‘Also, Helen says you can see Annabel tonight.’
She stopped. ‘So soon?’
‘I’m just the messenger,’ he said gruffly. He pointed with the shotgun. ‘Shall we, Mrs Carmichael?’
‘You know, I may be a city woman, but I know that’s not the way to handle a loaded shotgun. It should be cracked over your arm. It could go off accidentally.’
He snapped it open. ‘It isn’t loaded yet,’ he said, showing her the empty chambers. ‘Did you see something, Mrs Carmichael; is that why you broke through the fence?’
She stared into his eyes. They were like twin, emotionless marbles of granite.
‘Rabbits,’ she said, walking away from him. ‘Just rabbits.’
* * * *
12
A Vile, Hated Man
He was sitting on the sofa, his bare foot swathed in bandages. He looked up from the paperback he was reading, looking decidedly sorry for himself.
‘What on earth were you doing?’ she said.
‘I didn’t look where I was going; I put my foot in a hole, fell and twisted the damn thing. It hurts like the blazes so don’t give me any grief, huh?’ Paul put the paperback aside.
Susan went over to him, bent to examine his foot. ‘Is it really bad?’ she said.
He waved her away from his leg. ‘It’s bad enough.’
‘That’s a shocking dressing. Let me check your ankle and see to that bandage.’
‘It’s fine, Susan,’ he said crisply. Then his voice softened. ‘It’s fine, really. It’s my own fault. I was being a pillock and a hothead. I’m sorry, for everything I said back there. I didn’t mean it. I’m hurting, is all. Do you forgive me?’
‘Do you forgive me for nearly giving you a black eye?’ she said, sitting on the arm of the sofa and stroking his neck. ‘Just think how bad that would have looked!’
‘I deserved it. I was being selfish, as usual. You’re hurting, too, I know that. I guess we’re each trying to deal with Becky’s loss in our own way.’ He absently studied his bandaged foot. ‘Did Alex tell you, about seeing Annabel tonight?’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you ready for it?’
She shrugged. ‘I don’t know what to expect. I’m trying not to get my hopes up. Perhaps this entire idea was foolish from the start.’
‘They asked to see us separately. It’s the procedure, apparently.’ He nodded at his leg. ‘That suits me just fine. I’m not going anywhere just yet, not until Alex digs out an old crutch he said he had somewhere. So you’ll be going in on your own. Are you OK with that?’
‘You need to rest up otherwise you’ll be hobbling around for the entire time we’re here. Anyhow, what harm can it do? The Donovans were over the moon with what they’d experienced, so I’ll just go in and keep an open mind.’
He took her hand, gave it a squeeze. ‘I love you,’ he said.
She’d have liked to have believed it, but his voice sounded curiously distant.
Night had fallen by the time Alex MacLeod came to fetch her. Earlier, Helen had prepared a meal for them so that Paul and Susan could eat together in the cottage, knowing it would do more harm than good for Paul to be on his damaged foot. Alex took the empty casserole dishes and handed Paul a crutch.
‘I notice there’s a little woodworm in it,’ he said.
‘Christ, and I thought I’d just sprained it!’ joked Paul. ‘Woodworm’s another thing altogether.’
He didn’t respond. ‘So be careful you don’t put too much weight on the crutch,’ he advised evenly.
Which rather defeated the object of having a crutch, Paul thought. He took it, thanked him and nodded silently at his wife, who raised a here-we-go-and-wish-me-luck eyebrow.
In the main house Susan was greeted by Helen, who invited her to sit down.
‘I’m sorry to hear about Paul’s accident, but that is not unusual on the island, as you can imagine. For the unwary the land can be unforgiving. But no matter; we carry out the sessions individually, so your husband will have his turn presently. Right, before we start, there are a few things I have to tell you so that you won’t be alarmed.’
‘That sounds alarming,’ she quipped, but Helen didn’t respond.
‘As I’ve already said, Annabel is special, in more ways than one. She is twenty-nine years old, but she has the mental age of a strong-willed, petulant and rather disruptive child of eight.’
