Maybe I'm seeing it all wrong, she told herself. I need to figure out the significance of that shipwreck.
Erin tried to focus on the regular work of the museum, but her thoughts kept straying to the diorama and the mysterious signals. Eventually she gave up and retreated to her tiny office where she took out her phone and searched for apps that could translate Morse code. It took a while, but her faith in nerds was justified when she got exactly what she needed. She uploaded the video she had made that morning and tapped the screen. The translation came through instantly. The message was a simple one repeated over and over.
TGOITSATRAPDONTGOITSATRAPDO
“Don't go,” she said quietly. “It's a trap. Gee, thanks.”
She closed the app, and as she did so, her phone rang. It was Detective Sergeant Carr, asking if they could meet up for a talk.
“Sure,” she said. “Could you come here this afternoon? No? Well, how about this evening? Fine. It'll be good to touch base, compare notes.”
It was only after she ended the call that Erin realized that the Morse message might be warning her about the meeting she had just arranged.
“Damn,” she said to the empty room. “No, I can't get paranoid about this. I trust Carr.”
Chapter 7: Lost and Found
Two days passed without further incident, and Erin's appointment with Doctor Black arrived. She had decided to do without her walking stick that morning. Louise, who gave her a lift to the hospital, noticed this.
“You've recovered enough to walk without it, then?” she asked, arching an eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Erin said, feeling herself redden a little. “Yeah, I've made great progress.”
“Nothing to do with hunky Doctor Black – making an impression? Being a brave little soldier for the medical dreamboat?”
Erin gave Louise a sharp slap on the shoulder.
“Shut up!” she said. “It was the morphine talking. Doctors are used to people on drugs saying weird stuff.”
“At one point, you proposed,” Louise recalled. “Much giggling among the nurses, as I recall.”
“Oh, God,” said Erin, face-palming. “You had to tell me that now?”
“You insisted on a civil ceremony,” Louise went on, as she drove into the hospital car park. “And I think a honeymoon in Bali was specified because, in your words 'you guys are all rolling in it'.”
“Not listening!” yelled Erin, hands over her ears, trying not to laugh.
They faced the usual prolonged wait to see the consultant. Louise bought them both cups of almost undrinkable instant coffee.
“I can never get over this,” said Erin, halfheartedly looking through an unexciting heap of magazines. “You guys get told when to turn up to see the doc, then you get to wait – hours, maybe.”
“True,” said Louise. “But nobody gets turned away because they can't pay. It's a trade-off.”
Erin found a magazine titled ‘Tea Break!’ with the cover story 'My boyfriend's a serial killer – but I still want him back!'
“And we think we've got problems,” she observed, flipping through the well-thumbed pages.
“Classic case of a woman who loves too much,” commented Louise, reading over Erin's shoulder. “She probably married a handsome medic.”
“You go on to the museum,” suggested Erin, “rather than waiting God knows how long. I can get a cab.”
“If you're sure,” said Louise. “I am a bit doubtful about leaving Amy to hold the fort. Even with Ron lurking behind the scenes. That girl's mind is not on the job lately. God knows what I'm going to write if she asks for a reference.”
“Go!” insisted Erin. “Prevent that raw intern from destroying your lovely museum!”
Just after Louise left, Erin was called into Black's consulting room.
Don't grin like an idiot, she told herself. Lots of big problems, think about those. Death, destruction, evil.
“How are you, Erin?” asked the doctor.
“Oh, I'm great!” she gushed. “Really, you and your team did such a great job, it's – erm, great!”
“Quite,” said Black, smiling as he checked his notes. “So this is really just a follow-up to ensure that everything is okay. I note that you're still registered with a GP in London?”
They discussed health bureaucracy while Black examined Erin's hands and feet.
“Remarkable,” he said. “Almost totally healed, and with minimal scarring.”
“Is that one of the unusual things that you mentioned?” Erin asked, putting her socks and boots back on.
God, my toenails look like I cut them with pliers, she thought. And I forgot to paint 'em. Great.
“One of them, yes,” said the doctor. He picked up a sheaf of documents. “I've got quite a few things here. You've got an amazing immune system, and your body seems to repair damage at a remarkable rate. And I've already mentioned the traces of supernumerary digits, of course. But there's also this.”
Black held out a glossy sheet. From numerous movies and TV shows she recognized it as an X-ray of a spine and ribcage – presumably hers. But nothing about it seemed unusual.
“Sorry,” she said, “am I supposed to be amazed, horrified? Delighted? What is it I'm not seeing?”
“Actually, it's two things,” said Black, leaning over to indicate a couple of blurs just above the uppermost ribs. “These seem to be growths, very small and encased in cartilage. But still quite well-defined.”
“Growths?” Erin held the X-ray closer. “Like, tumors?”
“No!” said Black. “Bony growths, like the tiny nubs of bone left from your amputated digits.”
“But these twin growths are in my back?” Erin looked up, puzzled. “Hey, are we talking about a double Quasimodo situation?”
“Not at all,” laughed the doctor. “Whatever they are, they're not growing. Haven't for quite a while, in fact. You see, there are sometimes anatomical features that begin to develop in the womb, but then stop after birth.”
