Elemental: The First

by Alexandra May

  “No problem, mate, any time. We’d better get ready. I think we missed lunch and I could do with a coffee. Will you be all right?” said Morgan to Jez.

  “I’ll be fine, you go. I’m going to wait for Mira to bring the maps. If I find anything else I’ll let you know.”

  “Cool, see you later,” Morgan shook his hand.

  I suddenly had a thought.

  “I just want to speak to Jez about something. I’ll see you downstairs,” I said to Morgan.

  “Sure,” he shrugged, and left. His tread on the stairs was barely audible but I waited until I knew he was at the bottom.

  I leaned over the computer desk, Jez looked at me curiously.

  “What is it?”

  “Do you know of a small tower, like a castle turret near here,” I said quietly.

  “Yes, it’s called King Alfred’s Tower. Do you think it’s connected?” he said inquisitively.

  “I’m not sure. Where is it located?”

  “Hang on, let’s check,” he tapped onto an internet search engine and brought up a local satellite map onto the screen. “It’s not far from where the party will be held. Look, here’s the party area at Cley Hill. And here’s the tower just west of the venue, with about two miles between them.”

  He pointed to the locations on the monitor. I focused on the screen, scanning the area, judging for obstacles. Fields and trees were all that separated the two sights but a small curvy lane showed me the quickest way to get there. I could run it in a few minutes easily. I only hoped my fellow shadows would forgive me if I didn’t tell them of my plan.

  “Can you find a picture of the tower?” I asked.

  “Yep, just let me….here,” he said, after another search.

  I froze in horror. The square tall red bricked building was like an old church tower with one rooftop spire thrust high into the sky. The four walls bore stone chiselled hollows adorned with stone statues of King Alfred.

  It was identical to the one last seen in my dream. The dream where Aiden has tried to kill me. The dream that Morgan had woken me from.

  I gulped, Jez was looking at me peculiarly, but I was thankful he didn’t ask any more questions.

  “Actually Rose, while I’ve got you to myself, I wanted to show you this,” he said, reaching under a huge stack of papers and pulled out an old photograph. “I thought I’d give it to you when you were on your own. I found it in some of Dad’s things.”

  “Thanks,” I said as I stared at the old yellowing picture. The back of the photograph had writing. It said “1967 - Meeting of Two Houses.” The figures stood in two lines, the top line was all men, the bottom was all women, sixteen people in all. The smiling faces told me that it had been an impromptu photo. The turtle necks and flared trousers screamed of the sixties, and I began to study the faces although there were none I recognised.

  “Who are all these people?” I pointed. He leaned over and our heads almost touched.

  “That’s Daisy,” he pointed.

  “No!” I cried, the quirky lady wore a pink crocheted dress and held a white handbag. She was very pretty, and her hair was bobbed in a very fetching style, fetching for that era, anyway.

  “And that’s Ben Deverill,” he pointed to a man in the centre of the back row. The man was frowning, with thick long hair falling down over his shoulders in one length.

  “Then that’s Agatha Millard, my dad is next, Maggie Dunbar and her husband, Leo Bartholomew, Stanley Arthur (who is Lucie’s grandfather), Bill McCaw”

  “Morgan’s grandfather?”

  “Yep, and Henry Cole”

  “Old Mad Cole?”

  “Yes, and Paul Pemberton, Charlotte Mandle, Regina Stoy, and I don’t know the other ones.”

  I stared into their faces, mostly happy and smiling except for a much younger Ben Deverill who looked fierce. I was remembering the names Jez had just spoken when a cold shiver shot down my spine.

  “Jez, you know that half of these people are either missing or”

  “Dead? Yeah, I know. That’s why I didn’t want to show it in front of the others,” he gave a forlorn smile.

  “I can see why, they’d freak. Plus this means the others”

  “They’re all in danger too, I know. It’s no coincidence that he’s picking these people.”

  I paused, still fixated on the picture. “I’ll have a look around Daisy’s and see if I can find anything else out. Thanks.”

  “I knew I could trust you, Rose.”

