by Matt Drabble
Out of the corner of his eye he saw a flash of movement followed by a smashing sound. The woman suddenly went limp and he pushed her off easily.
He rolled away and climbed back to his feet, his heart pounding with a sudden rush of adrenaline. He looked to his savoir to see young PC Paterson standing there holding the remains of the coffee pot. His hand was shaking as he held the black plastic hand with the glass jug now shattered upon the floor. “Holy shit, did that just happen?” he asked shakily.
“Watch your language, son,” Donald said, nodding towards Brendon’s dog collar with an equally trembling and shocked voice.
“I think that the young man has it right, Sergeant,” Brendon panted as he checked his face gingerly. “Holy shit is about right.”
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Sarah was painting on her own. The few meandering students that had passed through her art class doors had all wandered away as their underdeveloped attention spans ran out of gas.
She enjoyed the peace and quiet of solitude with only her brush strokes for company. She was able to allow her mind to wander and dream, devoid of repercussions.
She was already starting to make plans to find another school. Perhaps she would find somewhere warmer this time.
Ravenhill had been a godsend to her and she was grateful, but the time was fast approaching to move on.
Normally she would have long since left a place like this. Her employment record was dotted with short term appointments as the threat of growing close to someone reared its ugly head.
Sometimes it was a friendship that snuck up on her and only occasionally, over the last 10 years, had it been something of a more romantic nature.
After Eden she was damaged goods and cursed, and she had no intention of ever endangering anyone else ever again.
Her mind drifted as she painted. There were always private schools around Europe that would surely be pleased to have a former Ravenhill Academy teacher on their books.
Ravenhill’s reputation was second to none and she was confident that Barnaby would supply her with an honest letter of recommendation.
She felt eyes upon her and turned to the doorway. Alex Thompson stood half in, half out of the room hovering with confused intent.
“Alex? Can I help you?” she asked.
The boy was usually a troublemaker of the non-serious variety. He was mouthy and could be disobedient to a point, but she sensed that there could be some redeeming features hidden somewhere deep inside of him.
His face was usually a mixture of sullenness and arrogance, but now he looked deeply unhappy.
“What is it Alex?” she said putting down her brush and walking towards him.
He took a step backwards as she neared him and she stopped. He looked like a nervous rabbit about to bolt at any minute.
“You can talk to me, you know,” she said, sitting down at the nearest desk.
“I shouldn’t,” he said in a small quiet voice so bereft of his usual authority.
“That probably means that you should then,” she smiled kindly.
“He’d go mad if he even knew I was here,” he whispered as he walked slowly into the room and sat down opposite her.
“I’ve found in the past that keeping things buried deeply inside you only works for so long. The further down that you push them only delays their inevitable escape,” she said darkly. “Everything comes out in the end Alex, everything.”
“I have moments when I feel like I’m all here, but they’re getting further and further apart. It gets so that you can’t hear your own thoughts or even recognise your own voice,” he said in a voice that was close to breaking.
Sarah looked at his deeply unhappy face and wondered just what he had gotten mixed up in.
In a normal high school she would have assumed drugs or alcohol, maybe a crime of some nature. But this was Ravenhill, a school situated in the middle of nowhere and far removed from the temptations of the world. She let the silence stretch out as she waited for him to become comfortable again.
“I don’t want her to be hurt,” he finally said in hushed tones.
“Who, Alex? Who don’t you want to be hurt and who’s going to hurt her?” she asked, desperately trying to keep the frantic tone from her voice.
She looked on in disbelief as the resident school bully started to softly weep. “Please,” he said through the tears. “Please.”
In that moment he seemed so desperately unhappy and wracked with guilt that she reached out to take his hand. But the moment that they touched he jerked like he had been electrocuted and his eyes cleared of tears but hardened into those of someone else.
“Almost,” he hissed as he stood and turned for the door. “Almost SJ,” he whispered as he passed through it.
She sat there as he slipped away, unable to comprehend whether he had called her SJ or not. Nobody had used that moniker since Eden and she found her heart racing at the connection. The years of buried memories were all still there no matter how hard or how far she tried run. Ravenhill had lasted longer than any other place that she had tried since she had left, but now this place was inevitably tainted too.
A flash of movement caught her eye and she looked across to see a white handkerchief flapping through the doorway. She watched as Jemima’s pleasant face peeked around the door. “I come in peace,” the young teacher said unsurely.
The stab of sorrow and loneliness at falling out with her one friend only made Sarah’s decision to leave easier to make. “Don’t be silly,” she said kindly.
“I really don’t know what came over me,” Jemima said, perilously close to tears. “The last thing in the world I want to do is to fall out with you over a boy of all things,” she half laughed.
“The whole thing is too ridiculous for words,” Sarah smiled, as Jemima walked across the room towards her. It was only at the last minute that she realised that the young teacher was about to hug her and there was no escape.