“But what are they?” murmured Erin, looking at the image again.
“I'm afraid we don't have a name for them,” admitted Black. Then, after a pause, he said, “One of my colleagues, who's keen on ornithology, did suggest we call them rudimentary wing roots. Apparently, they're in exactly the place you'd expect to find the base of a set of wings. If you were a bird. Which of course you're not.”
“No,” said Erin faintly. “No, I'm not. Obviously.”
***
Black gave a slightly nervous laugh.
“Well, the main thing is that you've recovered from those injuries. The ones that nobody seems adequately able to explain.”
Erin looked the doctor in the eye and took a deep breath before speaking.
“I was injured when the haunted cathedral tower tried to suck out my soul through my hands and feet. Along with that, there was also some trouble with a fallen angel and his pack of hell-hounds.”
Black stared at her for a moment, then laughed with relief.
He thinks I'm joking. Who wouldn't?
“Yes, I read all that nonsense on the internet as well!” said the doctor. “It's amazing the rubbish people believe these days.”
“Yeah, amazing,” said Erin in a neutral tone.
“I've even heard that stuff from some of the nurses,” Black went on. “Apparently, you were saying all sorts of weird things when they brought you in.”
“So,” said Erin, “in your expert opinion, what did cause my injuries?”
The surgeon looked uncomfortable.
Baffled expert, thought Erin. It's a cute look.
“To be honest,” he admitted, “I'm not sure. There are some aspects that suggest burns, from a corrosive liquid as opposed to fire. But there are also anomalies, some of them genuinely bizarre. So I have to admit …”
Black talked on, relishing a chance to talk about a medical enigma, and Erin listened politely, trying not to gaze into his eyes.
But there's such a gulf between us, she th
ought. Pity, but the whole dating scene might as well be on another planet. I'd have to be on much more powerful medication to think otherwise.
“…so, in conclusion, we don't really know,” finished Black. “And I think that's it for today. I'll keep you on pain medication, but it would help if you tried to wean yourself off the pills.”
“Yeah,” said Erin, getting up and starting to put on her coat, “don't want me making any more unfortunate proposals to unwary medics. Well, thanks doc, maybe I'll see you around.”
She had the satisfaction of seeing him blush as she left.
As she crossed the hospital car park, she got a text from Jen Deighton. Louise was copied in, too. Opening it, she found a series of video clips.
'Thought you would like to see these. Hidden camera footage – Mason Hall.'
***
“You really should take a break from that, darling,” said Jeff Hunter, putting a mug of coffee on the desk. “They said you should rest after that nasty shock you had. Now, I'm popping out to the shops. Anything you want?”
“Anchovies,” said Melody Lee. “And peanut butter. Hyper-salty stuff in general.”
“Oh God,” said her boyfriend. “I thought all that stuff about pregnant women's cravings was just a cliché. Something from old sitcoms.”
“More fool you,” replied Melody, prodding him in the stomach. “My cravings grow more bizarre by the day, so be warned! I may transcend the wildest imaginings of old-time sitcom writers.”
Laughing, Jeff kissed her on top of her head.
“Okay, you can have as many weird food combinations as you like,” he murmured. “But promise you'll take a break on whatever that is!”
“I promise,” she said, smiling up at him. “See?”
She closed the windows of the analytical software and leaned back in her chair, cupping her coffee mug.
“Oh yeah, very convincing,” said Jeff as he left the study. “I'll be about an hour, assuming the traffic isn't mental.”
“Okay!” shouted Melody.
As soon as she heard the apartment front door slam she went back to work on the Shadow Council project.
“Sorry, Jeff, but it's a matter of professional pride,” she muttered.
Never met a problem I couldn't crack. I'm not giving up just because it's all – all spooky and stuff.
Calling in some favors from nerd friends around the world had provided her with more powerful, up-to-date software than the police used as standard. The video recorded by Carr and Deighton's spy cameras had been too badly corrupted by some kind of intense illumination. But the audio track accompanying the footage was more promising. Melody opened a program called SounderSound and ran the audio through it.
Melody sipped her coffee as the time bar gradually turned green. After what seemed an eternity, the 'Task Completed' message appeared.
“Right,” she said, setting down her mug. “Let's hear it.”
At first, the recording was disappointing. It consisted of Martin Roker chatting to some other disciples about civic affairs. It might have been small talk at the meeting of any committee.
I suppose it is, in a way, Melody thought. Most of the movers and shakers of Weyrmouth are there.
After a couple of minutes, the chanting began, and Melody fiddled with the sound balance to try and hear all the words. She had several goes at it and eventually got all the words. As she listened to the chant, she began to feel uneasy.
“Just words,” she told herself. “Can't hurt me.”
The laptop screen flickered and the various software icons grew distorted for a moment before returning to normal.
If it's an incantation, she thought, surely it has to be used in the right conditions, as part of a ritual? A recording couldn't just–
Melody jabbed at the keyboard control to silence the laptop speakers. The sudden silence seemed even more ominous than the bizarre chant. She tensed, waiting for the screen to return to normal. Instead, the icons swirled and blurred again before stabilizing.
