Even Stranger

by Marilyn Messik

  What puzzled me was his lack of forethought. True, he’d warned Brenda not to call the police, but it couldn’t have slipped his mind, that he’d abducted a thirteen year old, in broad daylight, in a van that couldn’t be more distinctive and traceable. The whole thing showed a distinct lack of not just planning but self-preservation. I was about to bring up the subject of how we might best move things on from here, when reinforcement did, in fact turn up. It was also, around about then, I realised it wasn’t Jamie we needed to fear at all.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  I felt the change happening in him, before I saw it. I looked up swiftly and something else looked out at me through his eyes. And then he launched himself up and out of his chair and started stabbing Kitty, with a viciously, long-bladed kitchen knife. One part of me registered coldly, that the only chance he’d had, to take that from the kitchen was when I was in the bathroom. I really should have paid more attention.

  The attack was so quick, Kitty didn’t have the chance to make a sound. I lashed out at him, full power, no careful checking where I was going. He was knocked right off his feet and landed heavily on his back, on the other side of the room. I heard something crack when he hit the floor, maybe it was a rib, but that wouldn’t incapacitate him enough. By rights he should have been unconscious, if not worse, but in a flash he’d turned over on to all-fours and was crawling swiftly, spider-fashion, back towards us. He still had the knife. I set fire to the handle and the wood flamed instantly. He hissed in pain, but didn’t let go and there was a dreadful smell of burning flesh.

  Ridiculously, Kitty and I were still sitting, side by side on the sofa, although she’d slumped against me. She had a long, ugly, slash bleeding down one side of her face and there was a lot of blood coming from somewhere else. It was warm as it pumped over me. I moved in front of her, letting her fall to her side behind me. Jamie pushed himself upright and, as he raised the knife, lips snarled back over his teeth, I understood what I was dealing with. I let loose with everything I had. This time I took just that fraction of a second longer, to direct it more specifically, but in that second he continued his downward slash, and I felt the long blade of the knife as it sank deep into my side. It was as agonising when he yanked it out, as when it went in and I shrieked.

  He pulled me off the sofa, threw me onto to the floor, and turned, knife raised to go for Kitty again and after that, I presumed Isabelle. There was a solid, sludgy green, Venetian glass vase on the floor, in the chimney breast alcove. I sent it rocketing across the room, hard into his head. It didn’t smash, but hit with a sickening thump that rocked him back on his heels. It could have killed him. It didn’t. It didn’t stop him either. Of course it didn’t, because he wasn’t on his own. He was no longer, just Jamie, he was being worked from outside and I could feel the power and malign intent of the intelligence that was doing it, adding its own psychic strength, with great glee, to Jamie’s. As he shook his head from side to side, to clear it from the blow. I hauled myself back up on to the sofa. That grey tweed was certainly going to need replacing, because now, it wasn’t just Kitty bleeding all over it.

  For one brief moment, when one of the house’s front windows exploded inward, shattering glass everywhere, I felt a huge surge of relief. Then a familiar figure catapulted through and my heart sank again. I wasn’t sure how on earth he’d tracked us down, what he’d expected to find, nor what he thought he could do about it. I don’t even think I was pleased to see him. A fiancé is all well and good at the right time and place, this was neither.

  We didn’t have time for a catch-up. I don’t even know whether he had a plan, to follow on from his SAS style entrance, but in the event, he had no chance to go ahead with anything. His eyes widened briefly at the scene that greeted him – by this time it must have been looking like a trailer for the Texas Chainsaw Massacre – and then Jamie picked up the vase, from where it had hit the floor next to him and, holding it one-handed by the neck, moved the few paces over to David, and whacked him round the head with it. David went down. My heart turned over, which I put down to the very stressful situation, and for a moment I wasn’t sure whether he was breathing, I went swiftly into his head and heaved a sigh of relief, he was knocked out and therefore not thinking anything much, but he definitely wasn’t dead.

  For a moment or two, Jamie stood over David, swaying slightly back and forward on the balls of his feet, looking like a zombie, George Romero would have been proud to call his own. I could see there was frighteningly less of Jamie in there, than at any time since this latest little incident had kicked off, and I didn’t think that was good news. While he was swaying, it gave me a moment’s pause to reassess the whole situation and the possibilities open to us – they weren’t looking too promising.

