The Snow Angel

by Lulu Taylor

  ‘Don’t be frightened, Emily,’ he said in a strange voice. ‘We have to do this. You’ll understand afterwards, I promise.’

  Chapter Thirty

  Emily backed away from him. ‘What’s wrong, Tom? You don’t look right.’

  ‘I’m fine,’ Tom said. He had a backpack over his shoulder and he took it off as he came into the hall. ‘I’ve brought some stuff with me.’

  ‘What stuff? What for?’ She eyed the backpack suspiciously. ‘Are you all right? Have you been smoking?’

  Tom stopped and gave her a look that was half pitying and half scornful. ‘I’m sure you’d love to explain away what you don’t understand by blaming the things I take. You don’t see the world the way I do; sometimes it’s hard for me to remember that. Most people don’t share my perception but that doesn’t surprise me. You and I have always been close, though – I expect you to think the way I do.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Come through to the morning room. Let’s sit down.’

  ‘I’ve been wondering where you were,’ she said, following as he went down the corridor.

  ‘Oh,’ he said vaguely. ‘I’ve been travelling.’

  ‘Travelling? Where to?’

  ‘Here and there. There are places I can access that aren’t exactly on this dimension.’

  Her heart sank. ‘Oh.’

  In the morning room, he swung his backpack onto the table and started to unpack it. ‘I’ve brought some things,’ he said. ‘We need to address this problem. It’s time.’

  ‘What problem?’ she asked apprehensively. ‘What are you talking about exactly?’

  ‘Emily, I saw the fear in your eyes yesterday. You’re terrified of Will – and that’s because he’s become your spirit master. To put it frankly, he’s infected you with a demon who wants you dead. That’s why you’ve hidden the angel, isn’t it? I’ve guessed it all. You’ve taken the angel and destroyed it, at the bidding of your demon.’

  He was talking in such a matter-of-fact way that it seemed impossible that he was saying such crazy things. But he was evidently completely serious and she was sure that dismissing what he was saying was not the right approach.

  ‘But there isn’t an angel,’ she said as calmly as she could. ‘James says there never was an angel.’

  ‘There’s only your word for that, isn’t there? I’ve the proof in the paintings – it’s there, over and over. Why would she paint something that wasn’t there? And your demon couldn’t stand the sight of it. And it wants you dead too.’

  ‘A demon wants me dead?’ she asked cautiously.

  ‘Well, in fact, the demon wants me dead. But he also intends to wound me. He’ll undermine me by harming you.’

  She stared at him. When had he gone so far along this road? It was as though he was vanishing into the distance, heading into a world where she couldn’t follow. She didn’t want to follow – it seemed like a world full of self-perpetuating mysteries, a place of dark menace and great threats based more in ancient myth than reality. She could see how it could attract those with strong imaginations and a pull towards the great epic fables of good and evil, the legends conjured up since humans could first express their wonder at the duality of the world and their fears of death and destruction. But once the lines between myth and reality began to blur, once the world was seen through that lens and a person began to act according to those precepts . . . She suddenly saw how ordinary, intelligent people were pulled into cults, persuaded to kill themselves because the world was about to end, or the aliens were coming, or the Rapture was about to begin. If the world were shifted just far enough on its axis, if mysteries of existence suddenly seemed to have reason and answers and a pattern and purpose . . . how comforting and reassuring would that be?

  Tom’s world had been shattered when their parents died in that one stupid moment, when a lorry smashed into their car. Emily herself was almost killed on the road. Was it random and pointless? Or was there a purpose behind it? An evil consciousness against which it was necessary to do battle? Better to be able to take up the sword – or the drug – and fight against a destructive force on the side of good than accept that stupid, sad and unnecessary things happened every day.

  Is that it? Is it Tom’s way of coping with all the shit?

  ‘Here.’ Tom pulled out a flask and put it on the table.

  ‘What’s that?’ she asked, eyeing it.

  ‘Something I’ve made. It’s rough but I tried it myself and it was quite effective.’ Tom stared at her. ‘You need to start healing. You have to expel whatever it is inside you, and begin your journey.’

