“It’s not quite,” I said, “but thank you. It does help. It helps a lot. Thanks for the kiss too.”
He reared back slightly, a big grin on his face. “I don’t think I’ve ever been formally thanked for kissing someone before.”
“It’s like you said, I’m quirky.”
“That you are, Ness, that you are.”
As touching as this exchange was, the night wasn’t over – not yet. Whatever was here was still at my heels.
With Angus following, I flew down the stairs faster than I’d ever done before. Below, the living room was largely clear of the debris that had carpeted it – the parents had done a great job. Barely any candles remained lit, but those that were flickered valiantly, as impressive in their own way as anything bigger. Making my way to the front door, I pulled it open and stared outwards – the rain had turned to sleet, the clouds as low as ever. The wind was picking up too, and blowing my hair across my face.
“Where’s the service room?” I asked Angus.
“It’s beside the tower, follow me.”
With the gravel beneath our feet, we did as we’d done so often these last few days; we put our heads down and forged ahead. Sure enough, in a small room to the side of the tower, one that had had its door wrecked, probably years before, stood Ron McCarron and a man younger than him but who shared the same stocky build.
“Ron!” I had to shout over the wind. “Thank you, thank you so much. And you’re Liam?”
“Aye, I am,” the younger man shouted back. “I hope we’ve been able to help. We went to Angus’s house first, and it was Eilidh who told us that you’d all come here.” He glanced in the direction of the light that blazed. “I didn’t think I had a hope of getting the stand-by generator to work, not after all this time. This salty air, it rusts stuff to buggery. But between Dad and me we managed it. We only bloody managed it!” He laughed. “Don’t ask me how though, I don’t know, but it wasn’t as hard as I thought. In fact,” he stopped laughing and looked genuinely perplexed, “it wasn’t hard at all. It shouldn’t even be possible. Anyway, it’s a light! It’s static though, it won’t sweep. I hope that’s okay?”
“Okay? It’s brilliant, in every sense of the word. How did you know we needed it?”
He shrugged, a grin as wide as any that Angus could muster on his face. “How?”
I nodded.
“What else are you supposed to fight the forces of darkness with?”
I think it’s safe to say I’m not particularly demonstrative, I’ve never been encouraged in that respect, but I practically threw myself into Liam’s arms. “Thank you, thank you so much.” Extricating myself from him I then hugged Ron. “You’re a good man,” I said.
“And you’re a good lass,” he returned. “We both have demons to fight, but we can do it. We’re capable.”
“We just have to believe it?”
“Aye, it’s as hard and as simple as that.”
“It’s what we make it, I suppose.”
He nodded. “It is. Now away, lass, get on with whatever it is you have to do. We have no idea if and when the generator will fail. Like Liam said, it shouldn’t have worked at all.”
I did as he instructed, leaving the service room and drawing closer to the tower as lightning pierced the clouds. I looked upwards. Oh no, you don’t, the elements are on our side, not yours. I was no expert at Reiki, I’ve mentioned that, but, making the symbol for Cho Ku Rei again, I mentally called on Earth, Wind, Air and Fire to assist us and us alone – utilising natural elements for natural purposes only. Certainly, if Shelley had done what she’d promised to do, one of those elements – fire – was right now engulfing Grey’s former home, breaking the chain, as she put it. Keeping the Reiki mantra at the forefront of my mind, I carried on walking – deep rolling thunder accompanying me.
Angus was once more by my side, but at the door to the tower I stopped him.
“I have to do this alone,” I said.
Worry darkened his features. “But what if you need me?”
“Angus, I do need you, I couldn’t have done any of this without you, but it’s as I said, this next step is personal.”
His eyes flickered towards the main building. “It’s not a good idea to go up there alone.”
“Because I’m weak?” I said, understanding his gesture.
He started to object, but I held up my hand, not quite finished.
“Not all the time, I’m not saying that, but on occasions I am weak. I let negativity swamp me. I don’t have the strength to fight it all the time, and maybe I never will. But that’s because I’m human, I’m flawed, and sometimes I can only take so much.”
