Nick tried to think whose week it was to check the security tags in the jewellery section. Mora assigned each staff an area of the store to tag-check every week, and then rotated turns. But because they all knew each other well, they swapped areas and helped out as they pleased. ‘Whose turn was it to tag-check that section?’
‘Michael’s, I think.’
‘What about the other week, when the tarot cards were stolen?’
‘That was Alan’s section then.’
‘Do you think it could be one of us stealing?’ He regretted asking already, but continued, ‘De-tagging items on purpose for our friends to steal or something? Some of our items sell for a lot of money, don’t they? Like the geodes. Well, most of it’s expensive because of the tourist factor, and that makes it easy to sell, too. If someone is stealing and selling it often enough, then that’s a nice bonus they are giving themselves.’
Mora shifted in her chair, her eyes narrowing with a frown. ‘No, no, no, Nicolas. I’d never suspect any of you. We simply need to double-check our security tags. There are opportunists out there.’
‘Yeah.’ Nick nodded. ‘I only said it because I knew you’d never think that of us. Anyway, people buy de-tagging equipment online these days.’
‘Bloody thieves!’ She laughed. After grabbing a newspaper from the unoccupied table next to her, Mora turned a few pages and then shook her head. ‘These poor parents; their kid went missing a couple of years ago and they are still looking for answers. Do you remember?’
‘What was the kid’s name?
‘Katie Baker.’
‘I remember hearing about it.’ In fact, there’d been a similar case on Lansin Island about ten years ago. A young boy had disappeared. Nick remembered that one because it was a couple of years before his mum vanished. ‘So she hasn’t been found yet?’
‘No. You’d think with all the supposed psychics on this island, at least someone would be able to find something out!’
‘She could have been taken off the island, or who knows what?’ He didn’t want to think about it.
‘You know, Nicolas, there have been a few cases of children disappearing on this island. I’m almost fifty now, but I remember at least three or four cases. Maybe the island is really a giant beast that eats people up?’ She laughed.
Unfortunately, this was one of the rare occasions she didn’t think before speaking.
Nick tried to laugh back, but it came out miserable-sounding. His manager quickly realised the parallels between the story of the missing child and the disappearance of Nick’s mum. ‘Oh … Nicolas, I’m sorry ...’
‘It’s okay, Mora. I don’t think my mum’s dead, anyway. I think she just wanted a different life. She took out a few thousand pounds before she disappeared. It’s pretty obvious she just wanted to get away from my dad … and me and my brothers.’ He hadn’t spoken to anyone but Caroline about it for a few years now; it was one of those subjects he just didn’t bring up unless someone directly asked about it.
‘Well, I hope you don’t mind me saying, but she’s missing out. If you were my son, I wouldn’t ever think of up and leaving like that.’
Emotion bubbled up inside of Nick, but he smiled instead of turning all sentimental. Mora didn’t have a partner or children; her staff were probably all the family she had. ‘Thanks. That’s a nice thing to say.’
Mora smiled too. They had time for another cup of tea before returning to work, but Nick opted for hot chocolate this time.
Nick kept thinking about Katie Baker’s parents. He knew what it was like to be left in the dark, wondering if someone you cared about was alive or not. But what he couldn’t know was how it felt for a parent to lose a child.
When he returned home, he eagerly checked his Facebook messages. Fin had replied:
Alright buddy? I’m great man.
So sorry mate but I’m mega busy at the moment. I’ve got a new contract in London. I’ll be travelling there a lot over the next few weeks. Earning some proper money now!
If I’ve got time I’ll pop into that crystal place you work at and see you or something? Anyway, I thought you had my number. Text me next time.
See you when I see you mate.
At the bottom, Fin had provided his mobile number in case Nick had lost it (which he had, along with his previous mobile phone when he’d placed it on a shop counter and then forgot to pick it up on the way out).
Fin’s reply wasn’t what Nick had hoped for. He didn’t blame his friend; he was happy for him. But now whom would he tell about the premonition?
