Текст книги "Time to Die"

Автор книги: Caroline Mitchell

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Bert

Bert had come home from school to find mother asleep in bed. His senses dictated that napping was just another means of avoidance. He gobbled down the cold sausage sandwich on the table along with a glass of milk. The cupboard hinges whined in indignation as he gingerly searched for food. There was little point, because homemade pies or cakes were only baked for good boys like Callum. But Callum wasn’t here any more and Bert was not a good boy. Kicking off his worn leather shoes, he strode to his room. With the promise of a full moon, he needed to get some sleep, otherwise he wouldn’t be able to get up to visit the woods later on.

His eyes lit on the package on his bed. He ran his fingers over the smooth brown paper, slowly picking at the Sellotape with his bitten-down nails. It wasn’t his birthday, and even if it was, that day had been dedicated to Callum. Mother’s candles had burned brightly next to the framed photo on the dresser, and nothing was allowed to interfere with her mourning.

He dragged the heavy box from the top of the bed and sat on the floor with it between his legs. It was postmarked and addressed to his mother. But it must have been for him otherwise she wouldn’t have left it there. Chewing the corner of his lip, he tore back another strip of paper, enjoying the tingly feeling of receiving a gift of his very own. He hardly noticed his mother’s slim frame leaning against the door as he eagerly cast away the packaging. The gift was mail order by the look of it, and it was no coincidence it had arrived the week his father left for a fishing trip to the coast. He spent more and more time away from home now, and mother had a suspicion he was getting comfort elsewhere. At least, that’s what Bert heard her say when she mumbled to herself during the day. After Callum died, her singing was replaced by the hum of prayer. When the pain and anger became too much, she ditched prayer and began talking to herself. Sometimes she became so animated in her conversations she would stamp her feet against the wooden floor, or hammer her fists on the table as she ate. Any attempt to interrupt her would be met with clenched fists and a steely glare.

She had been a lot kinder to him since he lied about communicating with Callum. Bert surmised that such contact may have been possible, but there was no way he was going to try. He had not wanted to hear from his brother when he was alive, much less after he had sent him to his death.

Bert unwrapped the globular-shaped package first. At first he thought it was a world globe, but as he tore off the rest of the paper, he revealed a glass ball on a black plastic plinth. It was hard and heavy, and he looked at his mother quizzically. She nodded at him to open the other packages. The second was a flat wooden board, all letters and numbers, with a small wooden plinth on a roller ball. He had heard about ouija boards at school, but the ones the kids spoke about were homemade, nothing as sophisticated as this. Smiling, he opened the third and last package. It was small, square, and heavy in his palm. Ripping open the paper he stared at the red velvet pouch, and after a cursory glance at his mother, eased the gold strings open to reveal a strange-looking deck of cards.

‘They’re tarot cards,’ she said, smiling. The expression looked alien on her face, and lasted only a second before falling back into her customary anxious frown. ‘They’re all for you, Bert, so you can talk to Callum. But only when your father’s not around. Do you think it will help you speak to him?’

Bert shrugged. He didn’t feel like being kind to her today. But then he caught the edge of a doubtful thought and sprang from the floor to hug her.

‘Don’t be sad, mummy, I’ll speak to him tonight, I promise.’

Grace nodded unconvincingly, as she tried to extricate herself from his hug. ‘In that case I’ll leave you to it. I’m going back to bed.’

The house was eerily quiet in the absence of mother’s singing. In the olden days, she would be doing something productive, baking, painting, or chatting with father. Now the house was as bleak as the light behind her eyes, and Bert could barely stand it. The barbed thoughts, the pity of his school classmates … if it weren’t for his ally the raven, he would have felt very alone.

Bert sat on the floor until his bottom went numb. The crystal ball was cheap rubbish, and he wiped away his fingerprints before returning it to the box. Mother would send the presents back when the whim suited her anyway. He didn’t like the ouija board. The second he placed the plinth on the wood he knew it was a doorway into something too dark for him to handle. What if his brother started talking to him through it? What if Callum said that he was going to hell for making him fall from that tree? His mother told him about hell once, a long time ago, when she used to go to church, but Bert’s harsh life lessons demonstrated that the darkness of hell was not reserved for the afterlife. It was with him every minute of every day.

He turned his attention back to the cards, feeling a tingle shoot up his finger as he touched the deck. It brought with it a hint of the power lying behind the shop-coated smell. A flutter of excitement rose, as he clumsily thumbed the pictures. Death, temperance, and judgment, the meaning of each card whispered softly into his senses. Bert smiled as he brought them to his nose, inhaling their power. The empty feeling he had been carrying evaporated as he basked in their potency.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The itch. The damned itch! Jennifer squirmed as she raked her skin with long yellow nails, leaving ragged blood-seeped tracks in their wake. She looked down at her shaking hands, scaly and withered, gasping as they touched her bristled face.

