White Silence

by Jodi Taylor

  She frowned at me. ‘I told him to leave this place. That he would die here.’

  I stared at her, struggling to remember. What had she said? She had said, ‘You should leave this place. You should not stay. You will die here. This place is not good for you.’ And she’d been talking to Jones, not me, and neither of us had realised it at the time.

  ‘I thought you were warning me.’

  Now she looked straight at me. ‘I wasn’t then, but I am now.’

  ‘What does that mean?’ But she was bending over Jones. I heard the starchy rustle of her apron. She put her hand on his forehead. His dreadful struggle for breath eased.

  Scalding hot tears ran down my cheeks. I wouldn’t change his end – he was going peacefully, but I was full of red hot rage at the cruelty that had been done to him. I tightened my grip on his hand but he no longer knew I was here.

  Evelyn Cross took his other hand. He drew one last faltering breath, and then silence. He was gone. Michael Jones was dead.

  She straightened up and regarded me across the bed.

  I said, ‘Why are you warning me?’

  ‘If you tread this path I cannot help you.’

  ‘What path?’

  There was a sound behind me. Sorensen stood in the doorway. When I looked back again, Evelyn Cross had disappeared.

  He approached the bed. Two male orderlies, silent in their soft white shoes, followed him. He felt for a pulse, found none, and said, ‘Time of death 16:23.’

  Someone pulled the sheet up over his face and that was it. Michael Jones was gone.

  Someone wheeled me back to Dr Sorensen’s office. I didn’t have the strength or the will to do it myself. It did cross my mind how helpless I was. I had a broken arm, cracked ribs and I still couldn’t walk properly. But I wasn’t so angry and grief stricken that I couldn’t think straight. Because they’d lied to me and I had believed them. But no – I hadn’t asked Sorensen, who was probably the only person who did know Jones was downstairs. None of the nurses had known, I was sure of it. Nor Dr Lewis either. Yes, I was angry with them, but I was more angry at myself. I made up my mind, there and then, that I would never be this gullible again. I’d been a good girl and it had got me nowhere. I had a gift. I should use it. I would use it.

  His office seemed very warm after the chill in the basement. Someone put a cup of tea by my elbow. Sorensen tried to take my pulse. I jerked my arm away.

  Retiring back behind his desk he said, ‘I understand your attitude, but you are mistaken. I did not tell you of Mr Jones’s presence here because it was vital to your recovery that you felt safe and secure. You were not aware of it but Mr Jones collapsed shortly after he telephoned for the air ambulance and he was brought back with you. I placed you in Dr Lewis’ care while I supervised Mr Jones’s treatment myself. Let me say that from the outset it was very obvious we could do nothing for him except try to alleviate his pain. We had no idea what was the matter with him. I would have said he was suffering from some kind of unknown and very virulent cancer, but I freely admit I have never seen anything like that. Nothing we did made any difference and so we concentrated all our resources on pain management. To some extent we were successful. You may have remarked on the temperature of his room but I assure you that, whatever was the matter with him, it was at that temperature at which he felt most … comfortable. Although I’m not sure that’s the right word.’

  He looked at me again and then pressed something on his desk. Behind me, the door opened and Erin entered.

  ‘Good afternoon, nurse. If you could take Mrs Cage back to her room and stay with her, please. She has had rather a shock. Please ensure she is not left alone at any time.’

  And there we were. I was a prisoner again. Only this time there was no Michael Jones to save me. This time I would have to save myself.

  If I wanted to.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  He renewed his invitation to tea the next day and I accepted. It’s not as if there was anything else to do. The snow still fell. I could hear the spickleyspackledy of sleet hitting the window.

  His study was warm, however, and he was very attentive, placing my tea where I could reach it, ensuring I wasn’t sitting in a draught, and several times asking if I was comfortable. His movements, as always were quick and precise. Ostensibly he was everything the attentive host should be, but I could see his colour reaching out for me.