Reaching out, he took my hands, his thumbs pushing back the sleeves of the coat I wore. I knew what he wanted: to see for himself the damage I’d once inflicted.
“There’s strength in admitting that,” he said, his thumbs gently rubbing the scarred tissue. “Great strength.” Dragging his gaze from my wrists, he stared into my eyes. “I’ll be here when you’ve finished whatever it is you have to do up there. I’ll be waiting.”
Knowing that, lent me strength too.
* * *
I took the cast iron stairs two at a time in places, more thunder drowning out the clatter of my shoes against the treads that spiralled upwards.
It wasn’t a tall tower, but I was breathless by the time I reached the top. To access the outside gallery, I pushed open an iron door, praying that it wasn’t rusted and would give way. I was so relieved when it did. Poking my head through, I was instantly hit by a blast of air; sleet coating my cheeks, to lie frozen there. Quickly, I had to shield my eyes. Being so close to source could cause permanent damage; my daring might cost me like it did Icarus from Greek mythology, but I wouldn’t stay for long, just until, as Ron had said, I’d done what I needed to do.
Still hardly daring to open my eyes, I eased out onto the gallery. The exposed balcony ran all the way around the underside of the lantern room, which itself was enclosed by glass windows, storm panes I think they’re called, able to withstand ‘the fine Scottish weather’ as Eilidh once termed it. The railing was at waist height and I had to grab hold of it in order to steady myself, for the wind was capable of knocking me off my feet, which might send me plummeting below.
Madness, that’s what this was, sheer madness to be up here when the lens was on, in the midst of a storm. But so what? I’d been mad before. Rather than fear it, I’d embrace the extreme weather, the curious mixture of heat from the lens and cold from the air somehow managing to negate each other. I’d throw my head back in the wind, I’d listen as the sea smashed against the rocks, imagining the blue men, the storm kelpies, watching and waiting. I’d marvel too as the lightning kept chasing the darkness. And I’d roar – louder than a lion.
Taking a deep breath, I opened my mouth as wide as I could and, with one giant exhalation I screamed for all the hurt and the agony I’d ever endured; for all the sorrow, the blame and the guilt that had marked me from the day I’d come into this world kicking and crying; for the baby born just minutes after me who’d never cried at all. I screamed for all the hurt that I’d caused, the blame that I’d so wrongly apportioned; for my immaturity, my jealousies, my pettiness, my refusal to accept love when love was offered; for my insistence on embracing hatred instead, and becoming something hateful too. I screamed because of my gift that so often seemed like a curse, it was such a burden to bear. I screamed for my desire to be normal when normal I’d never be. I screamed at injustice and prejudice; for those who felt the need to hit out at what they couldn’t understand; for my mother’s denial and the loathing in her eyes whenever she looked at me; for the weakness in my father, and the indifference of my brothers and sisters. I howled at the psychiatrists who only ever believed me when I lied. I cried for what I’d done, not just to myself, but also to my twin; for being her shadow side, the darkness to her light; for the irony of that. And I screamed because of how weak I was… still. I might crave
forgiveness from my twin, but I couldn’t dredge up forgiveness for my mother, not after all that she’d done. There was strength in honesty – Angus had said that. Was it true? Could it really be true?
My voice hoarse, I continued to scream, to let go what I could, to accept what I couldn’t, the expulsion as dark as anything we’d encountered in Caitir’s bedroom, joining forces with it no doubt, as like called to like. With my back to the lens I stared into the abyss and remembered what she’d said: My dark isn’t like your dark. There are things in it.
“I’m sorry,” I shouted, my raw throat not the only thing responsible for the cracking of my voice, “for all of it. The husk that was pretending to be you in Caitir’s room, its voice changed, right at the end. Was that you then? Truly you? You asked me to look, to listen, and to be quick about it. I didn’t realise… It’s only just occurred to me that it was the real you. I ignored you, but I didn’t mean to, not that time. Are you here? Are you anywhere?”