The embrace was awkward, but not unpleasant which only made her more determined to start looking for a new position elsewhere.
“So what are you working on?” Jemima asked looking at the easel.
“Oh nothing much really,” Sarah replied honestly. “Sometimes it’s just the action of painting that I find the most relaxing.”
“It’s good,” Jemima said, leaning in closer for a better look. “What is it supposed to be?”
For the first time Sarah looked down at what she had been painting on automatic pilot.
“I like these swirls of colour and flashes of green and black; are these buildings? And are they on fire?” Jemima asked.
Sarah stared down in horror. She recognised the scene instantly despite the abstract format. It was the town square in Eden, at the end when Tolan had tried to sacrifice Emily and her unborn child before Michael and Thom had started the fire that had burned the place to the ground.
It was a scene that she believed long lost from her memories, at least the daytime ones. In a flash, every attempt to bury that night over the last 10 years was torn to shreds as the memories came flooding back and drowned her in a tidal wave.
She only had time to realise that she was falling before she fainted dead away and the hands in the dark belonged to one man that blamed her above all others.
CHAPTER 12
Maurice stoked the fire but still he couldn’t get warm. The cold night outside insisted and would not be denied. He shivered inside his thick cardigan and hugged himself hard, but to no avail.
His cottage was set inside the grounds of Ravenhill, but it was not as far from the main building as he would have liked. These days he was beginning to think that no distance would be far enough.
He was the caretaker like his father before him and his father’s father before him; it was a responsibility that was a heavy burden. He knew that Barnaby saw himself in a similar role, but in reality the Headmaster had little idea of what he was letting himself in for.
Ravenhill had been through many incarnatio
ns in her day. But as far as Maurice’s father had been concerned there was only one constant down the decades; Ravenhill seemed to attract only the worst men as landlords.
He had told a young Maurice that the place had an energy that appealed to the blackest of hearts.
Maurice had always had his doubts about his father’s warnings as Alastair Barnaby had proven to be stern man, but clearly not a monster - at least on the surface. But he had respected his father and knew that he wasn’t a man for exaggeration.
The one thing that he was sure of was that if all the buried corpses around here stood up at once, they were going to have a hell of an overcrowding problem.
He threw another log onto the fire and rubbed his hands fruitlessly. The cottage was small but it suited him and his needs.
Most nights he spent in front of the fire with his books for company, nodding off in his armchair.
He wasn’t a sociable man and cared little for the companionship of others. Unfortunately, this also meant that he had left no heir to carry on the family business; when he died there would be no Duncan man to carry on as caretaker.
Something soft hit the lounge window making him jump at the sudden noise.
He stood up slowly from his chair and walked towards the glass.
He peered out into the dark night but could see little.
He leaned towards the pane when another soft thud hit the window on the opposite side of the room. He knew that sometimes the birds lost their sense of direction when they flew over Ravenhill, another of her little eccentricities.
There was a third thud and a fourth. This time they were followed by muffled laughter. The voices were high pitched and young as the sound floated through the air seemingly from all directions surrounding him.
He grabbed his coat and pulled his boots on grumpily. Normally the kids here were pretty well behaved and disciplined, but the occasional bout of disobedience still occurred from time to time.
He threw open his front door and looked out into the black night as his breath puffed out in white clouds in front of his face.
He was puzzled as the lights should have worked as soon as any movement triggered their sensors.
The lights were useful for keeping the foxes’ and badgers’ destructive urges at bay. He made a mental note to add them to his list of chores in the morning.
The lights exploded into life as he hit the override switch on the wall. There were at least 10 kids of varying ages all standing motionless in his front garden. He stared in disbelief as they all wore their school uniforms but no protective clothing against the elements.
They stood with blank faces but bright twinkling eyes. Their hands were wet and blue with the snowballs that they had thrown at the cottage.
Maurice took a single step forward and opened his mouth to scream blue murder at them for pissing about at this time of night, before he stopped. He couldn’t see any of them breathing.
Their faces should have been enveloped in white puffs of frozen breath but there was none to be seen. All of them stayed rock still without as much as a shiver.
Determined not to be scared by a group of children, he took a step further through his door and his foot crunched in the fresh snow gathered on his porch.
Immediately the children all took a step forward completely in unison. Their mouths were silent but they moved as one.
He took another small step forward and they all followed suit. He took a small step backwards and this time so did they.
He stepped back again and his feet fell inside of the cottage and the children retreated to the edge of the bright light’s perimeter.
He stood in the doorway looking out across the snow covered garden at the shimmering eyes that now peered out from the darkness like wild animals.
Suddenly, there was a single movement and one child stepped forward into the light.
The boy was blonde and slender and Maurice recognised him as the new boy, the American.
The boy stared directly at him with piercing eyes and Maurice instantly got the message.
Stay out of this old man, the voice inside his head ordered. Sit in front of your fire, and stay out of business that doesn’t concern you. There’s a new owner of Ravenhill and your services are no longer required.
