by Tom Hoyle
‘You’re fine, you’re fine,’ soothed Mr Macleod, shaking Adam’s knee gently, trying to reassure him.
Slowly, out of the haze, he began to understand that he was confused, began to realize that something was wrong with him – and that was the beginning of logic and recovery.
Megan smiled at him. ‘It’s just a nightmare.’
She was right. But the nightmare was just beginning.
CHAPTER 13
BOLLESKINE (SATURDAY 13TH DECEMBER 2014)
Abbie was with her father in the main dining room of Castle Dreich. The communal lunch was drawing to a close and most people had already left. Bolleskine entered, lit by watery light from one of the small gothic windows. ‘You asked to see me, Mark?’ His voice was that of a doctor: confident and calm.
Abbie looked carefully at Bolleskine’s face. Before now she had seen it only from a distance, or in shadow. He was probably about forty, but could have been anywhere between thirty and fifty-five. His face was mildly attractive for an older man – good-looking in the tanned and slim way that suggested an ex-sportsman. It was his eyes that were creepy: they were never still, as if he was searching for something – lizard’s eyes, darting from place to place with intent. Those eyes looked over her again. Some of the boys at school examined her in a similar way, especially when she was forced to do sport. That was understandable – but this man was nearer her father’s age, and that made her shudder.
Abbie’s father hadn’t answered, but he did stand up.
‘Do step this way with me for a moment.’ The voice expected to be obeyed.
Mark spoke with a half-smile. ‘Yes, of course.’
As they were about to leave the room, Abbie saw Bolleskine turn and put a hand on her father’s shoulder. The clatter of plates and cutlery stopped as Bolleskine spoke. ‘Annie – you should come too. I think you should be part of this.’
Abbie tried to convince herself that this was the way her father had to operate. She understood that he had to immerse himself in the organization, become a trusted insider. She had been told that sometimes he would have to make sacrifices to discover bigger truths. This must all be part of his act.
The journey to Bolleskine’s room took Abbie into a part of the castle she had never seen before. Similar-looking staircases led them up and down. Then they came to a long corridor with seven large paintings hung on the wall. Abbie paused and looked at the first one, which showed one soldier attacking another with a sword. According to a small label underneath, it was called The Rage of Achilles. The second was The Worship of Mammon . Abbie wasn’t sure what that meant, but didn’t like the image.
‘Do you like our reminders?’ asked Bolleskine, pointing as he spoke. ‘The seven deadly sins: anger, greed, laziness, lust, envy, gluttony – and pride.’ The last frame held nothing but a large mirror. ‘Do come into my study.’
Abbie would never have entered Bolleskine’s room unless her father had nudged her from behind. There were bookcases, a desk and chairs set out in the usual fashion, and there was a door leading on to a large balcony. But any normality was lost because of one extraordinary thing.
Mirrors. Everywhere. Image disappeared into image as the reflections bounced back and forth. Wherever she looked she could see herself. She was the centre of the room.
Bolleskine was relaxed, as always, apparently unaware of her astonishment and fear. ‘The mirrors remind us that we must be empty of ourselves – to see ourselves from the outside. To be observers.’ He sat at his desk. ‘Do sit down.’
‘Annie, you sit.’ It was her father’s voice.
‘Mr Hopkins,’ Bolleskine said to Abbie’s father, ‘do you have something to say?’
Abbie’s father closed the door. ‘I am here to tell you that I am working on behalf of Her Majesty’s Government.’
‘I know,’ said Bolleskine. ‘I know about the messages, and I know about your concealed weapon.’
Abbie’s father – Mark Hopkins of MI5 – nodded, unzipped the lining of his jacket and pulled out a small handgun.
Abbie was stunned into open-mouthed silence.
Bolleskine seemed amused, light-hearted. He didn’t seem concerned by the gun. ‘There are many, many spirits here. I know that you have seen them.’ He turned to Abbie. ‘Perhaps you have begun to sense their presence as well.’
Thank God this will all be over soon , thought Abbie. Let’s nail this lunatic.
Abbie’s father approached Bolleskine slowly, gun in his hand.
