Death and Faxes

by Julie Howlin

  ‘I can't,’ I managed to say. ‘I don't have time right now. I'll explain everything later, I promise.’ In my note.

  The flat seemed cold and empty without Thumbelina. I missed her rubbing against my legs when I opened the door. There was a light blinking on my answering machine. I had four messages. I deleted the lot without even listening to them. I didn’t want anything, or anyone, to distract me from what I had to do by inviting me to a party or out for a drink next week. Nothing anyone had to say to me could possibly matter now.

  I ran myself a bath, poured in all the bubble bath and essential oils I had. There was no point in saving them - it would be my last bath. I lit some candles, and turned on my favourite playlist. I lay back in the hot, fragrant water, and reviewed my week. It had been one of the best ever. I'd done all the things I loved to do. I’d seen most of the people I loved and told them I loved them; I had done nothing that I did not want to do, or that was a waste of my time. It came to me that only through preparing to die had I really learned how to live.

  The only person I had not managed to connect with was Jamie Swan. He had become a good friend this past year. I lay back in the suds, closed my eyes and sent him love, and wished him the best possible life. That little meditation must have shifted something, for no sooner had I done it that I burst into uncontrollable sobs, and bawled for a good hour over all the things I was leaving behind. It was a necessary grieving process, I told myself. I wasn’t getting cold feet. When the crying stopped, I poured myself a large glass of wine and drank a toast to my life.

  44 the witch

  I spread Gran’s old purple velvet altar cloth over the Formica table and set my crystal ball and Tarot pack on top. After today, they would be Amber’s. I pinned my publicity blurb, ‘Tabitha Drake - psychic medium - so accurate you’ll swear she’s a witch’ above my head. I wore a long, black, velvet dress, the one I’d worn to Gran’s funeral; smoky grey eye shadow; lipstick that was such a dark red it was almost black, and I’d left my hair loose.

  I glimpsed my reflection in the crystal ball and smiled to myself. If Montague wanted a witch, he'd take one look at me, and know that he'd found one.

  I didn’t know how long it would be before he came to me - but I knew without doubt that he would. In the meantime, there would be other customers, other people wanting a reading - before I departed, I would have the chance to help some people and I wanted to do my very best. My swan song, I suppose you could call it.

  I closed my eyes to meditate and centre myself ready to begin. Even though I knew I had no future, I couldn’t resist looking to see if the crystal had any message for me. The mist began to swirl. I saw Jamie, looking heartbreakingly handsome in his wedding suit. With all my preparations for leaving the world, I had completely forgotten that today was his marriage. He was watching Alison walking up the aisle towards him. He was smiling, a smile that lit up his whole face and I could tell by the look in those lovely green eyes of his that he really did love her. My feelings that he might have been making a mistake and that she was not worthy of him were completely misguided. He was doing absolutely the right thing, marrying this woman. The veil obscured her face, and I hoped for Jamie’s sake that her eyes were glowing in the same way, for him. As she took her place beside him, I noticed that she had dyed her hair black, like mine. I wouldn't have expected Alison to do that.

  The doors opened and people began drifting in, bringing me back to reality. Already two women were hovering hopefully in front of my stall. I smiled and invited them to sit, and as I handed one of them the cards to shuffle, I had a moment of panic. What if I wasn’t up to this? What if nothing came through? Given what I was doing here it would be all too easy to be distracted. Help, I thought. Spirit did not let me down. I caught sight of a little old lady wearing a hairnet standing behind the younger of the two women. ‘Tell her about the purple teddy bear she used to carry around everywhere and that I passed from falling downstairs,’ said the spirit. I related this to my client and her mouth fell open.

  ‘That’s my grandmother,’ she gasped.

  I felt a split second’s pang that my own grandmother had never once come through to me since her passing. She had appeared to Amber, and even Jamie had mentioned dreaming about her once - but I had never, ever heard from her. She must have been really angry with me, I thought, then stifled the thought quickly before it made me cry.