‘No,’ she said, ‘get away from me, no!’

A light flickered on and Jennifer recoiled from the hand on her shoulder.

‘Hey, hey, it’s me, Will. You’re dreaming.’

She blinked, looking left to right. ‘Mmm? Where am I?’

Will murmured softly. ‘Shhh, it’s OK, it’s just a bad dream.’

Jennifer mumbled something incoherent before lying back down. Slowly her heartbeat returned to a normal rhythm as she surrendered to sleep.

Will pressed his lips against her forehead before turning to face the wall.

Easing herself into the warmth of his back, Jennifer snaked her hand around his waist, and he drew it up into the groove of his chest, drawing her close to banish the nightmares.

[#]

‘You’re late, I didn’t think you were coming,’ Amy said, pulling open the door. Her usual weekly visit had been delayed by a late afternoon lie-in at Will’s, and a shared shower after dinner. Jennifer grinned sheepishly as she followed her sister inside, hopping on one of the barstools next to the compact breakfast bar. The sense of betrayal diminished since her father’s visit, and a night spent with Will had eased the loneliness nesting in her heart. Her sister seemed buoyant, which suggested it had gone well. Nevertheless, Jennifer was not going to mention her father unless Amy brought him up first.

Six sterilised baby bottles were lined up in a row next to an open tin of milk powder, and Amy completed the routine of mixing, shaking and storing the feeds before wiping down the counter and making two cups of tea. Jennifer watched with admiration as Amy worked, cleaning the kitchen, listening to the baby monitor, and telling Joshua to go to bed. She thought of their own childhood; when they were free to do what they wanted until the pubs closed. Then their father came home stinking of beer, and Jennifer would creep down in her nightie to lock the front door behind him. On a good night, he’d be lying comatose on the sofa, and Jennifer would prise the empty beer can from his grasp before covering him with a blanket. On a bad night, he’d bring back company. Narrow-eyed drunks who would raid her food supplies and leer as she darted back upstairs and locked her bedroom door.

Jennifer pulled herself away from the past and drew her attention back to her sister. Her home was full of comforting things, a smaller version of their aunt Laura’s, the woman who saved them from a life in care. Wicker love hearts hanging from cupboard handles, wall art advocating love, life, and laughter, knitted tea cosies shaped like owls, with the smell of freshly baked cookies wafting from the oven. It transported her sister to a better place, a time of love and security. Jennifer thought of her bleached black and white home and wondered what it said about her.

Soon the pair of them were chatting about the kids, family life, and a censored version of life in the police force. Jennifer laughed as Joshua ran up the stairs in his Spider-Man pyjamas, expending his limitless amounts of energy before bed.

‘I got his test results back today,’ Amy said, lightly stirring the tea before pushing it across the marble counter.

Jennifer took the cup, patterned with purple and yellow splodges. She had a similar one, which looked so out of place in her sterile kitchen cupboard – a gift from Joshua after one of his nursery craft sessions. Her eyes flickered over the fridge door, adorned with colourful magnets holding up his various paintings and star-emblazoned awards. There was nothing wrong with her beloved nephew, but in a world obsessed with labels he would be pressured to shed his identity and conform.

‘What did they come up with?’

Amy shrugged. ‘He’s perfectly healthy. No ADHD, no autism, nothing. Just a busy boy with an overactive imagination.’

‘Good,’ Jennifer said, trying hard not to interfere. Her sister began to ramble on about her recent membership to the Women’s Institute, and Jennifer’s thoughts drifted to Will as she stared dreamily into her cup of tea.

‘You seem different tonight, sis, any news?’ Amy said, delivering the words with a knowing smile.

Jennifer shrugged innocently. ‘No, same old, same old, lots of work, you know how it is.’

Amy leaned forward, her chin resting on the palm of her hand. ‘So you’ve not been shagging anyone? It’s just that you stink of sex.’

Jennifer’s eyes widened at the accusation. ‘Amy! What sort of a thing is that to say?’

‘The sort of thing you say when your sister’s been holding out. Now spill. I know you’ve been seeing someone.’

‘I’ve not …’

Amy chuckled, sliding her mobile phone across the counter and pressing the button to display a text. ‘Then why did you send this text an hour before you got here?’

