Mesmeris

by K E Coles

  ‘You’d have to be blind not to, wouldn’t you?’ Dad said.

  ‘Don’t listen to him. I’m fine,’ I said.

  ‘Go on.’ Dad pointed a trembling finger at the gate. ‘Leave her alone.’

  Jack held his hands up. ‘I’m going.’

  Dad tried to hold me back but I shook him off. ‘Pearl, come back here.’

  Jack strode off so quickly, his long legs covering so much ground, I had to run to catch up with him. He’d almost reached the corner of the street.

  ‘Stop.’ I clutched at his arm, tried to catch my breath. ‘Stop a minute.’

  He stood and watched me, his expression impassive.

  ‘Ignore him. He . . .’ I shook my head. ‘Don’t listen to him.’

  ‘What? Did you think that was it? Us over?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Is he right, then? Am I ruining your life?’

  ‘No – no. I didn’t even have a life before I met you.’

  ‘Well then. Your dad telling me off isn’t going to make me go. I left because I didn’t want to give him a heart attack. If you tell me to go, that’s different – I’ll go, but no one else is going to make me.’

  Relief made me light-headed.

  ‘Oh, come here.’ He opened his coat and I snuggled inside, leaned my head against his chest, heard the thump, thump, thump of his heart. He kissed the top of my head. ‘D’you really think, after everything, I’d just walk away?’ He pulled away, looked in my eyes. ‘D’you think I’d miss tomorrow night?’

  ‘Tomorrow night?’

  ‘When you come over.’ A lazy smile.

  ‘What about Leo?’

  ‘Out.’ He kissed me. ‘And Art.’ He kissed me again. ‘Out all night.’ And he kissed me again, longer, deeper this time so that I wanted to go home with him then and there. ‘You’d better go back,’ he said. ‘Calm your dad down.’

  ‘He’s not like that normally. He’s never angry.’

  ‘Well, he’s angry now – so maybe don’t mention tomorrow night.’

  I ran back home, my emotions all over the place. I didn’t know whether to be angry, happy, sad, or frightened. That was okay though, wasn’t it? That was normal. I was holding it together. I was doing just fine.

  Dinner was awkward. Mum and Dad both avoided looking at me and talked to each other in false, chirpy voices. Their strange act must have unsettled Lydia because, for once, she was quiet.

  ‘It’s all part of the same cult, that’s what worries me,’ Dad said. ‘They’re becoming quite brazen. Even dug up a new corpse in St Theodore’s – only buried yesterday.’

  ‘Luke!’ Mum said. ‘We’re eating.’

  ‘Sorry - And Pearl . . .’ at last he looked at me. Little pink spots appeared on his cheeks, ‘sorry I lost my temper.’

  ‘What?’ Lydia laughed. ‘You? Lost your temper?’

  ‘It’s fine, Dad,’ I said.

  ‘It’s only because I . . .’

  ‘I said it’s fine, Dad,’ I said.

  Lydia looked smug. She caught my eye a few times and raised her eyebrows. Winding me up – her favourite pastime.

  ‘Pearl?’ she said, towards the end of the meal. Her smile made me nervous.

  I gave her the evil eye - no effect whatsoever.

  ‘Were you at Jubilee Gardens last night?’ she said.

  Silence. Knives and forks froze in mid-air.

  ‘No.’

  Lydia grinned. Her eyebrow twitched. ‘Just wondered.’

  I caught the look that passed between Mum and Dad. How the hell did she know? I tried to think who could have seen me. There were only the kids buying drugs and the ones with the pit bulls. How would Lydia know any of them? I took a few more mouthfuls but my appetite had gone. So, it seemed, had Mum and Dad’s. Only Lydia continued to shovel food into that trouble-making mouth of hers.

  After dinner, Lydia washed the dishes while I dried. ‘Sorry for dropping you in it,’ she said. ‘Didn’t realise Mum and Dad would go so weird.’

  ‘It’s okay.’

  ‘Just thought it was funny, that’s all. He said you were wrecked.’ She grinned. ‘That, I cannot imagine.’

  ‘It wasn’t me. Lyd,’ I said.

  ‘Didn’t think it was,’ she said, ‘until you all freaked out.’ She looked up at me with the smuggest of grins. ‘By the way, d’you like my bracelet?’

