Blurred Lines: A box-set of reality bending supernatural fiction (Paranormal Tales from Wales Book 9)

by Michael Christopher Carter

  “I c a n ‘t,” quickly spelled out. With it, their hope stagnated and they were once again at a loss.

  “We’ll find a way, Elin. Don’t you worry. We’ll get you back, cariad. I promise.” Emyr never made promises he couldn’t keep. He prayed this wouldn’t be the exception.

  “We’ll go to the hospital and make sure everything remains fine there,” he said, anticipating the doctors not approving of their reasons for postponing the planned switch off.

  “You three can find that priest. Make him see sense. Do you think you can do that?” Sylvie, Neil and Matthew nodded assuredly, displaying a confidence they didn’t trust.

  “Is there any way we can help?” Bronwyn’s sing-song Carmarthenshire accent asked.

  “I don’t know. But stick around. More people connecting round the table may prove to be the crucial key.”

  Aeron and Bronwyn were left in the house, alone. A normal, cuddly Sunday was impossible. Whilst they felt silly to be afraid of Elin, it was just too weird to cope with.

  Was she there only during a séance? Or, was she there all the time, watching them, judging them? Why could sometimes they see her and most times she was invisible to them? Was it their strength of feeling or hers which brought her to the surface?

  Recalling the treatment of the dirty dishes before Christmas suggested she was there whether they could see her or not. A flush of embarrassment at personal and intimate times they’d shared reddened both their faces. Did she see everything?

  “Let’s go out, shall we?” Bronwyn agreed with Aeron’s suggestion before the idea of where was even considered. They threw on jumpers and coats and hurried from the house.

  When she’d been ordered from the light and back to her body, Elin had felt something change. Like she was dissolving into the ether, ready to be divided and cleverly fused with her body again in spiritual osmosis or something equally incomprehensible.

  She found herself lying in darkness. “This is it,” she’d said to herself, “I’ll open my eyes and be back to normal.” She peered out at the room beyond.

  Breaking dawn offered just enough illumination to recognise her surroundings. It was with more than dismay she saw where she’d ended up.

  “Shit. Why?” The light pierced the room and polarised Elin into action. “I’ve got to do something before I disappear again,” she muttered. Seeing the lipstick, she knew what she would do.

  Her mum and dad and the others would get to the hospital and wonder what had happened and where she was. A simple ‘I’m here’ should do the trick. Then the weirdy woman could do her stuff and sort it out.

  Once she’d written in giant red letters on the wall, she felt a pang of guilt at the job she’d created for someone to scrub off. But not for long. This was life and death. The thought hit her like a body blow.

  Seeing her mum and dad, devastated, gave it all a realism that giddied her, like viewing video footage of a lucky escape, or revisiting the site of a car crash and seeing how bad it could have been.

  She felt especially mortal again, and extremely endangered. The relief she may have got from disappearing to wherever she usually went during daylight, didn’t come. The morning, bright now, and she was still present and aware.

  The lounge of number twenty-four was the most excitement Elin had enjoyed for weeks. The change of scene more than welcome. It was about to get a lot more interesting when she gained some company.

  The girl student walked in carrying a tray laden with remains from student snacks. She saw Elin’s message scrawled on the wall, screamed, and dropped the tray. The largest boy followed sleepily to see what the commotion was wearing a ludicrous pink dressing gown, and then the small one and finally the chubby one and the hippie woman. Quite a crowd.

  The message was having the desired effect. The three newest arrivals appeared to be relieved to see it, just as she’d hoped they would. They talked about what it meant, and what their next move should be.

  It was wonderful to have company, to see life happening. As a child she’d often imagined what it would be like to be invisible. Now she was, her mind giddied at the fun of it. She eavesdropped, effortlessly, reassuring conversations about her. Everything would be good soon, and she was excited.

