by James Dawson
‘Are you crying on me?’ His voice sounded like he was smiling, teasing her.
Pulling away from him, she wiped her eye. ‘No. It’s just my eye leaking. Sorry. Not massively constructive, I know. I just don’t want this to go away.’
Caine stroked her back, strumming her with his thumb like a harp. ‘Yeah. I know.’
Bobbie took his hands. She didn’t know why, but she voiced one of her greatest fears. ‘You don’t think I’m weird, do you?’
This time he did look at her. ‘Only in a good way.’
Another tear threatened to make an appearance. She held it back. This was a good thing. If she was taken by restless spirits she could at least say she’d died having met someone who got her. That was pretty cool. ‘Do you want some breakfast?’ she asked. ‘I could smuggle us some up.’
‘Yeah. That’d be good. Can you pass some water?’
‘Sure.’ Their glasses from last night were arranged on the desk. ‘Which one was yours?’
‘The taller one.’ She handed him the glass, still half full with water from the evening before.
‘Thanks.’
Bobbie looked around the room for some clothes she could throw on to fetch breakfast. The shyness was back – she both did and didn’t want to strip in front of Caine.
‘Whoa!’ Caine’s cry came about a second before the glass shattered on the threadbare carpet.
‘Wh—’
‘She was in the cup.’ Caine pulled his legs off the floor.
‘What?’
‘I could see her in the water. Look!’
Bobbie looked at the puddle spreading across the floor. The carpet was so thin it was hardly absorbent and the water advanced in a black circle. For a moment, Bobbie saw only herself in the puddle, but another face appeared from behind her, as if she was right behind her. Bobbie screamed and threw herself back, colliding with the wardrobe.
Then something else happened.
The tip of a dead, blue-white finger emerged from the puddle: from reflection to reality. Bobbie screamed again. This was it, she was coming for them.
Unable to take her eyes off the corpse fingers, she didn’t see Caine grab hold of her duvet, but a second later it landed on the wet patch, the fabric soaking up the water in an instant. Bobbie sprang to action, dabbing at the damp. She pulled back the bedding. The puddle, and the ghostly fingers, were gone.
She looked up at Caine. No words necessary. It was game over. She was on her way. ‘She doesn’t even need a mirror any more. She’s strong enough to come through any reflection.’
Caine’s head fell into his hands, only for him to spring upright at once. ‘What about Naya?’
Bobbie frowned and then something that felt like an anvil crashed to the pit of her stomach. ‘Oh God! The bath!’
They both sprinted into Brontë House, Bobbie not caring who saw them any more. It didn’t even cross her mind how much trouble she could be in if Caine was caught. Nothing else mattered but this.
‘Where’s this bathroom?’ Caine shouted, a couple of steps ahead of her. The doors of Brontë were a blur as they careered past.
‘Next floor up! End of Dickinson.’
‘Where?’
‘Follow me!’ Bobbie took the lead and headed for the main staircase. By now they’d made enough of a commotion that some left-behind girls poked their heads out of a door in Austen House.
Bobbie was moving too fast to see who they were, but she definitely heard one of them say, ‘Oh my God! A BOY!’ A few days ago, that would have been her amongst the scandalised masses.
She took the stairs two at a time, with Caine right on her heels. Not Naya … please not Naya. Her throat was so dry and tight it was painful. They reached the landing between Christie and Dickinson. ‘Naya!’ Bobbie screamed. She tugged on the double doors into Dickinson, her socks skidding across the cool, tiled floors.
The prefects’ bathroom was next to the main Dickinson bathroom, and was the only actual bathtub pupils got to use. The perk was pretty much the only reason to become a prefect. Bobbie fell into the door and tugged on the handle. It was locked. ‘Naya!’ Bobbie hammered on the wood.
‘Bob? What’s up? I’m okay, the bump went down.’ Naya’s voice came from within. Bobbie heard the sound of water sloshing as Naya sat up in the tub.
‘Naya, get out of the bath!’
‘What? Why? Are you desperate for a pee or –’ The sentence was cut short.
Bobbie pressed her ear to the door. ‘Naya?’