  She held her arm out. A solid silver bangle dangled on her wrist, engraved with an intricate pattern just visible through the washing-up suds. It looked expensive.

  ‘Where d’you get it?’

  ‘Leo gave it to me.’

  I breathed in saliva, coughed. ‘Leo?’

  ‘You know him then? Parka? Brown hair?’ Her sharp eyes glittered, watched for a reaction.

  I nodded, remembered Leo talking about my ‘nice’ family.

  ‘It was him who told me you were at Jubilee.’

  ‘Keep away from him, Lyd - seriously.’

  ‘Why? He’s nice.’

  ‘He’s not nice - and you’re thirteen . . .’

  ‘Fourteen,’ she said, as if that made a difference.

  ‘Yeah, fourteen and stupid. He’s, I don’t know, twenty or something.’ And he just happens to be a murderer.

  ‘He’s funny and cool,’ she said, the grin gone. ‘You’re just jealous because he’s better-looking than your freaky guy.’

  She shook her hands and suds flew everywhere. I caught her before she reached the door. ‘Lydia, listen. Leo hates me. He’ll hurt you just to get at me.’

  ‘Oh, yeah.’ Her lip curled. ‘It’s all about you, isn’t it? Couldn’t be he likes me, could it? Oh, no – everyone loves Pearl.’

  ‘He’s evil, Lydia. He tried to kill me.’

  ‘Oh, God!’ she said. ‘You’re such a drama queen.’ She left the kitchen and slammed the door.

  No point in going after her. No matter what I said, she wouldn’t listen. I texted Jack. He said he’d ‘have a word’. Fear for Lydia made me wish I’d let him drop Leo out of the window, after all.

  I went to my room, sat at my desk and opened my books in case anyone came in. I doodled, drew eyes all around the edge of my paper. Beautiful, sad, gentle eyes, then frightened eyes, then hooded, black eyes, lustful, hard, cruel eyes. I shivered.

  Someone tapped on my door - Dad, asking if we could have ‘a little chat’. A ‘little chat’ reminded me of Jim.

  Dad looked as awkward as I felt. ‘I’m worried about you, Pearl.’

  I didn’t say anything.

  ‘There’s something wrong, I know. Is it this Jack? Is he okay?’

  Okay? No, not even the blindest of lovers could call him that.

  He sighed. ‘Did you tell him Jim wants to see him?’

  I nodded so sharply it cricked my neck.

  ‘Good. So - pressure’s off.’

  Except it wasn’t because Jack couldn’t give his DNA, in case there was some on Tipper, on the guy at the flats – on any number of other victims. One solitary tear escaped and ran down my cheek.

  ‘What is it, Pearl?’

  I shook my head and shrugged, couldn’t trust myself to speak.

  ‘Look, whatever it is . . . Are you pregnant? Is that it?’

  He flinched at my harsh laugh.

  ‘Shall I get your mum?’

  ‘No.’ Mum would never understand. ‘No, Dad. Sit down – please.’

  He sat, perched on the end of my bed, his hands clasped in his lap. Solid, safe, dependable hands – hands that had held me as a baby.

  ‘Before I say anything,’ I said, ‘promise not to tell Jim.’

  ‘Why would I tell Jim?’

  ‘Just let me speak, Dad, okay?’

  He nodded but already I could see the horrible realisation dawning in his eyes.

  ‘It’s about Jack.’

  ‘Right.’ Dad’s voice was flat. ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s . . .’ I couldn’t get the words out.

  ‘He’s what?’ He swall
owed. ‘You mean he’s . . .?’ He jumped to his feet, paced towards the door and back again, agitated. ‘He’s one of them, isn’t he? He’s part of this - Mesmeris?’

  ‘Dad, listen.’

  ‘No, you listen.’ He stopped in front of me, furious, the sinews in his neck standing out. ‘You don’t know what they do. They kill people, Pearl - murder them.’ He stared at my face and then his mouth dropped open and he stepped back, eyes wide, shocked. ‘You do know.’ His voice was barely more than a whisper. ‘You know - and yet you . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Oh, God!’ He sat heavily on the bed, his hands over his face. ‘Those children,’ he said. ‘Children, Pearl – your age.’ Tears dropped onto his cassock. They hung there for a moment like pearls on the black fabric, then disappeared.

  ‘That wasn’t Jack,’ I said.

  He made a noise, halfway between a laugh and a sob. ‘He told you that, did he?’

