The Edge of Dark

by Pamela Hartshorne

  And yet it was happening. Roz didn’t understand how or why, but she wasn’t making this up.

  So, she was either hallucinating, or possessed by a long-dead woman.

  Roz rested her elbows on the desk and rubbed her temples. So much for rational thought. She didn’t care for either option, but she couldn’t think of any other explanation.

  Perhaps she should stop trying to explain it and decide instead what she was going to do about it? Roz sat back in her chair. She’d ruled out getting medical help, but maybe it was time to forget her prejudices and try some spiritual assistance. She had a vague idea that you were supposed to call in a priest to deal with ghosts, but she would feel a fool doing that. The Holmwood connection suggested it was something to do with this house, but she could hardly ask a priest in to exorcize the place without asking Adrian, and how could she do that without him writing her off as a hysteric? Roz didn’t even want to think what Helen’s reaction would be.

  Mark’s idea of a séance might be her best bet, Roz decided. If she arranged for allegedly psychic experts to come to Holmwood House anyway, surely they would be able to identify whether Jane was a ghost or not? And if they could, perhaps they would know what to do about her, without Roz herself ever having to admit to her own weird experiences.

  Encouraged at the thought of being able to take some action, Roz sat up straighter and pulled her briefcase closer so that she could open her laptop. The Holmwood Foundation had provided a computer, but now that she had a plan of action she wanted to get on with it straight away rather than work out how to use a new system.

  So intent was she on googling psychic investigators that Roz didn’t at first notice the curl of smoke under her door. It was only when the smell, acrid as resentment, scraped at the back of her throat that she looked up and horror struck her cold to the marrow. Smoke was seeping slyly under the skirting boards, filling the room with a choking haze that thickened with terrifying speed in front of her eyes.

  ‘Oh my God!’ After that one frozen moment, Roz pushed back her chair and grabbed the phone. What had Helen told her about an outside line? Dial 0 first, yes. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons on the phone as she found 0 and then jabbed 999. ‘Fire!’ she gasped when the operator answered. ‘Fire at Holmwood House on Micklegate. Please, hurry!’

  She had to get out. Panic clutched at her, made her clumsy as she bumped her way round her desk and stumbled across to the door. The smoke was a living thing, a beast that grabbed gleefully at her, coiling around her ankles and her wrists, wrapping itself around her throat, smothering her, choking her.

  Was this what it had been like for her parents, her sisters? Terrified, Roz reached the door and struggled for long, desperate seconds before she realized that it opened inwards. Then she was out in the corridor, retching, her breath hoarse in her ears.

  ‘Fire!’ she tried to call, but her throat was too raw, and she groped her way along the corridor to Lucy’s office to bang on the door. ‘Lucy! Lucy, get out!’

  The smoke snuck in behind Roz as she pushed open the door. It swirled around her, dark and vile, but she had to check that Lucy wasn’t there. Her arm pressed to her nose and mouth, her eyes streaming, Roz ran across to make sure that Lucy wasn’t lying behind the desk, but there was no sign of her, and she staggered back out into the corridor, followed by the smoke, thick as mud, and behind it, she was sure, the dark, malevolent chuckle of flames.

  Where was the fire alarm? Roz couldn’t remember. Choking and spluttering, she threw open the door to the last office, also empty, and plunged down the stairs, practically falling in her haste to get away from the fire that lunged after her.

  ‘Fire!’ she rasped but there was no one to hear her, and she bumped against the walls, blundering in her panic as she checked the great chamber and the smaller parlours. Oh God, so much work had gone into restoring and recreating the house. It couldn’t burn down now!

  At least there was no one there. Roz clattered down the last set of stairs, so panicky that she didn’t see Jeff coming up them until she ran right into him. ‘Jeff! Oh Jeff, thank God!’ she coughed.

  ‘What’s going on?’ His hands were hard on her arms as he held her away from him. ‘I heard all the running upstairs. Was that you?’

  ‘The top floor . . . fire . . .’ she choked out, too terrified to notice how he went rigid at the word. ‘Where’s Lucy?’