  Before long, she was alone again, but she didn’t mind, confident her saviours were striving for the answer. She wished someone would put the telly on. So resigned to being stuck with nothing to do, it took a while before she attempted to do it herself. She didn’t feel part of this world. Trying only confirmed the feeling. The small buttons needed more dexterity than her ethereal self could provide.

  She entertained herself instead reading the piles of mail stacked on the dresser. Nothing she read interested her, but she was grateful for anything to break the monotony.

  The group returned, and this time her mum and dad were there too. It was wonderful to see them again. The table was yanked out, and they arranged themselves in a circle around it as the séance before. Elin did her best to give encouragement, flapping curtains and pushing the glass on the Ouija board, considering each answer carefully.

  When the hippie woman prayed and everyone joined in, the power was undeniable. She desperately tried to obey. Picturing herself moving towards her other, sleeping self; every time she got close something drew her back. The idea of being away from the house seemed treacherous.

  Failure tipped over her like an ice-bucket challenge but without the exhilaration. Just desperate emptiness. What was it going to take to rescue her? Realising for the first time; she despaired she would ever know.

  Alis was exhausted sitting beside her sister. She had regaled tales from childhood, played music, offered food and drinks, including wafting items under her nose, and nothing had made any effect to her expression, nor to the machines monitoring her vital signs.

  Her parents’ strange comfort at the three strangers and their unbelievable twaddle was a mystery to her. They were clinging onto any little thread of hope. It was ridiculous. She had been happy to step up and give her mum some time to rest. As that wasn’t going to happen, this at least was a distraction she supposed, but it was wearing a bit thin now.

  They shouldn’t leave her as the only one doing anything practical to help her sister. It was foolish and unfair. Relief quickly turned to irritation when the two of them returned, talking animatedly and loudly. She tried to not let her annoyance show. It wasn’t her intention to make things worse. But they wouldn’t have noticed anyway. So preoccupied were they with their psychic claptrap they barely paid her any attention.

  The Ward Sister hustled into the room

  “Dr Overton is doing his rounds. He’ll be in shortly, so hang around if you want to speak to him.” She left without waiting for a response. Striding away, straightening her skirt with one hand and adjusting her short hair with the other, she addressed more patients and their families in other rooms.

  On her return, she took her place backing up the entourage of fawning junior doctors, including the Dr Lewis they’d seen before; bobbing and weaving in their efforts to impress the great man. Minions to a super villain. Dr Overton would look like Darth Vader but for being far too short. An expression of smugness only that amount of obsequiousness on a daily basis can invoke, carved his face.

  The Treharne family waited anxiously, but with a united determination, knowing they were about to go against the great doctor’s plans and insist Elin remain on life support for a while longer. If he didn’t like it—which he wouldn’t—he was going to have to lump it.

  The anticipated reaction proved accurate. Dr Overton thundered they were being foolish. Putting off the inevitable. It really was best for them to let go so they could begin the grieving process. But they shouldn’t forget that there was every chance forcing her to breathe on her own might be the very thing to wake Elin up.

  A monotone Glenda addressed the doctor.

  “With the greatest respect, Dr Overton. I don’t care if you understand our reasons. We won’t be gr
anting our permission to switch off our daughter’s life support as we had planned tomorrow. Why don’t we discuss it again in another week?” The consultant flashed a bright smile.

  “Of course. As you wish.” With that, he turned and walked from the room. His unique skill, to show immense rudeness, cloaked under a guise of good manners.

  When he was confident he wouldn’t be overheard, he leaned toward the Sister.

  “Schedule Miss Treharne’s life support removal as originally planned. I’m sure they’ll come round.” And with no further words, he walked from the ward in arrogant, self-righteous certainty.

  “How are we going to find Father Jenkins?” Neil inquired without thought, his brain too fatigued to consider the simplicity of the problem.

  “We’ll go to his church of course,” Matthew said. “Which one was it, Sylvie?” She looked sheepishly at him, stiffening before admitting she couldn’t remember.

  Performing an internet search of local Catholic churches, it didn’t take long to match one with his name and the phone number they’d used previously. They pulled up outside St. Benedict’s church half an hour later.

