Dead Silent

by Sharon Jones

  ‘Just stay calm,’ she whispered. ‘We’re going to get out of this.’ Surely the police would arrive soon. If they didn’t… Her hands trembled as she used the knife to saw through the tape around Devon’s ankles. Devon caught her eye and nodded to the right where a thin rope had been looped around the pew leg. It was the rope tying Michael down.

  Poppy grabbed the rope and started sawing through it.

  ‘Hurry up, Poppy,’ Chrissie shouted.

  Clipped footsteps rushed towards Poppy. She’d only cut through half of the strands. ‘Shit!’ Poppy hissed, preparing to abandon the rope. But then there was the sound of scuffling.

  ‘Sit back down, Ria!’ Chrissie screamed. ‘Don’t make me kill you!’

  ‘Why drag it out? If you’re going to kill us all in the end you might as well get it over with,’ Poppy heard Ria scream back. ‘Because I’d rather be dead than listen to any more of your shit!’ The Apostle sounded like she’d got some of the fight back in her. ‘I wiped Nick’s hard drive. I did it. But he was already dead! He’d already decided not to write the story. He wanted to be one of us.’

  ‘No! You’re lying!’ Chrissie hissed the words. Poppy shuddered: the killer sounded totally crazy.

  The last thread of the rope snapped, and while Chrissie and Ria argued, Poppy flattened herself on the dusty cold floor and reached through the gap beneath the pew to Michael. She heard him gasp when her hand found his. His fingers frantically closed around hers and squeezed them. She didn’t want to let go…she couldn’t let go of him. Tears leaked down her cheeks. This was her fault. She should have waited for the police to get there.

  Something nudged her shoulder. She looked up and Devon widened her eyes at her. Footsteps were heading towards them. Chrissie was on her way over here. She quickly pressed the handle of the penknife into Michael’s hand and pushed herself to her feet.

  She helped Devon to stand and they were out of the pew before Chrissie had made it over to them.

  Devon followed Poppy to the round part of the chapel, his hands still taped behind his back. Chrissie shoved him onto the floor next to Ria and the two Apostles glanced at each other, eyes wide with fear. Chrissie leaned down and with her free hand tore the tape from Devon’s mouth.

  ‘Agh!’ he gasped.

  In the flickering candlelight, Poppy saw a fleeting smile cross Chrissie’s lips. However this had begun – as a search for answers or just plain revenge – Chrissie was enjoying this. And that scared Poppy, more than the gun.

  Devon glared up at Chrissie.

  Poppy’s eyes flicked to where Dad’s boots had been. He’d moved. Maybe Michael had been able to use the knife to get him and Dad free. If they were free, then maybe they could get out. She had to keep Chrissie talking.

  ‘Who did it?’ Chrissie spat. ‘This is the last opportunity to save yourself. Tell me who tampered with Nick’s car and I’ll let you all go.’

  ‘Like hell you will, you murdering bitch!’ Devon shouted. ‘Why did you take her eyes? How could you do that to Lucy?’

  ‘She deserved to die.’

  ‘Why? She was Nick’s friend. She’d never have hurt him. And even if you kill us, you didn’t get her. Lucy is alive. She’s alive! And she’s going to be OK.’ Devon’s voice was thick with tears.

  ‘I’ve had enough of you.’ Chrissie pointed the gun at him. Her thumb flicked back the safety catch. She was going to do it!

  ‘No! Stop!’ Ria screamed. ‘If you don’t believe us then get Poppy to talk to Nick.’

  ‘What?’ Chrissie said.

  Ria sat forward. ‘Poppy’s a medium. She talked to Danny. You can talk to Nick, can’t you, Poppy?’

  Ria turned to Poppy and widened her eyes, encouraging her to play along.

  ‘Yeah,’ Poppy murmured. ‘I can do that. I can try and contact Nick for you.’

  ‘You’re just stalling,’ Chrissie shouted.

  ‘No. It’s true,’ Ria said, quickly. ‘She’s a medium. She talked to Danny. She saw him.’

  Chrissie turned her gaze back on Poppy, her eyes suddenly filled with desperation. Poppy’s mouth dropped open. Yeah – Chrissie was just crazy enough that this might work.