  I recalled a name he had said and pointed to the face in the photo. “This Paul Pemberton, is he related to the Chief Super? Is he still around here?”

  Jez frowned. “He’s Mark’s older brother and lives in Heytesbury, it’s a village south of Warminster. I don’t think he’s been out in years, a bit of a recluse from what I hear.”

  “But you know where he lives? I’d like to find him but I don’t want the others to know, you know?” I said.

  “Sure, no problem, I can take you, just tell me when you want to go,” he smiled and squeezed my arm.

  “Thanks, and thanks for the photo,” I said sincerely. “We’ll see you later, try and get some sleep; you might need it!”

  “Sure thing.” He grinned and I squeezed his shoulder affectionately and rushed down to the waiting Morgan.

  - Chapter Twelve -

  Morgan was sitting on Jez’s low garden wall, the light wind gently blowing his hair back away from his face. He pushed his fingers through it, settling it into place, as I approached cautiously, my face pensive.

  He smiled timidly. In his hand was the second motorbike helmet and he handed it over.

  “Do you want to get a coffee or something? I’m buying,” he said amiably, and his troubled eyes twinkled, as I attempted a shy smile.

  I couldn’t bear the awkwardness any longer. I couldn’t avoid him any more either, and ignoring him was plain unfair, not even he deserved that. I was itching to get back to the house to fully study the photo but Morgan and I needed to talk, if only to clear the air.

  I checked my watch and gawked; it was mid afternoon already. “Sure,” I said. “Where are we going?”

  “A small place I know,” he gave me a meaningful look, as I got up on the bike behind him and tentatively clasped my arms around his waist to hold on.

  He took me to a pub on one of the back lanes out of town called ‘The Black Dog Inn’. It struck a chord as Barry had talked about the synonymous name before, but the sign depicted a generic dog painting in the yard of an old coach-house, no Halíka Dacomé present. We pulled up into the car park and parked in the spot near the main entrance reserved for motorbikes.

  “Are we allowed in here?” I said slightly unsure as I got off the bike.

  “Why not? We’re not drinking alcohol. Just having a coffee, besides I know the owner anyway,” he grinned.

  “Hmm, I hear that a lot,” I muttered as Morgan stifled a laugh.

  “Round the back is the beer garden, you go and sit. What do you want to drink?”

  “Just a milky coffee, thanks.”

  “Okay, I’ll be back in a minute,” and he disappeared into the entrance door.

  The back garden was tranquil, just empty tables and benches. I sat and gazed at the greenness and listened with keen ears. At the gardens edge a small stream tinkled and bubbled away down into the valley southwards. The quietness of the gentle stream, of the garden in general was relieving and I relished these moments of being on my own. I tipped my head up to feel the fresh air breeze across my face, brushing against my skin and relieving my previous tension. My muscles relaxed as I inhaled a full breath of clean pure air.

  Guilt of neglecting my family hung with me for a second and I thought back to the talk with Morgan in Jez’s back yard, I did miss my family immensely but life had been so busy since arriving at Daisy’s. My neglect felt worse when I remembered the mobile phone in my bag and I reached for it to try Amy’s number. She still didn’t pick up, there was still no answe
r, and I left another message on voicemail insisting that she call me.

  I thought about trying my parents, but Mum would freak if she knew I was calling from the mobile so I sent a text to Pritchard, about my whereabouts - he probably knew already - and put the phone back in my bag and dumped it on the floor.

  Presently, Morgan arrived with our drinks and sat on the opposite bench.

  “Jez is such a bad host; he didn’t even put the kettle on,” Morgan joked, and unzipped his jacket laying it across the bench. He was trying to clear the air and I had to give him credit for that. He seemingly didn’t want to have any bad feeling between us either.

  “You have legs, you could have done it,” I joked back, a half smile reached my lips.

  “So, I hear you livened up the alien event, Henry Cole notwithstanding,” he said smirking, resting his elbows on the table and sipping slowly from his coffee cup.

  “Well, it would have been dull otherwise. Besides, Hannah and Mira needed a diversion. I can tell their boredom threshold is pretty low.”