  I stirred my tea and waited to see how he would begin. Eventually, after he’d asked me how I was and commented on the weather, he put down his cup.

  ‘I wonder if I might put a proposition to you, Mrs Cage. All I ask is that you hear me out before throwing the furniture at my head. Your attempts at living a “normal” life on your own have not been particularly successful, have they? That business with the Rookwoods, for example. You were lucky not to have been blinded permanently. And then, as it turned out you weren’t even safe in your own home.’

  I knew what he wanted – and I knew what my response would be – but I saw no reason why I shouldn’t make him work for it.

  I made my voice strong. ‘It was escaping from my illegal incarceration at this very facility that took me to the Rookwood’s in the first place. And it was your man, Michael Jones, who was responsible for my injuries, I think it would be more accurate to state that all the misfortunes that have befallen me since my husband’s death can be laid at your door.’

  ‘Well, I do think that might be overstating the case a little …’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘Might I remind you that you promised to hear me out?’

  He paused for a moment in case I wanted to argue some more and then got up to look out of the window.

  ‘I wish to set out a proposition before you and I would like you at least to approach it with an open mind. You are at liberty to say no, but I do ask you to consider saying yes, before you reject it out of hand.

  ‘Firstly, let me assure you that you are perfectly safe here. You are in no danger at all. At the moment, all you have to do is take advantage of our facilities and get well. Whatever your answer, our first priority is to get you well again.

  ‘Secondly, when you feel a little more up to it, I would like you to consider working here, with me.’ He came and sat back down again. ‘And before you ask for details of how that would work, I can give you none. Thanks to the prevarication of both your husband and Mr Jones, I still don’t have a clear idea of what you can do. I suspect that because you’ve been at great pains to conceal your abilities, you don’t either. I suggest, therefore, that we sit down one afternoon and discuss your … range of talents. From that discussion, I would be able to frame an appropriate job offer for you to consider.

  ‘I accept that our relationship did not get off to a good start and for that I think I must bear responsibility. I was too eager. I think I frightened you, didn’t I? My apologies for that. I can assure you that once you … if you join my staff here, you will be taken care of. You will never want for anything, ever. Every want, every desire will be fulfilled. You will never have to hide what you are. Or who you are. All I ask is that we work together to discover your full potential. With me behind you there is no limit to the things you can achieve. No – what we can achieve. Together. Just say yes, Elizabeth. Say you will work with me. To achieve greatness.’

  He sat back, watching me very closely.

  I let him wait.

  ‘I’m really not sure what you’re talking about, Dr Sorensen. Ever since we met, you’ve been pursuing me for something I’m not sure I possess.’

  ‘I think we both know that’s not true, Mrs Cage.’

  Well, he was right there. I did know that wasn’t true, but how did he? I remembered the first time we had met. He had known then that there was something different about me. I remembered the way his hungry colour reached for me. How had he known?

  Time to find out. ‘You don’t know that’s not true. You don’t know anything about me.’

  As if
he’d been waiting for a cue, he stood up and unlocked a filing cabinet. Pulling out the bottom drawer, he removed a cardboard box which he carried back to his desk. Inside the cardboard box was a brown A4 envelope. He was watching me very carefully. I was able to stare back in unfeigned bewilderment.

  He spoke softly. ‘When I first arrived here the building was not quite as I could have wished and so I commissioned extensive renovations. During the work in the basement, some strange items were uncovered. They appeared to have been buried for a considerable period of time. Not knowing what to do with them, the builders handed them to me.’

  He waited. His colour’s resemblance to unhealthy milk was increasing with every second. His face might be calm and inscrutable but inside he was anything but.

  I waited too.

  Eventually, he said, ‘There were two items altogether. I wonder if you can guess what they were?’

  I smiled politely and thought I’d play a little. I said, ‘Oh, a game. Well, let me see now …’ I paused as if waiting for inspiration to strike. ‘A torch …’ And watched his colour leap towards me in anticipation ‘… or a … a shoe … and … and an umbrella.’

