The planchette scraped across the board and pointed at the word YES.
Nightingale cleared his throat. His mouth had gone suddenly dry.
‘Robbie, we need to talk to you about my sister,’ he said.
The planchette gradually moved back to its original position.
‘Abersoch,’ whispered Jenny. ‘Ask him why he sent you to Wales.’
Nightingale flashed her a warning look to keep quiet. ‘Robbie, this is Jack. I’m here with Jenny. We want to talk to you about my sister. Can you talk to us?’
The planchette slid over to YES again, then moved purposefully back to the middle of the board.
‘Robbie, can you tell-’ Before Nightingale could finish, the planchette slid purposely upwards and pointed at the letter Y. As soon as it reached the bottom of the Y it jerked to the left and settled on the letter O. Then in quick succession it touched U and R.
‘Your,’ said Jenny. She shivered and looked around the basement. ‘Can you feel a draught?’ she asked.
Nightingale nodded. There was a cold breeze blowing from the far end of the basement, even though there were no doors or windows there. The candle flames began to flicker.
Nightingale opened his mouth to speak but, before he could say anything, the planchette started to move again, touching six letters one after the other: S-I-S-T-E-R.
‘Your sister,’ said Jenny.
Nightingale didn’t look at her. The planchette had already started to move again.
I-S. It stopped briefly and then moved on. G-O-I-N-G.
‘Is going,’ said Jenny. ‘Going where?’
Nightingale’s eyes widened. He had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach because he knew without a shadow of a doubt what was coming.
The planchette stayed where it was for several seconds and then it began to move. Nightingale could feel his fingers pressing down on the pointer as if they were trying of their own accord to stop it from moving.
‘Jenny, you’re not…?’
Jenny shook her head fiercely, her eyes fixed on the planchette as it continued to slide across the board.
T-O. It hesitated for a few more seconds, but Nightingale already knew where it was going next. It headed towards the H.
‘No!’ he said. He took his hand off the planchette but it carried on moving, this time towards the E. ‘Leave it, Jenny!’ he shouted.
Jenny looked at him, confused.
‘Let go of it!’ yelled Nightingale.
He reached over and grabbed her arm. He pulled it away and she let go of the planchette. They both stared wide-eyed as it carried on moving. It stopped over the letter E for less than a second and then started to slide towards the L.
‘What’s happening, Jack?’ asked Jenny
Nightingale stood up, grabbed the board and threw it against the wall. As it crashed to the floor, the candles blew out and Jenny screamed.
25
N ightingale reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out his lighter. He flicked it with his thumb and a small flame sputtered into life.
Jenny was sitting on her chair, her hands either side of her face as she stared at him in horror. She jumped out of her chair and grabbed Nightingale’s arm. ‘Get me out of here,’ she said, her voice trembling.
‘It’s okay,’ he said.
‘It’s not okay!’ she shouted. ‘Get me out of here now!’
Her outburst stunned him for a moment but then he took her with his left hand and guided her to the stairs. He kept the lighter in his right hand as he went up the stairs with her, but before he had got halfway the flame was burning his thumb and he let it go out. Jenny screamed again and he clicked the lighter despite the pain. The lighter sparked and then the flame flickered, casting shadows over the walls as he pushed her up the stairs ahead of him. She threw open the panel and staggered into the hallway. Nightingale followed her. He put the lighter in his pocket and tried to hold her but she thrust him away.
‘What happened down there, Jack?’
Nightingale shrugged but didn’t say anything.
‘Was that Robbie?’ asked Jenny.
‘I don’t think so.’
‘Some other spirit?’
‘I don’t know, Jenny. Maybe.’
‘And you knew what they were saying, didn’t you? That’s why you tossed the board.’
‘It was a message that I’ve seen before.’
‘It spelled out something about your sister, didn’t it? Your sister is going to- To what, Jack? What is your sister going to do?’
‘Jenny, please…’
‘To Hell? Is that it? Your sister is going to Hell. Is that what it was trying to say?’