‘Oh,’ said Susan. ‘That’s not what I expected…’
‘No one ever does. Her brain was damaged during birth, caused by the careless use of forceps. But we believe this seeming calamity, on the one hand, has in turn bestowed upon her special powers. Her behaviour can be rather unpredictable, to say the least, and we have to take precautionary measures, which you’ll see when you meet her shortly. In the same way a hood calms a horse, we are occasionally compelled to use something similar on Annabel. It may appear cruel, but you have to trust me this is not the case. We love Annabel very much. And she gets a great deal out of the sessions she has with people. She calls them games. They give her a sense of purpose in what could have been an otherwise largely purposeless life. Do you understand?’
Susan nodded. ‘Is she happy?’
‘Annabel is very happy,’ Helen smiled. ‘It is a mother’s wish that her child is happy. And that’s why you are here, is it not? To ensure your child is happy.’
‘I don’t know anything anymore,’ she admitted.
‘Doubts at the last minute are also natural. We can postpone this, if you like, but I cannot say when Annabel will next be receptive. It may be tomorrow, or days from now.’
‘No, I don’t want to call this off. I want to go through with it.’
Helen’s smile widened. ‘That is good. Shall we start?’
‘Do I need to do anything?’ Susan asked hesitantly.
‘Just come through to the back room and sit at the table. No more than that. Annabel will take it from there. Let yourself go is the only advice I can offer. Don’t fight anything. There is nothing to gain by fighting. And remember, this is only the first session of a number. I liken it to the steady unwrapping of a parcel; first the clipping of the string, next taking off the wrapping paper, then cutting the tape on the box lid, and finally opening the lid itself and reaching inside. How far we get along that process is down to Annabel and you. Are you ready?’
‘Yes, I’m ready,’ she returned with strained resolve.
She was led by Helen deep into the house, down narrow corridors with bare walls and scarred wooden floorboards that seemed to bounce beneath her steps. Finally they came to a squat door, lined and faded and looking like a hunched old man. Alex Macleod was standing beside it, his face sober. She saw him nod at Helen and he went away without saying a word.
Helen opened the door and stood in the entrance as Susan went inside. The room was empty except for a single pine table in its centre with two wooden chairs pushed under it and facing each other. A single oil lamp burned on the wall, its flame flickering. Its light didn’t wash into the farthest corners of the room, which remained in sticky black shadow.
‘Sit down there,’ Helen said. ‘Keep your hands off the table and on your lap.’
Susan did as she was told, noticing a two small iron rings screwed into the tabletop. She faced the empty chair opposite her. It appeared strangely portentous in the dull light.
She heard footsteps, Alex’s quiet voice in the corridor. ‘This way, Annabel, that’s right…’
Susan was taken aback by the sight, even though Helen had done her best to prepare her. The woman at the doorway wore a formless dress in dark blue. Her frame was quite large, almost to the point of being grossly overweight. She wore a pair of brown slippers on her feet, which caused a faint scuffling sound on the naked boards as she groped her way inside the room. Groped because she had a hand-stitched leather hood pulled over her eyes and down to the tip of her nose. She could not see anything and was being guided by Alex at her back. She was grinning wil
dly, her teeth large, yellowed and uneven. A glimmer of spittle flashed at the corner of her pale lips.
Alex pushed her towards the table, eased the woman into the chair opposite Susan. For the first time she noticed bands of leather wrapped around the woman’s wrists. Alex took the woman’s hands and placed them on the table near the iron rings and clipped a line onto each, the other ends he snapped onto rings fastened into the leather armbands.
‘As a precaution,’ he said to Susan.
Helen closed the door and stood with her back against the wall behind the seated woman. Alex unfastened straps on the hood and gently lifted it off. He went over to stand next to Helen.
‘Annabel, meet Susan,’ said Helen.
Annabel’s eyes were wide and childlike, filled with wonder, a fiery enthusiasm for something Susan could not comprehend. Her hair was long, wiry, threaded through with grey. A brush had obviously been dragged ineffectually through it. She had a snub nose, through which she breathed loudly with excitement. She stared deep into Susan’s eyes.
