Father of Lies

by Sarah England

  “On her own?”

  He eyed her for a minute, then shrugged again and began to move off. “Damn right. Got to earn a living. Besides, she’s as mad as a shithouse rat, Missus. Don’t say you haven’t been warned. Take care, now!”

  A few minutes later the sound of the van’s engine died in the distance. Despite the warmth of the day, the dell was cold and Celeste pulled her cardigan closely around her, before knocking on the door.

  The sharp rap echoed inside.

  No reply.

  She knocked louder, stinging her knuckles.

  Still no answer.

  Go in…

  Obeying her inner voice, Celeste pushed open the door and stood in the hallway. Dust motes hovered in a square of sunlight. “Hello? Anyone home? Ruby - it’s Celeste!”

  Go upstairs… Celeste…Celeste…

  Some of the steps on the stairs were missing, and being of substantial weight, she trod carefully, cringing with each groan of wood as she climbed. Damp permeated the atmosphere, and the thick stone walls glistened.

  Halfway up, Celeste stopped and listened. There was a strong, negative energy in here. Children whispering, giggling in the shadows, shhh… A feeling of being watched…God, what a place for a young girl on her own! Automatically she crossed herself before proceeding.

  A faint sound came from one of the front rooms, at a guess a bedroom. It wasn’t easy to distinguish one room from another since much of the main roof was missing, and doorways lay open to the breezy corridors. Once on the first landing, Celeste moved from room to room, peeping nervously into each one. Darkness. Emptiness. Peeling wallpaper in one of them. At the end of the corridor she pushed open the door to a makeshift bathroom, taking in a cracked mirror on the floor, the stained linoleum, a rusty sink…Before her gaze rested on the bath, and revulsion came like a punch to the gut.

  Oh my God.

  She flung herself against the wall outside the door, breathing deeply. In and out. In and out.

  Oh God. Oh dear God.

  The scene replayed before her eyes - a mottled body lying bloodless in the bath. Going to be sick, going to be sick. Something awful had happened here. A suicide? A murder?

  No wonder Ruby had sought her help. Imagine living here! Bad enough for anyone, but if the girl was a medium who couldn’t control it, then this would drive her insane.

  Celeste…Celeste…

  She took a deep breath. What was in the bath was only a vision. Not real. What was real, however, was the fact that a young girl had been left here on her own and she needed help. One more room lay ahead- the largest at the front of the building. She walked into the gloom.

  Ruby lay on a stained mattress, facing the window in a slice of sunlight.

  “Ruby? Are you okay? It’s Celeste.”

  Ruby didn’t move. Was she breathing? Had the man killed her? She took another step towards the inert body just as Ruby turned over onto her back and snapped open her eyes.

  Celeste recoiled.

  The girl’s eyes were sunken in her skull, underscored with deep purple bruises. Her alabaster skin shone with perspiration, and her hands were folded across her chest in the shape of a cross.

  The whole room stank of fear, sweat and filth.

  Help me God, please help me God.

  Celeste crossed herself before moving closer.

  The girl’s lips were moving slightly: she appeared to be chanting.

  Celeste stooped to hear. “When the pie was opened, the birds began to sing…wasn’t that a dainty dish…”

  And then recognition hit her full in the stomach: the girl was trying to protect herself. Against what? Possession? How in God’s name did anyone protect themselves from possession?

  There was no time to lose.

  A dark shadow loomed on the wall behind, as Celeste took out her mobile phone. No signal.

  Hurriedly but carefully, she picked her way back down the rickety stairs, as one by one the wood splintered and broke behind her. This was seriously dangerous now - she must keep her wits about her - who, or whatever, wanted Ruby, was not going to let her escape easily.

  Letting herself out into the sunlight, she walked smartly down the pathway to her car. Please God help me. Please God help me save this girl.

  Overhead, a leaf-laden branch cracked loudly, landing heavily inches from her head.