  OK. The longer she could spin this out, the more time the police had to get here. Poppy pressed her eyes shut. She had to put on a good show. Do anything to make her believe. She rubbed her forehead to make it seem like she was concentrating. OK…what should she say? That he loved her? That he missed her? What would make her stop this?

  A familiar tune slid through her mind – sweet and tragic, but so familiar. It was a piece that Mum played over and over again.

  ‘He misses hearing you play the Bach. That was his favourite,’ she heard herself saying. Poppy’s eyes flew open.

  The arm holding the gun dropped to Chrissie’s side. ‘How did you…? Who told you?’

  Ask her about the text, a voice whispered, like there was someone standing right behind her. ‘You…you didn’t reply to his text.’

  ‘What?’ Chrissie whispered. For a second the girl squeezed her eyes shut and when she opened them again, her face was twisted by some terrible emotion.

  Poppy didn’t know how, but she knew she was onto something. ‘He texted you the day he died. You never replied.’

  Chrissie shook her head. ‘I was angry.’ She groaned. ‘I’m sorry…I’m sorry, Nick.’ Her voice rose to a wail.

  ‘He wants you to forgive him.’

  ‘Forgive him?’

  Poppy nodded. The words came more easily now. She just opened her mouth and they were there. ‘He wants you to forgive him for…for driving too fast. He knows you hated him driving like…like a whippet that’s been shot in the arse.’

  At that Chrissie choked out a laugh. She pressed a hand to her mouth as tears flowed down her cheeks.

  ‘He’s sorry, Chrissie. He needs you to forgive him.’

  ‘It wasn’t your fault, Nick. It was their fault.’ Chrissie’s eyes were glazed. She spoke to Poppy like she’d become Nick. ‘But it’s OK, I’m going to punish them. I’ll be with you soon.’

  What? Poppy looked hopelessly at Ria. This wasn’t working. She was still going to kill them. ‘He…he…doesn’t want you to do that, Chrissie. He wants you to stop this. He wants you to live.’

  ‘I can’t. I can’t stop now…’ She sniffed and aimed the gun at Ria.

  ‘No!’ Poppy shouted. ‘Chrissie, you have to stop – now. You won’t get away with this, y’know? You can kill us all but the police will find you. Or maybe one of them will. If Angels are everywhere like you say they are, they won’t let you get away with this.’

  Chrissie froze. ‘Your dad once told me that in the kabala, angels aren’t creatures, they’re energies created to undertake a task. And when that task is finished, the angel disappears. That’s all I am, Poppy. That’s all I have left – to be his angel.’ Her once pretty brown eyes were cold and blank, like she’d lost all trace of humanity and become the mythical creature of vengeance she imagined herself to be.

  Poppy took a step backwards. It was obvious that Chrissie didn’t care about consequences now. She was way past that. As far as Chrissie was concerned, she was already dead. Now she was going to take them all with her.

  No. That was not going to happen. Not to Michael. Not to Dad!

  ‘Even if they did what you say they did, you’re pathetic. This isn’t justice. Me, Dad, Michael; we had nothing to do with Nick’s death. You’re not an angel. You’re worse than they are. What you’re doing is evil, Chrissie.’

  Chrissie stared at her. ‘You think you’re so much better than me.’ She shook her head. ‘You think you couldn’t do what I’ve done, but if you were me you’d be doing this too.’

  ‘No. I wouldn’t.’

  ‘Are you really sure about that?’ Chrissie’s face hardened. ‘Then let’s see how you feel when it’s your boyfriend dead.’

  CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

  Michael fought for breath as he tried desperately to saw
through the layers of tape, but the damn knife kept slipping and he stabbed his wrists again and again, until the handle became so slippery with blood that he could barely get a gip on it.

  Poppy was doing a good job of keeping Chrissie talking, but at this rate, he was going to slice open an artery before he got free. Then a scream echoed through the church. Poppy’s scream! Michael nearly dropped the knife. He looked up into Jim’s panicked eyes. Jim had regained consciousness and in some yoga move had almost got his whole body through the loop of his arms. He was trying to unpick the tape around his ankles. Their eyes were locked, and Michael could tell they were thinking the same thing: was Poppy hurt?

  Fast footsteps headed in their direction. Michael gave up on the knife and tried to wrestle his arms free. Something snapped and the pressure holding Michael’s wrists together fell away.