‘Hello, Susan!’ she said.
‘Hello, Annabel,’ she returned quietly, looking beyond her to Helen, who smiled and nodded calmly.
‘Are you going to be my friend?’ Annabel asked.
Susan nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I’m going to be your friend.’ She swallowed hard. Her lips went dry almost immediately and she couldn’t explain why.
‘Shall we play the game?’ she asked excitedly.
Helen nodded an affirmative at Susan and Susan said, ‘Yes. We can play the game, Annabel.’
Annabel reached out, but her tied hand was brought up short by the line. Susan kept her own hands planted firmly on her thighs, her palms beginning to sweat.
The woman cocked her head, her eyes taking in every inch of Susan’s startled face. She found it increasingly disturbing, unsure what was going to happen next, unsure whether she should feel afraid or excited. But then the room began to grow dark, as if the lamp’s flame were shrinking. Helen and Alex appeared to shrink into the distance, as if the wall had become soft and pliant and began to swallow them up. But she was not afraid. The shreds of doubt she harboured were melting away, replaced by inexplicable warmth and trust, a sense of wellbeing she hadn’t experienced in a long while. Similar to that when she first saw her daughter in her dream…
A voice. It came from Annabel. But it wasn’t meaningful. It flowed over her, into her, as if the words had liquefied and were pouring into her brain, swamping it, soaking it. She saw Annabel’s lips moving, but they didn’t move in time to the flow of words which she now felt as a physical force rather than heard. And her eyes, they burned brightly, as if lit from behind by an unearthly light. Soon, all she saw were Annabel’s eyes, floating in the dark like twin suns.
Still she was not afraid. Time ceased to exist. Her body seemed to blink out of existence. She floated in space with only the eyes for company. Then the room came back a little at a time, Helen and Alex starting out as shapeless mounds that gained detail as if some artist were sketching them back in. Giving them life. Annabel’s face came into focus behind the flaming eyes. The room shimmered like in a heat haze, then settled and became normal.
Susan felt suddenly very cold. Her breath pumping out in white clouds. A pressing sense of expectation filled the silent room. In front of the door a shape began to shimmer and grow like crystals. Susan gasped in a breath, held it. The shape took on an achingly familiar form.
‘Becky!’ she said.
The young woman smiled, held out her hand. ‘Mother,’ said a voice, though the lips did not move and the words seemed to come from within her own head.
‘Is it really you?’ Susan said, tears swamping her eyes.
‘I’ve missed you, mother,’ she said.
She wanted to rise from the chair, but was held in place by an invisible weight that crushed any attempt to get to her feet. ‘I miss you, too, darling…’ She sobbed. ‘How I miss you…’
‘Don’t be unhappy, mother,’ she said. ‘Please don’t be unhappy. That makes me sad.’
‘You came to me,’ said Susan. ‘You are the one who is sad. Tell me why, darling.’ The shape began to thin, become transparent. Her daughter’s words were becoming muddled, impossible to decipher. Susan shook her head. ‘Don’t go, Becky!’ she said. ‘Not yet!’ She looked at Annabel, whose rapturous face remained transfixed. ‘Annabel, bring her back, don’t let her go.’
The shape came into focus again. Became almost solid. ‘I’m here, mother,’ she assured.
‘Becky, I have something to ask. What was the name of your favourite toy teddy bear you used to have as a child?’
The apparition frowned. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘I have to be certain,’ she said.
Becky’s face broke out into a smile. ‘His name was Jasper,’ she said. ‘And you bought him for me because I had to go the dentist and I didn’t like it. It came from a Woolworth’s store. He was in the sale so you said I could have him. You asked what I was going to call him, and I said Jasper, out of the blue. You said no, that’s not a good name for a teddy, and I said yes it is.’
Susan cried. Only she and Becky had ever known about this private exchange of words. Not even Paul knew about them.
Then Becky began to fade again, to become washed out. She disappeared altogether and the room began to get warmer. Susan saw Helen and Alex exchanging a glance, and she cast them a thankful smile.