  ‘He was with me the whole time, Dad – the whole time, I swear. Please, you have to help him.’

  ‘Help him?’ He shook his head. ‘Help someone who . . .?’ A shudder crossed his face. ‘No – never.’ He got up, paced the floor.

  ‘Dad, please - sit down. Let me tell you about him.’

  ‘I don’t want to know.’ But he sat anyway.

  I told him everything I knew about Jack’s abduction, about how he’d protected me, put himself in danger for me, risked his life for me. ‘He loves me, Dad.’

  We sat in silence, except for the ticking of my alarm clock and Lydia’s grotesquely cheery music, filtering through the wall.

  ‘Luke!’ Mum called from downstairs.

  Dad jumped to his feet and wiped his eyes with his sleeve. He opened the door and stuck his head out. ‘Two minutes, darling.’ He shut the door, leaned back against it and closed his eyes for a moment. I watched him breathe, watched his muscles relax. ‘If it’s true,’ he said, at last, ‘this story he’s told you – and it almost certainly isn’t. They’re consummate liars . . .’

  ‘It is true.’

  Dad held his hand up to stop me. ‘I’ll check his story and then we’ll see. Until then, you’re not to see him. Is that understood?’

  Not see him? Impossible. ‘Okay,’ I said. ‘But his real name’s John – John Armytage Cooper.’

  ‘Even if his story is true and I agree to help him, he has to want to do it – Does he want to?’

  I nodded.

  ‘And he knows the possible consequences?’

  I stared at him. Andrew hadn’t mentioned any consequences.

  ‘The exorcism – he knows he’ll have to relive everything?’ he said. ‘It’s pretty traumatic.’

  Jack’s horror as he remembered his abduction came back to me. The exorcism would be more of that. Would he be able to take it?

  ‘Call him.’ Dad said. ‘And you’d better tell him I’ve never performed an exorcism before. I only know the theory.’

  ‘Dad,’ my eyes welled up with tears, ‘what if he loses his mind? I couldn’t . . .’ My voice broke.

  ‘I’ll do my best,’ he said. ‘Someone’s coming to help with Jim’s inquiry. A young priest. Maybe he can help us – I don’t know. We’ll have to move quickly. Jim’s onto him and once the police have him, we won’t get a chance.’

  ‘I know, Dad.’

  ‘Even if we succeed,’ Dad said. ‘He’ll still have to answer for his crimes. Don’t think there’s any easy way out of this.’

  ‘I don’t, but I’m scared.’

  He sat next to me, hugged me and I wept on his shoulder just as Jack had done on mine. The rough wool of his cassock against my cheek, the familiar smell of soap and candles and incense, reminded me of when I was a child. But not even Dad could make this better. No one could.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  I slept, drifted in and out of consciousness with only one thing on my mind, the dreaded conversation with Jack. Whatever happened, whatever he decided, I was going to lose him – for months, for years, maybe forever.

  As soon as the sky began to lighten, I slid out of bed, crept through the silent house and out into the back garden. Heavy dew covered the lawn like frost, silver in the grey dawn light. It soaked through my slippers, seeped into the hem of my dressing gown.

  I pressed Jack’s number into my phone. One ring and he answered. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘I need to see you.’

  A pause. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Just get here.’

  I heard him move against the phone, imagined him getting out of bed, naked.

  ‘I’ll be ten minutes,’ he said.

  ‘Okay.’ I fell to my knees on the sodden grass and rocked back and forth and howled, silently, at the sky. Then, I wiped my tears and went back inside. Five minutes later, dressed, teeth cleaned, hair brushed, I was pacing up and down outside the house.

  A different car this time – dirty white, tatty, fitting. Inside smelled of damp and fags.

  ‘It’s not six o’clock yet,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong?’

  I shook my head. I couldn’t speak so turned away and looked out of the window. He drove. I didn’t ask where, didn’t care. We parked in a clearing in a forest and got out of the car. Empty picnic tables stood, soaked with dew. Birds sang out a deafening dawn chorus as wisps of cloud drifted through the trees. He lit a cigarette.

  ‘You don’t smoke,’ I said.

  ‘I know.’

  In silence we watched a watery sun break through, watched the blackbirds tug worms out of the ground as he dragged on the cigarette, took huge lungfuls, the noxious fumes drifting away to join the mist.