  Quickly he grabbed the knife and slit open the tape binding his ankles. He leaped up just in time to look down the barrel of a gun. He stumbled back. The knife slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor.

  ‘Out here,’ Chrissie said to Michael. ‘Very slowly.’

  Behind Chrissie, Poppy was staring at him, frozen with terror.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  What had she done?

  Poppy flew at Chrissie.

  ‘Stop!’ Chrissie shouted. Poppy’s legs obeyed the command. She fell forward, almost losing her balance completely. She’d done this. She’d put the idea into Chrissie’s head. If Michael got hurt it would be her fault. She should have called the police and stayed out of it. And where the hell were they? Hadn’t Dalca received the text?

  ‘Move it!’ Chrissie shouted.

  Michael never took his eyes off Poppy as he edged out of the pew. He was doing his best to appear calm, but Poppy knew those eyes and he couldn’t hide his fear from her.

  ‘You touch him and I’ll…’ Poppy couldn’t breathe. She’d forgotten how to breathe.

  ‘You’ll what? Kill me?’ Chrissie laughed. ‘So…we’re not that different after all.’

  ‘Don’t do this,’ Poppy begged.

  Chrissie looked at her intently, like she was willing Poppy to see the truth in what she was saying. ‘You won’t truly understand until you really feel it. Until it takes hold of you and becomes who you are. Until you become pure. Until the fire burns away everything and you become one with it. That’s what an angel is, Poppy. ’

  That’s when she knew for certain, this girl wasn’t just angry and vengeful…she was insane.

  Chrissie slowly edged backwards. Never dropping her gun hand, she reached down into a large canvas bag and pulled something out and threw it to the floor. A knife landed a foot away from Poppy. ‘You have a choice, Poppy. Either you do it, or I do it. If you do it, maybe he lives. If I do it he dies now.’

  For a second, Poppy didn’t understand what Chrissie was saying. Chrissie wanted her to… Her gaze dropped to the floor. The knife blade glimmered hungrily in the candlelight. A butcher’s knife, long enough to gut a pig.

  Her insides squeezed together. Twisted. She almost threw up. Poppy stared at the knife, then looked up at the pale, intent face of the girl who was going to kill them all.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Pick up the knife, Poppy.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘I’m going to start counting down from ten. You know what’s going to happen when I get to zero.’

  Poppy ran at Michael and landed heavily in his arms.

  ‘Ten…’

  He took hold of her shoulders, pushed her away and levelled his gaze with hers. ‘Do it,’ he whispered.

  ‘Nine…’

  ‘No!’ Poppy cried. Her hands tightened around the folds of his jacket as her heart punched away the seconds.

  ‘Eight…’

  Michael’s hand smoothed down her hair, he pulled her closer and brushed a kiss against her cheek.

  ‘Seven…’

  His fast, uneven breathing whistled in her ear. ‘She’ll let you live, Poppy,’ Michael whispered. ‘Do this and she’ll let you live. I need you to live.’

  ‘Six…’

  Poppy jerked away from him. Despite his panic, Michael’s eyes were steady. He nodded. ‘Do it, Poppy. It’ll buy us some time.’

  ‘Five…’

  ‘I can’t!’

  ‘Four…’

  His grip on her arms tightened. ‘You have to. It’ll be all right.’

  ‘Three… Get out of the way, Poppy!’ Chrissie shouted.

  ‘OK…OK…OK…’ Poppy spun out of Michael’s hold, darted over to the knife and grabbed it from the floor. The handle felt like a shard of ice.

  ‘Two…’

  Michael caught her eye and nodded. Poppy swallowed against the dryness in her throat. Her heart seemed to slow, slowing time with it. She looked down at the knife meant for Michael and a wave of utter calm came over her, just like that moment when Conal had died holding her hand.

  Slowly, she walked towards Michael. Her eyes fixed on his. She stopped a pace away from him.

  ‘It’s OK, Poppy,’ Michael whispered.

  Poppy nodded. It would be OK. She spun around, flung the knife at Chrissie and then pressed her back against Michael’s.

  ‘No!’ he screamed. ‘Poppy, get away from me!’

  She reached behind and grabbed handfuls of his jacket. ‘If you want to kill him, you have to kill both of us.’

  Chrissie edged forward. ‘Poppy, move!’