  “Are you sure this is the right place, Neil?” Matthew asked in disbelief. “It doesn’t look much like a church to me. More like a school or something.”

  The grey building sat miserably in a shabby car-park, looking like offices of an unsuccessful group of solicitors or accountants. Multiple windows stared out wistfully, knowing they were a disappointment. Its appearance, entirely incongruent with its purpose.

  “You were navigating,” Neil snapped, stressed from negotiating Sunday drivers.

  “It’s definitely the place. There’s the name above the door,” Sylvie said, pointing.

  “Where will Father Jenkins be?” Neil wondered out loud. They’d taken note of mass times from the web, so knew they wouldn’t interrupt. Wiping their feet outside the door of the unattractive carbuncle, they pushed it open and stepped inside.

  The interior was far more inviting and church-like, and happily, the square, squat figure of Father Jenkins entered from another door when they walked in. He stopped, staring open mouthed for a moment before exclaiming, “What do you want?”

  He was forced to listen. Not doing so would have appeared extremely rude.

  “I suppose I could come to the house again, but it really is nonsense. I’ve never heard of anything like it before.” A smile found its way onto Neil’s tense face, heartened by the promise of the Priest’s help.

  “I will have to get the permission of my Bishop, and to be honest, he was reluctant for me to get involved before. I can only guess what he will say about this,” he said with a dismissive shrug. “It will be Tuesday or Wednesday before I will have a chance to speak to him. I’ll get back to you after that.”

  “You can’t!” Neil exclaimed. “She needs you. She’ll die.”

  “It’s true, Father. We can’t wait,” Sylvie confirmed.

  He held aloft a dismissive hand. “I cannot act without the support of the bishop. It’s just not possible. I have a lot more experience in these matters, and can assure you, if this girl is trapped in a dream-state—and I really don’t believe she is—then I’m sure she’ll be fine for a few more days.”

  Holding both hands up, he interrupted the objections. “I fully expect to come to the house just to put your minds at rest. But it will be as I say. You are mistaken. You’ll see.”

  “No! You must come sooner. They’ll switch her off. Please,” Neil begged.

  “Listen to me.” The priest was angry now. “I’ve agreed to humour your nonsense, but I’m not going to jeopardise my position. For my own satisfaction, as well as for the spiritual well-being of my parish, I must do things properly. I’ve told you my opinion, but graciously agreed to speak to my bishop and risk ridicule anyway.

  “Question me again, and I will have no compunction in leaving you to your ridiculous plight by yourselves. I’ve done more than enough for you already.” And with that, he flounced back through the door he had entered moments before. They weren’t sure where it led and couldn’t help picturing Father Jenkins hiding in the broom cupboard until they left.

  Matthew took a step after him. Neil put out an arm to stop him. “Leave him, Matthew. We can’t risk provoking him further. We need him.”

  They walked dejectedly back to the car. “It wasn’t a complete disaster,” Sylvie suggested. “He did agree to help.”

  “If the bishop lets him,” Matthew sniped. Sylvie ignored him.

  “We just have to make sure the doctors don’t switch her off before he does.”

  They didn’t want to go back to the house so decided to go to the hospital and check on Elin and the rest of the Treharne’s. Informing Glenda of their less than successful mission with Father Jenkins wasn’t a prospect they relished.

  They were buzzed into HDU, familiar faces, now, to the nursing staff. Glenda’s countenance welcomed them as naughty children to a particularly stern headmistress’s office. And that was before reporting their relative failure.

  The fury in her eyes was tempered with fear. She couldn’t afford for things to go wrong. “Well, I’m not prepared to leave it there. He’s the imbecile who exorcised a spirit who wasn’t a spirit at all. Let’s see if mention of ‘murder’ and telling the police doesn’t motivate him to help us immediately. I’m sure he wouldn’t want his bishop to hear of that!”