  ‘She went out about half an hour ago.’ He stared at her, craning his neck to see past her up the stairs. ‘ Fire?’ There was a strange note in his voice. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m sure.’ Frantically, she bundled him back down the stairs. ‘I’ve called the fire brigade. Please, we just need to make sure there’s no one here.’

  ‘There’s no one else downstairs,’ said Jeff. ‘You go and warn the others and I’ll get the fire extinguishers.’

  ‘No!’ Roz grabbed at him. ‘You need to leave as well, Jeff. It’s too dangerous.’

  She wouldn’t let him go, kept dragging him over to the door and into the Foundation house. ‘Helen!’ She sagged in the office doorway. Her throat was burning, as if the fire itself had lodged there, and she rubbed her neck to ease it as she coughed and retched to rid her lungs of the smoke.

  Helen looked up irritably. ‘What on earth is the matter?’

  ‘Fire,’ Roz rasped.

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Helen.

  ‘The whole top floor is full of smoke, Helen. I’ve called the emergency services.’ Even as she spoke, Roz could hear the whoop and wail of sirens approaching. ‘Jeff says there’s no one else in the house, but I think everyone should leave here too, just in case.’

  ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘I think we should all go, Helen,’ Jeff put in. ‘Better safe than sorry. I’ll pull the alarm, shall I?’

  Sighing, Helen nodded. ‘Thank goodness Sir Adrian has gone already,’ she said, and made a big thing of taking her time to gather her bag while Roz fidgeted, desperate to get everyone outside to safety. It seemed to take ages for the other staff to file down the stairs and out onto the street, where they gathered in a huddle.

  Helen narrowed her eyes up at Roz’s window in the roof. ‘I can’t see any sign of fire,’ she objected, but Roz ignored her, turning in relief as three fire engines raced past the traffic that had pulled over to let them through, blue lights flashing frantically as they jarred over the cobbles.

  An officer was swinging down from the cab almost before the first engine had stopped. ‘Who reported the fire?’ he demanded.

  ‘I did,’ said Roz, stepping forward. Her throat was hot and raw still and her voice came out as a rasp. She pointed up at the roof. ‘My office is in the attics and the whole floor was full of smoke.’

  ‘Is there anybody in there?’

  ‘No, we checked.’ Roz glanced around for Jeff, but he had drifted to the back of the crowd and was watching the firefighters with a curious expression.

  Two firefighters were fixing their face masks on while another man checked the pressure gauges on the breathing apparatus they carried on their backs. They headed towards Holmwood House, purposeful but unhurried. Moved across the road with everybody else, Roz watched them, rubbing her throat as she forced the clean air into her burning lungs. She couldn’t imagine voluntarily heading into such horror. The roar of the fire appliances filled the air and she shivered, wrapping one arm around herself.

  Helen was muttering impatiently to the rest of the Foundation staff. Roz could feel their curious looks, and she found herself wishing the firefighters would come rushing out and order the turntable to raise the ladders up to the top floor.

  But when the men emerged, they were in no hurry. There was a long conversation with the officer in charge, who turned at last to the waiting staff. ‘Who’s in charge here?’

  There was a pause. Roz struggled to think. Adrian and Lucy seemed to be out and there was no sign of Mark. Perhaps that made her the most senior person there? But before she could say an
ything, Helen stepped forward.

  ‘In Sir Adrian’s absence, I think I’m the most experienced person here,’ she said with an unfriendly look in Roz’s direction. ‘Can you tell us what’s happening?’

  ‘My men have been through the building and there’s no sign of fire on the top floor or anywhere.’

  ‘But that’s impossible!’ Roz burst out. ‘There was smoke everywhere! I could hardly see!’

  The fire officer shook his head. ‘They didn’t see any smoke damage at all.’

  ‘I don’t understand,’ she said helplessly.

  ‘I knew this was a waste of time,’ snapped Helen.

  ‘Wait. Listen.’ Roz held her head between her hands as if afraid it might explode. ‘There must be some mistake. I didn’t make this up. Why would I invent a fire?’