  Apprehension began to curl in her stomach. ‘Hold on, Tom, what do you mean?’

  ‘Just what I say.’ He gave her another of his half-pitying looks. ‘You need to start on the journey. As soon as you can.’

  She took a step away with a nervous laugh. ‘I’m not taking anything, if that’s what you mean. I have no desire to drink a potion you’ve concocted according to some stuff you’ve read on the internet. What’s in it?’

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said impatiently. ‘Listen to yourself, Emily. It’s not you talking. It’s the evil living inside you. It doesn’t want to be expelled!’

  ‘Oh right, so the more I tell you I don’t want to drink that stuff, the more convinced you’ll be that I need to.’

  He smiled. ‘Will’s demon is strong. Even the one inside you is scared of it. Don’t you want to be free?’

  ‘You’re frightening me, Tom. Please . . . please stop this.’ She looked at him, hoping her fear didn’t show in her eyes. ‘I don’t like it.’

  ‘I bet you don’t.’ He suddenly reached into his backpack and pulled out a silver amulet in the shape of an Egyptian ankh studded with snaking symbols. He held it in front of her face and began to snarl at her in strange gibberish words.

  ‘Tom, stop it!’ She backed away but he took a step towards her, the amulet still pressed close to her face. ‘Stop it!’

  ‘Drink the potion,’ he urged. He put the amulet down and snatched up his flask, pouring some of the thick dun-coloured liquid into the lid. It smelt vile. ‘Drink it.’ He pushed it towards her lips. ‘Drink it, demon!’ he shouted and tried to push it into her mouth.

  She opened her mouth to protest, pushing at him with her palms. ‘No, Tom!’

  As she spoke, he tipped the cup forward and a slosh of the fluid hit her mouth. It burned her tongue and the taste was abhorrent. It filled her mouth and nostrils and she started to retch, trying to spit it out.

  ‘You reject what you know will harm you!’ shouted Tom. He gripped her hair at the back, pulling her head up, attempting to slosh more of the liquid in her mouth. ‘You know that this powerful life force, this healing force, will expel you, demon!’

  The stuff filled her mouth, but her body refused to accept it. Her gorge rose, she felt her throat constrict and heave, and she retched again. A rush of it hit the back of her throat as she struggled for breath and burned its way down her oesophagus. She heaved again and began to choke. Tom was still shouting at the demon inside her, and trying to throw more of the liquid into her mouth. She couldn’t breathe.

  I’m drowning, she thought in a part of her brain that wasn’t gripped by panic. She tried to fight him off with her weak hands, but the liquid was flooding her from above, and her stomach was trying to expel everything from below. There was no room for breath. She could hear the noise in her own throat – a ghastly choking, bubbling sound, a rasp that started and stopped as she fought for oxygen.

  ‘What are you saying, demon?’ bellowed Tom. ‘I know your tongue! I know your frightful language, you are afraid!’

  Something huge and dark was possessing her brain. A pressure was building up in her skull that she felt sure would resolve soon in the great darkness sucking her into it. And once that happened, she knew that she would never come back.

  I’ll go to oblivion. To Will’s world. The place he lived in for all those months. Maybe beyond it to the place no one returns f
rom.

  The pain in her throat and mouth was overpowering. Perhaps the darkness would be welcome relief.

  Then the word came to her. The word that had been her first thought when death last came near to her and when life returned.

  Children.

  She saw them asleep in their beds, blissfully unaware of the struggle going on below them. A struggle she could see now was quite clearly between madness and sanity.

  Children.

  I can’t leave them.

  She wasn’t going to let this happen. She had survived one attempt to tear her from them and she would survive this one too.

  I didn’t fight to lose it all now.

  Emily summoned all her strength, every last bit that was remaining now that the great blackness was encroaching on her brain, and with it, she kicked up with her knee, hard as she could, hitting Tom’s groin with all the power she could summon.

