The Hill - Carla’s Story (Book Two): A Paranormal Murder Mystery Thriller. (Book Two)

by Andrew M Stafford

  Boyd’s past had finally caught up with him.

  Chapter one hundred and forty eight

  Southmead Hospital

  3.29pm

  Wednesday 20th June

  Dr David Edison had the unenviable duty of advising Anne and Terry Mason of the brain tumour which had been revealed by yesterday’s MRI scan.

  Earlier that day he had consulted with oncology specialist, Dr Dwivedi, who confirmed that Liz Mason’s tumour was inoperable and her life expectancy, although he could not be wholly accurate, would be more likely to be weeks rather than months, and possibly days.

  He had just given the solemn news to Liz’s parents who were understandably beside themselves with grief.

  “Why, why, why?” repeated Anne as she cried uncontrollably into a handkerchief.

  Dr Edison had delivered news like this on numerous occasions, but the gravity of the grief made it hard for him to deal with, and he was finding it hard not show his emotions.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing that can be done?” asked Terry.

  Edison slowly shook his head.

  There was no way of dressing things up to make the news any easier to deliver. It was his professional obligation to give the facts as they were.

  He passed a plastic cup of water to Anne. Her grief overwhelmed her so, that she didn’t see him pass it to her.

  Later he would speak to them again to discuss the fundamentals of what would happen over the coming weeks, but for now he needed to let the news sink in.

  Liz had only been awake for around thirty minutes and had drifted back to sleep and was oblivious to the unwelcome news that Edison had delivered to her parents.

  “Do you think we should tell her?” asked Anne.

  Edison paused before he spoke, he needed to choose his words carefully.

  “You don’t, but I have an obligation to do so.”

  “But if she’s not got long left, why should she need to know, you said it could be just a matter of weeks……….couldn’t those last few weeks be as happy as possible for her, without her having to know?”

  Edison chose not to reply. He’d noticed how little Liz had been awake today. By now it was mid-afternoon and she’d been awake for less than an hour. He wouldn’t be surprised if she would spend less and less time conscious and coherent and the need to actually tell her may never arise.

  At times like this David Edison hated his Job.

  Chapter one hundred and forty nine

  Markland Garraway’s home

  7.07pm

  Wednesday 20th June

  Garraway reached for the remote and turned off the television. He had just watched the regional news, and although he already knew about the arrest of Daniel Boyd, the news provided the confirmation he needed.

  Watching the reporter describe the accident involving the stolen Volkswagen Golf and how Boyd had been apprehended by members of the public made the hard work of the last few weeks seem worthwhile. His only grudge was that he wasn’t there to see him hauled in.

  His body ached as he reached for his mug of tea, but he noticed the arthritis in his wrist seemed a little less agonising than normal.

  He finished his drink and saw the Dostoevsky novel on the sideboard. He slowly got up, walked over to the book and picked it up to put it back on the shelf. He turned to the back pages of the book, where the picture of the girl and the description of his dream were and read the words again. If he’d read them once, he must have read them fifty times. He looked at the picture of Carla which had mysteriously appeared. He’d probably never know how it got there. The accuracy of the sketch was amazing. It was spot on. Each pen stroke had captured every detail of the girl’s face, right down to the look of sadness in her eyes.

  Then he spotted something he’d not noticed before. About an inch below the sketch, in the bottom right hand corner of the page, was a small ink mark, at first he thought it was a squiggle. He reached for his glasses for a clearer view. He held the book close to his face, until he could focus on it. It was something other than a random blob of ink, or a misguided pen stroke, although he couldn’t quite make out what it was.

  He opened a drawer in the sideboard and searched for a magnifying glass. He found it wedged at the back of the drawer and pulled it out.

  He looked again as the glass magnified the pen stroke.

  He concentrated and then it became clear what it was. It wasn’t one pen mark, it was two. It was two letters. C and P.

  “They’re initials,” he said to himself.

  He looked again and spoke the two letters out loud.

  “C and P.”

  He thought about what they could stand for.

  And then it came to him as he said to himself.

  “Carla Price.”

  He put the book down and smiled.

  Chapter one hundred and fifty

  The Custody Cells

  7.34pm

  Wednesday 19th June

  Daniel John Boyd sat in the corner of the cell alone and scared. He had spent the day being interrogated by Colin Matthews.

  At first he denied any involvement with the murder of Ben Walker, but could not explain how traces of his blood had ended up on the rock which had been used to kill Ben, nor could he explain how saliva, matching his DNA ended up in the hair of the dead man.

  He shivered as he thought about his wasted life. Stanley had once told him that a person makes their own luck happen. Perhaps this was true. Most of what had happened to Daniel Boyd was of his own making. Until now, his life hadn’t been great and from what he could imagine, the rest of it wasn’t going to be much better.

  He sometimes thought that if it wasn’t for bad luck, he would have no luck at all.

  Just after midday on Wednesday nineteenth of June, two thousand and twelve, Daniel Boyd was charged with the murder of Ben Walker.

  The following day he would also be charged with the murder of Stanley Maurice Brown.

