Psychic Surveys Companion Novels

by Shani Struthers

  On her way into the kitchen, she bypassed Angus – his red hair as awry as ever, and matching the stubble on his jaw, which masked the bruise I inflicted at least.

  “Morning,” he sounded cheery enough. “Did you sleep well?”

  I couldn’t see the point in lying. “Not particularly.”

  “I thought not.”

  “Oh, how come?”

  “I went to the bathroom in the night, to get some water. When I passed your room, you were… I’m not sure how to put it really… yelping.”

  “Yelping?”

  “Aye,” he continued, unabashed. “I did the decent thing and knocked on your door, obviously you didn’t answer it, but it stopped the yelping anyway. Nightmare?”

  “A nightmare? No, of course not, I yelp in my dreams for fun.”

  My sarcasm caused a burst of laughter. “That’s all too easy to believe, I’m afraid.”

  I smiled also before lowering my eye. “That bruise on your chin—”

  “Aye, aye, you can pack a punch for a wee ’un. Seriously though, it doesn’t matter; I don’t want you to fret about it anymore. Bruises fade.”

  Once again I tried to explain. “The visions were relentless. What was happening in them, I… it made me angry, really angry, I mean, which could be why I hit out.”

  He frowned. “You don’t actually know?”

  “Why I hit out? No, I don’t, not for sure.”

  “A spirit can make you do that? It can possess you?”

  “If it was a spirit.”

  “Oh aye, that’s right, and not the devil himself.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far,” I said, struggling to smile this time.

  His expression softened. “It’s tough, what you do, isn’t it?”

  “Not always.” And that was the truth; sometimes it was actually very straightforward.

  He seemed to mull over my reply before answering. “I know I can’t see what you can, but you’re not alone. Not here anyway. Have you heard that the Scots are a fey race?”

  My smile was a little wider this time. “I have, yes.”

  “Aye, well, it’s true, some of us are. And those of us that aren’t, well, we don’t doubt our own people.”

  “But I’m not one of you,” I pointed out.

  “Aye, you’re a Sassenach.”

  “A what?”

  “A Lowlander, an English person.”

  I screwed up my nose. “Ah, I see, sorry about that.”

  “S’okay, not all the English are bad. We’re quite fond of some of them.” More seriously, he added, “What I’m trying to say is we won’t doubt you either.”

  “Why?” I asked. In his own way, Angus was as intriguing as his mother.

  He sat back in his chair and shrugged. “Because when you live here, in God’s own country, it’s hard to deny that there’s something else out there.” Slowly, he shook his head. “Up here, it’s as if you’re closer to something bigger, something good, sacred even.”

  “We’re not talking about something sacred though.”

  “Aye, but good and bad go hand in hand sometimes, don’t they?”

  Before I could reply, Eilidh returned, two plates containing eggs and toast in her hands.

  “What’s this?” Angus looked puzzled. “Is there none of that bacon left?”

  “There’s plenty.”

  “But—”

  “Stop you’re mithering, son, and eat whilst it’s warm. You’ve a busy day ahead.”

  * * *

  The weather may have cleared somewhat, but it was still a drizzly day, grey cloud concealing so much. Standing on Eilidh’s doorstep with nothing but hills and sheep surrounding me, it was at once beautiful and oppressive.

  “Cloud Island,” muttered Angus, coming to stand beside me.

  “Sorry?”

  “The word Skye is Norse, it means Cloud Island, named for the whirling mists that you’re admiring right now.” He sighed. “It’s as if this island wants to hide sometimes, to keep itself separate from the rest of the world, and, as I may have mentioned before, the people that live here are the same. Ness,” he continued, an earnest look in his eyes, “whatever happens on Skye—”

  “Stays on Skye. I know the saying.”

  “We’re a private people. If there is something… unnatural happening, we’ll be the ones to deal with it.”

  “Naturally,” I said, smiling.

  He smiled too. “With your help of course.”