Before retiring to bed, he decided to do something he’d never done before: say a prayer. Not knowing whom he should pray to or how to start, he sat up in bed, modestly, and then said something generic for Mr and Mrs Baker, wishing them happiness. He asked for their missing girl’s safe return.
Then he was cold and suffering.
*
Grit pressed against his face. Spit hocked out of his mouth, sudden pain hitting his back repeatedly. He curled up and covered his head to protect it from the blows.
Looking down, he saw a foot kick into his stomach. He made a retching sound and groaned in agony.
‘Stop!’ a woman screamed.
The kicks went on. He tried desperately to squeeze into a ball shape to defend himself. Hard shoes connected with his shins, back, and arms. He dared not look up to see the attackers; they would only kick his face if he did.
He writhed on the bitter ground and closed his eyes, wishing it would stop. He opened his mouth to shout something.
*
‘Help!’ His body convulsed.
Opening his eyes, he looked down at his hands still in a prayer pose. Oh, crap. He shook his head, got up, and hurried to the kitchen. The floor was like ice on his bare feet. He ran a glass of water from the tap and gulped down the liquid.
Why would anyone want to beat me up? It was so vivid. Another vision? He brought up a hand to rest his forehead against the palm, his fingers tangled in his fringe.
When he was younger, he’d gotten into occasional scraps, like most boys did during school. But he’d never brawled with anyone as an adult.
He struggled to relax when he returned to bed. So that’s what I get for praying—a vision of me getting beaten up? Maybe even killed, if they continued … He closed his eyes, decided never to pray again, and waited for sleep.
Chapter Six
JULIET WOKE EARLY on Wednesday. She inhaled deeply and thought, No nonsense today, then jumped out of bed and sped about her morning routine.
Because of Halloween approaching and everyone celebrating in Amiton, Chanton Hillview was quiet, with hardly any customers. It allowed Juliet the freedom to move furniture around and to visualise the new décor.
She’d considered a feature wall with striking wallpaper, and in her mind it had looked good, but now she couldn’t picture it anymore. The café already had its feature: an entire glass wall displaying the view of the hills. It was the whole selling point; it was in the name. But something had to change. This décor was a mistake, thought Juliet, like the previous design …
An idea struck her. She would strip the place down. Make it as minimal as possible, letting nothing distract unnecessarily from the view. The wall art, the ornaments, and the patterned furniture all conflicted too much.
How had she not realised it before? It was like going to the cinema with a date and becoming distracted by how attractive he was—one of the views had to suffer and, in turn, lessen the overall experience. You’d end up leaving the cinema unable to even recall the plot of the film.
From now on she didn’t want anyone coming to Chanton Hillview and being anything less than mesmerised by the view. Simple but stylish furniture, modest colours, contemporary and unobtrusive wall art, if any, and minimal ornaments. Sometimes less was more.
In her office, she finalised the plans and called Roy in to speak with him. Roy, smartly groomed as always, appeared in the doorway. ‘Yes, Juliet?’
‘Okay.’
‘But I’d like you to come in anyway … and start redecorating the café.’ She gave a sly smile.
Excitedly, Roy asked, ‘We are redecorating again?’
‘Yes. I’m bored of it; it’s tacky. I want to modernise it. Make it simple, sleek, stylish. I want the view of the hills to truly be the focal point that it should be.’
‘I like that idea.’ He nodded.
‘I’ve picked the furniture I want; I just need you to purchase it. If anybody wants what we have now, take it. It will only go to the skip otherwise. All wall art is to go, everything is to go. Ashleigh and Sandra can take whatever they want, and they can come in to help you, too. In fact, we’ll close for the entire week, and anything you feel uncomfortable doing, just call a handyman. I’m leaving you in charge, Roy. Here’s how I want it to look.’
She went over her ideas with him, showing him sketches of a new layout. When she was satisfied he had the correct picture in mind, she smiled and enjoyed a sense of relief.
‘What is the budget?’ asked Roy.
‘Don’t worry about that. I’ll leave you with enough to buy the materials, any extras, and to pay labourers if you need them.’