  Sylvie and the boys wished they’d been more assertive. It hadn’t occurred to them to remind him he was to blame. Glenda doing the reminding would be more effective. She appeared to be a very persuasive woman.

  For the second time that day, Neil, Matthew and Sylvie arrived at the drab grey building on the outskirts of the city. This time, as the passengers of Glenda and Emyr.

  “Right, Father Jenkins. You are about to be persuaded. Because I’m not going to take no for an answer!”

  Chapter Forty-three

  Going out in Swansea without a plan inevitably led Aeron and Bronwyn to the pub. They had begun with the good intentions of going for a walk and had ended up high on the hill over-looking the city. Struck with awe, they were also struck by bitterly cold wind and were now warming their cockles beside the roaring fire of The Railway Tavern.

  They were on their third or fourth pint when Bronwyn pulled a bitchy smile whilst looking across at the bar.

  “Wos a matter, babe?” Aeron asked, missing the problem.

  “Jon. He keeps looking over and smiling at me.”

  “He’s just being friendly.”

  “You know what a smarmy little perv he is. He seems to ‘ave got worse.”

  Jon smiled again and walked over to their table.

  “How’s my favourite couple?” he said, placing two more bottles of beer on the table. Aeron usually drank pints of bitter, but there was a special offer from a local brewery they were taking advantage of.

  “Not too bad thanks, Jon.” Aeron answered, all too aware he was addressing his boss.

  “And how about the lovely Bronwyn?” he inquired, moving in to kiss her on the cheek. She repealed his advances more curtly than she might have without the copious beer. Concern for Aeron’s employment usually forced a modicum of politeness.

  “Fuck off, creep,” she spat, shoving him enough to knock over one of the bottles.

  It splashed onto Jon’s trousers. He seethed with rage, but in fear of what Aeron, or Bronwyn for that matter, might do to him if he let it show, he kept it hidden. “No worries,” he forced a smile. “I’ll bring you another bottle… on the house.” He shuffled away, dabbing at his crotch with a bar towel.

  “Fucking perv,” Bronwyn said, slumping back into her seat. “I don’t know what’s got into him. He’s not normally so cocky.”

  “Do you want me to have a word?” Aeron asked, reluctant to upset his boss who’d been especially generous with overtime recently, but overruled by greater loyalty to Bronnie.

  She gave him a sideways glance over the lip of the b
eer bottle she was still draining the dregs from. “No. It’s alright, babes. I think I can handle ‘im.” She winked, holding her beer in the air.

  Aeron was in no doubt.

  They arrived to a car park full to over-flowing. They were forced to join a dozen other cars parked half on the pavement further down the street.

  “I presume it wasn’t this busy when you were here before?” Emyr commented. The others shook their heads. “It must be time for mass. Great.”

  They tried to sneak in through the back door. Most of the congregation didn’t look. Those who did offered beaming smiles to the newcomers. Emyr touched the signs of the cross. Neil and Matthew nervously followed suit, but the two women didn’t.

  Father Jenkins paused briefly and sighed when he saw them. He glared, certain they were not there because they’d had a sudden conversion to the One True Faith. They flinched from the fury streaming their way, except Glenda, whose conviction gave strength to the others to ignore the imposing presence of the stocky priest.

  There was obviously nothing to do but sit and join the mass. Whilst it could have been frustrating, there was an indubitable comfort from the atmosphere of holy worship. The onslaught of love from the congregation, from the priests words, or perhaps even from God himself washed over Glenda, eroding the control she’d fought to maintain over her emotion.

  Sitting in stunned silence, tears streamed down her haggard face. She prayed, and felt truly she would be heard.

  “I think you’ve scared him, Bron. This is the third round ‘on the house’ he’s bought us!”

  “I know. Do you want mine? I’m getting a bit pissed.”

  Aeron happily glugged Bronwyn’s as well. Watching Jon’s timid figure behind the bar, he turned and whispered.

  “He’s definitely gone jittery. Look at him. He’ll be dropping bottles again soon!”

  “What do you mean?”