  “A Sassenach?” I teased and then thought about it. “You know for a fey race, I’m surprised there’s not a psychic amongst you.”

  “Maybe there is, but people only like to admit so much.”

  His words dismayed me. Even here, in God’s own country, you couldn’t be true to yourself – different meant different, whatever the location.

  “So, what’s on the agenda for today?” Angus asked. “Another trip to the lighthouse?”

  “Not yet,” I started walking towards his car, waiting patiently at the passenger door. “I’d really like to speak to Ally Dunn first, or at least her parents.”

  Angus didn’t look too hopeful. “It might be best to build up to Ally Dunn. What about some of the other teenagers?”

  “Let’s try Ally,” I persisted. “At least give it a go.”

  Having joined me at his car, Angus climbed into the driver’s seat. “Aye, I suppose we could. I know Ally’s parents well, I could pave the way.”

  “Do they know about me, why I’m here?”

  “I haven’t told them yet. A few of the other parents of the teenagers know though and they seem willing enough to have a word. Are you sure you don’t want to try them first?”

  In the seat beside him, I remained resolute. “I’d like to cut to the chase. There’s only so long I can stay on Skye.”

  Smiling, he started the engine, which clunked loudly before springing into life. “You know there’s those that come to Skye and never leave. They find it suits them here.”

  “And there are those that flee at the drop of a hat, remember?”

  Again he burst out laughing. “Okay, Ally Dunn’s it is. They live over near Dunvegan, just a few miles away.”

  It may have been just a few miles, but on Skye’s winding roads – that ribbon through the rise and fall of craggy rock, heather and sheep – the journey seemed to take forever, leaving me a little nauseous into the bargain. Similar had happened yesterday when Angus had picked me up from Inverness Airport. We’d then driven seventy miles across some of the most amazing terrain I’d ever seen before taking the car ferry over Loch Alsh to reach the island. Our journey far from over, it was another fifty-something miles to the township of Glendale, where he and his mother lived, more magnificent views at my disposal, particularly the brooding Cuillin Mountains capped in tumbling cloud, which held me spellbound. But those twisting, turning lanes, they were something to be endured. By the time we’d reached Eilidh’s, I was feeling a little worse for wear as well as extremely tired – not the best state in which to kick-start a psychic investigation in hindsight.

  During that same drive, the conversation between us had been slightly stilted; as well it might be considering we were two strangers meeting for the first time. I’d also deliberately refrained from asking too much about Minch Point Lighthouse, at least until I’d actually set foot in the place, not wanting to encourage preconceptions, but now it was different, I had to know more and this journey was as good a time as any to pump Angus for information.

  He replied knowledgeably enough, but it was the more technical details he was familiar with: that it was first lit in July 1909, that the tower itself is 43 metres tall, and the light – when it had been working – could be seen from twenty-four miles distance. There was also a foghorn, but that was disabled now too. It was just an empty building, falling into disrepair.

  “And through the years, as far as you know, Angus, various keepers have lived there without incident?”

  He glanced briefly at m
e. “Aye, right up until the Camerons.”

  “Are any of those that lived there still on the island?”

  He shook his head. “The lighthouse keeper before Cameron was Donder McKendrick. He retired to the mainland, near Inverness I think, a good while ago. Went to be closer to his daughter. My mother knew him and his wife, nice enough people apparently.”

  “It might be necessary to pay him a visit.”

  “If he’s still alive,” Angus began and then paused, trying hard to suppress a smirk. “Not that that’s strictly necessary for you, is it?”

  His teasing was good-natured enough. “Believe me, if they’re alive, it’s easier.”

  His voice grew more serious. “You know, Mum and me, we’re happy for you to stay as long as you like. I know it’s not a big house, but hopefully you’re finding it comfortable.”

  “It’s very comfortable, thanks.” And it was – a traditional white house, as so many of them were on Skye, with a slate roof. It was warm and cosy, and in it I was made to feel at home rather than a jobbing visitor. Only Angus and his mother lived there, his father having died a couple of years before, his spirit not lingering I was glad to note, only a sense of his beloved presence. “But I do have other work to get back to.”