As my eyes strained to see, I could tell she’d been right; there were things in the darkness. I could see them, so many things, innumerable, twisting and writhing, agonised things that wanted to crawl towards me, and drag me into the darkness with them, but they couldn’t. The light that I was at the centre of was just too bright. It would obliterate them if they dared, as I had dared – like Grey’s house, like Icarus, they’d burn too. One other thing, one important thing: they couldn’t hurt me any more than I’d been hurt already. That’s why I was the person for the job, and why Shelley had wished I wasn’t.
The things – it wasn’t my place to name them – retreated. Not far, never far, but far enough. As long as there was light at the lighthouse, and a lightness of being too, they’d keep their distance.
As I continued to stare, I was grateful: there was no mirror image staring back at me. My twin wasn’t part of it.
Thirteen Chapter Twenty-Six
From rain to sleet to snow, there was a heavy and glorious swathe. As awed as I was by what was this time a natural phenomenon, brightening the night further, the people around me took it in their stride, as they took so much. Slowly but steadily we all left Minch Point and made our way back to our respective homes, the lighthouse still miraculously blazing behind us; a beacon in the night, an attraction, for all that was right.
Later, when we were ensconced in Eilidh’s living room, with endless cups of tea on the go, and a bottle of Talisker too, Angus wanted to know if the darkness had gone forever.
“It’s always there,” I explained, “in some propensity, but give it nothing to feed on and its strength will continue to deplete.”
“This is good news for your Uncle Glenn too, Angus,” Eilidh said. “He’ll be pleased.”
“Are you looking forward to taking over?” I asked and he nodded. “You’ll make a brilliant manager,” I added. “There’s no doubt about it, you’re the man for the job.”
“Will you come and visit when it’s up and running as a guesthouse?” I picked up the plea in his voice, as did Eilidh, who lowered her eyes to stare at her hands.
“Of course I will,” I answered. “In time.”
We’d both have to be content with that.
The snow prevented any thoughts of an immediate departure and so I stayed for a few more days, just relaxing, doing nothing more than that, enjoying short walks with Angus in the snow, even having a snowball fight – several of them, collapsing in a heap of giggles at the end of every one. I was finally allowing myself to play, but, oh, how I missed the one who’d wanted to play first. We’d also rung Raigmore to find out about Ally. She’d much improved, according to her mother, who came to the phone to speak to us.
“She’s like a different girl. It’s in her face, you know, it’s more relaxed, her skin not as taut. She even smiled today, the old smile, the one that lights up her eyes. Ben told me what you did at the lighthouse, what you all did. Is it over? Please tell me it’s over.”
I assured her it was, and stressed the importance of keeping Ally’s world calm, ordered and familiar in the coming months, as she’d need time to recover completely.
“I know we shouldn’t have kept putting off telling her that she was adopted,” Molly continued. “I understand that withholding that information made her susceptible in more ways than one. We just… We didn’t want to upset her. We love her so much, you see. In all honesty, we forget that she’s not ours biologically, that we’re not a proper family—”
“You are a proper family. You’re the real deal. Ally’s a very lucky girl.”
“I just want to make her life as amazing as it can possibly be.”
“Don’t try so hard.” It’s what Shelley had said to me. “There’s great value in just letting things flow naturally.”
“I… Maybe you’re right. I want to put it all behind us and start afresh. Once again thank you for all you’ve done. I hear Angus’s uncle’s offer has been accepted, that it’s all going through. Will he be starting work quite soon at the lighthouse?”
“Yes.” And in the meantime the parents had drawn up a rota of daily visits and tasks to be performed, including the removal of more debris, a bit of scrubbing and cleaning, the liberal use of bleach… all with Uncle Glenn’s delight and approval, who’d promised them the party of the year to look forward to on opening night.