  ‘So?’ He stubbed the butt out with his shoe.

  ‘My dad knows.’

  He nodded. ‘Right.’ He lit another cigarette, pulled deeply on it, examined it. ‘Hate these fucking things.’

  ‘You don’t swear either,’ I said.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Well, everything’s changed now, hasn’t it?’ He flung the cigarette away. It hissed as it hit the wet grass. He leaned back on the car and looked at the sky. ‘So, what do we do?’

  ‘He says Jim’s close to getting you.’

  ‘Pretty much worked that out.’

  ‘Dad says he can help you.’

  A bitter, short laugh. ‘Yeah, right.’

  ‘He can get them out of your head.’

  He watched me - wary, narrowed eyes.

  ‘He can free you – get you away from them, from Papa.’

  His mouth hacked a cynical laugh, and yet his eyes held something, a flicker of hope.

  It was the faltering hope that did it, that started my tears. The corners of my mouth dragged down. ‘It’s dangerous – traumatic.’

  ‘What is - exactly?’

  ‘The exorcism.’

  A short bark of a laugh and then, for an instant, his face crumpled and I saw him, the real him. A fleeting glimpse and he regained control, forced a smile. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Let’s go for it.’

  ‘I’m scared.’

  ‘Me too,’ he said, ‘but if we don’t, I’ll still keep doing - stuff that would make you throw up, make you pass out.’ His face looked grey in the dawn light, pinched from the cold, as bleak and lifeless as a corpse.

  ‘We’ve had no time,’ I said. ‘No time together. It’s so unfair.’

  ‘We could always run away.’

  Run away? Why hadn’t I thought of that? ‘Yes – yes, let’s run away.’

  A flicker of a smile came and went. ‘I don’t know. They’re inside my head, inside my scar. Every night, they . . .’

  How could I have forgotten about the fever, the agony? Mind control, Andrew said, nothing more. ‘If it’s too bad, we’ll come back.’

  He half-smiled. ‘I guess. We can try. But we can’t delay it for long – the exorcism - not with your uncle after me.’

  ‘Just a little while then,’ I said, ‘like a . . .’ I was going to say honeymoon but stopped myself in time.

  ‘Holiday?’ he said.

  ‘Y
es – yes, holiday.’

  His smile made me smile.

  ‘I’ll talk to your dad tomorrow,’ he said, ‘say we just need a couple of days. By the time he realises, we’ll be out of the country.’

  A picture of Dad’s face appeared in front of me, of those tears falling down his face, hanging on his black cassock. I pushed it away. He’d understand when we explained.

  ‘I’d better get back,’ I said, ‘before they notice I’m missing.’

  As we got back in the car, the pale sun disappeared behind a bank of grey cloud but I felt elated. It wasn’t the end, after all, not yet anyway. We could have weeks together – months, years even, if the fevers eased off. Once we were far away, maybe it would stop happening altogether. We could go somewhere warm and sunny, go anywhere that didn’t have an extradition treaty with Britain.

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘even when it comes to it, I may be okay with the exorcism. It may not be that bad.’

  ‘It’ll be fine,’ I said, and smiled because I wanted to believe it, because I wanted him to believe it. And I didn’t want to think about what would come afterwards – a trial, prison.

  ‘You’ll still come over tonight?’ he said.

  Dad’s words popped into my head - You’re not to see him. Is that understood?

  ‘Try stopping me,’ I said.

  We were back home before half seven. I heard the shower going and the radio on in the kitchen but made it to my room without seeing anyone. I waited until Dad left the house before going downstairs. I didn’t want to see his face, knowing he’d look tired and old, knowing he hadn’t slept.

  As soon as Lydia dashed into school to see her mates, I doubled back and caught a bus to the shopping centre. I withdrew all the money I had left over from my birthday and headed for the biggest department store in town. Every time a frightening thought entered my head, I pushed it away. We were starting a new life. We were going to be together. I wanted something fabulous, something that would make me feel better, make me forget everything except the night to come - a whole night with Jack. When he saw me, I wanted him to feel how I felt every single time I saw his face. I headed for the lingerie department, for the expensive section. And there I found it – just what I was looking for - a flimsy, delicate, blue silk slip, dusty indigo with a darker lace trim. I checked the price. Just about all the money I had. I checked the label – 100% pure silk. I took it into the changing room.