‘Do you know what they are?’ she asked. ‘I’ll give you a clue: they’re very appropriate.’
Nightingale shook his head. ‘Botany was never one of my subjects,’ he said.
‘What’s your degree in again?’
‘Economics.’
‘Never.’
‘What?’
‘Economics? You can’t even balance your cheque book.’
‘There’s a big difference between the theoretical and the practical,’ he said. ‘Ask me something about supply-side economics.’
‘Okay. What is it?’
Nightingale grinned. ‘It’s a macroeconomic theory described by Jude Wanniski in 1975 that basically says that the economy is best served by lowering barriers to producing goods and services, which in turn lowers prices. It’s in contrast to Keynesian macroeconomics, which argues that demand is more important than supply.’ He winked. ‘I got a First.’
‘You never cease to amaze me,’ she said. ‘If you were that good, why did you become a cop?’
Nightingale shrugged. ‘It’s a long story,’ he said. He waved at the board. ‘Are you playing for time because you don’t want to do this?’
‘I’m ready when you are,’ she said. She held up the twigs again. ‘Witch hazel,’ she said. ‘How appropriate is that?’
‘Brilliant,’ said Nightingale, taking the twigs from her. ‘Be a sweetie and get the lights, will you?’
As Jenny went up the stairs again, Nightingale put the witch hazel into a crystal vase and placed it on the opposite side of the table to the glass of distilled water. Jenny switched off the lights and came back down into the basement. The flickering candles cast moving shadows over the walls. She sat down at the table next to Nightingale.
‘You remember what to do?’ asked Nightingale. He sat down and picked up the planchette. It was made of ivory that had yellowed with age.
‘How could I forget?’ she asked. ‘We visualise a white light all around the table.’
‘That’s right. A protective light, pure white. Keep thinking about the light whatever happens.’ Nightingale pinched some sage from a small bowl and sprinkled it over the candles one by one, then he rubbed some on the board and the planchette; finally he sprinkled lavender and salt over the board.
‘It’s very Jamie Oliver, isn’t it?’ said Jenny.
Nightingale wagged a finger at her. ‘You have to take this seriously,’ he said.
‘I’m trying,’ said Jenny. ‘Believe me, I’m trying.’
‘Are you ready?’
‘As I’ll ever be,’ she said.
Nightingale nodded. ‘Okay.’ He took a deep breath before speaking in a low monotone. ‘In the name of God, of Jesus Christ, of the Great Brotherhood of Light, of the Archangels Michael, Raphael, Gabriel, Uriel and Ariel, please protect us from the forces of Evil during this session. Let there be nothing but light surrounding this board and its participants and let us only communicate with powers and entities of the light. Protect us, protect this house, the people in this house and let there only be light and nothing but light, Amen.’
‘Amen,’ repeated Jenny.
Nightingale looked up at the ceiling. ‘We’re here to talk to Robbie Hoyle,’ he said. ‘Robbie, are you there? Please, talk to us.’
The planchette twitched under their fingers.
‘Robbie, is that you?’
The candle flames simultaneously bent away from the stairs as if a draught was blowing from the door.
‘We want to talk to Robbie Hoyle,’ said Nightingale, raising his voice. ‘Robbie, are you there?’
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
Nightingale 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
Nightingale 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.
Midnight Page 11