“Please don’t,” she begged.
The pressure built around her throat. She raised her free hand and attempted to break the stranglehold. The grip tightened. Now the outline of a face loomed into view. A velvety blackness covered everything apart from the two eyes and the mouth. The dark figure exhaled, and her lungs filled with a vile stench. The pupils contracted to tiny dots. A lizard-like tongue darted out from between the lips. The demon moved closer, blocking out all the light.
“Die,” whispered the voice in her ear. “Why don’t you just die?”
The constriction tightened further. The air wheezed through her windpipe. Her arm batted wildly at the face with no effect. The darkness deepened, and her vision began to fade. Hands seized her as she fought to free herself. She opened her mouth and screamed with the little breath she had left.
A blindingly bright light drove away the blackness. Annalise blinked her eyes open and stared uncomprehendingly at her surroundings. She was no longer inside the car. A figure loomed over her, a dark silhouette against the glare. She shrank back as her mind struggled to comprehend what she was seeing. An insistent voice burrowed through her skull. At first the words made little sense, but finally, her over-wrought brain juddered into action as if somebody had pressed a reset switch.
“Wake up, Annalise. It’s only a dream.”
Slowly, it all fell into place. She was at home in her room. The anxious face of her father leaned over her. As he straightened up, she identified the outline of her mother standing beside him, a hand held to her mouth.
“You were having a nightmare. Are you alright?” Dan asked.
“I was trapped. I couldn’t get out. Somebody was strangling me. It was horrible. He had a tongue like a snake, and his pupils were little tiny dots in the centre of his eyes.”
“Can you remember anything?”
Annalise frowned. Her heart still thundered in her chest. The graphic images of the dream slowly faded. She tried to dredge her memories for any snippets from the day of the accident. Nothing. It felt like a curtain drawn across her mind. She sensed something was there, a whisper beckoning her forwards, but her brain refused to cooperate. She shook her head.
Her mother knelt beside the bed. “I’m sure it’ll all come back when you’re ready. Shall I get you a herbal tea or some hot milk?”
“No, it’s alright, thanks, Mum.”
“Would you like me to stay with you for a bit? I couldn’t sleep now, anyway. My pulse is still racing.”
“I’ll be okay. Sorry for waking you.”
“Don’t worry about that. We’re just glad we’ve got you back home.”
Her parents headed for the door.
“Should we leave the light on?” Dan asked.
Annalise clicked the switch on the bedside lamp. “No, this one will be fine.”
“Well, call if you need anything.”
“Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you. Did the car catch fire after the crash?”
Dan narrowed his eyes in concentration. “No, it was a write-off, but I’m sure I would have remembered if it had caught fire. Now you mention it, I think I remember the police saying you were very lucky the fuel tank didn’t explode given the severity of the collision. Why do you want to know?”
“Oh, it’s nothing really. Just ... the dream ... I could smell petrol. I wondered if perhaps it was a memory trying to resurface. Never mind.”
“Okay. Well, try to get some sleep. Good night.”
Annalise took a sip of water from the glass beside the bed. She lay back on the pillow and stared at the ceiling.
After a few minutes, she closed her eyes, leaving the bedside light on.
Chapter 21
A key rattled in the lock.
“I’m home,” Dan called.
“We’re in here.” The muffled voice came from the kitchen.
He crossed the hall and pushed through the door. Bisto bounded out, his rear end gyrating in wild circles as he capered around his master. Sophie and Annalise sat at the table, clasping each other’s hands. It was clear they had been deep in conversation.
Dan took a seat. “Has everybody eaten?”
“I’m not really hungry,” Annalise replied.
Sophie stood. “You’ve got to eat or you’ll never get better. How about an omelette?”
“I’m fine, Mum, but if you insist I suppose I could force some down.”
“Right, I’ll get on with it. How long until you have to see the lawyer?”
“We’ll have to leave in about forty minutes,” Dan said. “Traffic should be okay at this time of day.” He turned to his daughter while his wife busied herself at the hob. “How are you feeling? You scared us half to death last night.”
“Yeah, sorry about that. I had this really bad dream.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Annalise stared at the tabletop for a moment then met her father’s eyes. “No, it’s okay. I’ve already forgotten most of it. I’ll be fine.”
“It’s going to take time to adjust. You’ve been through a hell of a lot.”
“Dad, I know this lawyer will cost a fortune, but I was wondering ...”
“You want me to buy you a horse? You always wanted one when you were a kid, even when we told you we had nowhere to keep one.”
Annalise laughed. “No, it’s not that.”
“Another dog then? Isn’t Bisto enough?”
“No, Dad. Can we be serious for a second? I know the consultant said we should wait, but I need to get my memories back. Do you think we could organise some hypnotherapy sessions? See if that will unblock my brain.”
“You went through a traumatic experience. Maybe the amnesia is your body’s way of telling you it’s not ready yet.”