  ‘Tell her I approve of Paul,’ the grandmother went on. ‘He’s a perfect match for her.’ Again I had to stifle regret that I had never met my perfect match. I knew Gran would not have approved of anyone I’d been out with over the past couple of years.

  Now it was perfectly clear why I’d never met my soul mate. My purpose in life was to nail this killer, and if my soul mate was around, I’d be condemning him to a broken heart and a lonely life, just like Mark Rees after losing his Clare. Living happily ever after with somebody simply didn't come into it.

  I had to stop getting immersed in my own stuff - Grandmother had moved on now to talking about a little dog that was with her in spirit, and a hamster called Gerry. I had to concentrate if I was going to keep up.

  My first two customers were perfectly satisfied. I barely had time to centre myself again before the next one approached me. She told me her name was Elaine. I didn’t get such a strong spirit connection with Elaine as I had with the previous two – no one appeared, but thoughts sprang to my mind thick and fast, and I related them, hoping I wasn’t just making it all up. ‘I’m getting the feeling,’ I said, ‘that you weren’t expecting to come here today. You had other, more important plans, but they’ve fallen through. I see you returning a peach coloured dress to a shop. I think it was something to do with your cousin. And some people associated with you are very angry about this.’ It sounded a bit lame to me, but that’s what I’d got.

  ‘That’s perfectly true,’ Elaine said, to my surprise. ‘I was meant to be a bridesmaid at my cousin’s wedding - but it was cancelled on Thursday. The groom got cold feet, I think. I did take the dress back to the shop - my cousin couldn’t face doing it - and it was peach! And yes, my cousin and my aunt and uncle went ballistic over it. Though I said to her, if he was going to realise he was making a mistake, better to realise it two days before the wedding than two days after.’

  I couldn’t help but agree. Then more thoughts started coming. ‘The marriage was never meant to be,’ I said. ‘I’m feeling that people, the family, I guess, were all pinning high hopes on this wedding because there had been a lot of sadness. It was almost as if they were getting swept along by a need to create some happiness to take their minds off the grief. But they were trying too hard, and it would have been a big mistake.’ Blimey, I thought. A bit profound! Where was that all coming from?

  ‘My other cousin died,’ said Elaine. ‘I did think this whole wedding thing was a bit sudden, to tell the truth. Like they hadn’t got over what happened to Em properly.’ Elaine had confirmed every single thing I'd said.

  ‘Anyway, I’ve a message for your cousin,’ I continued. ‘She’ll meet her soul mate in about a year. She might be nervous about accepting another proposal after what’s happened with this one, but she doesn’t need to be. This one will go ahead, because he is the one she is meant to be with. He has dark hair and his name begins with B or D.’ As I had been seeing a big McDonald’s sign in my head, a big ‘M’, I guessed this might have been a message from the late ‘Em.’

  ‘Anything for me? Am I going to meet anyone?’ Elaine asked.

  Is she, Em? I silently asked. The answer came back. ‘B or D has a brother, with a name beginning with A. It will be a classic case of the chief bridesmaid getting together with the best man. Em says she’ll be there in spirit at both weddings.’

  Elaine broke into a delighted smile.

  I had a steady stream of people wanting readings and every one of them seemed to go away satisfied. I was really in flow. How nice it would be to report to my group on Monday how well it had gone. Then I
remembered with a shock that I wouldn't be there. At least, not physically.

  I’d noticed one man walk by my table several times when I was doing readings. Ten minutes before the end of the fair, I was finally free, and he came and stood in front of me. ‘So you reckon you’re a witch, do you, Tabitha?’ he asked, meeting my eyes. His were steely blue, and although he was turning on a great deal of charm, there was something very unpleasant about him. I remembered Cynthia repeating over and over, ‘Such an evil energy.’ Now I knew exactly what she’d meant.

  ‘If you want me to be a witch, I’ll be a witch,’ I said. I was reeling him in. ‘Would you like a reading?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, and sat down. ‘I’m not sure I believe in all this stuff, though. It’s really because you’re such an attractive woman. I just want an excuse to hold your hand while you read my palm.’