  “With the police you mean?”

  I nodded. “I also work for Brighton Council on an ad hoc basis.”

  “They need a psychic too?”

  “Not every tenant pays rent.”

  He bellowed with laughter. “I think I’ve heard it all now, the local council involved in spirit eviction! Your work with the police though, that must be interesting at times.”

  “At times.”

  He must have caught the more sombre note in my voice as he turned to look at me more fully. “Do you get results?” he asked.

  “Mostly… Angus, watch the road will you, there’s a car coming.”

  The car was actually a fair distance away, nonetheless I was glad of the excuse it gave me to cut Angus off.

  We passed the road sign for Dunvegan. “Does Ally live in the village?”

  “A wee bit on the outskirts. We’re not far now, another mile or two.”

  The drizzle had become rain, the clouds even lower than before, and the sheep at the side of the road looking sodden and forlorn. Desolate was the word that sprang to mind as I peered outwards at the grey, barren scree slopes. If it was beautiful, it was a melancholy beauty. This was a land that was hard to live in; I’m not sure I’d be able to. A land in lockdown for many months, enslaved by the elements. In it, some things would never be able to prosper. Other things, however, would prosper well enough.

  “That’s the Dunns’ house,” announced Angus, “right up ahead.”

  It was another white house, but one that wasn’t as pristine as Eilidh’s, the patch of garden that surrounded it once neat perhaps, but which had clearly been left to its own devices recently with grass left wild and the weeds running riot. There were five windows at the front, two downstairs and three above in the eaves. At every one of the windows the curtains were closed, despite it being close to eleven on a weekday morning. As Angus stopped the car and we approached the front door on foot, I could feel the unease in the air. I should think anyone could.

  I turned to Angus. “Are you okay?”

  “Aye, I’m fine,” he replied, but I could tell from his slightly worried expression that I was right, he could feel it too – a cloud of another kind that hung over the house.

  While Angus rang the doorbell, I hugged the obsidian in my pocket.

  Thirteen Chapter Nine

  “Angus Macbrae, what can I do for you?”

  “Molly, hello, I’ve…erm… That is we’ve come to see you and John, to talk about Ally.”

  Molly Dunn raised an eyebrow as she shifted her gaze from Angus to me, clearly unimpressed with this intrusion. “Exactly who does ‘we’ consist of?”

  “I’m Vanessa Patterson,” I said, smiling as I held my hand out. “If we could come inside, I can explain who I am and what I’m doing here.”

  She seemed appalled at the idea. “You can’t come in. It’s… it’s… not a good time.”

  “Molly,” I persevered, “I don’t think it’s been a good time for the last two months, has it?”

  “What? I…” At once her resolve broke and her face, far too haggard for someone of around forty, fell into an expression of despair. “How do you know that?” she whispered. “What’s Angus been saying?”

  “Only the truth,” I assured her.

  “She works with the police,” Angus blurted out.

  Molly’s pale eyes widened, “You’re a detective?”

  I bit down on any retort I might have had for Angus and admitted what I was, there and then, on the doorstep. “I’m a psychic. That’s the capacity in which I work for the police.”

  “This is not a police matter,” she growled, her nostrils flaring slightly.

  “I know, I know… Look, if I could come in, I can explain.”

  “John isn’t at home.”

  “Then perhaps we can talk to you first, Molly? Please.”

  I’m not sure I would have pushed so hard if I hadn’t sensed quite how desperate she was, that this entire matter was. Something was building, but what climax it was rushing towards I still had no idea. Nor how much time was left before it peaked.

  “Molly,” I continued. “We just need to talk.”

  Perhaps she sensed how desperate I was too, as she stared at me for only a few more seconds before dropping her gaze and standing aside. Glancing briefly at Angus, who nodded, I sidled past her and down a narrow hallway.

