by Jess Webster
“I don’t know whose place it is,” Esther replied. “Blythe just gave me this address. We’re supposed to wait out here till Blythe and Domenic come.”
“Oh sh–” Byron started, saw Lilith and hurriedly said instead, “shoot! We’re at Larkwind!” He pointed to a small sign nearby, semi-ensconced between two lavender bushes. “The Winchesters’ estate.”
“So? They’re on holiday, remember?”
“No they’re not. Hide!” Lilith Palmer squealed, and Esther suddenly felt herself being shoved down behind the aforementioned lavender bushes.
A few moments later, the four chanced a glance over the wooden sign. To Esther’s dismay she saw Yvette and Walter Winchester sneaking a peek through a stained glass panel beside the front door. Two shadows moved within. Walter was speaking into the small flip-phone held to his ear. The shadows suddenly disappeared from view, and Yvette and Walter Winchester then seemed to be debating whether or not to go inside.
“He’s probably just called the police,” Byron said, grimacing.
Esther rounded on him. “I told you to get them out of the country! What are they doing here?”
“Well,” Byron spluttered defensively, “I was going to. But then I… decided to mess with them a little bit.”
“What kind of messing?” Esther said ominously, through semi-clenched teeth.
“The… fly-them-around-in-circles-for-24-hours-and-then-strand-them-in-Windang… kind of messing,” he said, and looked at her as if she was then to decide whether or not to behead him.
Esther blinked momentarily, then collapsed onto the grass in a fit of silent laughter. Byron Gables also broke out into a grin.
When she had recovered enough to speak clearly, she whispered, “Sometimes, Gables, I almost don’t detest you. Oh!” Esther frowned. “They’re heading in to confront them. We’d better go help.”
“Oh…” Gables looked a little sick again. “I think I’ll stay here.”
“Not if you want your payment, you won’t,” Esther threatened.
Gables looked torn. That he wanted his ‘payment’ was certain enough, and yet something obviously had him feeling rather shaken. Perhaps he did not want to face the Winchesters’ wrath? Or did not want to run into the police? Perhaps he smuggled things from country to country in that plane of his, Esther wondered. Whatever it was, the curse upon him proved stronger than his fear, for two moments later he hastily grasped Esther’s hand and hauled her up, saying, “Well, come on then.”
Esther nodded to Lilith, who whispered back, “Andrew and I should head in through the back door. You two take the front.”
A moment later Esther and Byron were gone, and Lilith was left all alone with Ew-Boy once again. “The guns are around the back,” she said. “Come on.”
She offered Andrew her hand, trying very hard to smile. The smitten lad was only too happy to take it and follow.
Of course, it had all been going too well. Their success had lulled them into a false sense of security, and consequently the surprise of an obstacle hit them hard and fast. The moment Blythe, James and Domenic reached the vestibule, the front door swung open to reveal Yvette and Walter Winchester. The three intruders froze.
“Uh-oh,” James murmured.
“I thought you said they were on holiday?!” Blythe whispered back to James as subtly as possible, as Domenic moved to position himself between her and the Winchesters[91] .
“I thought they were,” James said, dismayed. “I didn’t know they’d be here.”
“The police are one minute away,” Walter Winchester announced stiffly. “So whatever you’ve stolen, don’t even think about trying to leave.”
“Police, Blythe!” Domenic whispered urgently. “We’d better get out of here quick-smart.”
Blythe scoffed. “What do I care about the police? We haven’t done anything wrong, remember?”
“But Blythe,” Domenic said, his voice low, “what about all the murders? You know – all that Pitchfork business?”
Yvette paled significantly when she caught the word ‘murders’ amongst their murmurings. “Oh, Walter, I don’t think this was such a good idea…”
Walter shushed her and reminded her loudly that the police would be arriving ‘any second now’.
“Ah.” Blythe grimaced, suddenly remembering that she never had got around to telling Domenic the truth about the whole Test-of-Trust thing. “Well, you see…”
Blythe’s explanation was cut short, for at that moment two people appeared in the doorway behind the Winchesters.