  “I’m sure they did! They go every year, mostly to heckle from the back.”

  “Yeah. Mira thought it was completely hilarious.”

  “That sounds like her. That girl could be happy in a snowstorm.”

  I laughed. “How long have you known them, Hannah and Mira, I mean?” I said, leaning closer.

  “I think since we were at Primary school. Around six years old, I think. When we were in the classroom, they used to talk about you all the time. At the start of term, the teacher would ask us to draw pictures of our favourite holiday memory and they would always draw you with bright green eyes.”

  “No, really?”

  “Yep. It was always “Rose said this,” and “Rose did that.” I’m sure the teachers half thought they’d made up an imaginary friend, but were both imagining her.”

  “Wow, I had no idea.” I suddenly felt a little guilty as I hadn’t thought of them much in that way ever.

  Morgan relaxed more as he leaned closer, and his movements were more fluid, as if he had forgotten our previous spat.

  “‘The girl with the green eyes’. That’s what we all called you. Not ‘Rose’. That was too personal. They got a lot of stick for it from the other kids. But they stuck together and after every holiday from then on I would ask, ‘what did ‘the girl with the green eyes’ do this summer?”

  “You did?”

  “Of course, I’d do anything to wind up Mira, with her bunched hair and funny teeth.”

  “You’re so mean!” I said mockingly.

  He chuckled. “She used to get her own back and call me ‘freckle-face’.”

  “But she used to have freckles too.”

  “Yeah, but her teeth were funnier.”

  I smiled and drank again, feeling bizarrely contented.

  “So, I guess you could say that from that respect I really have known you all my life. The girl with the green eyes’,” he snickered with a mischievous grin as he crossed his arms across his chest.

  “Ah, but I stopped holidaying here when I was ten.”

  He frowned. “Why did you stop coming?”

  “I never knew the reason. I think Daisy and my parents had an argument over something.”

  “I’ll let you into another secret,” and he leaned forward with his head on his hands.

  “What?”

  “Since I was tiny, knee high to a tadpole, almost, my family used to visit Daisy. Sunday afternoons, or maybe the odd midweek night. My parents had known her for years so we visited her a lot. I think they felt sorry for her, with no family living in the neighbourhood.”

  “And?”

  “I used to ask her to see photographs of you, when I was younger, you know, to see what you looked like,” he beamed as if finally giving away a secret hidden for years.

  “Why?”

  “Because I thought you were pretty. As I got older, you got prettier.”

  I snorted and looked down at the table, self-conscious again. “I should be shocked, or revolted, shouldn’t I? That’s not normal behaviour.”

  “I know, but I was a curious youngster in everything, and Daisy was only too glad to show you off. She used to tell me how well you were doing at school, and where you had moved next, the letters you wrote to her at Christmas thanking her for presents. Things like that.”

  “Okay, now that’s almost like stalking isn’t it?” I said with mock shock.

  He laughed again. “Almost, but I got over it. By the time I was thirteen my hormones kicked in and I was a full time emotional time-bomb. I suffered with the usual early teen stuff, spots, girls, naked women in magazines.”

  “So I got dumped for the naked women?”

  “Yeah, sorry!” he laughed at himself. “Thank god, we grow out of it, well almost grow out of it.”

  Morgan was unburdening himself with his childhood stories and I wanted to reach for his hand and squeeze it as he spoke, but I held back. I tried to stay with the conversation but I was being taken under his mesmerising thrall again.

  Snap out of it, I screamed at myself in my head. He belongs to Lucie now.

  I abruptly came back to the conversation. “Yeah, sixteen is still adolescent and childish, I guess.”

  “Except I’m a year older than you, I’ll be eighteen at the beginning of September.”

  “I must seem such a kid in your presence, those years make so much difference,” I said sarcastically.

  He laughed. “No, actually you act a lot older, that’s for sure. Although you’re a little off centre at the moment but that’s understandable.”

  “Off centre?”

  “You still feel out of place, maybe a little lost sometimes. I think you’ve settled in well. Everyone thinks the world of you already, by the way. You’ve definitely made an impression.”