  Chapter one hundred and fifty one

  Maria and Campbell’s flat

  10.07am

  Saturday 23rd June

  Maria and Campbell were relaxing in their lounge, each with a cup of coffee as Christopher sat in his highchair and was slowly demolishing a rusk whilst watching Balamory on children’s TV.

  The events of the week had not quite sunk in. Things had happened so fast. From the report of their son in The Bristol Post, to the girl in the picture coming forward and to the arrest of Ben’s murderer the following day.

  Maria was mortified to hear of the death of the old man, Stanley, and felt partly responsible as it seemed to be connected with the events leading up to Daniel Boyd’s arrest.

  “Well I guess we should be getting on with things,” said Campbell as he stood up and carried his mug to the kitchen.

  Maria sighed.

  “To be honest, I could sit here all day long.”

  Christopher giggled at what he was watching on the television.

  ----------------------------------------

  Ben Walker felt a strange sensation, one he’d not experienced first-hand since before he had died. At first it scared him and then it excited him. It was taste. He was experiencing the sensation of taste, and not just a memory of it.

  There was no misty swirling light, so he wasn’t expecting to hear Tom Judd’s booming voice coming through the haze. But he could hear something. Voices, he could hear lots of voices. Scottish accents and people singing. Ben was confused.

  All of a sudden there were images, he could see all around. He couldn’t work out where they were coming from. They were moving, the images were moving. But they weren’t his memories, they meant nothing to him.

  He could see a room, a neatly decorated room which looked like somebody’s home. There were pictures on the wall, and magazines on the floor. He attempted to change the angle of his view and found he was able to look up. He could see the ceiling. He looked a little to the right and saw a window and the light coming through was illuminati
ng the room.

  He turned the view to the left and saw there was a television. The Scottish voices were coming from the television.

  Shit, this is real time, he thought.

  He looked down and saw a plastic tray, which was covered in soggy bread and stains. There was a blue plastic child’s beaker on the tray. He looked downward a little further and saw a small hand holding a partially eaten biscuit.

  He looked across to his right where he could see a lady in her late twenties and she was looking towards the window.

  He heard a voice, a man’s voice, with a soft Southern Irish accent. His voice was friendly and it was coming from behind.

  “Maria, how about hauling your lazy arse off the settee and getting Christopher ready and I’ll crack on with clearing the kitchen?”

  “OK, OK, give me another couple of minutes.”

  Ben looked down at the tray and then at the hand. The biscuit dropped onto the plastic tray. He stared at the soggy mess and found he was able to move the hand up and down and from left to right. He pushed out the forefinger and poked it into the partially eaten gooey rusk on the tray.

  He could feel the sensation of touch as the finger rubbed against the plastic. He looked for the other hand, but couldn’t see it. He strained to the right and looked down and saw a shoulder. He followed it down to an arm, which disappeared under the plastic tray of the highchair. Ben yanked the arm up from beneath the tray and held it high. He examined the small hand and swivelled it to look at the palm.

  Shit! he thought as he was suddenly struck by what was happening.

  I’m looking through the boy’s eyes, I’m controlling Christopher.

  Ben was frightened and didn’t know why this was happening. Then it occurred to him. It must be reincarnation. This must be what happens when a person dies and becomes reincarnated in the next life.

  This wasn’t what he wanted. He didn’t want to spend another life living like this, with the mind and memories of an adult whilst cocooned in a growing child.

  The adults, they had to be Christopher’s parents.

  Then he heard more talking.

  “How many years do you think he’ll get?” said the woman.

  “I don’t know, it’s double murder, he’ll get life for sure,” replied the Irishman.

  “What about the girl, Carla, do you think she’ll go to prison?”

  “Perhaps? Perhaps not. If it wasn’t for her, Liz Mason would almost certainly have been killed along with Ben.”

  Ben heard the words, this could only mean one thing, his murderer had been caught.

  But why was this happening, why had he suddenly become Christopher?

  He decided to try something and just the thought of doing it terrified him. He looked around the room and again towards the woman. He looked back at the television and watched as the titles came up on the screen. The programme had just ended. He focused on the television and concentrated with all his might and then he did it. He made an audible noise through Christopher’s mouth. He had coughed, he had purposely coughed.

  Ben was surprised how easy it was to do it, so he did it again, and again, and again and then the woman stood up. He heard her call in an urgent tone.

  “Campbell, quick, I think Christopher’s choking on something.”

  She stood over him and looked directly into his face. Ben tried to stop coughing, but once he’d started he found it difficult to stop.

  “Campbell, hurry up.”

  Ben heard the sound of feet racing in from behind and saw the face of a man. He had dark hair and a warm face. He had full view of both of the boy’s parents. He saw Maria’s pretty face and red hair.

  Then the coughing stopped. He felt the sensation as the woman, Maria, rubbed her hand between his shoulders.

  Ben really did have full control over Christopher’s body. For some reason he had taken it over.

  This must be happening for a reason thought Ben.