Come on, Dad: get him right now. Arrest him!
Then he laid his gun on the desk. ‘I wish to obey you, serve the spirits and make the journey to the Golden Planet.’
‘What?’ Abbie was unsure if this was part of the act. ‘Dad?’
‘Kneel down,’ said Bolleskine, as he picked up the gun.
To Abbie’s amazement, her father did. Should she speak? Should she grab the gun? But she had to trust her dad. She didn’t want to mess up an intricate plan.
Bolleskine pointed the gun at her father’s head. ‘What if I were to pull this trigger right now?’
The room was spinning around Abbie. Reflection piled upon reflection into layers of confusion. Then a germ of a thought: maybe there were blanks in the gun.
There was an ear-splitting bang and Abbie winced. The gun was definitely loaded. The bullet had hit one of the mirrors and cracks ran off in all directions like a spider’s web.
The gun was again pointed at Abbie’s father’s head, this time at point-blank range. ‘You want to join me, but what if it meant death right now ?’
Her father’s gaze was unwavering. ‘Then I would accept it. I know what I have seen.’
Bolleskine smiled. ‘Good. I must have your total loyalty.’
‘You have it. Mine and Abbie’s.’ He used her real name.
‘And what if it meant your daughter’s death?’ Bolleskine stood up and pointed the gun straight at Abbie’s head.
Dad, please.
Bolleskine continued. ‘I know that she’s not yet one of us.’
The gun, reflected a hundred times, was the only focus in Abbie’s world.
Her dad didn’t flinch as he said, ‘I will accept it. I know what I have seen. We must become empty of ourselves.’
CHAPTER 14
DOWNHILL RACER (SUNDAY 14TH AND MONDAY 15TH DECEMBER 2014)
The next day began with no mention that anything embarrassing had happened the previous evening.
‘Morning, Adam, all OK?’ was Mr Macleod’s only greeting, cheerier and slightly higher-pitched than normal, but not betraying much concern. Everyone had put Adam’s odd behaviour down to the stress of the last year.
Sunday was spent in Stirling, mainly in the castle. The usual banter swirled around him, but Adam couldn’t join in.
Usually he would have been the centre point of the action, holding all the different characters together, but today he felt fragile.
Eventually, in a quiet moment, Megan managed to ask Adam what was wrong.
‘I do feel a lot better,’ he said, ‘but I’m really worried that something bad is going to happen.’ He couldn’t explain it without being specific, which was embarrassing. He bit his lip, but the words slipped out: ‘I’m sure that some of these people are looking at me.’
A young couple passed and made eye contact with Adam. ‘See?’ he whispered. ‘Why is it always me?’
Megan shrugged and tried to make light of it all.
As the day went on, and the poison slipped from his body with each breath, Adam felt more at ease. By the time they arrived at Aviemore he was at the back of the bus with everyone’s attention on him, back to normal. ‘And then, just when I was completely naked, Leo’s mum came into the bathroom,’ he was saying, ‘so I was lucky there was a shower curtain to hide behind.’
‘Thank God it wasn’t my mum,’ said Asa.
Everyone laughed – Asa’s mum was unshockable.
‘But then I could hear her about to undress.’
/> There were groans of horror from all – apart from Leo, who was silent and red with embarrassment.
‘So I had to, er, reveal myself.’ Hoots of amusement. ‘And say that I was lost.’ General spluttering at the ludicrous explanation. ‘There were items to shield myself with. Fortunately.’
‘Toothbrush?’ suggested Asa.
‘A large bottle of bubble bath, as it happens.’
Mr Macleod’s voice came from the front. ‘That’s enough! There are ladies present.’
Asa made a great play of looking around and apparently seeing no one that fitted that description.
Mr Macleod again: ‘And here we are. Aviemore! Cases off, please, and early to bed.’
The minibus door was rolled back to reveal thick and falling snow. Adam clenched both fists in celebration. ‘This means that the slopes will actually be open. Mr Macleod, will we be allowed to go on the real slopes rather than the dry ones?’
He gave the sort of answer that teachers do. ‘We’ll see – if you get an early night.’