  We sat thoughtfully for a second, and I couldn’t help but ask. I realised I needed his approval, just a small morsel to tell me that he liked me, even just a little bit.

  “So, what’s your impression of me?”

  He sat back on the bench, withdrawing his hands to his lap, while his eyes contemplatively studied my face, his lips parted for a moment as he considered my question.

  “I think that you’re very strong, in your character as well as emotionally. That’s rare in someone of you’re age,” he winked as he said the last part, making me smile. “I think that you have a way with people. Your kindness shows in everything you do, you’re thoughtful, understanding. You like to organise and take charge but you want to involve everyone so that nobody feels left out. You very rarely show your true feelings, maybe once with me, but you feel ashamed if you do. Almost like a guard that you keep up for everyone else’s benefit.”

  “And you got all this from ….”

  “I observe, and I listen to others without judgement. I see you when you don’t think you’re being seen.” He looked intently into my eyes. His assumptions had nearly all been correct, it was unnerving how he knew so much.

  “Anything else?” I said softly, scanning the table top.

  “Not really, because now you’ve put your guard up again,” he reached for my hand and drew it across the table, stroking it softly with his thumb. “Don’t. You don’t need to with me.”

  “I can’t help it,” I laughed nervously, savouring his hand on mine. “It’s an instant reaction, sorry. I’m not used to being so open with everyone. People want me to trust them, but how can I? I don’t really know anyone, not even Mira and Hannah. I’ve spent days with them, and time with other people but that doesn’t mean I trust everyone yet. I find it hard sometimes, that’s all.”

  “I know, the others have noticed too but we’re giving you time to settle. You don’t like to talk about yourself much. We all respect it, we know you’ve had a mixed up life. But don’t ever be afraid to talk to me, I’ll always be here for you, no matter what.”

  “Why would you do that? You said that you knew me from old, but I’m not that person. Y
ou never really knew who I was,” I said.

  “I knew you had a kind, beautiful face and the bravest heart I have ever known. That’s all I needed to know.”

  I blushed and pulled my hand away from his grasp. Whatever words I had wanted to say were stuck in my throat.

  Now was my time to ask. There had never really been the opportunity until now, while he was relaxed, and looking happy. I hated to spoil the mood but I needed to know.

  “Morgan, will you tell me about your family? You know so much about me, I know little about you,” I said quietly.

  He sat for a moment and stared at the back of his hands. “You want to know about Aiden too?”

  I nodded, and leaned forward to take back one hand, slipping my fingers in between his. I squeezed a reassurance.

  “Okay, if you must know, Aiden’s my cousin,” his eyes flashed sadly.

  I hoped he hadn’t noticed that I had stopped breathing momentarily, I had no idea, nobody had mentioned it, the connection hadn’t been made, on any level.

  “So, I grew up with my parents and sister, Sophia, and younger sister Amelia. Aiden grew up with his own parents. His mother and my mother were sisters. They were close and would spend a lot of time together, afternoons after school and the like. Aiden and I had to play together. His family were poor, and my parents were rich, from my dad’s side.”

  “Anyway, he was taller than me and always a bully. He used to punch me and kick me whenever we were alone, call me names, that sort of thing. We never really played, Aiden spoiled anything we did. Playing in a sand pit would mean that I would wear the sand after having it thrown in my eyes and shoved down my shorts. If we went near a stream he would push me in. My mother would be furious and blame me, but I always blamed Aiden. It would always fall on deaf ears.”

  “The real trouble started when Aiden’s dad, Mick, got laid off at work with the local engineers. His dad got depressed, he drank a lot and became violent, especially to his wife but also to Aiden, who would always have bruise marks across his face when he visited.”

  “I thought that Aiden would change, become a nicer playmate but he didn’t. I remember trying to talk to him about why his dad beat him and Aiden flew into a furious rage, he punched Sophia in the face and broke her nose and kicked my dog, Alfie. When I checked on Alfie later his leg was broken so severely he had to be put down. I was beyond anger, that’s when we had our first proper fight.”