The tower light couldn’t stay on indefinitely, in fact, when Liam had tried to get it going the night after it wouldn’t even flicker. No matter; it had done its job, as had he. The parents promised to leave a light of some description blazing come nightfall – it would never be allowed to reside in darkness again. Guardians of the lighthouse – they all were, more than thirteen in number, an army, and with Angus at the helm.
* * *
November had given way to December as I made my way to a remote woodland spot in the depths of East Sussex. The air was crisp, not bitter as it had been on Skye, dark clouds gathering above me and threatening yet another onslaught of rain. Parking my car where I’d parked it so often during the police investigation, I was relieved to see no one else mad enough to walk here on a day like today – only me. To be honest, I’m sure the fact that there was no one here had nothing to do with the weather, but everything to do with the girls who’d died, who’d been murdered here – the spirit of one still so traumatised that she lingered still, hiding behind a veil of mists that only she – and sometimes I – could see. Claire was her name, and, walking to where X no longer marked the spot, I called out.
“Claire, do you remember me? My name’s Ness, I’ve been here several times before, to try and speak to you, to get you to come out of hiding. Claire,” I continued, “you’ve nothing to fear from me. I’ve come here to help you leave this place behind and all the pain, and terror that you suffered here too. Your friend has left, and now it’s your turn. Don’t stay anymore, it’s lonely here, go to where those who love you are waiting.”
It was as I expected: no answer.
The man who did this to her, who trapped her in more ways than one, I was having trouble forgiving him too. How could he do this? How could anyone hurt a child? But people could, I knew that. I’d seen what they could do. There were plenty capable of committing such a heinous deed. Maybe they’d had terrible childhoods themselves, but even as I thought it, I dismissed it. There was no excuse. None. Everyone has a choice, two paths to follow. If you start walking down the wrong one…
“Claire, I’m not going to give up on you. I want to be clear about that. There’s a light that shines, and I want you to go towards it; that’s your home, where you belong. You’ll be happier there, much happier, please believe me. I have a sense about that too.”
A noise broke the silence – not a bird cawing, so few birds sing here, but the snap of a twig. I turned my head towards it, my eyes searching. Nothing. No one. Perhaps it was a rabbit or a fox or whatever animal calls the woods home, but in their case, quite rightly.
Hunkering down, I rubbed my hands over the ground, which is cove
red in leaves, small stones and clumps of mud. At once an earthy smell drifted upwards and I inhaled deeply. It smelled so good, so natural, no trace of the bodies that had once festered there. In spite of what happened, the seasons still change, the wind still blows, and the world still turns – life carries on. But I won’t forget the dead. I’ll be their champion. I’m on their side.
“Claire, I’m going to keep this simple. I’ll come here on a regular basis, as often as I can. I won’t force you to come forward, I can’t. I don’t have that power. Sometimes I’ll sit and chat and you can perhaps listen. Other times I’ll only spend a few minutes before I have to go. Take all the time you need. When you’re ready, step forward and show yourself. That light I was talking about? I’ll walk with you towards it; I’ll go as far as I can with you. I hope that’s sooner rather than later. You see, it’s not good to be alone. It can make you… susceptible. I hope with me visiting regularly, you won’t feel that way, you’ll feel stronger. I’ll say goodbye, Claire, for now.”
I waited several more seconds, just in case, and then I retraced my footsteps, back to where I’d left my car. Closer to it, I heard another movement behind me, and turned.
“Claire?”
And if not her, could it be someone else, someone I longed to see – my mirror image? My heart raced at the thought.
“Is it you? Have you come back?”
If she had, she was silent too.
“I’m not ignoring you, not anymore. Why do you insist on ignoring me?”
She got her stubborn streak from Mum, I was sure of it. Maybe I had too.
“You wanted me to live for both of us, and I’ve been trying to do that, you know, getting out a bit more, having fun. I’ve been to the cinema a couple of times, to pubs and even a restaurant. My work’s busy too – I’ve got a few more private cases in lately.”
Psychic Surveys Companion Novels Page 35