Caine banged on the door. ‘Naya, get out! It’s not a joke.’
‘Naya!’ Bobbie tugged and shook the door handle. Not being a prefect she’d only peeked inside the room once or twice and couldn’t remember what type of lock it was. She threw all her weight behind it, but the thing wouldn’t budge. ‘No!’ she wailed. She couldn’t lose her best friend; life without her didn’t stand thinking about. Naya’s unconditional friendship was one more thing she’d taken for granted. ‘Caine,’ she pleaded. ‘Do something!’ No no no no no no no.
He rammed the door with his shoulder, prompting more doors to open in Dickinson House. The door dented, but didn’t burst open.
There was a mighty splash and a gasp from within, as if Naya had breached the surface, struggling for air. ‘Bobbie!’ came her gurgled plea. Someone was pulling her under.
Bobbie fell to her knees, struggling to breathe through her tears. There was a minute gap between the handle and the door frame. A sliver of light shone through. With one eye shut, Bobbie peered through the crack.
Steam filled the room. A tatty opaque curtain hung out of the chipped enamel tub. The room was still and silent, with no suggestion of the struggle she’d just heard. ‘Naya?’ she whispered. Her friend was gone.
Silence. Only a steady drip, drip, drip.
From within the bath, fingers curled over the rim of the tub. Clammy, grey, dead fingers. Fingernails like slate. Blood-tinged pink water dribbled down the enamel all the way to the floor. A soaked head of black hair emerged.
Mary hauled herself out of the bath.
Chapter 23
Isolation
Bobbie sprang away from the door, crashing into Caine. She tumbled backwards onto her bottom, taking him down with her. ‘She’s coming!’ The words tore from her throat.
‘What?’
She scrabbled around to face him. ‘Mary! She’s in there! She took Naya!’
The double doors at the end of the corridor smashed open, a gust of wind wafting into the hallway. ‘Just what on earth is going on here?’ Mrs Craddock clomped down the hall, carrying a slice of half-eaten toast. ‘Roberta Rowe! Exactly what do you think you’re doing?’
Bobbie stumbled to her feet and spun to meet her, getting a mouthful of hair in the process. ‘Mrs Craddock, you have to help us. She’s got Naya.’
Confusion creased the old woman’s face. ‘What? What are you on about?’
Tugging at her sleeve, Bobbie dragged her away from the bathroom door. ‘Mary. Mary Worthington. She took Sadie and now she’s after us too.’
Mrs Craddock’s expression changed from one of annoyance to one of worry. ‘Bobbie, dear, you need to calm down. Are you okay? And who is this young man?’
Caine stepped into the breach. Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead. ‘She’s telling the truth. There’s a ghost in there.’ He pointed at the door with a shaking finger.
And the annoyance was back. ‘Oh for crying out loud! Stop this nonsense at once! Where’s Naya?’
‘Stop asking questions!’ Bobbie snapped. ‘There isn’t time!’
‘That is NOT how we speak to members of staff.’ The thin, angular silhouette of Dr Price stood in the door frame. Arms folded, lips pursed. ‘Roberta, you have precisely one minute to explain why there is a boy in Piper’s Hall and why you are screaming up and down the corridors at eight in the morning.’ Her voice was as flatline as ever.
Bobbie couldn’t hold it back any longer. Losing Naya had punched a hole
in the dam and now the torrent of emotion she’d been holding back gushed through. ‘Dr Price. Please, please help us. You have to. You have to help us.’ Her nose was running. She didn’t care.
‘Bobbie, stop this now. Pull yourself together.’
‘But she took Naya. She took Sadie.’
‘Who on earth are you talking about?’
‘Mary Worthington.’ Bobbie had to stop herself from screaming the name, and then, ‘Bloody Mary!’
The Head rolled her eyes, a brittle smile on her lips. ‘Oh for God’s sake, Roberta, I haven’t got time for silly stories.’
‘You have to believe us,’ Caine barked.
Price hit him with a blast of arctic frostiness, regarding him with thinly disguised disgust. ‘You are trespassing. I don’t want a word out of you.’