Roy grinned and rubbed his hands together, making Juliet laugh. He was a big man, round-faced, and had a massive smile. He was originally from Zimbabwe and his surname was Dube; Juliet had a feeling his first name might not have originally been Roy, but she didn’t know enough about Zimbabwean names to pass judgement.
His accent was strong, but he spoke English fluently. He’d once told Juliet that in Zimbabwe, it was typical for the women to cook for the men, and most women learnt how to cook from a young age. But when Roy moved to England, he asked his wife to teach him and discovered he had a real passion for it.
While enrolled on a cookery course, he found a job as a chef in a busy London restaurant. After ten years of it, though, he wanted work with a slower pace and more interaction with customers. Moving to Chanton and working at the café turned out to be the perfect balance.
Juliet wrapped up the plans with Roy, headed home, and let the remainder of the week unfold.
By Sunday, she felt so much better. Nothing even remotely strange had happened since her visit with Tamara. But the next day was Halloween, and the medium’s words itched inside her head. The Spiritworld can be unpredictable that day ... Juliet had a restless night, and was annoyed at herself for letting it get to her.
Halloween. She woke and instantly busied herself. Just have to get past today, then I’ll be confident Tamara was wrong, a complete fraud.
Kim had invited her to Amiton to see the celebrations, but Juliet said she would rather die of boredom than waste her time celebrating Halloween, of all things.
She prepared a full English breakfast, and after eating cleaned the entire house, not that there was a speck of dirt to be found. It took her only to mid-day before she ran out of house chores. Going in to help at Chanton Hillview would have been ideal, but she didn’t want to see it in progress. She had left Roy in charge of the project because she wanted the surprise of the end result as a kind of gift to herself. Also, there was that ghostly incident in her office … Better not to risk it today.
Trick-or-treaters weren’t common at Juliet’s house, but she went out and bought a variety of sweets just in case. When she returned home, she gathered some old clothes, DVDs, jewellery, and other items she no longer wanted—three large bags’ full. Then she took one bag each to three different charity shops.
Afterwards, she cycled out towards the sea. Chanton was on high ground, and cliff edge ran along the west side of the town. The north of Lansin Island was mostly steep cliffs along the coastline. Juliet took a cycle path that led her to a spectacular view of the hills. The exercise, the picturesque scenery, and the crisp air gave her back some confidence. Early dark fell upon her as she cycled home.
By evening, she was exhausted. But at least Halloween was almost over. Allowing herself to finally relax, she sat down to watch television. The local news showed footage of the earlier celebrations and highlighted the evening’s entertainment across Amiton.
In her exhaustion, her eyes fluttered closed. As they did, the picture on the television screen began to flicker. A nearby lamppost burnt brighter for a few seconds and then switched off completely. The television alternated channels before the picture froze on a random image.
The half sleep that consumed Juliet prevented her from witnessing the phenomena, but when the window blinds swayed and then clattered, she jerked awake.
Her first thought was that she was dreaming. Then the temperature dropped. She felt more awake than ever. The air around her seemed to swirl and howl, like a vortex encircling her on the sofa.
A gentle hue coloured the room—a bitter icy blue. She wanted to run, shriek, get out of the house, but found herself petrified.
Out of the agitated atmosphere enveloping her, a figure appeared. This time it was fully visible, unlike the amorphous shape that had appeared in her office. This was a woman, and she looked solid, real. Her eyes were brown, her face pretty, her hair chocolaty.
‘Help me,’ she said, her voice an echo.
Juliet couldn’t vocalise her thoughts. Breathing proved difficult and her chest rose and fell painfully.
‘I need your help.’ The woman’s empty eyes stared at her. ‘I don’t mean to frighten you, but I can’t stay long. Please listen to me.’
Finding her voice, Juliet said, ‘You’re not real … I’m hallucinating … I’m dreaming.’