Feeling sure it was the police, Domenic grimaced and said, “Now we’re in for it!”
As Esther Mason-Smith and Byron Gables crossed the threshold of Larkwind House, three things happened at once.
“You!” Blythe exclaimed at Gables.
“Argh!” Domenic screamed at Gables.
“YOU!” Walter Winchester roared at Gables.
Byron shrank back, whispering to Esther, “I told you I should’ve stayed outside.” The two hesitantly moved toward the wall, and Yvette and Walter dashed toward the open doorway in an effort to block it.
James hung behind Blythe and Domenic, shaking his head and saying to himself, “Poor Mr Gables…”
Domenic, indicating Gables, said to Blythe, “Isn’t that guy supposed to be dead?”
Blythe chose not to answer that question, instead demanding of Gables, “What are you doing here?”
“I came with her.” Gables shifted uncomfortably, pointing at Esther.
“Well, of course you did,” Blythe sneered.
“You’re supposed to be dead?” Esther whispered to Byron.
“I don’t know what he’s talking about,” Byron hissed back. He prodded his chest. “I feel pretty alive.”
“What’s a dead man doing here, and with your sister!?” Domenic cried, looking a little frantic.
“Oh, obviously he’s not dead, Domenic!” Blythe snapped. All at once she felt keenly the wisdom of Officer Doug Winters’ advice, and regretted not taking it. She explained quickly and with some agitation, “There were no murders. The whole thing at the airport was a scam – a test of loyalty. The pictures you saw were of previous boyfriends. And that–” she pointed at Gables, “–was the first one, and the whole reason the test was implemented in the first place.”
Esther gaped at the uncomfortable and fidgeting Gables, and repeated disbelievingly, “First boyfriend?”
“Psst! Ghost boy!”
James turned from the scene before him to see Lilith Palmer’s pretty head poking out from behind a doorway. Rather like a blind person, she looked past him. But obviously she knew he was there, just as she had in the infirmary.
“Lilith! What are you doing here?” James whispered back. “And Mr Gables… and Miss Mason-Smith… how come they’re here too?”
“No time to explain! Come into the kitchen!”
James left the group of arguing adults to join Lilith Palmer in the kitchen, where a surprising sight met him. On the floor, fully unconscious, lay Andrew Harrison VI; and standing over him, with a non-stick pan gripped tightly in both hands, was Lilith Palmer.
“What the heck have you done to Andrew?” James asked, slightly horrified.
“What’s it look like?” Lilith replied seriously. “I’ve whacked him on the back of the head with this fry-pan.”
“Well?” Blythe prompted her newly-wed husband, with some hesitation.
Domenic suddenly broke out into a peal of laughter. Between breaths he said, “I’m sorry, Blythe, I knew all along. I just wanted to make you admit it.”
Blythe frowned and slapped Domenic’s shoulder – very hard. After a few moments of trying to look sullen she caught sight of Domenic’s grin and began to laugh too, in spite of herself.
“This is all very charming, I’m sure, but you’re about to be arrested for breaking and entering,” Walter Winchester said with a sneer. He turned to Gables. “And you! I’ve yet to deal with you.”
“Oh, shut up, Winchester,” Byron snapped, suddenly regaining confidence at this provocation.
Walter immediately turned beet red.
Byron continued, “You really should read things before you sign them. You agreed to everything I did to you.”
Walter Winchester looked ready to explode with rage, and Esther struggled to suppress her smile.
“Well, come on,” Lilith said. “Steal his secret. He’s a Potential. I know ’cause he told me he could see you. He thought you were a ghost!”
James took a moment to recover from his surprise. It took him but one more moment to realise what Miss Mason-Smith had: that Domenic had missed Andrew as he’d been awake that night, smoking in the tower.
“I need to see one before I can steal it,” James said. “Can you open his eyes for me?”