  So his murderer had been caught. He’d achieved what he had set out to accomplish. His hard work making himself heard had paid off.

  So why was this happening? He had no reason to be Christopher.

  Then he was overcome with a feeling that something was about to happen. Something that would be monumental to him. With everything going on around him it was hard to focus his mind.

  And then it came to him. The words he’d heard from Liz.

  “Ben, when it’s time, meet me at the hill………..and don’t be late.”

  This was something to do with Liz. He had to be with her. He knew that she needed him and she needed him now.

  He knew that what he was about to do would push Maria and the man, Campbell, to the edge. But it had to be done. He was certain that if he didn’t he would remain trapped in Christopher’s body until the boy grew up and eventually died.

  He turned to the woman who was standing to his right and pushing her hands through her mane of red hair and he spoke, he looked up at her face from the high chair and spoke five words.

  ------------------------------------------

  Maria was relieved that Christopher had stopped coughing.

  “He probably had a bit of rusk jammed in his throat, he’s OK now,” said Campbell as he walked back to the kitchen.

  “I know, but it sounded nasty, his cough sounded very throaty,” replied Maria.

  She knelt forward and looked at her son. His face was red after the coughing fit, but he looked different. His expression was somber, like something was troubling him.

  And then it happened.

  “Maria, this is Ben speaking.”

  Maria recoiled and fell onto the coffee table which was behind her and then slumped to the floor. She tried to call for Campbell, but couldn’t speak. The shock had frozen her.

  Ben tried again.

  “Maria, don’t be scared………..I don’t intend any harm to you or Christopher.”

  Maria panted as she snapped out of her temporary paralysis and made her way across the floor towards the hallway.

  Campbell came out of the kitchen to see Maria on the floor, crawling. She was half in the hall and half in the lounge and the look on her face told him something was wrong, very, very wrong.

  Chapter one hundred and fifty two

  Southmead Hospital

  10.21am

  Saturday 23rd June

  Liz hadn’t woken since Wednesday and when she had, she only spoke for a few moments. She had asked for a sip of water. The pain in her head seemed to have subsided, but she was too weak to say very much. Within half an hour she had fallen back to unconsciousness.

  That was almost three days ago. Liz and Terry had been by her bedside ever since, taking it in turns to sleep in the large chair by the side of her bed.

  They wanted to stay with her for as long as possible as they knew that her next breath could be her last. Dr Edison had shown them the MRI images and they were shocked by the size of the tumour which was taking over their daughter’s brain.

  Terry noticed how different Liz seemed. When she was in the coma, he sometimes felt there was a feeling of serenity and also hope that at some point she would wake and they could, as a family, move forward. But now things had changed. As she lay on the bed, with her eyes closed, there was something about Liz that reflected the mood of the moment. Almost as if she knew that her time was short. Her breathing was rapid and laboured. She lay heavy in the hospital bed as if the world was weighing her down.

  Anne and Terry’s tears had flowed freely since Dr Edison had told them about Liz’s tumour, but right now there was no more crying to be done, at least for the time being.

  The talking was done and the grieving husband and wife sat in silence. There was a glimmer of hope that Liz would wake and say something, something positive. Perhaps she would say that the pain in her head had stopped. Anne had prayed hard that the cancer would go away, but it would take more than a miracle for that to happen. The tumour was huge and wasn’t going anywhere soon. It was here to stay.


  Terry glanced at the clock on the wall. It told him it was ten thirty. But was it ten thirty in the morning or the evening? He had no idea and had lost all track of time. He walked out from behind the curtains which gave his daughter privacy and saw the light from the windows streaming in and illuminating the ward.

  It must be morning he thought.

  He stretched his legs and walked the length of the ward and then back to where his daughter lay.

  He stepped back behind the curtain and saw his wife silently sleeping in the chair. He sat back down and placed his hand on Liz’s and looked at her.

  Her eyes were open.

  Terry jumped up and moved closer to her pillow. Her eyes followed him as he moved towards her.

  “Are you awake?”

  Liz weakly nodded her head.

  Terry gently prodded his wife until she woke.

  “Anne, Anne wake up………..Liz is awake.”

  Anne sat up quickly and without thinking straightened her hair. She stood up and walked around to the other side of the bed so they could both be close to her. She felt groggy after being unexpectedly woken by her husband.

  She stroked Liz’s cheek.

  “Hi sweetie, can you hear me?”

  Liz nodded.

  “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m OK mummy, I’m sleepy.”

  Liz and Terry where thinking the same thing. Should they tell her about the tumor?

  “Is there anything you need?” asked Terry.

  She shook her head, but lifted her hand to beckon for them both to move even closer. And then she spoke.

  “You have to get me out of here.”

  It wasn’t much above a whisper. Terry had heard what she said, but Anne, because she was still sleepy, didn’t hear her.

  “You need to stay where you are Liz, you’re too weak to go anywhere right now,” said Terry.

  “Listen dad, it’s important………..I need to get out, I need to be somewhere else.”

  Anne stroked her face as she spoke.

  “Sorry Liz, your dad’s right, you need to stay in bed.”