“I hear what you’re saying, Dad, but it’s doing my head in not being able to remember what happened. I mean, why was I driving the car? It’s as if I’m hearing about somebody else. This whole police thing is like I’m being accused of another person’s crime. If they’re going to punish me, the least I deserve is to have some recollection of what I did.”
“Okay, Annalise, I’ll look into it. Maybe I’ll give the doctor’s surgery a call and see if they have any recommendations.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“Here we are then,” Sophie said, placing a pair of plates before her husband and daughter. “Tuck in.”
***
Traffic was light on the drive into the centre of Steadmore. As Dan switched the engine off in the central car park, Annalise turned to face him.
“I know we haven’t had a chance for just the two of us to talk. Mum told me about the whole life support thing.”
“She mentioned that you’d had a chat. It was eating away at her, so I’m glad it’s out in the open.”
“Thanks for sticking up for me, Dad.”
“You’re welcome, but it wasn’t like that. I knew you were still alive even if all the signs indicated otherwise. It didn’t matter what the doctors said. Your mother was more ... pessimistic I suppose. She was right though. All the evidence suggested there was no chance of recovery.”
“I think we’ve sorted it out. I told her she wasn’t to blame. It was an impossible situation. I would probably have done the same thing.”
“You might have to remind her of that a few times. You know how your mother likes to hang onto things. Anyway, we’ve got to be there in ten minutes, so we better get going.”
Dan paid for two hours at the pay and display machine. They crossed the road and headed into the pedestrianised section leading towards the town centre.
Annalise took the opportunity to study the auras of the shoppers. Her observations were similar to what she had discovered in the hospital. A ring of pastel shades surrounded most of her test subjects.
A man in a thick winter coat approached. He blew into his hands, his head lowered against the cold breeze. Annalise cast a sideways glance in his direction. Unlike the other people she had studied
, there was no evidence of the coloured bands. Sensing the attention, the man glanced directly at her. For a second, their eyes met.
Annalise averted her gaze. As she did so, she detected the familiar haze, in this instance a steady orange glow. She turned around and stared at the backs of the pedestrians walking away from her. In every case, the colours were absent.
“Are you alright?” her father asked.
“Yeah, fine,” she mumbled, her mind elsewhere.
“Let me guess; you were testing your second sight.”
“Something like that.”
“So is anybody about to mug us?”
Annalise tutted. “What? In the middle of the day? I was checking out a theory. I think I can only see a person’s aura if I’ve got a view of their face.”
“They say the eyes are the window to the soul.”
“Well it appears whoever said that may be right, at least in my case.”
Dan stood back to allow a woman with a pram to pass. “Has much changed in the town, then?”
“The number of charity shops and hairdressers seems to have increased.”
“Pretty soon that’s all that will be left. Everything else will be online. I don’t know how traders compete with the rates they have to pay.”
As they passed a dry cleaning shop, Annalise stopped and pointed. “Look at all those flowers, Dad.”
A mountain of bouquets, many still in the cellophane wrapping, spilled from the adjacent alleyway onto the main thoroughfare. Interspersed among the flowers were cuddly toys, several with hand-written notes attached.
Dan bent down to read some of the messages. “This must be where they found that poor girl.”
Annalise grabbed her father’s hand. “And I thought things were bad for me. It puts it all into perspective, doesn’t it?”
“There’s always somebody worse off than you. Come on, it’s just a bit further down here.”
The solicitor’s premises were thirty yards down the road. Pringle and Dobson Solicitors read the large sign above the entrance.
“Here we are,” Dan said, pushing through the plate-glass door.
A staircase led up to a closed door labelled Reception.
They pushed through and entered a small waiting room. Wooden chairs upholstered with tartan cloth seats lined both walls. The woman sitting behind the dark teak desk was in her mid-thirties. Her makeup was layered on so thick it gave her the appearance of a china doll. The smart, navy blue suit suggested a role more important than that of a receptionist. “Can I help you?” she asked, smiling.
Annalise half expected the receptionist’s face to crack, such was the depth of the foundation.
“We’re here to see Mr Dobson,” Dan replied. “Mr and Miss Becker.”
“I’ll let him know you’re here.”
The woman picked up the telephone and spoke in a hushed voice. She replaced the handset. “He’ll be out shortly if you’d like to take a seat.”
Dan and Annalise occupied adjacent chairs on the right side. Certificates listing the legal qualifications of the partners and their underlings festooned the walls. A handful of frames displayed photographs of two self-important looking men, smiling and shaking hands with a variety of minor celebrities.
Annalise stood and approached one of the pictures. “He’s that soap star in Emmerdale,” she said.
“That’s right, John Daniels,” the receptionist replied. “Mr Pringle is quite a fan I believe.”
Before she could say more, the leftmost door at the end of the room opened, and an overweight man in his early fifties emerged. What was left of his hair rimmed a bald patch the size of a saucer. The man’s stomach strained against his belt, overhanging by several inches. The red tie hung down at least two shirt buttons shy of his trousers.
“Derek Dobson,” he said, extending a meaty hand.
Dan shook first. Annalise followed suit, wincing slightly as the man’s grip crushed her knuckles.