Nightingale nodded.
‘And when did you see it before? The messages you told me about before your birthday said you were going to Hell, right? Now they’re talking about your sister? Is that it?’
‘Now’s not the time, Jenny.’ He was sweating and he wiped his face with his sleeve.
‘Don’t shut me out!’ she shouted. ‘Damn you, Jack. You can’t half involve me in this. It’s all or nothing. There are no half measures.’
Nightingale sighed. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t. I want the truth, not an apology. I want to know why you tossed the board when you did.’
‘Because it wasn’t Robbie. He wouldn’t have said that. Somebody or something else was using the board.’
‘And the wind? Where did that come from? And why did the candles blow out?’
Nightingale put his hands on her shoulders and this time she didn’t push him away. He looked into her eyes. ‘I don’t know, kid. I’m sorry.’
Her eyes burned into his. ‘Where did you hear that before? The message?’
Nightingale took his hands off her shoulders and put them in his pockets. ‘When I went to see Connie Miller.’
‘She wrote it?’
‘She said it.’
Jenny frowned. ‘You said that she was dead when you got there.’
‘That’s the thing,’ said Nightingale. ‘She was.’
Jenny shook her head. ‘No,’ she said. ‘You’re not saying what I think you’re saying, are you?’
‘She was dead but her eyes opened and the words came out.’
Jenny slumped against the panelled wall. Nightingale tried to steady her but she pushed his hands away. ‘Don’t touch me,’ she said.
‘It just happened,’ he said. ‘But I couldn’t tell anyone. How could I explain that a dead woman spoke to me? They’d think I was crazy. Or lying.’
‘And she said that your sister was going to Hell?’
Nightingale nodded. ‘And when I went back the same words were written on her bathroom wall. At least I thought they were. Maybe I imagined it.’
‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’
‘I couldn’t,’ he said. ‘Not on top of everything that’s happened. And deep down, I wondered if it was just my mind playing tricks.’ He took a deep breath. ‘And Alfie Tyler wrote the same words before he killed himself.’
‘How do you know that? You said you were stuck outside the gates.’
‘Chalmers showed me a crime-scene photograph.’
‘And he did… what? He wrote it how? He left a note?’
Nightingale looked uncomfortable. ‘Just leave it, Jenny.’
‘I can’t leave it. This involves me. Chalmers had me in for questioning, remember?’
‘Okay, he wrote it across his bedroom mirror. In faeces — shit.’
‘I know what faeces are,’ she said. ‘He used that to write on the mirror?’
Nightingale nodded. ‘That’s what Chalmers said. And he showed me pictures to back it up.’
‘Why would Tyler do that, Jack? Did he even know that you had a sister?’
‘I think I mentioned it to him when I first met him. But it was news to him. Gosling hadn’t said anything about having children.’ He shrugged. ‘He could have been lying, of course.’
‘But if he wasn’
t, why would he write that your sister was going to Hell?’
‘You’re asking the wrong person, Jenny. I’ve got no idea what’s going on. I keep thinking that maybe my mind is playing tricks on me. That maybe I’m imagining things.’
‘A crime-scene photograph isn’t your mind playing tricks, is it?’ She jerked her thumb at the entrance to the basement. ‘And we didn’t imagine what happened down there. Something was moving the pointer because I’m sure that neither of us was doing it.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘And whatever it was is still down there.’ He took a deep breath. ‘We have to go back, Jenny.’
‘No bloody way,’ she said.
‘If we’ve brought a spirit over it’ll stay here until we send it back.’
‘Just lock the door and brick it up,’ she said. ‘We should leave. Now.’
Nightingale put his hands on her shoulders again and looked into her eyes. ‘We have to do this, Jenny.’ She tried to look away and he shook her gently. ‘There’re no ifs, buts or maybes. We’ve opened a portal and we have to close it. There’s no telling what else might come through.’
‘Which is exactly why I’m not going back down there.’