  ‘Well, it’s a funny thing no one else saw this fire,’ said Helen snidely.

  ‘What about Jeff? He was there.’ Roz beckoned him over urgently, but he avoided her gaze, and would have slipped away behind the fire engine if she hadn’t gone over and taken him by the arm. ‘Jeff,’ she said desperately. ‘You were on the stairs. You must have seen the smoke. Tell the inspector.’

  Jeff’s arm was rigid with tension. He kept his eyes on the pavement. ‘I didn’t see no smoke,’ he said.

  ‘What?’ Roz gaped at him in dismay.

  ‘I didn’t see nothing,’ he said, surly, sullen. ‘But I smelt it. I smelt the smoke.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ Sir Adrian came rushing up to Helen, who had sent him a text to let him know that they were being evacuated. She thought she’d made it clear that it was a false alarm, but obviously he’d been concerned enough to leave his meeting.

  ‘Nothing,’ said Helen, lowering her voice soothingly and taking Sir Adrian’s arm to turn him to one side and reassure him that everything was under control. ‘Roz seemed to think it was amusing to waste the fire brigade’s time and drag the entire staff out into the cold just because she thought she smelt a bit of smoke that no one else could smell.’

  It was a mistake to mention Roz, though. Adrian’s eyes widened and he pushed past Helen to grab Roz’s hands. ‘My God, Roz, are you all right?’ he asked urgently.

  Roz, Roz, Roz, that was all he could think about! Helen’s mouth twisted as she watched Roz pretend to pull away even as she simpered up at him.

  ‘I’m fine, Adrian,’ she said and Helen had to admire the way she injected just a touch of impatience into her voice, as if to suggest that she wasn’t interested in herself. ‘I was just worried about the house.’

  Ha! That was a joke. Any fool could see that she was desperate for attention. A wave of dislike surged through Helen, so intense it stopped her breath for a moment. Everything had to be about Roz. Helen had been able to tell that the moment she opened the door to her the day before. Why couldn’t men see it? They were such fools for that fragile look. Even that weirdo Jeff, who always gave Helen the creeps, seemed to have fallen for it.

  Of course, Sir Adrian’s protective instincts were part of his gentlemanly charm, Helen reminded herself, swallowing down the bile that was curdling in her throat. He was just too generous for his own good. Only she ever seemed to understand that. He didn’t realize that he was the one who needed looking after. There were too many women, exactly like Roz, who were ready to take advantage of his good nature.

  Now Sir Adrian was urging Roz to take the rest of the day off and Roz was putting up a show of being determined to carry on, like she was the one with the problem. What about the rest of them who’d had their morning disrupted for no reason? Oh no, Roz was the brave little flower who would suffer in silence and make sure everybody knew that it was harder for her than anybody else!

  Watching Roz’s performance, Helen felt the dislike chill and harden into hatred. It was a strange feeling, like another skin settling over hers, and for a moment it seemed as if she was standing outside herself, looking at her stocky figure in her sensible suit and sensible shoes, at the way she was watching Sir Adrian with naked yearning, and frustration and a kind of contempt surged through her.

  Helen frowned and shook away the sensation. She didn’t look ridiculous, she looked practical. She wasn’t yearning hopelessly for Sir Adrian, she loved him, deeply and truly, and she knew what he needed. She would be there for him when the Rozes of this world were long gone, and then he would turn to her and realize at last that the woman he needed had been right there all along.

  Helen had imagined the scene so many times. The look of wonder that would come into his eyes as he stared at her. ‘Helen,’ he would say, cradling her face tenderly between his hands, ‘I’ve been such a fool. Why has it taken me so long to realize that you’re the one? I can’t manage without you.’ And then he would kiss her and Helen would melt into his arms. ‘Come, my darling,’ he would say when he raised his head. ‘Let’s go home. I can’t wait any longer to make love to you.’

  Helen’s nipples hardened and a lust shook her that was so savage it startled her. Normally her dreams were rose-tinted romantic affairs, but this was something different, something dark and feral, a need for a dirty, brutal coupling. Who needed gentle kisses? She wanted him to push her against the wall and shove his cock into her until she screamed and bucked and raked her fingernails down his back.