Jennifer flushed as her eyes crept over the text. See you later sexy xxx. Amy was her last phone contact, so the text must have been sent to her instead of Will. Seconds passed, and Jennifer’s mouth gaped open with very little coming out. There was no point in trying to wriggle out of it; Amy could read her like a book.

‘It’s early days, I wasn’t going to say anything yet.’

Amy wagged her finger. ‘I’m your sister, you shouldn’t be holding out on me. It’s the guy that stayed over when you were in hospital, isn’t it?’

Jennifer nodded. ‘We’ve only just got together this weekend. It’s a bit awkward with work so we weren’t going to let on just yet.’

‘Hmm,’ Amy said, raising her cup to finish her tea. ‘He’s a bit scruffy, but you like them rough and ready, don’t you?’

Jennifer was about to leap to Will’s defence, when her sister tittered from behind her cup. ‘Relax, I’m only joking. You have got it bad, haven’t you?’

Jennifer’s dimples came into life as she beamed a smile. Talking about boyfriends with her sister gave her a warm glow inside. ‘He’s lovely. He comes from a very close family.’

‘Does he know about our band of misfits?’ Amy said.

Jennifer’s smile faltered, but not long enough for Amy to notice. ‘Yep, and he still wants to know me. Who’d believe it?’

‘Well I wouldn’t kick him out of bed for farting,’ Amy grinned.

Jennifer swallowed the last of her tea, the tang of unstirred sugar hitting the back of her throat. She felt more like a mother to her sister, and sex wasn’t something she was comfortable discussing with her.

‘I’d best be off. Mind if I say goodnight to Josh before I go?’

‘He’ll go mad if you don’t. Can you get him to brush his teeth while you’re up there? He’s going through a defiant stage, it takes forever to get him to bed.’

Jennifer convinced Josh that if he brushed his teeth he’d get more money from the tooth fairy when they fell out. It seemed a perfectly plausible explanation to the four-year-old child, and five minutes later, he was tucked up under his Spider-Man duvet. Jennifer was not one to push the subject of Josh’s psychic powers. She would have been just as happy if they disappeared overnight, like a passing phase. But the wordless thoughts that passed between them seemed too powerful to simply dissipate. His energy was bright and happy, and she felt a pang of guilt as she chatted to her favourite little boy, hoping she had not inadvertently brought danger to his door. Thoughts of her father streamed back into her consciousness, and she itched to ask about their meeting. But she had dealt with enough domestic incidents in the police to vow she would never use a child as a pawn, and the last thing she wanted was to involve him in her and Amy’s dispute. She had barely closed his bedroom door when his footsteps thumped across the carpet and the light switch clicked on. Poking her head around, she caught him jumping into bed.

‘Everything all right, sweetie? Are you scared to sleep with the light off?’

‘Nope,’ Josh said, sitting up as he pulled a comic from under his pillow. ‘I’m reading.’ He flipped the pages of the comic book with the same stance as his father reading the Financial Times.

‘Oh I see. Well don’t stay up too late eh, you need your sleep.’

Jennifer turned to leave. She would let his mother argue it out with him.

‘Jenny?’ Josh said. ‘Stay away from the woods.’

Jennifer froze. ‘What woods?’

‘The dark woods. With the blackbirds. It’s a bad place.’

She crept back to her nephew, keeping her voice low. ‘I don’t understand. Where did you get this from?’

Josh shrugged, and giggled as he pointed to a character in the Beano magazine. ‘He’s called Pongo, he’s farty. Can you read it to me?’

‘Only if you promise to go to sleep when I’m done.’ Jennifer nudged him up on the bed and relayed the rest of the comic story. She knew not to push him for answers. Sometimes insights came in flashes, and were gone as quickly as they came. She closed the comic book and laid it on the floor.

‘Everything all right now?’ she said, an open invitation to disclose more.

‘Uh-huh. I love you,’ Josh said before snuggling into his pillow and closing his eyes.

Jennifer kissed his warm forehead and pulled the duvet to his shoulder. ‘I love you too, goodnight sweetie.’

She activated the soft round nightlight and switched off the bulb on the wall, casting the room into a bluish glow. Joshua looked so small under the Spider-Man duvet cover, his vulnerability raising her emotions until they formed as a lump in her throat. She clicked the door behind her and tried to decipher the message. It had to be related to the Raven, but how? Stay away from the woods? The woods where Felicity Baron was killed was miles away. Unless he meant the woods around the boathouse? No. These were fresh concerns. A new warning for her ears only. Chances were he didn’t even understand it himself, hence his inability to elaborate. It was as if someone had whispered in his ear and the words came from his mouth. Jennifer wondered if it was her mother at play. Sometimes it was easier for spirits to come through children than adults. Adults simply added their own perceptions to messages, whereas children told it as it was.