‘It has to be the two of us, kid,’ said Nightingale. ‘We opened it, we have to close it.’
‘Jack, please…’ She was close to tears.
‘I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,’ said Nightingale. ‘Believe me, if we don’t go down there and finish what we started, we’ll be opening up a world of hurt.’ He squeezed her shoulders. ‘I’ll be with you,’ he said.
She forced a smile. ‘That’s supposed to reassure me, is it?’
‘Good girl,’ said Nightingale.
‘You owe me,’ she said.
‘I know.’
‘Big time.’
He put his arm around her and guided her towards the basement.
26
N ightingale kept his hands on Jenny’s shoulders as he followed her down the stairs into the bowels of the house
‘There’s no way we’re using the candles,’ she said, her voice still shaking.
‘The lights are staying on,’ promised Nightingale.
‘Shouldn’t we get a priest to do an exorcism or something?’
‘It’s not a possession,’ said Nightingale. ‘I know what to do.’
‘How?’
‘I read a book.’
When they reached the bottom of the stairs Nightingale led Jenny over to the table and sat her down.
The Ouija board was lying on the floor in front of a display case that was filled with skulls. Nightingale picked it up and took it over to the table. As he put it down, Jenny leaned away from it.
‘It can’t hurt you,’ said Nightingale. A cold wind blew from the far end of the basement making them both shiver. ‘Ignore it, Jenny. Where did the planchette go?’ he asked, looking around.
Jenny shook her head but didn’t answer.
Nightingale bent down and looked under the table but couldn’t see it. As he stood up a large globe by a book-covered desk began to slowly turn. He went over to it and placed his hand flat on America. The globe stopped spinning but as soon as he removed his hand it began to turn again.
‘Jack, please…’ said Jenny.
The globe began to turn faster and faster until the continents blurred into a beige mass. There was a thump behind them and Nightingale turned to see a book lying on the floor, its pages flicking by as if they were being rifled by an unseen hand. Another book fell from the top shelf and hit the ground with a dull thud. Then another. And another. Then books began to rain from the shelves, splattering onto the tiled floor.
‘Jack!’ screamed Jenny.
She stood up but Nightingale pointed at her. ‘Stay where you are!’ he shouted. ‘Stay in the chair!’
A large leather-bound book flew towards Nightingale’s face and he ducked. It grazed the back of his head and thudded into the bookcase behind him. As he straightened up he saw the planchette next to one of the sofas, and he ran over and grabbed it.
The fluorescent lights overhead began to flicker as Nightingale hurried to the table and sat down next to Jenny. He slapped the ivory planchette onto the board. ‘Your hands, Jenny,’ he said. ‘Put your hands on it.’
Jenny reached out and placed the fingertips of both hands onto the planchette. Nightingale put his hands on top of hers and together they started to move the pointer towards GOODBYE. Nightingale could feel the piece of ivory fighting against them as if it had a life of its own. He grunted and pushed harder.
‘It won’t move,’ Jenny gasped.
Behind them books continued to tumble down from the bookshelves. Cupboard doors were throwing themselves open and then slamming shut, and papers were blowing off the desk and flapping around in the air.
‘It will,’ said Nightingale. ‘Keep pushing.’ He looked up at the ceiling. ‘In the name of Jesus Christ, I command all human spirits to be bound to the confines of this board. I command all inhuman spirits to go where Jesus Christ tells you to go, for it is HE who commands you.’
One of the fluorescent lights made a popping noise and the tube shattered. Bits of glass tinkled down onto the tiles.
The planchette began to slide over the board, but it took all Nightingale’s and Jenny’s strength to keep it moving towards GOODBYE.
Nightingale took a deep breath. ‘Jenny, you have to say it with me.’ Another fluorescent light exploded behind them.
‘I don’t know the words,’ she gasped.