Bobbie clung wildly to her headmistress, all self-control gone. ‘It’s true! Five days ago we said her name in front of a mirror. On the fifth day she comes for you. She’s in there now! She took Naya!’ The awful truth sunk in. If there had been anything in her she would have thrown up; as it was her stomach just heaved painfully. ‘She took Naya.’
Price pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. ‘Just when you think you’ve heard every excuse in the book. I mean this really takes the cake, Bobbie.’ Her heels tapped across the tiles as she approached the prefects’ bathroom.
‘No! Don’t open the door! Mary’s in there!’
‘It’s locked from the inside,’ Caine reminded her.
Dr Price rapped on the wood. ‘Naya Sanchez? Are you in there? This is Dr Price, let me in immediately.’ There was no reply. Price reached for the handle.
‘No!’ Bobbie screamed.
Dr Price turned the knob and, without any resistance, the door popped open, steam rolling into the corridor. ‘It isn’t even locked.’
‘What? No way.’ Caine frowned. ‘I swear it was … ’
‘I thought I said I didn’t want a word?’ Price stepped into the room. Bobbie forced herself to look. Mary, of course, was gone. She wondered if Mary physically couldn’t manifest to those who hadn’t invoked her. That would go some way to explaining why Kellie and Lottie hadn’t been disturbed the night Sadie vanished. She wiped her wet face. For now, they were safe. The bathwater still swayed up and down the tub, settling. ‘Roberta, what is going on?’
‘I already told you,’ she said, feeling stronger.
‘Where’s Naya?’
It was too late. They were too late. Naya was gone. It didn’t seem possible. How could anything as important as Naya vanish with so little ceremony? Sadness flooded her. She wasn’t sure what Naya’s future would have held, but anything she did would have been spectacular. Bobbie’s vision blurred. ‘Mary took her,’ she whispered. ‘She’s going to take us too.’
A small congregation of left-behind girls had gathered to see what the commotion was. They twittered like bitchy sparrows, whispering in each other’s ears. Bobbie was too wound up to care that Grace and Caitlin were amongst the onlookers.
‘That’s enough!’ Price raised her voice for the first time. ‘This is serious. Roberta Rowe, where is Naya?’
‘I told you! Mary took her!’ Bobbie’s voice grew shriller and louder.
Dr Price arched an eyebrow. ‘Okay, that’s your final warning. I will not be spoken to like that. Where. Is. Naya?’
Bobbie felt like a rubber band, being stretched to her very limit. And then she snapped. ‘What’s the point? You won’t believe us! I am telling the truth – Mary killed Naya and now we’re – me and Caine – we’re going to die too and if you don’t listen to us, it’ll be all your fault!’ She turned to their small audience. ‘Grace! Grace, you were there with us! Tell her what we did – tell her about the dare!’
Grace paused before holding her empty hands up. An almost undetectable smirk flickered on her lips. ‘Dr Price, I have no idea what she’s talking about.’
‘You bitch!’ Bobbie shrieked.
‘She’s lying!’ Caine added.
Dr Price put herself between Bobbie and Grace. ‘Enough! We’ll talk again when you can behave like a Piper’s Hall Lady.’ She looked for assistance. ‘Mrs Craddock, Grace, would you help me escort Miss Rowe to the Isolation Room?’
‘Of course.’ Grace could not have been more eager to help.
‘You can’t put me in there!’ Bobbie backed away, further inside Dickinson House, but Grace and Craddock came to her side. ‘I won’t be able to get away if she … ’
‘Don’t touch her.’ Caine stepped into Grace’s path, but she didn’t seem fazed by his height in the slightest and batted him away like a fly.
Price took Caine by the arm and guided him towards the door. He yanked his arm away. ‘If you’re not off my school premises in the next two minutes I’m calling the police. Is that clear?’
‘You can’t!’
‘Try me.’ Dr Price led the way onto the main stairwell. ‘Roberta, you will calm down in the Isolation Room until you can speak to me maturely. Is that understood?’
Grace and Craddock started to drag her towards the stairs. ‘Please … no! Please don’t put me in there!’