  David was out, both for the count and the foreseeable future and Kitty was losing more blood than I could ever have imagined, she’d had in her in the first place. Isabelle had flung herself off the sofa, screaming, and, if she’d possessed any common sense, would have run into the bathroom and locked herself in. In fact, she’d lodged herself, in a pathetic huddle with Kat, in the corner of the living room. There was also something really peculiar about my breathing, every time I did it, there were sharp, stabbing pains in my chest and shoulder, I hoped I wasn’t having a heart attack, there wasn’t time for that.

  Jamie, done with the swaying, bent and picked up the kitchen knife, which he’d dropped in favour of the vase. It was now looking a bit hard done by, with its badly burnt handle and blood stains – certainly, no longer up to John Lewis standards. He began to move, slowly and purposefully towards the girl and the dog. Kat immediately sprang forward, growling and snarling, a sound so alien, that even she looked startled. She planted herself, four-square, stiff legged between Jamie and Isabelle, head lowered, hackles raised. Jamie didn’t hesitate, but neither did she. He brought the knife down to plunge into her back and she leapt adroitly to one side, sank her teeth deep into his calf, clamped shut and held on. He screamed in pain, twisting and turning to try and get her off, at the same time, trying to keep her still, long enough for the knife to do its work.

  I couldn’t get into his head at all, any more. Whatever was working him was strong, it had blocked me completely. Jamie raised his arm high, to again try and slash Kat, still hanging on to his leg and I broke it – his arm, not the leg – Kat seemed to be doing enough damage on her own with that. His scream rose in pitch and, thankfully, he dropped the knife. I sailed it over to me swiftly and shoved it under the sofa with my foot, probably something which, in the interests of health and safety, I should have done a lot sooner.

  I was aware something was very wrong with me, the whole ghastly scene was starting to fade in and out in a most peculiar fashion and I knew, if for one second, I let down my mental guard, whatever it was that had Jamie, would have me too and there’d be no going back from that. Isabelle was still cowering in her corner and Jamie was now using his unbroken arm and fist as a club, hitting Kat heavily and repeatedly on the head. She was holding on, but I didn’t know for how much longer and once he’d done for her, Isabelle would be next in line.

  “Isabelle.” I said, “Get over here, behind me, now.” She shook her head, whimpering softly, a sound I was more used to hearing from Kat.

  “Can’t.” she said. And I could see she was right, she wasn’t able to move, was frozen there, couldn’t have moved to save her own life – which was precisely what she had to do. Jamie and Kat were still struggling, but it couldn’t go on much longer. Whatever was driving Jamie, wasn’t prepared to be beaten, it was having too good a time. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, which hurt like hell, opened my mind and yanked Isabelle out of her corner. I wasn’t operating at 100% and hadn’t lifted anything so heavy for ages, so I rather misjudged and she flew over my head, shrieking, and landed behind the sofa, with a thump.

  “Stay down there.” I hissed at her, with what little breath I
had left. I coughed and felt blood come coppery again into my mouth. The next thing I had to do was get David out of the way, he was still lying in the middle of the room and Kat and Jamie, in their desperate dance, were treading on him, left right and centre. I took a shallower breath this time, which wasn’t so bad and again risked opening my mind to move him. I simply couldn’t do it, seemed to have run out of fuel.

  Well, if I couldn’t do it my normal way, I’d just have to do it the way normal people would. I nipped in, avoiding the man and the dog, bent, grabbed both his arms and heaved with all my strength. I wasn’t able to shift his six foot weight at all, but as I tried, at the risk of a double hernia, he turned his head to one side and groaned. That was promising. I slapped his face sharply a few times.

  “David, David, can you hear me?” He didn’t respond, so I slapped him again, this was no time to worry about hard feelings, “You’ve got to move, d’you hear me?”

  “My head.” He muttered. “God, it hurts.”