  “Turn right,” she instructed, “into the living room.”

  A pleasant enough room, despite the darkness, there was no sign of Ally; maybe she was upstairs in her bedroom. Tilting my head, I noticed a spider web crack in the ceiling, just as there’d been in the living room ceiling at the lighthouse.

  Molly and Angus followed me into the room, Molly indicating for us to take a seat. Her eyes kept flickering upwards, as her teeth agitated at an already sore lip.

  “The curtains,” I said, feeling the need for some light, however pitiful.

  “She doesn’t like me to open them.”

  “Ally?”

  A sharp nod was her only reply.

  “Angus has briefed me on what happened that night at the lighthouse—”

  “Briefed you? You said you weren’t a detective.”

  “I’m not, I’m sorry, he’s told me what happened.”

  “What he knows of it,” she corrected.

  “That’s right. Perhaps you can tell me what’s been happening since.”

  I could feel how tense Angus was beside me and wished I’d come alone so I wouldn’t have to worry about him. But then it was only because of him that I’d managed to gain entry into the Dunn household at all, and so decided to be grateful, although the police angle he was promoting, I’d have to have a word with him about that. Police, psychics; neither were popular. The last thing I needed was a double whammy of distrust.

  “Molly?” I prompted when she fell silent.

  “It’s difficult,” she whispered, her eyes again flickering upwards.

  “If it’s possible I’d like to talk to Ally too at some point.”

  “Ha! Good luck with that! She hardly talks to anyone anymore, not even me.”

  I seized the moment. “What does she do?”

  “She sits, that’s all, and stares at the wall. She hardly eats, hardly drinks, and there’s no hope of getting her to school. The teachers are being very good, they provide me with material to home school her, and I do, I sit and I read through everything with her, but she barely acknowledges me. Their patience is going to run out soon.”

  “And your patience?” I ask.

  “Mine? I’m her mother!”

  She’d taken offence, but I ignored that. “Molly, as her mother, this is the hardest of all for you. Has she said anything at all about what h
appened at the lighthouse?”

  “Nothing. But when she sleeps, she dreams, and when she dreams, she mutters. She sounds frightened, as if she’s trying to escape something. Sometimes she lifts her hands and bats at something above her, turning her head from side to side and yelping.”

  At the use of that word, I sensed Angus looking at me – he’d said I’d been yelping too last night. I ignored him, my entire attention on Molly. “Go on,” I said.

  “I woke her once, during one of these dreams, and she lashed out at me.” Her voice was trembling as much as her body. “John heard the commotion and came running. He had to pull her off me. Oh my girl, my poor wee pet, it’s awful, just awful.”

  Her words ended on a sob, one that galvanised Angus into action. He jumped up to stand awkwardly by her side. “Will I get you a cup of tea, Molly?”

  “No, no.” She waved her hand at him. “Tea won’t help. Nothing helps.” Wiping at her eyes, she lifted her head to stare at me again. “Whatever happened at the lighthouse, it was bad, very bad. I keep thinking she might be… that’s she’s…”

  She didn’t have to say it, I knew what she meant – possessed. I hoped not, but I couldn’t deny it either, not until I’d talked to Ally. If she was possessed, what by? It could still be a spirit. I’d heard of such things happening before, but not encountered it personally. If it was something non-spirit… I swallowed. Was I out of my depth here?

  A loud thud from upstairs captured our attention.

  “Is that Ally?” I asked.

  Molly nodded. “Her bedroom’s just above.”

  “The cracks in the ceiling…?”

  “They weren’t there before,” she admitted. “As much as John and I are frustrated, Ally is too, I think. There are times when she barricades herself in, and when she does, it’s as if she’s hurling herself from wall to wall in some mad frenzy. I’ve shouted through the door, I’ve pleaded with her to stop, but she won’t. And she can keep it going for ages. The screams and the yells, it’s heart-breaking to hear, truly heart-breaking. Before this, she was so lovely; she was bright, funny, and sociable. She was our angel.”