  He howled and fell back. Her head was free and she tipped it forwards so that she could choke out the liquid in her mouth and throat, and then gasp for breath. She was retching and coughing but she knew there was no time to linger. Tom’s face was transformed with pain and fury, but also with a kind of relish, as though he was enjoying the sensation of doing battle with the demon he imagined had possessed her. In another second he would lunge at her again and his strength would easily overpower her.

  He isn’t seeing me, she realised. He’s seeing the spirits that have been haunting his imagination. He wants to destroy them.

  She reached out her hand and switched off the light, plunging the room into blackness. Her one advantage, she realised, was that she knew the house better than Tom did. The instant the darkness enveloped them, she ducked and stumbled towards the door to the passage, still gasping for breath and choking on the remains of the liquid in her throat. Tom heard her and followed her at once.

  ‘You won’t escape me,’ he hissed. ‘Emily, don’t obey that spirit! Turn around and come back to me – it’s your only hope!’

  Misery engulfed her as she stumbled along the passage. Oh Tom. Tom . . . what’s happened to you?

  She reached the cupboard under the stairs and opened the door so that it blocked the passage and then stood pressed against the wall as Tom came along the hallway towards her. He was coming fast but uncertainly, one hand feeling his way against the wall.

  ‘Emily?’ he called. ‘Emily, where are you?’

  What state was he in now? she wondered. Did he still want to force that gunk down her throat or had he come to his senses?

  ‘Where are you?’ he crooned, and the hairs on her skin tingled and stood up. He was almost upon her now. She had only one chance to get it right.

  She held her breath. He was next to her in the passage and he could sense her closeness but was disoriented by the darkness. Something told him to stop just before he hit the door and he stood beside her, breathing hard, his eyeballs glimmering in the darkness. She froze utterly, preparing herself. He knew suddenly that she was beside him and turned towards her.

  ‘Found you!’ he said and reached out a hand towards her, but she was too quick. She bent, dashed forward and pushed him in his middle with all her strength. Taken by surprise, he stumbled sideways with a yell and she pushed again so that he fell into the cupboard. He struck something inside as he fell and was quiet. She slammed the door, shutting him inside, and rammed home the bolt on the top of it.

  Then she slumped against the door, sobbing. ‘Tom . . . Oh Tom, are you all right? Oh my God. Tom . . . I’m sorry. I had to do it.’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  James called her when he saw the flashing lights of the ambulance in front of the house, the red cutting through the darkness of night.

  ‘Emily?’ he said, panic in his voice. ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Yes,’ she replied. The paramedics had Tom on a stretcher with a brace around his neck just in case of any damage and were securing him ready for the transition to the ambulance. ‘It’s Tom. He’s been hurt. He has to go to hospital.’

  She could hear the relief in his voice when he spoke, and guessed he’d been worried about her and the children. ‘Oh no, poor Tom. Are you going with him?’

  ‘I need to . . . but Carrie and Joe . . .’

  ‘Don’t worry, I’ll come down right away. I’ll bring Mum and she can sit with them until you get back. Then I’ll drive you to the hospital.’

  ‘I ought to go with Tom in the ambulance.’

  ‘They’ll probably want to leave sooner than that. Wait for me and we’ll be there as soon as possible. Okay?’

  ‘Okay,’ she said, relieved that James was making decisions for her. She was in a state of shock but the medics were concerned with Tom. His head had struck some old paint tins as he fell and he’d been knocked unconscious and had suffered a gash to his temple. He was coming round now but groaning with pain and talking incoherently. She told them he’d fallen in the dark.

  When James arrived with his mother, the ambulance had only just left, and within a few minutes, Emily was next to him in the Land Rover’s passenger seat.

  ‘What happened?’ James asked. ‘Tell me everything from the beginning.’

  So she went right back to the start, from the time she first noticed Tom’s behaviour changing and the way he had begun to think and act towards her. As she related it, she realised how it must sound. It was obvious that Tom had developed some kind of mental illness, most likely exacerbated by his use of drugs. When she reached the events of that evening, it was clear from James’s face that the problem was more than just a bit of New Age hocus pocus.

  ‘For God’s sake, Emily,’ James said, his face pale. ‘He could have killed you.’