Adam was allowed to share with Asa. There was no repeat of the previous night, and Adam went straight to sleep and slept through till morning.
Aviemore was windier and damper than the resort Adam knew in Bulgaria, but the breakfast was an enormous fry-up, everyone was friendly, young and cool, and a PistenBully had already groomed the fresh snow on the slope by the time they arrived.
Rachel was unrecognizable inside her ski gear, encased in five layers and two balaclavas – even her hair was tucked inside for protection. ‘Is anyone in there?’ Asa asked, tapping gently on her ski helmet.
Adam had a rather more relaxed attitude to how much protection was needed, especially in the absence of his mum. Megan had frowned when Adam claimed four layers to Mr Macleod. ‘Skin counts as one,’ he had whispered.
The thermometer said minus five, but it felt even colder despite sunshine at the top, and some grainy snow was being blown around.
Their instructor was a young woman, tanned and relaxed, in a black and blue ski-school outfit. ‘Follow after me,’ she said.
Adam enjoyed being a better skier than the others: he leaned into a handful of turns, his body at forty-five degrees, then pointed his skis downhill: the wind rushed in his ears, the cold nipped at his exposed chin and he loved it. Then he dug in hard with the side of his skis when he stopped, spraying snow on to a board that displayed a piste map. ‘Wow. Yeah!’
By the end of the morning they had done every run more than once. At lunch, the ski party sat together, sharing sausages and chips, while Rachel picked at a salad. In between challenges and boasts and mouthfuls of food, Adam gradually became aware of a group of four people sitting at a table across the room. He had the terrible sensation, again, that they were looking at him. Don’t be so stupid , he thought. You’re over that. But the more he fought it, the more his paranoia grew.
One of them was talking behind his hand, occasionally glancing at Adam.
‘I think we should get back on the slopes,’ Adam said, but the others weren’t keen: it had clouded over and a mist had descended.
Adam left, going outside to put his skis on. ‘Come on,’ he urged as the rest of his group emerged from the mountain restaurant.
‘Wait there, Adam,’ said the instructor.
But Adam was sliding away already.
Halfway down the slope, he paused and looked back. Visibility was now poor, but gradually Adam saw . . .
One . . .
Two . . .
Three . . .
And finally four figures swept out of the cloud and headed straight towards him. They were the group from the other table.
One of them stopped in front of him, blocking his way, and within seconds the other three arrived alongside.
‘We’re here to collect you,’ said the first man. A birthmark on his left cheek ran from the edge of his goggles to the collar of his ski jacket. He was determined to follow Bolleskine’s orders.
The woman was reaching in her pocket for something. Adam was transfixed. It looked like a pen.
‘In time you will understand that this is the right thing,’ the other woman was saying. ‘You will see that you are very important.’
Adam saw that the pen was a syringe and took off a second before the needle swept through empty air. This time he made no turns at all. Fear kept him upright over bumps and he disappeared into the mist. He tucked his ski poles under his armpits and leaned forward, legs rattling up and down erratically. A skier swore as Adam cut him up.
Then the ski lift took shape in front of him – a tow lift like the one at the Snow Place. Adam scrambled forward on his skis to get on as quickly as possible. He had to make it back to the top and find his friends.
‘They’re after me!’ he shouted at the man at the bottom, who waved and smiled back, recognizing Adam from earlier.
As he was pulled away by the lift, he looked behind and saw the adults appear. They were about five or six places behind him on the lift. The bad weather had deterred most other skiers, so there was no one to call out to, but Adam did have his mobile. Biting off his right glove, he pulled the phone from his pocket. It was wet with condensation, but – thank God – there was power and reception.
All the time the top of the lift was edging closer. Instead of calling the police or his parents, he called Megan. ‘Hello, Meg,’ he shouted. ‘Help!’
‘Ad—’ she crackled intermittently, ‘I – you . . .’ The line bleeped. No signal.
Large flakes of snow had begun to fall.