But I got it in time, she thought. If it didn't finish–
She stared at the fluctuating indicator that showed the audio track was still running, albeit unheard. Melody moved quickly to pause the recording with a mouse click. Again, the screen flickered, shapes becoming distorted, colors fading. Then the screen went blank and the computer's fan stopped whirring. Silence fell in the study.
“Oh shit,” she exclaimed. “A virus?”
She tried to restart the computer but failed.
So much for the forces of evil. Turns out they're just another pesky bit of malware.
Cursing, Melody got up to look for her phone so she could call a repair service. She liked to walk up and down while making a call so she went into the living room for some pacing space.
“Yeah, I know,” she said, “it's short notice but I do need it fixed, like, now? And I'll make it worth your while, Gary. No, it's totally dead. Not frozen. Oh come on Gary, I'm not some idiot baffled by a Windows update. This is serious. Yes, I'll pay cash in hand, if you can just come over straight away.”
Having arranged an appointment, she ended the call and went into the kitchen to make a sandwich. Five minutes later, she emerged into the living room and stopped. It was a typically dark English winter afternoon, but golden light was coming from the half-open study door.
I don't have a lamp that bright.
Melody put her sandwich down and went cautiously to the doorway. The laptop screen was glowing. The glow was irregular, pulsating, but gradually growing brighter with each cycle.
How beautiful, she thought, staring into the bright rectangle. Weird, but kind of hypnotic. What kind of fault or virus could do that?
Then fear came.
No way is that a technical malfunction. It's something else. The thing in the video.
Melody began to back away from the door. She had the sudden sensation of being watched.
Something is aware of me.
A voice came, familiar from the recording she had reticently played, but much clearer and stronger. It was cold, precise, with a hint of irritation.
“Who calls me to this place? Where are my followers? Who are you?”
Melody said nothing, but could not help giving a small whimper of fear. She thought of the attack she had survived last year, when child-ghosts had seemed about to take her life. The terror she felt now was even worse.
Ghosts were once human, she thought. This thing never was.
The glow grew brighter. Melody leaned forward and slammed the study door. The pulsing light seemed to embrace her in its pure radiance. The color changed slightly, gold becoming tinged with violet and rose. The pure, bloodless voice came again.
“A female. With child. Interesting.”
Melody felt a stirring of fear, but it was quickly overwhelmed by the hypnotic force of the beautiful radiance, and by the fascinating, inhuman voice.
***
“What is it, Amy?” demanded Louise during a lull at the museum. “You've been really distracted for days, now. When you started, you were so keen. Is there something I can help with?”
Amy Roker shook her head vigorously.
“I'm okay, really, Louise. I just get a bit confused when there are lots of people, you know, all asking me stuff.”
“That's a feeble excuse and you know it,” riposted Louise, wagging a finger at the intern. “When you started, it took you a couple of days to learn the ropes. This is January, not the summer holidays, so we're hardly inundated with customers.”
Amy looked down at her desk, clearly miserable.
In a kindlier tone Louise went on, “You were doing so well, Amy, I was really impressed. And now you're failing to concentrate, making simple mistakes. The gift shop receipts are a mess, and that’s at our slowest time of year!”
“I'm sorry,” said Amy, lower lip quivering. “I've been a bit upset lately.”
Oh God, she's going to cry now, thought Louise. Time to use my, somewhat rusty, peop
le skills.
She gave the girl a tentative pat on the arm.
“There, don't get worked up,” said Louise awkwardly. “If it's something I can help with, why not tell me?”
Amy took out a tissue and blew her nose.
“It's supposed to be a secret,” she explained. “I'm not supposed to know about it at all. But I do and I feel awful, because somebody's going to get hurt.”
Louise perched on the reception desk and put her hands on Amy's shoulders.
“If there's something serious, you shouldn't keep it to yourself. Tell me.”
Amy's face contorted with indecision. Then she blurted out:
“My dad belongs to this weird group and I overheard him talking to mom and I think they're going to do something really–”
A party of schoolchildren led by a young teacher entered the museum foyer, filling the space with cheerful noise.
“We'll talk about this properly after work,” whispered Louise. “We might be able to help one another.”
Erin returned from the hospital a few minutes later, and updated Louise on Doctor Black's findings. They sat in the director's office, sipping coffee and pondering Erin's strange heritage.
***
Jeff Hunter returned from his shopping trip to find a familiar figure standing outside his and Melody's apartment.
“Hi Gary,” said Jeff. “What's up?”
Gary explained about Melody's call.
“I've tried ringing and knocking,” explained the computer repairman. “She said it was urgent, sounded quite anxious, but now it seems she's gone out. Go figure.”
Frowning, Jeff took out his keys. But before he could unlock the apartment door, it swung open. Melody stood there, barefoot and disheveled, but smiling.
“Oh, I'm so sorry, Gary,” she said. “It was a false alarm. Everything's fine now.”
Blood of Angels (Curse of Weyrmouth Series Book 2) Page 10