Jennifer’s happiness melted away as she drove home. She had made a quick call to Will to cancel their meeting. He was still at his parents’, and informed Jennifer they had invited her around for dinner. The thought of being introduced to his perfect mother and father made her squirm. It was doubtful they would approve, and according to Will, they had made no secret of the fact they wanted a grandchild – that was until his wife had an affair and split their marriage into two. Jennifer grunted to herself. They had better not set their hopes upon her. She had enough to contend with, without throwing a baby into the mix. Police careers did not support family life, least of all ones dealing with the supernatural. It was hard enough to protect Joshua.

Would they start on her family next? Thoughts loomed heavy and daunting in her mind. Joshua had told her not to enter the woods, but as she parked the car outside her home, she knew that was exactly where she needed to go.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Bert

Mother was even more unbearable after she bought Bert the cards. Each evening she leaned against his bedroom door, her long black skirt casting shadows in his room, on his things. They were the same clothes she’d worn the day Callum died. Bert remembered the heavy material of her skirt dragging a crimson trail of blood as she carried Callum’s body to the car. The skirt was far too big for her now, and the slim buckled belt had tightened several notches around her waist. Perhaps it made her feel closer to Callum. Or maybe she was trying to remind him of what she had lost. Either way Bert didn’t care.

‘Bert,’ she rasped, through a pinched mouth, delivering shrill utterances that made him wince. Her once pretty features were locked in a scowl, her colourless skin stretched over jutting cheekbones, exasperated by the tightly wound bun in her hair.

Bert ignored his mother in the hope she would go away. At first he had appeased her, making up sickly sweet words of love, the kind Callum would be likely to say. I love you mummy. I’m always with you mummy. One day we will be together and you can read to me again. But after a while, the words ran dry. The very sight of her made him angry, and he was fed up with her constant need for reassurance. He wanted to slap her, to stare into those misty eyes and tell her that he was her son and he needed her here, looking after him, making him feel his existence meant something. But she was just a shell, filled to the brim with bitterness and pain. She coughed. Bert carried on with his sketch of the woods. He was trying to figure out a way he could make them private. He didn’t know who owned them, but as far as he was concerned, they were his. If he sowed enough thorny bushes, dug enough ravines, it would keep out the campers who sometimes came to explore.

‘Bert. Do you have a message for me, Bert?’ mother said, in rapid bursts of staccato. She crossed her arms, her elbows pointing sharply either side as she waited for her message from beyond the grave.

Bert grimaced. It wasn’t as if he got any special treatment for passing them on. As soon as he’d given her the message, she would snatch away the words, repeating them over as she sobbed to her unseen ghost.

‘Bert. Are you listening to me?’

Anger rose with each syllable his mother uttered. He pushed his pencil into the paper, growling as the leaden point snapped in half. ‘Leave me alone,’ he said, pushing past her to the back door. ‘Just fuck off and leave me alone!’

Mother’s tightly laced leather shoes clip clopped against the bare floorboards as she chased him to the door. ‘How dare you!’ she thundered, her words laced with disgust. ‘How dare you speak to your mother like that!’

Bert laughed wildly as he flung the door open, sending it rebounding against the wall. Still laughing, he mocked her inability to leave the house. She could no longer visit Callum’s grave. Even her steps to the oak tree were unsure and faltering, and always after dark.

‘Callum’s dead!’ Bert screamed as he ran towards the oak tree. ‘And I wish you were dead too!’

But Bert underestimated his mother, and the fire of her fury propelled her out of the house, skeletal fingers extended as she hunted him down the path. Bert’s ear burned as she pinched it hard, swinging him off his bare feet.

‘Don’t you ever speak to me like that again,’ she spat, pulling back her hand to slap him across the face.

‘Ca … caw,’ Bert stammered. ‘Caw, caw!’

His mother froze, her right hand mid-air. ‘What? … What’s wrong with you?’

The words had barely left her lips when the raven drew down on her, slicing the back of her hand with dagger-sharp claws. Mother screamed, thrown off balance as the raven bore down again, slicing and tearing, its cries piercing the evening air.

Bert’s eyes sparkled as his black winged guardian defended him from the sharp sting of the slap that was to come. But as much as his mother annoyed him, he needed her to sustain him. He flapped his feeble arms as he called the raven off.

‘Come away, come away,’ he shouted, and the raven took flight, cutting through the air with long graceful wings as Bert’s mother lay bleeding on the ground.