The woman shook her head in one, quick movement and sighed. “No, just to wait here for help. Not go to the front of the train.”
Claudia swallowed hard again. “My family went to the front of the train, to talk to the driver.”
The woman’s mouth set in a grim, straight line. “You can’t go there. Don’t go and look for them. Please, not for my sake, for yours.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I know you’re…listen, I’ve seen train crashes before, right near our old house in Leeds. It’s not a pretty sight.”
“But,” Claudia’s voice dropped to a whisper. “They may need help. Others might need help.”
“You might not make it far enough to help them, can’t you here the creaking? The train is unstable. We can only wait for help to come to us.”
“You can help, Claudia. You can make a difference. Right in front of you.”
Claudia gasped and looked at the unconscious man. “How does he know my name?”
“What?”
“Your husband, he just spoke.”
“What do you mean? He’s out cold.” The woman leant close to her husband’s face.
Claudia could see that, without any doubt: he was grey and dribble shone on the corner of his mouth. He wasn’t moving.
The woman looked at her closely, her eyes darting over the baby and back up to the open cabin door.
“S-sorry, I must be hearing things,” Claudia said.
Oh my God. She realised she knew the voice, so familiar, so calm. So not real.
Claudia stared at the man’s motionless body, focusing on one part at a time: the sweaty brow, the wide, slumped shoulders and the chest, still moving in and out. A green, slightly hazy mist floated above his chest, centring over his heart. The longer she stared, the thicker the substance became, swirling over him in quick circles, clumping and thickening around his neck.
“I think there’s something wrong with his heart.” The words flew out of her mouth before she could think.
“What makes you say that?”
“I…I don’t know.” Claudia glanced down at the baby, watching the blue eyes droop into sleep.
“Oh…dear…God, he could have had a heart attack!” The woman shrieked as she wrenched open her husband’s shirt, uselessly, as if releasing his chest would fix the problem.
Claudia crouched next to her and put a firm hand on her shoulder. The woman’s eyes widened and she instinctively stretched her arms out to take the baby.
Claudia splayed both hands and placed them above the man’s chest, in the thick of the darkening mist. “Aaah!” Pain shot through her body — a deep, stabbing pain near her heart.
“What, what for heaven’s sake?” The woman’s voice sounded like an echo.
Claudia opened her eyes again and stared into the mist. It wove around her fingers, coating them in green, slithering towards her face. Automatically, she pulled her hands upwards, away from his body. She continued until her arms were high above her own head, the mist following her movements and drawing slowly from his heaving chest.
The pain near her heart intensified, stabbing and clenching until she could bare it no more. Her hands, paralysed now, fought to close, to release the tension. Go, go, go. Leave me.
“John? Oh John! That’s it, honey, sit up, I’ve got you. Here, here, drink some water.”
As if from afar, Claudia heard the ecstatic voice as the red-haired woman spoke to her awakening husband. The baby cooed in her own language and the energy she’d felt from the man’s body seemed to dissipate, leaving Claudia with a light-headed, drowsy feeling.
“Good Lord, girl, I don’t mind telling you, I’ve been thinking you’re half out of your wits, what with hearing voices and flinging your arms all over my husband. But whatever you did, it worked.”
Claudia looked up to see a blinding smile beneath the knotty red hair as the woman held the baby in one arm and a water bottle to her husband’s lips with the other. John’s eyes were bloodshot and his skin was still tinged with grey, but he was awake and sipping the water.
“Oh.” No more words formulated in her brain. What on earth just happened?
Claudia stretched her arms signalling she would take the baby, allowing the woman to help her husband up onto the chair.
Little Jasmine was barely awake, but her mouth made circles as her thumbs pressed around chubby cheeks to find an opening. A white haze surrounded the baby and Claudia rubbed her eyes with her free hand. It made no difference; the haze shimmered and moved about the baby. Not in dramatic, swirling patterns like the thick substance over John’s heart, but calmly, in one, thin sheath of fluid movement.