He closed the door slowly and for the first time in his life he threw the bolt across and locked it.
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Sarah reluctantly took the brandy on offer. Jemima was fussing around her like a mother hen and it only served to make her feel more foolish.
She had managed to faint because she had subconsciously painted an image of Eden. She should have known that there was no purging some memories, no matter how deeply she buried them.
She was sitting in a small chair pushed up to one of the desks in her studio. The liquid burned her throat on the way down but the warming effect in the pit of her stomach was most welcome.
“Are you ok? Jemima asked, concerned.
“I’m fine, just a little embarrassed,” she replied. “I didn’t eat or drink anything today. I guess that with the heating cranked up full blast I just had a dizzy spell there for a moment.” She knew that the idea of the school ever being hot enough to make a person faint was laughable, but she didn’t have any other explanation save for the truth. “Are you ok? You look a little peaky yourself,” she asked her young friend.
“Me? I’m fine,” Jemima answered a little too quickly.
“You’ve just been looking a little odd lately, like you’re under the weather or something,” Sarah probed gently.
“Maybe I’m coming down with a touch of something, I don’t know,” Jemima said quietly. “I think…, that is I feel…”
“What is it?”
“I just heard; are you alright?” Stuart said, as he rounded the corner into the art studio.
“Oh brilliant,” Sarah whispered under her breath and looking up at Jemima.
“I knew that he’d be worried,” Jemima shrugged.
“Well what have we got here?” Hannah Marks, the school nurse, exclaimed as she followed Stuart into the room.
“Oh jeez,” Sarah said, exasperated. “Who else is on the invitation list?”
“Now, now my dear,” Hannah said pleasantly. “We all just want what’s best for you.”
“I’m fine, really,” Sarah said, standing up and ignoring the lightheaded feeling that coursed through her.
For some reason, the last thing that she wanted was the nurse to be touching her right now.
She saw out of the corner of her eye that Jemima had withdrawn again. Whatever had been on the young teacher’s mind had receded back to its cubbyhole again.
“I really should check you over; perhaps if we could have a little privacy?” Hannah said lightly.
“Really, I’m fine,” Sarah said quickly. “I just need a little lie down is all,” she said, forcing a smile.
“Maybe Hannah is right Sarah,” Jemima said kindly. “Maybe she should give you the old once over; we can certainly wait outside.”
“I’m fine,” Sarah said firmly. “Really, I am. I just want to have an early night and everything will look better in the morning.”
“Perhaps we should all turn in,” Stuart said helpfully and Sarah was grateful for him seemingly reading her distress signals.
“Who’s on duty tonight?” Sarah asked.
“Mr. Barnaby,” Hannah answered tersely.
“Well then, why don’t I make sure that you get to your room safely?” Stuart offered towards Sarah and she gave him a small smile of encouragement.
They walked away from the studio and Sarah could feel Jemima’s and Hannah’s eyes burning holes in the back of her head. Tonight it felt like everyone in the whole damn world was losing their collective minds.
“You know you can talk to me if you want to,” Stuart said meekly as they walked.
“I’m fine, really,” she replied as strongly as she could muster. “I’m just tired.”
They reached
her room and he lingered. Part of her wanted him to come in, if only for the company. But now that she had decided to leave, she didn’t want to muddy the waters anymore than they already were.
“I thought that this Christmas break was going to be a happy occasion,” Stuart said sadly
Sarah couldn’t help but feel a tug on her heartstrings towards him. It wasn’t his fault that she was as messed up as she was, but that didn’t alter the fact that she was.
She had slipped once, just once, out at the lighthouse when she’d kissed him, but she didn’t intend to compound the error.
“What is it Sarah? What is it that keeps you so distant and closed off?” he asked imploringly.
“My past is…, it’s complicated, and it’s private,” she stressed gently. “What do you think of the new boy, Joshua Bradley?” she asked, changing the subject with breakneck speed.
“He seems ok,” Stuart replied thoughtfully. “I know that the rest of the rugby team took to him pretty quickly, and that’s unusual for them.”
“He’s got a kind of magnetism, a charisma, don’t you think?”
“Maybe, why the interest?”
“He reminds me for all the world of someone, and I can’t quite place who,” she answered honestly.
He stared at her delicately, waiting for her to continue and not wanting to interrupt her in case she stopped.
“I keep seeing him around the school. It’s like he’s watching me, watching and waiting for something,” she said quietly. “I know how it sounds so don’t look at me like that. But I can’t help but feel like there’s something wrong with that kid.”
“Wrong how?”
“Just wrong,” she said definitively. “I think I’m going to be leaving Ravenhill soon, Stuart.”
“Because of Joshua Bradley?” he asked surprised.
“Because of several things,” she replied honestly. “I think that my time here is done and I need to move on.”
She watched his face as he seemed to be trying to articulate the perfect set of words to make her stay.