  ‘No, no, I’m sure . . .’ She broke off, remembering the vivid feeling that she would soon lose consciousness and the helplessness she had felt. He hadn’t realised what he was doing, she was sure of it. But like a child killing a duckling by squeezing it with affection, he could have harmed her in his desire to save his sister from the evil he perceived was damaging her.

  ‘He needs help, you must see that,’ James said gently. ‘What he did isn’t normal. It isn’t right. You must tell the doctors everything that happened and ask their advice.’

  ‘Will they put him away somewhere?’ she asked, panicked.

  ‘I don’t know.’ James watched the road with a serious expression. ‘But they’ll make sure he’s not a danger to you or to himself. That’s the most important thing.’

  James stayed with her during the long hours in A & E. Tom was stitched up and seemed to be making a recovery, though he was concussed and very dazed, but Emily gave a full report of what had taken place to the duty doctor. She was then checked over and had a blood sample taken so that she could be tested by toxicology to make sure she hadn’t ingested anything poisonous in the concoction Tom had given her. While they waited for the results, half asleep on slippery hospital chairs, they were visited by a second doctor, a police officer and a social worker so that Emily could tell the whole story again.

  As dawn broke, a murky grey lightening to blue, the official decision was that Tom would remain in hospital for a psychiatric assessment and that he would, if necessary, be moved to a mental health unit.

  ‘Sectioned?’ Emily said fearfully. James held her hand tight.

  ‘If that’s best for Tom,’ the social worker said gently. ‘I don’t think he should be round you for a while, Emily. We all need to make sure he’s better before that happens.’

  ‘Is he –’ she stumbled over the word, gazing at the social worker with fearful eyes – ‘schizophrenic or something?’

  ‘We can’t tell. But his behaviour does warrant an intervention by the mental health crisis team.’ She smiled. ‘Don’t worry, Emily. He’ll be well looked after. Now, we’ll need you to fill in some paperwork for us. You’re the next of kin, is that right?’

  Emily filled in all the necessary forms, her eyes swimming with tears as she noted down Tom’s date of bi
rth and address. Is this really happening? I’m giving them permission to take Tom away and lock him up.

  But she only had to remember the terrifying moment when he’d bellowed at her demon and tipped whatever it was into her mouth and she knew she was doing the right thing.

  The toxicology report came back clear. Whatever she had swallowed was either harmless or had been taken in such a small quantity that she’d suffered no ill effects. She was free to go.

  The sun was up as James drove them back to December House.

  ‘Your poor mother!’ Emily said. ‘She’s been there all night! She must be in a terrible way. And’ – she looked at her watch – ‘the children will be waking up around now.’

  James gave her a sideways look. ‘She’s a hardy soul, Emily. She was a farmer’s wife for forty-five years; she’s done the odd night shift, don’t worry about that. And she had four children.’

  ‘Four?’ Emily blinked. She hadn’t imagined James having brothers and sisters.

  ‘Yes. Robert is a solicitor in Worcester. One of my sisters lives in the States; the other is a teacher in London. I’m the only farmer among them.’ He smiled at her. ‘So it’s me and Mum for now.’

  ‘Since your divorce,’ she said.

  ‘That’s right.’ He stared back at the road. ‘Jojo and I split up two years ago. Quite amicable, as these things go. She didn’t like life up here at all, and ended up running off with the bloke we hired to design Mum’s extension. Fancy architect bloke called Elijah. Luckily he finished the job before he ran off with the missus.’ He laughed a little, then shrugged. ‘Ah well. It wasn’t meant to be. I just got on with it really.’

  She stared out of the window at the rolling hills. They seemed to calm her spirit. The summer was coming now and everything was vigorous and alive. The quiet grandeur of the landscape let her breathe, and took away the horrible suffocation she felt when she thought of her old life. Just then, her mobile rang.

  ‘I’ve got reception,’ she said brightly. ‘That’s lucky.’ She took it out and saw Diana’s name on the front. Panic at once quivered through her but, taking a deep breath, she answered it. ‘Hello, Diana. Thanks for getting back to me. How’s Will?’