  Celeste crossed herself again and recited the Lord’s Prayer, all the time checking her mobile for a signal. Come on! Come on! Magically a single bar appeared on the phone, and seconds later she was through to a good friend, Father Adams - a priest she knew well. He’d helped her hugely after the trauma in Woodsend and it was only to be hoped he’d help her again

  Thankfully he took the call straight away, promising to be with them by late afternoon.

  “She might simply be mentally unwell,” Celeste explained. “But there’s something very negative in the house - there are no facilities and she’s so alone. She desperately needs our help.”

  “Don’t go back in there on your own,” he advised. “Pray for her and I’ll ask my colleagues to do the same. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Oh - and I suggest you call the local doctor.”

  The medical receptionist informed her that a doctor would not be available until early evening, but that someone would come. Meanwhile, as the hours passed and the afternoon grew heavy, the thought came to her that her phone would ring, and she would be informed that Father Adams would not be coming.

  So when she answered and a distraught female voice informed her that Father Adam’s car had gone off the road south of Dewsbury - straight underneath an articulated lorry, it came as little surprise.

  With a heavy heart as old as time, Celeste called an ambulance instead.

  Alas, when it arrived, Ruby had vanished.

  ***

  Chapter 20

  Doncaster. Present Day: December 2015

  Becky stared at her mobile phone for several minutes after taking Kristy’s call. It had been an odd conversation and one she never thought she’d have: Jack had been sectioned again, and admitted to a secure unit miles away, up in North Yorkshire.

  Kristy had glossed over the details, telling her only that his confusion had increased and his symptoms had generally worsened, so it had been best for all, particularly Hannah, if he was re-admitted. Without preamble, she then wanted to know if she, Becky, felt okay - bombarding her with questions like if she’d had any odd experiences since coming out of hospital; how she’d come to collapse in the first place; and if she’d fill her in about the day Jack had hypnotised Ruby. Oh, and when did she intend returning to work? How did she feel about that?

  Why would Kristy Silver - a specialist from Leeds - be interested in herself?

  Becky’s conscious mind sat in a pudding of fog. Caught on the hop, she told Kristy she’d just tripped on coming out of the meeting room - that she’d been sure someone had been about to bump into her, but no, she couldn’t describe the person. It had all happened in a blur.

  The day of the hypnosis? No, she couldn’t remember a thing. That would be the concussion, though, wouldn’t it, doctor?

  Since being out of hospital? Yes, she’d had odd experiences, but that was probably down to the painkillers she was taking, wasn’t it?

  As for going back to work - yes, she felt fine about it. Thank you for caring. How odd. How bloody, bloody odd, for Kristy Silver to ring her at home. Kristy Silver who usually walked past her in a huff of perfume.

  Well, no way was she telling that self-serving madam a damn thing. The woman spent her time swanning round the world, staying in luxury hotels making a name for herself - using the mad, the bad, and the pitiful - to power forth her career. Did she actually cure the poor souls back home? Did she hell?

  The bitch got rich!

  She sure does, Becky, she sure does…

  Becky reached for her box of pills. She was swallowing shed loads. It was a laugh, frankly, when the girl at the chemist asked if she’d taken codeine be
fore and advised her not to take it for more than three days. She had to stop herself from smirking. Right now she was taking 60 mgs four times a day, plus ibuprofen, paracetamol, anti-histamines and Tramadol. The cocktail knocked her out for six hours at a time. Good.

  Although she still saw Chester.

  Not that she was going to tell a shrink about that. Not bloody likely. Psychotic? Tick. Career down the drain? Tick.

  She put her feet up on the sofa and tried to force her mind to function. If only fatigue didn’t keep washing over her in waves. It was like fighting anaesthesia.

  Mark was out at work. Mark her safe and reliable plumber husband, who would understand nothing. He stood in the doorway looking at her like she was an alien species. “You’re all right though, aren’t you? You’ll still make it to t’ pub for a drink, eh?”

  God, her husband was thick. However had she come to marry him? Suppose he’d been good-looking once; that it was uncomplicated and sexy. Imagined a future in the little terrace with washing blowing in the back garden, a glass of wine on the patio in summer…bought into a dream…and then woken up. Quite quickly.