Her eyes moved to the woman again and now she noticed a red haze, spinning around the feet, making dramatic patterns and clinging on to the calves. Claudia shut her eyes against dizziness and backed towards a seat, holding the baby more carefully in two arms.
“Pop her down in the bassinet over there if you like, love, she’ll go off to sleep now.”
Claudia tried to smile and placed Jasmine gently in the portable cradle, careful to wrap the baby in a pink cloth she found scrunched on the mattress.
“He’s going to need a doctor, and soon, but it’s a blessing that he’s awake. Thank you, for staying.” Tears still glistened on the woman’s cheeks and John, unable to talk yet, nodded in agreement.
Claudia just smiled. Words, again, escaped her despite the warm glow she felt as she looked at the little family in front of her, safe at least, for now. “I’m just going to go up the aisle and see if anyone’s come back yet.”
“No, love, that’s not smart.”
“I won’t go to the front of the train; I just need to have a look.”
The woman sighed, twirling her silver necklace around her fingers. Claudia felt a pang of longing for Margaret. Need you, Margaret. More than ever.
“If you must, but come right back, okay? Someone will come soon…truly…and I don’t fancy seeing you, or anyone, hurt,” she said.
Claudia nodded and walked on before her nerve caved to the strong fear. She shut the door behind her in case the baby stirred with any sudden noise. If only there was noise, any noise other than the creaking train
The door to the next carriage remained closed. Claudia waved her hand in front of the automatic sensor. Nothing. Reaching out, she touched the steel. The metal felt cold and hard as her fingers gripped the edge. She tugged, hard. Harder and harder until her knuckles turned white and jolts of pain ran down her fingers. Still nothing.
“Come on,” she mumbled under her breath, throwing her whole body into it. A gap appeared and a sliver of smoke shot up her nose. She sneezed and pulled harder. Finally, with an ear-piercing screech, the door opened.
She fell backwards onto the carriage floor, landing on her thigh with a sharp thud.
Smoke now billowed from the opening, catching in her throat before she had time to close her mouth. She blinked as streaming tears blinded her vision. Rolling onto all fours, she stretched one arm in front of her face and tried to make her way forward. The acrid smell of burnt hair controlled the air and low groans — human groans — mixed with the wailing wind as it rushed around her head. Are all the windows broken?
As soon as the thought occurred, her knee jerked upwards as something sharp pushed into her flesh, stopping only when it reached the bone. She paused, inhaling in one, swift breath. Her eyes, slowly adjusting to the pain and the smoke, flicked to the shards of glass scattered over the ground. Most stood straight up and down, their pointed edges like swords waiting to impale unwitting victims.
Victims…
Oh my God. No…
She screamed, her throat burning with the effort.
Like a macabre pile of misshapen mannequins, bodies lined the path ahead. Twisted legs, impossibly angled arms and eyes as dead as the stag heads at the chateau.
Bile rose in her throat and her whole body convulsed as it released the contents of her stomach. Vomit slipped into s
paces between the broken glass and splintered chairs. She struggled to hold her head up, the bitter taste in her mouth making her throat close up. Finally, she had heaved enough and dropped her forehead to the ground, reaching for the silence within.
Snow-White and Rose-Red were there, behind her closed eyes, smiling and beckoning to her with rhythmical fingers. But she didn’t have the strength to summon them out.
Don’t deserve them anymore.
A tight, strangled squeal, more animal than human, interrupted the speed of her panic. Her head felt like a rock resting on a pin, but it lifted automatically so her gaze could settle on the source of the horrifying sound. Red-streaked, blonde hair at the far end of the corridor moved, falling over a face coated in blood. Claudia’s body froze; she could not move further through the gauntlet of glass and terror ahead.
“Help me, please,” she whispered into the ground, trying to settle her panic and focus her energy.
The squeal grew louder — a long, shaking sound of anguish as the blonde head turned to face her. One bright, blue eye shone through the matted strands of hair.
Claudia felt all breath leave her body.