Lilith bent down to pry Andrew Harrison’s eyes open, and James felt little surprise at what he saw. He felt something click into place within him. It was as if it was his purpose to punish Andrew for all the horrid things he’d done, and would continue to do unless stopped. Secrets, James had learned by now, each had their own character. Some were dreadful, some precious, and some embarrassing. Andrew’s secret, however, was eternally petulant, immature and apathetic. It contained no single hint of regret. Andrew loved himself the way he was – nasty, arrogant and selfish. Andrew Harrison VI’s deepest secret was this: I have no redeeming quality.
Of course, Andrew wished to keep this a secret because it was the hinge upon which his future happiness swung. He knew that he could not use people for his own personal gain if he could not fool them into having faith in him. He was simply mean and shallow because he liked being mean and shallow. He had encountered neither abuse nor neglect in his past, and had been disciplined to the usual standards by his parents – even without being spoiled. Andrew was simply rotten without a cause[92] .
Esther Mason-Smith was quite right about Andrew: he was, indeed, an ugly-souled bully. And in the work of a mere moment, Andrew’s secret belonged to James. Lilith gasped as Andrew Harrison VI’s inert form vanished from her sight.
“Now you need to get him to steal a secret from someone that’s asleep, right?” Lilith asked.
James answered in the affirmative. Lilith Palmer took a deep breath and waved the fry-pan at him.
James saw her plan in a moment. He asked in disbelief, “You’re going to hit yourself with that?”
Lilith shrugged. “What else can we do? There’s no time! The police are just about here.”
“Wha’s go’n on?” Andrew Harrison slurred as he abruptly shot up. “Who hit me?” In their darting wanderings, Andrew’s eyes inadvertently caught James’. He turned away instantly.
James tried to explain. “Don’t worry, Andrew, I’m not dead and you’re not crazy. But you’re special, so you can see me.”
Andrew’s face contorted with a sudden and inexplicable anger and he tried to grab James by the collar. His hand went straight through him.
Calmly, James said, “You can’t hurt me anymore, Andrew.”
Andrew tried to take the fry-pan from Lilith. His hands passed straight through it as well.
“What have you done to me?” Andrew demanded.
The character of Andrew’s deepest secret being what it was, James felt no remorse at the prospect of lying so outrageously to him. He decided to adopt Domenic’s method of trickery, saying, “I’ve given you my powers – you can steal secrets now. Look at Lilith, there. If you look into her eyes you’ll see them.”
Andrew spent only two moments on suspicion. However, as he noticed the secrets within Lilith’s eyes he suddenly began to beam at the idea of this newfound power. He asked, “Little bits of light all whizzing around? Or are they words? They look like words.”
“They’re both,” James replied. “Can you make them out, though? Are they clear?” He had to make sure that Andrew had seen at least one of Lilith’s secrets. Once she was out cold there would be no one around to open her eyes if Andrew hadn’t yet seen them.
Andrew looked intently at Lilith for a moment, then grinned. “Uh-huh. But what does it mean? What good does it do?”
James answered promptly, “If you steal her deepest secret, she’ll love you forever. You know she’d come to like you after a while anyway,” (Lilith flashed James a dark look and a smile that seemed to say, ‘You are a terrible liar, but go on’) “but, well, it’s quicker this way.”
Without further ado, Lilith Palmer raised the fry-pan before her face and brought it crashing into her forehead with all the force she could muster. She toppled to the floor, fry-pan and all.
“She must really like you,” James lied.
Andrew asked, “You think?”
“She just knocked herself out with a saucepan, and all for you. If that’s not true love,” James said, shaking his head, “I don’t know what is.”
Andrew beamed. “Now tell me, how do I do this?”
Villainous wretch though Andrew Harrison VI was, James believed (despite what Andrew may have thought) that he did have a redeeming quality, after all. It was his stupidity.
Meanwhile, a silent stalemate had developed in the vestibule. Yvette and Walter, blocking the doorway, looked between Blythe, Domenic, Esther and Byron with wildly frantic eyes. Domenic wore a light smile, and Blythe a heavy scowl. Byron shifted uncomfortably under Blythe’s hate-filled gaze, and Esther dared not break the silence for explanations – at least, not in front of the Winchesters.
A metallic crash sounded from the kitchen.