‘I’m not giving you a choice in the matter.’
The Isolation Room was little more than a store cupboard next to the Infirmary on the ground floor. Caine had been hustled out of the main entrance and the door slammed in his face. Bobbie could still hear him pounding on the wood as she was led towards the cell. ‘Please!’ she begged. ‘Don’t leave me alone!’
‘You need to calm yourself,’ Dr Price repeated, leading the way.
‘If you leave me alone she’ll get me!’
‘Perhaps we should call Dr Robinson?’ Mrs Craddock suggested.
‘Let’s see. If she doesn’t stop ranting and raving we might have to see about getting her sedated.’
Bobbie stopped struggling at once. If she was sedated there was no way she’d be able to fight when Mary came for her. ‘Please. Just … can someone watch me?’
Dr Price regarded her with something like pity. ‘I assure you we’ll be watching.’ She entered the Isolation Room and held the door wide. ‘Now in you come. Take off your glasses please. Clearly you’ve been hurting yourself.’
In the chaos, she’d forgotten her face was covered in scars. Resigned, Bobbie handed her glasses over and was immediately disoriented. Grace took unnecessary relish in pushing her into the boxy room. It was a narrow cuboid with only two high, thin slit windows at the top of the far wall. Underneath them there was a single hospital cot bed, no blankets. ‘In.’ Dr Price said.
Bobbie shuffled further into the room. On a bright day, it would be dank. On a dank day it was oppressively dark.
‘I’ll be back to check on you in an hour.’ She turned to Mrs Craddock. ‘We need to look for Naya. If she’s missing we need the police here ASAP.’
The door closed, sealing her in the concrete box. Bobbie wasn’t great with small spaces – even lifts made her feel claustrophobic and, as the lock crunched in the door, this felt worse. The police, she thought, good luck with that. They wouldn’t find Naya. No one would. She was gone.
At the thought of Naya, an acute ache flared up in Bobbie’s sternum. She bit her tongue to hold back a scream.
She crumpled onto the bed, the springs resisting with a cranky screech. Closing her eyes, Bobbie focused on long, deep breaths – exactly what her mum would tell her to do if she were here. It brought scant comfort. Caine was out there, all alone, in a world full of mirrors. Not just mirrors any more, anything that held a reflection. He was as good as dead. Scanning the room, the only positive thing about her cell was that there was nothing reflective at all.
That meant she was the only one left: Sadie, Naya, Caine any second now, and she was in captivity. They were beaten. Bobbie had never felt so useless. All she could do was wait.
The one thing she had in the dungeon was thinking time. As much as she tried to keep Naya memories out of her head, she couldn’t: the par
ty they went to in costume as Bellatrix and Dobby; Naya groping the bare bottoms of statues at the British Museum before being escorted off the premises by a security guard; the ‘anonymous’ Valentine Naya sent her every year without fail. Bobbie was going to miss her so much. She stifled a resigned chuckle; there was some comfort in knowing she’d only feel this hollow in her heart for a maximum of twelve hours. Who knew, perhaps they’d all be reunited.
She thought about Caine too. Caine had done a real fairy-tale number on her: he’d woken her up with a kiss. She’d lived more in five days than she had in sixteen years. Now he was gone and she wanted him like she’d never wanted anything else (including the vintage typewriter she’d begged for when she’d been twelve).
In the Isolation Room she had no way of knowing how much time had passed. She was still in her pyjamas with no watch and no phone. Outside she heard the waves crashing into the cliffs and the steady patter of rain on the quad. A gutter or something must have been leaking too, because a continuous drip splattered to the pathway outside of her window.
No … wait. Of course, she thought. Mary … dripping onto the tiles in the hall; the shower room; the prefects’ bathroom. She’d been hearing that drip all week … just out of earshot. It had now reached fever pitch.
Bobbie remained on the bed, until her legs and buttocks became so numb she resorted to pacing to keep the circulation flowing – not that there was much room to pace in. The room became darker and darker, and seemingly smaller and smaller, as the storm outside grew worse. Thunder started to rumble like the sky was hungry and lightning flickered in jittery intervals.