Grace. The beautiful butterfly queen. Trapped under a massive pile of rubble. It was her mother’s life that Claudia watched, ebbing towards a slow, painful death. It was Grace’s squeal, that sound of pure terror.
Whoosh.
Adrenalin rushed through her veins, physically pulling her up, killing her own fear with it. “Grace, it’s okay, I’m coming.” Her hands pressed into the floor, ripping and tearing as they pushed towards Grace.
An explosion of dust, mixed with clothing and deadly glass, rained down on her head and she sneezed, mucus and blood combining to coat her hands.
A blackened face emerged from the dust, followed by a tall, willowy body, heaving its limbs over broken, vinyl seats. Ice-blue eyes burned bright in the charred face.
“Preston!” Claudia rasped through the smoke, stretching her arm to point towards Grace; her mother’s head lolling at an angle, her mouth open in a perfect circle to release harsh, quick puffs of air. Preston looked back at Claudia, slowly and methodically wiping remnants of debris from his body. With a slow shake of his head, he peered down at a deep slash on his arm, before his eyes darted to the shattered window closest to him.
The train moved, swayed, almost gently in time to the constant creaking. A sound escaped Preston’s lips — half sigh, half gasp — as his legs carried him to the window. In a display of surprising agility, one long, lean leg lifted and kicked the jagged glass from the opening.
Claudia sobbed with relief. Preston will save us. We’re safe. She tried to stand up, careful to keep her weight off her torn knee, wiping her eyes and her mouth with the back of her hand.
She looked back at Grace. Her mother stared at her, eyes like swollen, red slits as she tried to form words from dry, bloodied lips. The hoarse whisper reached Claudia over the sound of smashing glass. “I’m sorry, my daughter. So sorry. For it all.”
No, no Grace, you’ll be okay now, you’re not leaving me again. Did the words come out? All she heard was a strange, strangled cry. Her own cry.
Preston was halfway out the window now, legs straddling the ledge as he bent his head to avoid remnants of glass. Glancing at her again, he opened and closed his mouth, over and over. Just like the fish in the aquarium at the chateau, the stupid, brainless fish. He shook his head back and forth as the train lurched sideways, his face crumpling along with his body.
With one, giant leap, he jumped from the train.
Claudia felt nothing.
No time, no time for hurt. Move. Besides, maybe he was just going to get help. Yes, that’s what he’s doing, helping us. Not leaving. Not abandoning me. She looked quickly at Grace and back again to the shards of glass between them. Her stomach churned, pain ripped through her knee and dizziness attacked her head. Just move. In one swift motion, she tore a piece of wood from beneath a broken chair and started to push the shards to the side, creating a path to her mother.
She realised, as if she were watching someone else, that sobs tore from her throat as she pushed with the makeshift stick. Glass crunched beneath her and small particles of debris rained down on her face as she moved forward.
The train lurched, angrily protesting its dying form.
Hinges, above her head, sighed as they snapped. Her eyes widened as a baggage shelf swung, like a guillotine, towards her face. Steel blocked all else as it landed in front of her eyes, pinning her between it and the side of the train. She tried to stand but the cold, impenetrable racks blocked her.
She tried to push forward, but her waning strength and the weight of the shelves made it impossible to move. Smoke filled her lungs, tightening her chest with its hideous potency.
She closed her eyes against her fear…and allowed the dark to come.
Chapter Twelve
Paralysis
“My mother is ill, officers. I’ve been tending to her all day and I don’t want her disturbed.” Selina’s voice embodied command as she stood to face the policemen. Brishan breathed a silent sigh of relief for his mother’s quick thinking. Scarier men than they had backed down from one of Selina’s withering looks.
“All the same, Mrs…?” The officer raised one, bushy eyebrow.
Eamon stood beside her. “My name is Eamon O’Flannery, this is my wife Selina and our son, Brishan.” He proclaimed, with a flourishing sweep of the arm. “You must understand that my mother-in-law is not…shall we say…in her right mind.” Eamon threw an exaggerated look of apology towards Selina.