  And Callum had gone by then, of course. The door closed firmly shut in that direction.

  Callum. Her tummy did that fluttering thing. Kristy said he was the one picking her up tonight, that she’d requested his presence at the meeting…why? The main reason for her call had been to round up the team. They needed an urgent review of recent events, and it would be very helpful if Becky could make it.

  Of course she could make it. Why wouldn’t she be able to make it?

  Becky stared at Callum’s name on her phone screen. She couldn’t tell him anything. If he thought for one minute she was nuts she’d lose him. Again. For the first time the full impact of what was happening, hit her head on - just how all-out terrifying was it to lose your own mind? To no longer be ‘you’?

  Upstairs in the chilly front bedroom, she pulled on a pair of jeans she hadn’t been able to get in to for nearly a decade, followed by a bright pink sweater to brighten her mood. Then brushed and backcombed her lengthening hair, sighing at the dark roots as she applied lip gloss and a few sweeps of mascara. She forgot to eat properly these days, went on long walks - usually at night - and rarely slept. It paid to be vigilant when you were psychotic, in case some of it was real. Not that it ever could be. Of course it bloody wasn’t. That would make her a lunatic. Wouldn’t it?

  “Oh it sure does, Sweet Cheeks,” said an all too familiar voice from a chair in the corner.

  Chester was getting cocky now. Less flirtatious and more insistent. Let me in… Let me in… Like a lover who no longer bought flowers and dinner out, but idled in front of the television all day instead, demanding attention and carping about every little thing.

  It helped to be outside - walking along a towpath or pacing across the fields kept him out of sight and out of mind. At least for a while. But not here in the house. And even in sleep there was no escape. She’d open her eyes. 3 a.m. Always 3 a.m. And there he would be - sitting on the edge of the bed, swinging his little legs to and fro - tip his bowler hat and smile.

  “Well hiya, Becky! You know a guy can get awful bored waiting around like this. You gotta keep me occupied or I tell you - I’m gonna make trouble. Really I am. Like you wouldn’t believe.”

  That evening Chester sat on the backseat of Callum’s car as they wound their way through the late night traffic towards Drummersgate.

  Becky pulled down her passenger mirror, pretending to fuss with her hair, while eyeing the little fella in the back. He was looking out of the window at the shops bedecked with Christmas lights, at the heavily laden shoppers tramping along glossy, wet pavements, and the town’s twinkling decorations swinging overhead in the drizzle.

  She turned to Callum. “Can you see anything on the back seat?”

  He glanced briefly into the rear-view mirror, shaking his head before breaking suddenly as a gaggle of drunken teenagers stumbled out of a pub and straight into the road. “No, Why?”

  “No reason.”

  Shit! This really was in her own head then. It really was. Psychosis pure and simple. Psychosis secondary to depression? Could she dare say anything to the GP, who’d taken over her care? A chirpy woman from Surrey called Penelope who worked part time, in-between baking cupcakes with her privately educated, rosy-cheeked children? Thanks for the painkillers. Oh and by the way there’s a little guy in a black hat sitting on your consulting couch. What should I take for that Penelope?

  Oh God, to be alone with this….Would it be safe to ask Kristy, after all? At least she would understand the condition, and it might be better to have treatment, because it was getting worse and …

  “You’re definitely not yourself,” said Callum.

  “What? What do you mean?”

  “Since your accident. You seem jumpy, nervous. Is it me? I mean - do you think Mark knows?”

  She relaxed a little. Oh so he thought it was just that - something normal. Relief! Sometimes she found herself snapping at Chester in public, and one or two people had looked at her a bit funny. How difficult it was to cover your own madness!

  “No. I doubt Mark would notice if I danced round the garden naked.”

  In the back, Chester sniggered. “Now that would be worth seeing, Sweet Cheeks.”

  Callum shook his head. “That bad?”

  Becky shrugged. “It’s okay. I know we’ve reached the end of our road and so does he, I suspect. But it’s finding the right time to discuss it all, and the thing is - I don’t want to be on my own at the moment…”

  “You wouldn’t be,” said Callum. For a moment it looked like he was going to say more, except he didn’t. .