Dobson raised an arm towards the open door. “Do come into my office.”
Father and daughter entered ahead of him. A large oak desk dominated the modestly sized room, illuminated from behind by a wooden-framed window. The solicitor directed them to a pair of fabric-covered chairs facing the view onto the pedestrianised road. A huge Monet reproduction filled most of one wall. An array of frames jostled for position on the opposite side, the majority containing certificates extolling the solicitor’s achievements.
Dobson shuffled around the expanse of polished wood and lowered himself into a leather executive chair. The material seemed to exhale, matching the man’s sigh as he sank down. He grabbed the mouse and angled his head forwards to squint at the sleek, black monitor. “I really must follow my wife’s advice and pay a visit to the optician.”
Annalise glanced at the photograph propped on the edge of the desk’s glossy wooden surface. The faces of an overweight woman and an even more obese teenage boy smiled back. The woman held a drink in one hand, her other arm around her son’s shoulder. Despite the tilt of the boy’s mouth, it was clear from his expression he would rather be somewhere else.
“Ah yes,” Dobson said, his eyes glued to the screen. “A road accident resulting in a fatality.” He shifted his gaze to Annalise. “So tell me in your own words what happened, young lady.”
“That’s one of the problems. I can’t remember anything at all about the day of the crash.”
The solicitor consulted the display again. “Of course. I see you’ve been in a coma for a year or so. I should remind you that whatever you reveal to me in this room is under legal professional privilege. In America, they call it attorney-client privilege. You’ve probably heard it mentioned in films. Anyway, it means I’m not allowed to disclose what you tell me without your permission, so you can be totally open with me.”
Dan leaned forward. “You’re not suggesting my daughter’s making up the amnesia, are you?”
Dobson raised both hands in mock surrender. “Not at all. I’m just trying to establish the facts.”
“I’ve genuinely lost all memory of everything that happened after going to bed the night before,” Annalise said, folding her arms.
“Well, my initial assessment is that you have little to worry about from a prosecution point of view. There were no independent witnesses. I think if it came to a court case, we could cast sufficient doubt on the evidence offered by the other car occupant.”
“I’m sorry,” Dan said. “What do you mean, if it came to a court case?”
Dobson sat back and clasped his hands around his stomach. “The only person who can offer any relevant testimony has a vested interest in making you look guilty. One has to ask the question, why did he let you drive when he knew you weren’t insured? Without an independent witness, it’s unlikely the police would prosecute. If they proceed, I think we could successfully argue it was the car owner’s fault.”
Annalise used the opportunity to examine Dobson’s aura. She tilted her head to the left until his outline was at the periphery of her vision. A misty haze of pale red, orange and yellow hovered over his body. A break in the man’s speech halted her observation. She directed her focus back to the solicitor as he stared at her, a frown creasing his forehead.
“I hope I’m not boring you,” he said. “This is a very serious business.”
“Sorry. I was listening to what—”
Dan cut her off. “My daughter is still suffering some after-effects of the coma. I’m sure she was paying attention. You mentioned the prosecution point of view, earlier. Is there something else we need to be concerned with?”
Dobson placed his hands palm down on the desk. “There are two types of litigation to worry about. We’ve already discussed the criminal variety. To be honest, I have greater concerns about the civil case.”
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“The family of the deceased may open a civil prosecution. Unfortunately, the burden of proof is lower in such cases. They could attempt to sue your
daughter. Does she have any material assets?”
“No, not really,” Annalise said before her father could reply. “I was still a student when the crash happened, and I haven’t got a job or anything. Would they be able to go after my parents?”
“Not unless the claimants can prove your parents contributed to the accident.”
“I don’t understand how they could do that.”
“You may be right, young lady, but we’ll just have to be patient and see what happens. They’ll probably wait until the police decide whether or not to prosecute before taking any action.”
“So where do we go from here?” Dan asked.
“Well, if you’re happy to employ my services, my fees include a monthly retainer and an hourly rate. I provided the figures over the phone. I don’t charge for this initial consultation, but you’ll need to agree to a contract before I do any work on your behalf. All the costs are described within the paperwork. It’s all in this pack.”
Dobson pushed a large white envelope in Dan’s direction. “If you decide to go ahead, fill in the forms, sign them and send them back. The first thing I’ll do after receiving the signed contract is notify the police I’m representing you. If they try to interview you beforehand, I strongly recommend you say nothing without a legal expert being present.”
Dan grabbed the envelope and stood. “Thanks for your time.”
Dobson rounded the desk and waddled to the door. “Nice to meet you and good luck.” He repeated the crushing handshakes and directed them back into the reception area.
They headed to the exit and down the stairs in silence. When they reached the pavement, Dan turned to Annalise. “I didn’t like him. I thought he was rude.”
“We don’t have to like him, Dad. I think he’ll do a good job for us, but only if we can afford him.”
“I’m guessing you looked at his colours. I suspected that’s what you were probably doing.”
The Colour of the Soul Page 9