  I felt a little sick. What a creep. But he was probably the reason I was here. ‘I don’t read palms,’ I said. ‘I use a combination of numerology and astrology - so I’ll need your name and date of birth.’

  ‘Montague,’ he replied. ‘Robin Montague. And my date of birth is April 7 1980.’

  ‘Good - if you wouldn’t mind writing that down for me,’ I said. ‘Often I get messages for people after the reading is over, so it would be good to have your address, too, so I can contact you if that happens.’

  ‘I’d rather not give my address. I don’t want any junk mail.’

  ‘I won’t pass this information on to any companies who will try and sell you anything,’ I reassured him. He wrote down his address, reluctantly.

  I just had to pretend that he was just another person asking for a reading, and try and tune in as I normally would - but if I got anything about murders, the spirits of any of his victims, or if my vision of his future included prison, I could not let on. Nothing that would alert him to the fact I knew exactly what he wanted from me. I hoped that some spirit somewhere would have a different message for him.

  ‘Well?’ he asked, sharply. I forced myself to relax. Then I started to pick up the spirit of a young girl. I wondered if she was a victim, but it became clear to me that she hadn't died violently. She had passed from a blood disease. It seemed even vicious serial killers have people on the other side who care about them.

  ‘I see a girl of about twelve standing beside you,’ I said. ‘She’s very pale and very thin. She passed from leukaemia, I think. It feels to me like a sister energy. She’s holding a - a - a Mitzi Doll, dressed as an angel. She’s a K name - Kate, or Katie, and she says she loves you very much but she doesn’t like what you are doing with her collection of dolls.’

  ‘Is this a joke? You’re making it all up, aren’t you?’ His eyes narrowed.

  ‘No, I really do see her. And that is what she said. I only pass on what I get from them. And there’s someone else now, an older woman. I get the feeling she had a drink problem and passed through an overdose. She is standing behind Katie, and she’s crying. She says she realises now she was wrong and she’s sorry...’

  ‘This is all a load of complete bollocks,’ he declared, slamming a fist on the table so that my crystal ball shook slightly. I knew only too well, from the fact that all the colour had drained from his face and beads of sweat had formed on his upper lip, that I had hit a nerve. He stood up to leave, pushing his chair back violently, knocking over the carrier bag he'd been carrying. I watched him shove the contents back inside – the exhibition programme, a number of exhibitor fliers, and a Witch Mitzi Doll. I shivered.

  His composure returned, a little too quickly. He sat down again and fixed me with a charming smile. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t really mean to shout at you. This sort of stuff actually scares me a bit. I really didn’t expect you to be so accurate.’

  ‘Who were they?’ I asked, gently.

  ‘My mother and my sister,’ he said. ‘They died exactly how you said.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

  ‘I’d really rather not hear any more,’ he said. No, I thought. I bet you wouldn’t. I could see him squirming at the thought that the next spirit who appeared to me might be one of the many he had sent, violently and prematurely, over to the other side.

  Then the announcement came that the show was about to close. And Robin Montague homed in for the kill. Literally. ‘So what do you do when you’re not talking to dead people?’

  ‘Not a lot at the moment,’ I said. ‘I’m between jobs.’

  ‘Do you have a boyfriend? Husband? Lover?’

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘I live alone.’ Just what he wanted to hear. A witch who wouldn’t be missed for a while.

  ‘Fancy a drink afterwards?’ he asked. ‘Just you and me - no dead people?’

  I forced a smile. ‘I’d be delighted,’ I said. ‘I just have to pack up and go hand in my contributor’s badge - I’ll meet you at the back entrance in ten minutes.’

  ‘It’s a date,’ he said, as he walked away.

  Now was the time for my plan to swing into action. I’d been told when I arrived that I was welcome to use the photocopier in the admin office. I was sure they would let me send a fax before I left. I gathered up my list, circled Montague’s name and address, and wrote in bold letters at the top, ‘FAO Det. Insp. Jamie Swan.’ At the bottom, I added, ‘Am going for a drink with this guy. I think he's the one.’ I paused, wanting to write more, to tell Jamie Swan he was a good friend, and how much I cared for him, how much I'd miss him. Then I remembered that he and Alison were probably cutting their wedding cake by now. Alison Swan, as she now was, would not appreciate such sentiment. Neither would Jamie, probably. I didn’t want to look any more sad and pathetic than I already did. ‘Congrats and best wishes, luv Tabs’, I wrote, instead. I gathered up my papers and located Jamie’s card with his number on it.