‘Even if you were, you can still see and hear me. I am real in that sense, but please, I don’t have time.’ The woman’s ethereal tone filled Juliet’s mind. ‘My name is Samantha Crystan. I need you to find my son, Nicolas. You can find him at Creaky Crystals in Amiton. Find him and ask him to go to Grendel Manor. He thinks I wanted to abandon my family, but he needs to know the truth.’ The spirit conveyed no emotions as she spoke; her eyes were distant and glazed. ‘Tell him to go to Grendel Manor, and that he must take his …’
Juliet’s house phone rang and made her jump. The spirit disappeared. The room returned to normal within a split second. Juliet stared blankly at nothing. Her mind raced. Nicolas Crystan, Creaky Crystals, Grendel Manor, he needs to know the truth, he must take his … take his what? What was she going to say?
‘Take his what?’ she called out, but received no reply.
Chapter Seven
NICK HAD A nightmare last night.
In an open field it was raining, but even through the heavy downpour he could feel heat, like the intensity of an enormous bonfire. It smelled of thick smoke but it was too dark to see where it came from.
Then he heard screams, but in the dream things didn’t exactly make a sound, or at least not the correct sound—but he knew the wails were of children in agony.
The rain stopped. Nick was somewhere else, an empty place; it was more like being nowhere than in any particular location—a dark nothingness. But someone was there with him. His mum, and she was slightly out of reach.
Desperately, he tried to stretch his hand out to her. She floated backwards. The faster he attempted to run, the more his legs ached and were unable to move.
He couldn’t shout or make her stop. He was helpless to do anything. Drifting, she fell out of sight and into the nothingness. Then steps appeared. Nick walked up them, hoping to be led out of the darkness. When he neared the top, though, he looked back and realised the steps weren’t designed to be walked up.
At the bottom, where he’d started the ascent, was a pit. The smell of smoke hit him with force. Enduring a choking sensation, he turned back to move farther up, but a man appeared in front of him and blocked his path.
The man’s face was kind. Something about his eyes inspired feelings of safety. He put one arm around Nick’s back, directing him up and a
way from the pit. When they reached the top of the stairs, the man put a hand in his pocket and drew out a large knife. A beautiful knife, ancient and engraved in a dream-language Nick could not interpret. He was enthralled by the blade, admired its beauty.
Staring at it for what felt like an eternity, his eyes were finally drawn away by the appearance of his dad, John Crystan. Out of the nothingness, John walked up to the other man. The unknown gentleman passed him the knife. Nick felt happy for some reason at the knife now being in his father’s possession, like it was an honour.
The man fixed his gaze on Nick’s dad, and John began to approach his son, weapon in hand. He shoved the blade deep into Nick’s stomach, then pushed him.
Twisting and falling down the steps, Nick felt his bones snapping before he landed in the pit. Fire enveloped him, pain consumed him, and he woke.
Upon awakening, he realised he’d slept on his arm in a position that cut off the blood flow. It had gone completely numb. Stupidly, in his only-just-woken-up state of mind, he feared his dead arm would have to be amputated. But after a short while, sensation returned, pins and needles lingering in his hand.
The sheets were damp with sweat. His thoughts returned to the nightmare. Usually he’d brush it off and go back to sleep or forget about it, but since the premonitions, he’d been placing more importance on the activity of his unconscious mind.
It was nothing like the vision of the woman falling, or the recent one of the attackers; those were clear and so, so real. This dream was nonsensical and unbelievable. But for all he knew, it could be another form of premonition—like the way his grandmother had supposedly dreamt of her final moments. Maybe the future was construed in metaphorical imagery.
Most likely, he was overthinking the entire thing, looking for meaning in a nightmare that was nothing but a common dream-like interpretation of his fears and daily routine. After all, he had dreamt of his mum being out of reach, and she was. He’d dreamt of his dad stabbing him, and their relationship wasn’t exactly great. The smell of bonfire and the sounds of screaming children could be accredited to Halloween. The heavy rain could be blamed on Lansin Island’s weather—it regularly chucked it down. And as for the ancient-looking blade, Creaky Crystals sold ritual knives—athames.
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