But without warning the room was plunged icy cold again and Susan shivered uncontrollably. Helen and Alex looked surprised, folded their arms at the sudden drop in temperature.
‘Mother,’ said Becky’s thin voice from beside her, and Susan started at the abrupt sound.
She twisted her head. Becky was standing there, as solid as if she’d been real, as if she could reach out and touch her dead daughter. ‘Becky…’ she said. But she knew this apparition was different to the previous incarnation. This time Becky was standing in the bloody nightdress she’d borrowed from her mother, and brought with her a cold, visceral fear that Susan almost had to back away from. She glanced over to Helen and Alex, but they were staring uncomprehendingly at her, mystification creasing their faces. It was obvious they did not see what Susan was seeing.
‘Mother, you have to be careful. You are in danger.’
‘What kind of danger, Becky?’
‘Don’t trust him. And don’t trust her.’ Her eyes were round and fretful. ‘I’m scared!’ she cried suddenly. ‘He’s here! He’s here with me! Please, you have to help me!’
A strong odour of smoke filled Susan’s nostrils, and the overwhelmingly ghastly smell of burning flesh caused her to retch. ‘Who is there with you, Becky? Talk to me’
Her lips were mouthing silent words, and the frustration of not being heard showed on Becky’s troubled face, then she snapped out like a light, the room darker with her presence extinguished. But the cold air remained and Susan shook as if bearing the brunt of arctic blasts. Annabel became alarmed and her high voice began to wail. She was staring at Susan, and she was afraid, too.
‘Where the hell is this?’ said another voice, unfamiliar and male.
It came from a far corner of the room. Susan looked into the black expanse. All eyes except those of Annabel followed her fearful gaze. Annabel’s shrieks increased in intensity, her wrists pulling ineffectually at her bindings, her chair rocking, the table shaking with her manic movements.
The man stood immobile, looking about him, his pale face bearing an expression of confusion infused with fear. And just as he disappeared and the lamplight blew out, plunging the room into total darkness, Susan recognised the young man from the single photo she’d seen of him in the newspapers.
It was Eddie Hull. The vile, hated man who had murdered her daughter.
* * * *
13
Deliciously Wicked
‘Are you certain it was Becky?’
She nodded quickly. ‘The… the apparition, call it what you will, i
t knew things only Becky and I knew. There could be no other explanation other than it really was Becky I was talking to.’
Paul Carmichael sat in the chair, looking to the rain-lashed window. The new day promised the same as the day before; the sky was dark, overcast and grey, the wind rattling around the eaves of the old cottage.
‘I was worried about you last night when they brought you back. You looked exhausted, completely whacked out. You weren’t making any sense then; I’m not sure you are this morning.’
Susan sat at the table, studying the myriad scratches that marked the wood. Signs of things past. ‘I can’t remember everything that happened, not clearly. It’s as if my head has grown fuzzy, the thoughts all jumbled up. But I do remember seeing Becky. Or two versions of Becky. And Eddie Hull. I saw him, too.’
‘There you go again, not making sense. Why would you see that bastard Eddie Hull?’
‘I don’t know, Paul.’ She sighed heavily.
‘And you say Becky warned you again?’
‘Yes. She told me not to trust him and her.’
He shrugged. ‘Not to trust who, though? Which him, which her? Was she more specific?’
‘It wasn’t as simple as that, Paul. It wasn’t bloody Question Time.’
‘Did she mean these people – Helen, Alex, what?’
She shook her head slowly. ‘I don’t know, Paul. I simply don’t know. But the more sessions I have the more I’ll find out. That’s what Helen says. What I also don’t understand is why Becky came to me twice, in two different incarnations. The first was as I remembered her when she was alive, you know, when we dropped her off at university, dressed as she was that day. She looked happy. The second…’ She swallowed but her throat was dry. ‘The second was as she looked on the night she was murdered. She was wearing one of my nightdresses. It was all bloodied. That’s the Becky that tried to warn me again. That’s the same scared Becky from my dreams.’
THE SOUL FIXER (A psychological thriller) Page 10