  Becky looked out of the window; the bright shop windows had given way to sprawling estates and windswept car parks. This, she thought, was like not having a safety net, when beneath your tightrope there swirled an endless abyss. No one to help. No one. Not a soul.

  In the back, Chester tut-tutted, raised his sunken gaze to the car roof and held up his hands. “What can I say, Becky? Things are gonna deteriorate just like I told ya! Ya know that!” Then his voice changed to a whine, “Oh why won’t you let me in? All ya gotta do is say, ’YES!’ That’s all ya gotta do…the boss ain’t pleased right now, and Lady - you gonna feel the pain when my boss gets angry. Know what I’m saying?”

  Becky eyed him through the mirror. His boss? Chester was like some kind of little gangster from Chicago, circa 1930’s, in his little pinstripe suit and bowler hat. Talking about his boss like he was some kind of mafia godfather. Except for the rancid smell enveloping him, and other things - like the phone calls she answered to furious rants of utter gobble-de-gook; and appointments she’d made, just for her hair or the dentist, only to find when she turned up, that someone had cancelled them for her and the receptionists had all said it had been herself. And the way everyone seemed a long way off. Even now, Callum’s voice seemed to come from the end of a long tunnel. Yet Chester’s was loud and clear. More real than real.

  “Oh just go away!” she snapped.

  Callum swivelled round to look at her and the car veered across two lanes of the carriageway.

  “Don’t!” she yelled, grabbing the wheel.

  “What have I done?” he yelled back.

  “Nothing. Sorry. I was talking to myself, that’s all.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “You’ve been doing that lately.”

  ***

  Drummersgate was lit up like a galleon on the high seas.

  The hospital’s Christmas tree stood swaying slightly in the mizzle outside the main entrance as they drew up.

  “You get out here and I’ll go and park,” he said.

  With a quick glance at the back seat, which was now empty, Becky did as he suggested, wrapping her long woollen coat around her as the wind whipped sharply off the moors. What was real and what was not? Tears sprung into her eyes as she thought of all the patients she’d nursed over the years - the
tortured souls who dipped in and out of sanity. And now it was happening to herself. When would the mocking voice resound inside her head again? When did the little chap in the bowler hat re-appear?

  “All right, love?” said the security guard as he buzzed her in.

  The look in his eyes told her what she needed to know. She was haggard and nervy looking, wasn’t she? Aged ten years almost overnight. The peace in her soul destroyed. Once you crossed a certain line, people knew. They could tell with one glance.

  She smiled. “Yes thanks, Pete. Really good. I’ll be back to work soon - we’re just having a meeting.”

  He nodded. Eyes knowing as he buzzed her through.

  People could tell… it was just as Chester said - things would get worse and worse until she did what he wanted…would it be so bad?

  “Becky!”

  She swung round and it took a minute to recognise him. “Noel! Hi! Oh it’s great to see you!”

  He gave her one of his massive bear hugs and for just a minute there was safety. Normality. She was back.

  Then he held her at arms length. “You look like fuck!”

  “Charming.”

  “No. I mean - you’ve lost masses of weight - what? A couple of stone in just a few weeks? That’s not normal, Becks. Are you eating properly?”

  She frowned. “Yes of course. It was just the hospital food and then Mark hadn’t got anything in and I kind of lost my appetite. Not like me, eh?”

  “You aren’t sleeping either.”

  “Well, that’s probably with not working, and keeping odd hours. I’m all out of sync. Honestly, I’ll be fine once I get back to work.”

  “Are you sure you’re ready?”

  “Yes. I want to. I suppose a bump on the head can affect you in a lot of ways, can’t it? I think I’d be best coming back, though. Getting back to normal and everything.”

  “You’ve heard about Jack, then?”

  “Kristy said he was really ill - that she’d been to see him and he’d deteriorated again. That’s all I know. What’s going on, Noel?”

  “Thought you’d know, of all people? I mean - you were the only other one there at the hypnosis, and it all seems to originate from that.”