‘Just repeat after me,’ he said. ‘We both have to say it.’ He began to recite the prayer again and Jenny followed haltingly. When they reached the end the planchette seemed to give up and they slid it across to GOODBYE. Nightingale sighed. ‘Amen,’ he said. He nodded at Jenny.
‘Amen,’ she repeated.
Suddenly there was only silence. Papers fluttered to the ground and the doors of the cupboards remained shut. Nightingale looked over at the globe. It slowed to a stop.
‘It’s over,’ he said. He took his hands off Jenny’s. She looked at him fearfully and let go of the planchette. It stayed where it was, obscuring the letter D.
Jenny exhaled and sat back. ‘Is that it?’ she asked.
Nightingale nodded. ‘I think so.’
‘Think?’
‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘You can feel it, right? You can feel how the atmosphere has changed.’
Jenny shivered. ‘I want to go home,’ she said.
27
N ightingale drove Jenny’s Audi back to her mews house in Chelsea. She didn’t say a word all the way home. Nightingale tried to get her to break her silence but the most he could get out of her was the occasional nod or shake of the head. He walked her to the door and waited until she unlocked it.
‘Jenny, I’m sorry,’ he said, handing her the car keys.
‘It wasn’t your fault,’ she said, refusing to look at him.
‘I shouldn’t have asked you to do it.’
She shrugged. ‘You couldn’t have done it on your own,’ she said. ‘One person can’t work a Ouija board.’
‘I had no idea it would turn out the way it did,’ he said.
‘I know that.’
She stepped across the threshold. For a moment Nightingale thought she was going to invite him in for coffee but then she shook her head and closed the door on him. Nightingale lit a cigarette. He blew a smoke ring up at the moon. He looked back at Jenny’s house and saw the bathroom light go on.
Nightingale smoked his cigarette. The bathroom light went off. He was just about to flick the butt away when his mobile rang. He looked at the display and smiled when he saw it was Jenny calling him.
‘What are you doing?’ she asked.
‘Loitering with no intent,’ he said.
‘There’s a pretty serious Neighbourhood Watch around here. If you’re not careful someone will call the police.’
‘I was just going.’
‘Everything’s all r
ight, Jack,’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’
‘I really am sorry.’
‘You don’t have to keep saying that. Do you want me to call you a cab?’
Nightingale looked up at the bedroom windows but couldn’t see her. ‘I’m okay. I’ll pick up a black cab on the King’s Road. Look, I’ll swing by tomorrow morning, first thing.’
‘You don’t have to.’
‘I want to. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bed bugs bite.’
‘Idiot.’
The line went dead. Nightingale saluted the bedroom windows, then turned and walked down the mews.
28
N ightingale caught a black cab and was heading back to Bayswater and had the driver drop him close to where he’d parked his MGB. He’d been shocked by what had happened in the basement but had hidden his unease from Jenny because he didn’t want to make her more upset than she already was.
He climbed into his car and drove to the cemetery where Robbie Hoyle was buried. He made only one stop on the way — at an off-licence. He parked close to the entrance to the cemetery and switched off the engine of his MGB. It continued to turn over for a couple of seconds before cutting out. He flicked off the lights, picked up the Oddbins carrier bag and walked through the wooden gates. Robbie Hoyle’s grave was on the far side of the cemetery, close to a line of conifers that whispered in the cold breeze that was blowing from the north. Nightingale shivered as he stood looking down at the grave.
There was no headstone and there wouldn’t be for another eight months or so, until the soil had settled. There was just the earth, and a small wooden cross with Hoyle’s name, his date of birth and the day he’d died — run over by a taxi as he crossed the road. The details of his death weren’t on the cross, of course, and they wouldn’t be on the headstone. They never were. Visitors were happy enough to know the names and dates of the deceased, but no one wanted to be confronted with how they’d died. Robbie Hoyle. Crushed to death under the wheels of a taxi, his spine broken, his spleen ruptured, his lungs filling up with blood as he took his last breath. The words that would be carved into the marble would be less graphic. ‘Loving husband and father. He died too young.’
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