  ‘No. If you want to kill us, fine. But you won’t turn me into you. You might think it’s OK to kill and hurt people, but I don’t. So you can kill me, but you can’t turn me into you. You’re not an angel, you’re just very ill and sad.’

  ‘Police!’ a woman’s voice shouted.

  Poppy landed heavily on the ground with Michael on top of her.

  Then, as if in slow motion, Poppy saw Dad appear from behind an archway. He grabbed Chrissie’s wrist, forcing it up as a shot rang out. The gun slid from Chrissie’s hand as plaster fell from the ceiling in big white flakes. They floated down out of the vaulted ceiling like feathers from a bird – or maybe an angel – shot out of the sky as police in flak jackets stormed the church.

  Dad gently lowered the girl who had tried to kill them all to the floor. He cradled her to his chest and rocked her.

  ‘Let me die…I was supposed to die…’ Chrissie sobbed over and over again, until her words echoed from every pillar and archway, so loud that even the dead would hear her.

  EPILOGUE

  The strange metal creature looked like a particularly evil cricket. Its legs cranked backwards and forwards, spinning the golden disc below while its mouth snapped open and shut. Poppy was glad it was behind glass – the thing looked like it would take your finger off.

  ‘What is it?’

  Dad smiled. ‘It’s called a chronophage. A time eater.’

  ‘It’s nasty.’ The creature’s metal eyelid slid closed. ‘Ugh, it just blinked at us.’

  Dad chuckled. ‘It’s just a clock.’

  ‘It’s freaky. And who wants a time eater around? Really – did someone think it was cute or something?’

  ‘It’s meant to remind us that our time here is short, that we never get time back. Once the chronophage eats a minute or a day, it’s gone forever.’ Absently, he scratched the big plaster that covered the gash in his forehead.

  After last night, Poppy didn’t need a chronophage to remind her how fragile life was, or how quickly it could come to an end.

  Dad sucked in a deep breath and Poppy tensed. She’d been waiting for…

  ‘Last night, when you were talking to Chrissie about Nick—’

  ‘—Dad—’

  ‘—I’m not trying to give you a hard time. But if what you said came from…’ He sniffed and looked away as if searching for the right words. ‘If you were somehow channelling Nick, then don’t you think we need to talk about that?’

  Poppy toed a pile of slush, shaping it into a mushy pyramid, hoping the chronophag
e would speed up and chomp away the minutes so that they wouldn’t have time for this conversation. But in the silence that followed she realised that Dad was willing to wait her out on this one. She glanced up to see him watching her.

  ‘I’m not even sure it was anything…real. Maybe it was in my head. Or maybe I’d somehow picked up information that I didn’t consciously remember.’

  Dad nodded. ‘Or maybe Nick was somehow communicating with you.’

  Poppy shrugged.

  ‘Is it getting more frequent?’

  ‘Look, I know you probably think it’s the devil or something—’

  ‘—I don’t think it’s the devil.’

  ‘But I promise, in the future I’ll keep away from everything weird and spiritual. I’ll leave that to you and Mum, OK? I’m done. I’m out.’

  ‘Yeah, because that strategy’s worked so well for you up until now.’ Dad gave her a wry smile that she couldn’t help but return. He turned back to the chronophage. ‘A while ago I read a paper written by a psychologist at the University of Michigan. He’d done a study on people who’d been through a near-death experience.’

  ‘Let me guess, they all turned out to be mentally unstable?’

  ‘No. He found that people who’ve had a close call with death are far more likely to experience what we think of as psychic phenomena.’

  ‘You really believe that? Because it sounds like what we scientists call pseudo-science. More commonly known as bullsh—’

  He turned his gaze back on her. ‘—Your heart stopped beating, Poppy. The day you had the boating accident the lifeboat crew thought you were dead. And ever since that accident…’

  Ever since that accident, Death had followed her around. Always there…in her peripheral vision…like an extra shadow she couldn’t get rid of.

  Dad took her hand and squeezed it. ‘I know what’s happening must be scary. Hearing dead people would frighten the fucking life out of me. And to be honest, I don’t have any answers for you. Yes, I have colleagues who would say that talking to the dead is wrong, or that some malignant spiritual force is trying to deceive you. Is that what it feels like – like something is trying to hurt you?’