  The incident had been covered on the news that night, all yesterday, and was still the main topic today. It turned out the silver car had been reported stolen from a home in Etherby, the morning of May first. It was confirmed the fireworks used were the ones taken from the Fire Festival the day before. Suspicions were that the attack was meant to send a message of some sort, as it appeared to have been targeted at Pagans. Also, there was the theory it was connected to the body burnt at The Burning Grounds (even though that had happened half a year ago), but because there was no proof it hadn’t been a random attack, the incident hadn’t officially been labelled an act of terrorism.

  Tom was still staying at Michael’s house, but had called Nick that evening, knowing he’d attended the maypole dance. He wanted to know what had happened. Trying his best not to arouse suspicion, Nick told his brother that it appeared be a random attack, to which Tom replied, ‘It’s a bit weird that only the dance you were at was targeted. There were other maypole events across the park …’

  At first, Nick was irritated by Tom’s unsubtle hint that he knew more than he let on. That was until he realised, I do know more than I’m telling him. The shame hit him hard.

  Everything was becoming more complicated each day, different people knowing different fragments of the bigger picture; Fin knew about Nick’s ability, but nothing about Aldrich or Juliet; Nick’s family knew about Aldrich, but not about Nick’s ability, nor Juliet’s; Nick’s colleagues knew nothing; Kerra, wherever she was, knew nothing; only Nick and Juliet knew about the portal and the Otherworld; nobody but Nick knew about the curly-haired man and the man with black hair. And worse than all of that, nobody but him knew about the children who had been sent through the portal; well, most of them would be too old now to be classified as children, if they were even still alive.

  Just thinking of all the secrets he kept and lies he told gave him a tearing headache. One day he would have to sit everyone down and reveal everything … Yeah, I can see that going well.

  Yesterday he’d received a call from Detective Inspector Talwar. When he recognised the voice on the other end, his heart jolted, assuming it was an update on Kerra’s case. But Talwar said, ‘I see from a statement you provided that you were at the maypole dance yesterday, where the car-bombing took place.’

  ‘Okay,’ Nick responded cautiously.

  ‘I need you to come in for questioning, if you’ll oblige.’ Talwar’s tone made it obvious that Nick wasn’t being given a choice in the matter. So that’s how he ended up back in the interview room with the rubber floor and plain walls.

  Talwar asked a lot of questions and said it was suspicious Nick had been present at the maypole dance. ‘A sensitive man like yourself, grieving the absence of his girlfriend, wouldn’t attend such a merry event, would he?’ But when Nick explained his reasons for being there, the detective dropped the indirect accusations.

  During the interview, Nick recalled Tom’s words about detectives understanding body language. He wasn’t a complete stranger to reading little gestures and body movements himself. At school, even before his mum went missing, he’d been a bit of a wallflower. And back when he first dated Kerra, she’d lied to him so much he began to pick up on the subtle mannerisms that betrayed her actions, even when her words said otherwise.

  As he observed Talwar’s behaviour, he came to a realisation: The detective had grown more desperate than before.

  The detective asked question after question, and while he did, Nick considered what would happen if Talwar’s hunger for solving the case became more unhealthy than it already seemed to be.

  The interview ended with Detective Talwar reluctantly thanking Nick for his time. Nick asked, ‘Have you discovered anything more about Kerra?’

  ‘We are following a few leads and will update you when we know more.’ The detective showed his unprofessional side once more. ‘And Mr Crystan … I don’t want to have to drag you in for questioning again.’

  ‘You didn’t drag me in,’ said Nick. ‘I came voluntarily.’

  For the rest of yesterday, he spent the evening with Fin, telling him about the events of the last couple of days. After Fin left, he rang Tom again, and then plodded off to the snug to mull over his troubles.

  Mora rang his mobile, interrupting his thoughts, to thank him for ‘saving’ her and to say she felt awful about the maypole dance. She apologised for pressuring him to attend the celebration in the first place. Nick reassured her with, ‘I’m just glad you’re okay. And don’t worry, I wanted to come along.’

  He had stayed awake a long time last night.

  This morning, he’d had to rush to get ready for work. With so much going on, he forgot to set his alarm the evening before. The rushing wasn’t terrible in itself—he often procrastinated to the point of last-minute arrivals to everything—but this morning he noticed something off. Just before leaving, he found himself staring at a drawer in his room. It was slightly open, not how he’d left it. He quickly peeked inside and got the vague sense that something was missing, but there was no time to figure out what.

  And now here he was at Creaky Crystals, enduring a slow workday. He waited and waited for Alice to stop talking to Michael, impatiently bouncing one leg on the spot. It was becoming silly now.

  To fill the time, he removed geodes from the glass cabinet they were on, dusted the shelves, and then carefully placed the sliced rocks back. He looked at the price stickers, and although he already knew the amounts, they perpetually gobsmacked him. Creaky Crystals would be fairly quiet now, up until Halloween. Nick assumed that if it wasn’t for the extortionate prices the customers were willing to pay, the Pagan shops in Amiton couldn’t afford to stay open all year round. Although Mora did discount her items to compete with the stores in the upper grounds; if she didn’t, then shoppers would have little reason to come down to The Fallend—they could stay up the top where the stores in general were cla
ssier and conveniently huddled together.

  ‘Bye, Michael!’ Alice suddenly chirped. As a goodbye to Nick, she scrunched up her face and gave a smile too extraordinary to be authentic.

  A dopey laugh rumbled out of Michael. ‘Thanks a lot for dumping her on me, Nick.’

  ‘Sorry. There’s only so much of Alice I can handle.’

  Michael laughed some more. ‘She’s not so bad.’

  Nick smiled, shrugged, then asked, ‘Do you remember you told me a pale guy with black hair came in to see me?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Michael frowned briefly at the swift change of topic. ‘A while ago now.’

  ‘What did he say to you? Because nobody has got in touch with me since …’

  ‘Same as what I told you before. He didn’t seem to know you well. Couldn’t remember your full name. So I spelt it out for him, and he said he’d find you online or something. Then he left.’

  ‘Oh. Have you not seen him since?’

  Michael shook his head, more expressively than he usually would. ‘It’s not got anything to do with Kerra, has it?’ His face became serious; his arms tensed slightly.

  Eyebrows lifting, Nick went to speak, but his words got stuck in his throat. Maybe Michael wasn’t so simple after all. ‘No. I don’t think so,’ he lied. ‘I probably do know him from somewhere …’

  Michael’s stance softened. ‘Alright.’ After a sigh, he added, ‘I hope you find out something soon, mate. Kerra’s a nice girl.’

  An appreciative smile was all Nick could give. Michael had to hurry off and put through a transaction for a customer, but he returned afterwards.

  ‘Is Mora still on the phone?’ asked Nick. He’d seen her rush out the back to answer the ringing roughly ten minutes ago.

  ‘Yeah. Think so.’

  ‘How are things at college? Is Tommy still giving you grief?’

  ‘I haven’t seen him for a few days now.’ Michael drew the corners of his lips down and raised his shoulders just to drop them, his movements as lazy as his slurred speech. ‘Did you go around your dad’s to chat with him?’