  I went to the office. The door was locked. I looked around - the corridor was deserted - most people would have gone straight to the exit and handed in their badges to security as they left. Nobody needed the office at this time on a Saturday. Except for me, and I needed it badly.

  I took off my shoe and whacked the glass pane in the door as hard as I could. It shattered. Of course, there was a risk now that the sound had alerted someone and I would be caught and arrested before I had a chance to send the fax. I had to be quick.

  All my years of office work paid off - I found the fax machine quickly and knew how to use it. I was a dab hand at sending faxes rapidly thanks to Rob and his last-minute mailings. Ah. Rob, I thought, as I dialled. I wonder how he’s getting on in prison.

  ‘The number you have dialled is busy,’ said a robotic voice. I swore to myself. How could it be busy on a Saturday evening? Okay, so it was Scotland Yard, and no doubt it’s open 24/7, 365 days a year. But I wasn’t dialling the general fax. I was sending it to Jamie’s personal fax machine in his office. He wasn’t there, so why was it busy? I thought I heard a door slam and footsteps approaching.

  I ran over to the door, snapped on all the lights, and swung the door wide open so that the broken window wasn’t so obvious. Someone who worked there had kindly left a bottle of water on their desk - I opened it and spilled some on the floor. Then I ran back to the fax. Still busy.

  ‘Working late, love?’ the security guard stood in the doorway. ‘What happened here?’ He asked, pointing a steel toe at the broken glass under his foot.

  ‘Oh, I knocked over a glass of water,’ I said. ‘The phone was ringing. I’ll clear it up as soon as I’ve sent this fax.’

  ‘I’ll be locking the main door in fifteen,’ he said, with a wink. ‘I’d finish up and go if you don’t want to spend the night here,’ he said. ‘You’ve got twenty, though, before I shut the back door.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Have a nice weekend.’

  ‘You too.’ He left and I turned back to the fax. Still busy. I cursed whichever of Jamie’s workaholic colleagues had taken over his office while he was away. It was five minutes before I got the trilling tone of the receivin
g fax machine on the other end, and the paper started to feed through. I waited for it to finish, then snatched it and ran. I hoped Jamie would understand when he read it in two weeks' time, and be able to do something with it, my message from beyond the grave.

  I got to the back door just as the guard was about to lock me in. He let me out.

  My ‘date’ was there, waiting, tapping his foot - no doubt wondering whether I was going to show. I could sense impatience and anger from him, but when he saw me, he turned on the charm once more. We went to a bar and had two drinks. Robin Montague was so charming, that had I not known what he was, I might have thought my love life was looking up again. I wondered if he would drug me before killing me, and whether it would hurt. My London streetwise instinct told me to hold on to my drink at all times so he couldn’t slip anything into it, but I wondered if, under the circumstances, I should let him drug me if he wanted. It would make for an easier passing.

  ‘But it would remove any chance you might have had of getting away,’ said the voice in my head. For the first time, I began to wonder whether there was a possibility I could survive. The voices in my head had never let me down before. Their advice, no matter how daft it sometimes seemed at the time, was always good. Perhaps this wasn’t the end, after all...

  I tried to kid myself I was on a date with an attractive man and pretended to be interested in everything he said. I listened to the voice in my head and tipped the drink he gave me into a pot plant when he wasn’t looking.

  ‘So. Fancy coming home with me so I can show you my, um, etchings?’

  ‘I'd love to,’ I said, swallowing the bile that rose at the very thought.

  ‘Come on, then,’ he said, picking up his carrier bag. I followed him into the night. His black Audi was parked two streets away. I climbed in and as he drove I clenched my fists and looked out of the window. This might be my last ride in a car.