When Adam was about five yards from the top of the lift, it stopped. Delays sometimes happened when someone had trouble getting on or off, and normally they went unnoticed. But now Adam shouted up the slope, ‘Come on!’ Turning to look behind him, he saw that the first of the adults had unclipped his skis and was hulking up the slope.
Perhaps Adam should do the same and try to reach the restaurant. It would be slow going carrying his skis though, and if the lift started up, he wouldn’t be able to use it . . .
He couldn’t ski down – that would be towards the danger . . .
Adam looked to his right. There was a cord stretching the length of the lift, occasionally carrying a red no-entry warning sign. Adam tried to remember what was on the far side. Going off-piste could be very dangerous, especially in poor visibility, and Adam couldn’t see more than a few paces ahead now.
The lift still didn’t move – the man was rapidly getting closer . . .
Adam unhooked himself from the lift and skied off to his right, the cord scraping his lip as he slipped underneath it. For five or six seconds he was ploughing through snow that reached up to his knees, going deeper into encircling whiteness. Then the snow dropped away from under him, and as his legs searched for solid ground, he felt himself falling.
CHAPTER 15
SPIDERS (MONDAY 15TH DECEMBER 2014)
Bolleskine wandered into the kitchen of Castle Dreich. Personal property didn’t exist in the commune; everyone slept in the same type of bed, washed in shared facilities and ate the same food.
The kitchen was clean and orderly, though industrial in scale, with the blistering ovens usually found in hotels or schools. Basic, wholesome food was in preparation as Bolleskine tapped what looked like a powdered spice into his hand. He spoke to a woman who held a large wooden spoon: ‘We must teach Abbie discipline. Let’s increase her medication slightly.’ He turned his hand over and the yellow powder sprinkled into the lunchtime soup. Drugs. More of the peppery dust was added, measured in, stirred around. The same substance was dissolved into a cup of water.
‘Good,’ Bolleskine said. ‘We must let the medicine do its work.’ He turned to a short man with a pale, narrow face. ‘I want you to order much, much more of this. A hundred times more. No – a thousand! Plans have been revealed to me.’
The man frowned. He had seen the consequences of getting the dosage wrong, as had Bolleskine. Those who consumed it quickly, especially by breathin
g it in, and in large enough quantities, had suffered horribly. Some had even died.
Bolleskine did not turn around, but sensed doubt. ‘Just do as I say,’ he said.
Abbie sat deep in her chair, her insides shrinking, staring at the creature in front of her. It had the head of a spider: lidless black eyes peered out from a face covered in coarse bristles; a bulbous abdomen-like sack was attached to its back, hanging down like thick hair; the body shape was human, but the arms were a spider’s legs. The lack of hands made Abbie shudder.
It made ticking sounds, but Abbie understood. You must obey , it said, sounding like an erratic and noisy clock. You must empty yourself and obey .
This was the worst one Abbie had seen. The visions had been getting more distinct and lifelike, less like shadows and more like spiders .
‘I don’t think you’re real,’ said Abbie. ‘Talking spiders don’t exist.’ She was trying to convince herself.
The thing pulled one leg across the floor and Abbie saw, poking out where there should have been a shoe, the tip of another hairy, bony spider leg.
You have been here for a month , the spider-creature said. Now you must join us as your father has. You trust your father .
Somewhere deep in Abbie’s mind there was a bit of logic left that defied what was in front of her. ‘I don’t believe in God or angels or anything,’ she muttered, ‘and I certainly don’t believe in talking spiders.’
The spider’s fangs clicked together.
‘Go on,’ she said, still pressing against the back of her chair. ‘Say something that I don’t know. Prove that you are not from my imagination. Tell me something.’ She tried to stay calm but was struggling to find a simple test. Then an idea. ‘Are there clouds in the sky now?’
The spider moved its head and its eyes flickered slightly as it looked through the small window behind Abbie.
It had been clear earlier, but fine weather rarely lasted long in the Highlands, and at this time of the year the mountains prevented direct sunlight from hitting Castle Dreich. Abbie had no idea if the weather had changed. She reached behind herself, eyes closed – terrified that the creature would attack – and pulled the curtains shut with one hand. She couldn’t allow herself to cheat.