“What was that?” Yvette Winchester whimpered to her husband.
“There aren’t any more of you, are there?” Walter demanded.
“We’ve got at least 20 around the back, actually,” Domenic quipped.
All present in the vestibule at once became aware of a noise approaching the house: tyres crunching upon gravel. A car door slammed, and a few moments later a tall, evidently muscular, blue-uniformed officer appeared within the open doorway.
Byron, Esther, Blythe and Domenic exchanged grim looks. For if Lilith and James did not succeed, they were all likely to suffer a great deal of inconvenience.
“Arrest these four!” Walter Winchester commanded, indicating the intruders. “They are thieves! We caught them in our house as we came back from our morning walk.”
At that moment James Winchester IV entered the vestibule and came to stand before Blythe and Domenic. His appearance was surprising, to say the least; a little boy in a tuxedo and top hat will always look somewhat strange to the modern eye. As if to pass a silent message to those who would recognise the significance of his movements, James withdrew a small pink rose from the vase to his left, considered it momentarily, plucked a petal from it and let it fall to the white marble floor, then passed the stem through a button-hole on his lapel.
Blythe and Domenic began to smile, and Byron Gables looked moderately amused to see that James was not, after all, a figment of Esther Mason-Smith’s imagination[93] .
“They didn’t break in,” James informed the officer. “I am James Winchester the Fourth; this is my house, and I let them in. These are my friends.”
Esther Mason-Smith, meanwhile, seemed to have lost control of her limbs. Quite of their own volition her legs took her across the room to James, where she knelt, her arms drawing him into a crushing hug. James smiled happily, placed his little arms around her neck and hugged her back. “I’m so glad you’re alright,” she whispered. She laughed then, and standing, wiped the newly-formed tears from her eyes before they fell. She took a deep breath and regained her composure. But nothing could remove the smile on her lips.
The officer cast a stern glance toward Yvette and Walter Winchester. It was not lost on him that at least one of these so-called ‘thieves’ was well known to the boy before him, and in a somewhat affectionate capacity. The Winchesters, rather, seemed to stare at the boy as if he were a ghost.
The officer said quietly, “I was under the impression, Mr and M
rs Winchester, that your son had been reported missing from Westcott several days ago. But here he is. How did you not notice this? Did you not feel the need to report him found?”
At the word ‘Westcott’, triumph flashed across Byron Gables’ face. Esther sighed, more with resignation than irritation.
Yvette and Walter seemed quite dumbfounded. The latter opened his mouth to speak, but James interrupted with, “They’ve never noticed me. But then again, I’m not really their son.”
A collective gasp rippled through the room, excepting Blythe and Domenic. Their faces were unsurprised; grim.
The officer observed the speechless horror upon the Winchesters’ faces and murmured to James, “Go on.”
“They’re my aunt and uncle. My mum got sick and they sent her away to Willowgreen, and told everybody she was dead and I was theirs, so they could take all my dead grandpa’s inheritance. And I haven’t seen them once since they sent me to boarding school in kindy.” James could not hide the emotion that escaped him now; sadness and righteous indignation had been welling up within him for days, with no possible outlet. Now tears spilled over his eyelids and coursed down his pale cheeks. “And now my mum really is dead,” (Blythe and Domenic started and looked concerned) “and I never even got to meet her.”
Then something extremely peculiar happened. In unison, rather like a strangely choreographed dance, Esther and Byron stepped forward, the former livid and the latter disgusted. Before anyone could guess what would happen next, Esther had slapped Yvette Winchester soundly across the face, and Walter Winchester had been sent reeling by a punch from Gables. A look passed between Esther and Byron, a sudden smile played upon their lips, and then, unaccountably to all those present, the two rushed at each other. Blythe scowled violently, whilst Domenic looked on and chuckled. James lost the urge to cry and instead giggled, wiped his tears with his sleeve and averted his eyes.
But a moment later Walter Winchester had recovered sufficiently to round on them and shout, “It’s not true! He’s lying! Are you going to believe a nine-year-old boy over two well-respected adult members of the community?”