  He regarded me steadily. ‘No.’

  ‘Oh, what a shame.’

  ‘Although you were partly right.’

  ‘Was I? How gratifying.’

  ‘Don’t you want to know what was found buried so deeply?’

  ‘Well, I can see that you very badly want to tell me, so in the interests of our newly harmonious relationship …’

  ‘First, as you so accurately guessed, we had a torch. Of a surprisingly modern design, considering it was discovered in a part of the building that had been demolished and rebuilt some seventy years ago.’

  ‘Oh, how clever of me,’ I said, pushing my luck and not caring in the slightest.

  ‘Secondly, there was a man’s jacket. Easy to see why it had been abandoned – it was quite badly burned in places. And a very modern design. A bit of an anomaly there, don’t you think?’

  ‘Yes, indeed. How puzzling. May I see it?’

  His colour receded. ‘Not just at the moment.’

  Well, that was interesting. I wondered why not.

  ‘The jacket contained a wallet. The wallet, again, was of excellent quality and contained some very interesting items. A number of banknotes and coins of unfamiliar design. A strange government ID card identifying the owner as one Michael Jones – a person I must admit I’d never heard of, and a member of a department that didn’t exist. Then.’

  I tried not to show my surprise. Jones had never said anything to me about losing his wallet.

  ‘And most interesting of all – although I didn’t know that at the time, of course – a piece of paper.’

  And now I was completely bewildered.

  He forged on, his voice quiet and relentless. ‘I confess, none of it meant anything to me and I was very busy setting up my clinic, negotiating for government contracts and so on.’

  ‘May I see these strange objects?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, no.’

  I wasn’t sure whether this was good or bad. ‘Well, that’s rather the end of the matter then, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not really, Mrs Cage. It’s the fact that I can’t produce these items that leads me to believe there’s something distinctly “cagey” about you.’

  He smirked. I had the impression he’d been waiting a long time to make that joke.

  I said politely, ‘I’m sorry?’

  Nothing kills a joke faster than having to explain it. Sadly, he wasn’t distracted at all.

  ‘You see, I was more than a little intrigued by these strange finds, so I packed them carefully away. In this very box. And placed them in the bottom drawer of that very filing cabinet. I spent a great deal of time trying to account for them. I examined them regularly, hoping for some clue. And then, one day, I pulled out the box and the torch had – disappeared.

  He waited for me to say something.

  I shrugged. ‘Petty theft?’

  ‘The seals were unbroken.’

  ‘Clever petty theft?’

  ‘Well, perhaps. Except that six months later a new batch of torches turned up here and not only were they of an entirely new design, but they were identical to the one no longer sitting in my bottom drawer. Intrigued, and with the forethought for which I am so renowned, I photographed the remaining contents.’

  ‘The modern jacket, the wallet, and the piece of paper,’ I said, trying to give the impression of one labouring to keep up.

  ‘And then, about a year ago, the jacket disappeared as well. I’m sure you can imagine that by now, this was a mystery I was never going to let go.’

  Sadly, I could.

  He opened the envelope and began to lay photographs on the desk in front of me. Rather like an end-of-the-pier fortune teller slapping down the tarot cards.

  I looked at the first one – a torch. I recognised it at once. The one I’d left in the cellar seventy years ago.

  ‘How can you have a picture of a torch that disappeared?’

  ‘That,’ he said, ‘is a photo of my own torch. Do you recognise it?’

  ‘I don’t know. I’ve never seen your torch.’

  He looked at me for a second too long and then let it go.

  I picked up the second photo. The one of Jones’s jacket. Very scorched. Almost black in places.

  The third photo showed the contents of the jacket, all of which were entirely new to me. A wallet, some banknotes and change. And an ID card showing a picture of a slightly younger Michael Jones.

  I stared at it for a long time, almost forgetting to say, ‘Is that Michael Jones?’

  He didn’t reply.