  ‘Helen?’

  Helen sucked in a sharp breath as she realized that Sir Adrian was standing right in front of her. Her mouth was dry, her blood pounding, and dull colour mottled her throat as she recalled just what she had been thinking. That wasn’t like her. She loathed vulgarity. She didn’t think of Sir Adrian as a man with a cock – a vile word, and one she never used.

  ‘Helen?’ said Adrian again and with a huge effort she pulled herself together.

  ‘I’m sorry, Sir Adrian.’ Her voice came out deep and husky and she cleared her throat as she struggled to sound her normal practical self. ‘I think I might be coming down with something, and standing out here in the cold hasn’t helped.’

  ‘That decides the matter,’ he said. ‘Roz wants to get back to work, but she’s clearly had an unpleasant experience, and perhaps she’ll accept it if I tell her I’m sending everyone home. The fire officer will let the staff in to collect their things and will then do another inspection, and I think it’s better if we start again tomorrow.’

  Here was her chance to prove to Adrian that she was the one who could be relied upon. Helen straightened her shoulders. ‘That’s very kind of you, Sir Adrian, and I’m sure the staff will appreciate it, but of course I’ll stay. I want to get those letters finished for you, and we could go over the lottery application. It might be a good opportunity with just the two of us and no distractions . . .’

  But Sir Adrian was already turning away to watch as Roz walked over the road in those stupid shoes and disappeared into the house with a firefighter. ‘That can all wait until tomorrow,’ he said absently. ‘We might as well all take the day off.’

  Tight-lipped, Roz shoved the laptop back into her briefcase under the eyes of the firefighter who had accompanied her to her office to reassure her that there was no fire. She hadn’t wanted to believe it at first, but there was no trace of that thick, malevolent smoke in the air, no insidious crackling of a fire taking hold. She’d stared around the room, at the skirting boards and walls, all pristine, as if the choking, billowing black air had never rolled around her, as if she had imagined it all.

  Maybe she had.

  But Jeff had smelt the smoke too, Roz reminded herself with a kind of desperation, and her eyes were still red and stinging and her throat still felt as if it were clogged with the horror of the fire chasing her down the stairs. She could barely swallow past it, but how could it have vanished without trace?

  She must have imagined it.

  The firefighter watched stolidly as she went over to her desk. When she pressed her laptop, the screen sprang into life. She’d left it open on the website of Charles Denton, allegedly the UK’s most renowned psychic. H
ad the firefighters seen that when they checked the room?

  The muscles in Roz’s cheeks tightened as she imagined them exchanging glances and twirling their forefingers against their temples. They must have written her off as an eccentric, or neurotic, as the rest of the staff obviously thought of her now.

  Her head felt as if it were gripped in a vice and there was a blinding pain behind her eyes.

  She’d told Adrian that she would work at home that afternoon, and immediately he’d offered to drive her, as if she were some kind of invalid. She’d wanted to snap that being a crazy person who invented fires and evacuated buildings didn’t mean that she wasn’t capable of putting one foot in front of another, but she’d bitten back the words and refused him as politely and firmly as she could. ‘It’s quicker to walk,’ she’d pointed out truthfully, ‘and I could do with the air.’ Which was also true.

  Outside in the corridor, the firefighter waited for her, shuffling his feet and muttering something into a walkie-talkie. Roz hoisted her briefcase onto her shoulder and threw a quick glance around her office. The room was very still. It felt as if it were waiting for her too. Waiting for her to see something, to hear something, to understand something important.

  One hand on the strap of the briefcase, she tilted her head and strained her senses and there it was again, the faint crack and snap of flames, flicking at the edge of her mind, and coldness rippled through her. The fire was there, behind the wall, waiting for her. She was sure of it.

  ‘Ready, love?’ the firefighter asked from the doorway.

  ‘You don’t hear anything, do you?’ said Roz.

  Patiently, he cocked his head, listened for a moment and then shook his head. ‘No. What am I listening for?’