“If she wakes up, we’re in for hours of trouble. We just don’t want to risk it. Of course, we’ll report any…what did you say was wrong with this man? Badly beaten? A criminal? Should I be concerned for our safety?” Eamon’s voice took on a higher pitch and his cheeks flamed bright red.
“No need for concern just yet, but for your own good, we do need to take a look inside. A badly beaten man wandering around a festival speaks only of trouble to us. We won’t make any noise.” His bushy eyebrow stayed raised.
Eamon cleared his throat and stood aside to let them up the stairs. Both men covered their noses and frowned as they opened the door. Moments later, a vile stench gushed from the wagon — ointment, blood and vomit blending with the sickly sweet smell of tea-tree oil.
“What the hell…” the officers cursed at the same time.
There, at the end of the bed, hair knotted around her face, was wild Cosima. She rocked back and forth as a long, slow chant vibrated from her thin lips. The officers walked in, tentative but determined. She pushed one gnarled hand through her hair to uncover her eyes and stared at them with piercing intensity. The other hand rose slowly from her lap, spindly fingers swirling slowly to point at them.
She spat viciously at their feet.
“Excuse us, mam.” The policemen backed down the stairs, both stumbling and falling over each other, landing with small thuds on the grass. As they scrambled to stand, Cosima hissed and left her bed, emitting a frightening wail as she slammed the wagon door closed on their reddening faces.
“Our apologies for disturbing you, and for your…unfortunate situation.” Mr Bushy Eyebrows wiped sweat from his neck. His fellow officer stood and stared at the ground, shaking his head and blowing out through his nose as if to rid himself of the stench.
“I did try to warn you,” Eamon said with a sheepish smile.
“We’ll be off then. Please report to the festival organisers if you come across any persons of interest.”
“Will do.” Eamon waved as the officers rushed to the next van.
Brishan shared a look of relief with his parents and, at Cosima’s call, went inside.
“I must be losing my gift in my old age, I only saw them coming minutes before they did, it used to be hours,” the master healer said, as she took the rugs and pillows from Dane’s battered body.
Dane’s one good eye sparkled with life in its red-rimmed d
epths. He was covered in green ointment and bandages, but the blood that had coloured his body was gone. Angry purple and yellow bruises scarred the small amount of skin not wrapped in gauze.
“Dane,” Selina whispered, sitting beside him on the bed and soothing his forehead. Tears dripped down her face and Dane turned to look at her, a small smile cracking his swollen lips.
“I’ll be all right. I promise.” His voice was hoarse but his tone rang with the confidence of old. “Brishan.”
“I am here.”
“I need your help now.”
“I’ll do anything.”
Selina gasped. “No, Dane, you must not put him in danger, not even for Oriana.”
“Selina.” Eamon put a warning hand on her shoulder.
“I would not give him a task he wasn’t ready for. Sit down, everyone, please. First, I have to tell you everything, so we can prepare. The ground work is done, but one step remains.” Dane stifled a groan as he pushed his head forward.
Brishan was quick to catch his uncle’s hand in his own. Selina and Cosima settled on the bed beside him and Eamon stood at the foot, arms crossed and eyes blinking furiously to contain tears.
“It’s hard for me to start, and I want you to know, all of you, before I tell this story, that I leave some…some parts out for my own soul to endure, not yours.” Dane’s eyes closed and his breathing deepened.
“You need not protect us from what you’ve been through Dane,” Selina whispered.
Brishan glanced at his mother and back to Dane. “No, don’t…please…we can’t help you if you don’t tell us the truth.”
“Ah, Brishan, always rushing towards the fire. I thought I might find you softened with the ache you must feel for Claudia, and the healing you’ve accomplished here.”
“I’ve accepted my path, Dane, it doesn’t mean I’ve turned into a monk.”
Dane laughed, holding his side with his good hand as if the very movement hurt him. “I would never expect so. Have you managed to contact her?”
Gypsy Trail Page 17