  I shrugged again. He could wave around as many photos as he liked. Torches, jackets, ID cards … none of this was anything to do with me.

  And then, like a poker player with a winning hand, he played his ace. He snapped down a photo of a scrap of paper. A corner torn from a larger sheet. There was a single line of writing. I’d seen Jones scribbling a shopping list. There could be no doubt this was his writing.

  E Cage Rm11.

  It would appear that at some point Jones had discovered my room number and had written it down.

  ‘A piece of paper,’ I said politely. ‘With Ted’s name on it. Discovered at a place where Ted used to work. I can see how you were unable to contain your excitement.’

  He ignored that. ‘No, Mrs Cage, a torch and a jacket that vanished from a sealed box.’

  ‘So where did they go?’ ‘You’re asking the wrong question.

  You should be asking why did they go?’

  I sighed in irritation. ‘All right – why did they go?’

  ‘They returned to their point of origin.’

  No need to feign complete and utter bewilderment. ‘What?’

  ‘The torch, for example, returned to the date it was manufactured. As did the other objects.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because otherwise there would have been two of them. Really, Mrs Cage, do you never read Science Fiction?’

  I answered thoughtfully, remembering the cinema trip with Jones, ‘I saw a Star Trek film once.’

  He dismissed my cautious foray into the world of science fiction and fantasy with a casual wave.

  ‘No object can be in two places at the same time. Once the torch was manufactured, it vanished from my box. It had to. It couldn’t be both there and here.’

  ‘So where is it now?’

  ‘I haven’t the slightest idea. And before you ask, I assume the same thing happened to the jacket. And the piece of paper written by Jones.’

  ‘Do I understand that has vanished too? I’m sorry, Sorensen, but to lose two objects is a misfortune. To lose three is just carelessness.’

  ‘Mrs Cage, I think you’re missing the point.’

  I said wearily, ‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised. Just tell me.’

  ‘Very well. I know these items belonged to Mic
hael Jones. Somehow, they found their way under a pile of rubble some seventy years ago and I’m convinced that somehow you, Mrs Cage, were involved.’

  Well, that was true.

  He sat back, all set to show me how clever he was. ‘I was intrigued by the anomalous aspects of the puzzle. Modern equipment, modern fibres – all discovered – verifiably discovered – years before they could possibly have existed. I had, by this time, built up an excellent – shall we call it “communications network”? – and although I was busy setting up and building my reputation, I put out the word that I was interested in certain anomalies and sat back to see what would transpire.

  ‘And then, into my life, came the man whom we called Michael Jones. The name rang a bell immediately. I checked the photograph and there was no doubt. The man before me was very much younger than the photo, which, in itself, is quite mysterious, don’t you think?

  ‘And while I was still thinking about that, I met a man named Edward Cage. I must admit, at first I was excited because I thought he was the E Cage on the sheet of paper there. It soon became apparent that he wasn’t, but I was intrigued enough by his name to offer him employment and he accepted. So I had some pieces of the puzzle but not all of them, and by now, of course, I wasn’t going to let it go.

  He sighed. ‘I can’t tell you how many blind alleys I wandered down over the years. How much effort I wasted. How difficult it was to convince my supervisors that I wasn’t wasting my time. And then, one day, a report crossed my desk. From an educational psychologist, no less. She’d written across the front “Have a look at this.” I opened the file of one Elizabeth Ford. And very nearly closed it again when I saw how little there was to go on, but as you have your instincts, Elizabeth, I have mine. I watched you over the next few years. Very discreetly, of course. And before you spring indignantly to your feet, I was watching another half dozen people as well, so don’t become completely paranoid about it. Then one day, after yet another difficult session with my manager, when she had made it clear that this particular dead end was to be abandoned, I thought I’d be a little more proactive. I put together a plan and summoned Edward Cage – Ted, as everyone called him. I had an Elizabeth – and he had the name Cage. It was perfect. I found an appropriate operative and an adorable puppy – you remember them, I’m sure – and hatched a plan.’