  “Yes I know,” I snapped. I realised I wasn’t coming across very Florence Nightingale, but there wasn’t time. I nudged him hard with my knee, “You’ve got to get up.” He did his best and once he started moving, I was able to float him a bit too and between us, we got him upright. I wedged my shoulder firmly under his arm and we staggered unevenly, the short distance across the room, where I pushed him down onto the sofa next to Kitty. She didn’t seem to be bleeding from her middle, quite as much. I didn’t know whether that was a good sign or a bad, but she was deeply unconscious. I swallowed the overriding fear, which wasn’t going to do any of us any good, at least now, I had most of my lot in one place.

  Stepping in front of the other two, I turned to face Jamie, or whatever he was now. For a brief moment I touched, what it was that was driving him. In those seconds of contact and within that other mind, I saw the level and mix of cold violence and pleasure and in the midst of all that chaos, glimpsed something else that was almost as horrifying – I put that away to think about later.

  Kat, brave girl, had finally released his leg and was now leaping up at him, instinctively seeking his weakest point, trying to pull down his broken, damaged arm, so he was forced to keep moving it, which was causing him considerable pain – good! He drew his unwounded leg back, to kick her, and I instantly knocked the other leg from beneath him. This naturally, left him nothing to stand on, and he fell heavily. I called Kat over. She came like a shot. She, like me, really didn’t really feel she was cut out for this sort of thing.

  For one quiet moment, Jamie lay where he’d crashed, and I held my breath but then, almost unbelievably, he again staggered to his feet. He stared at me with eyes that were frighteningly empty, the lights were on but there was no-one home, or at least, whoever was home, wasn’t the rightful occupant. And I still couldn’t get in there, to shut him off.

  His leg was badly bitten, blood was oozing thickly through the rips in his jeans, and his right arm was hanging useless and awkward at his side, the hand black and painfully blistered, where the handle of the knife had flamed. He had a nasty-looking swelling on his temple, purpling, where the vase had made hefty contact. None of this, apparently, was enough to slow him down. I sighed, which hurt. I needed to formulate a new plan but, truth to tell, what with everything fading in and out the way it was, I wasn’t planning too clearly. The pain in my chest was making me ever more nauseous and I had the unpleasant feeling, I might pass out sooner rather than later.

  “No, you don’t. Not now!” Crisp, fresh, peppermint, swept into my head, the effect, like smelling salts, jerking me back to full consciousness.

  “Rachael. Thank God. Where are you?”

  “Two minutes away. Hang on. Keep him busy.” I would have laughed, had I not known how much it would hurt.

  “Oh, right – what do you suggest? A jigsaw? Or maybe we can see if there’s anything on the radio? He wants to kill us all. He’s changed, he’s…”

  “Yes, we know all that. Not to worry, we’re here now.” And I felt them all flood in, the familiar scents and sensations twining and blending in my mind – Rachael, Ed, Glory, Ruth and Sam.

  “About bloody time.” I muttered to myself and then to them. “Kitty’s been stabbed and she’s lost so much blood, I don’t know…” I became aware I was swaying, much as Jamie had earlier and also that he was now lumbering towards us again, moving with an odd, alien, clumsy gait. This time he didn’t have the knife, but his intentions were no less murderous.

  David had pulled himself unsteadily to his feet and moved to stand next to me. He was stunned, every which way and wasn’t quite sure whether he was awake or still unconscious and hallucinating. He’d just had his first glimpses of the ghastly décor, which hadn’t done him any good at all and now there was a horrific, injured apparition making his determined way towards us. As Jamie launched himself, with a high-pitched yell, something insanely between a giggle and a shriek, David moved forward to try and punch him in the face. But I had the others in my head now and we lifted Jamie up; for a moment we held him, struggling helplessly in mid-air, then flung him hard, back across the room. He crashed amidst the shards of glass, spread all over the floor, from David’s earlier entry. And then, the front door shot inwards, and only an amalgam of relief, responsibility and reluctance to show myself up, kept me conscious. I did though, back up and sit down heavily on the sofa.

  “My,” said Rachael, surveying the painted walls, the wreckage, the injured and the blood that seemed to be everywhere. “We have been busy.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  On the other side of the room, Jamie was yet again struggling to his feet – you just can’t keep a good man down – but Ed and Glory had it in hand. I felt the full, bruising force of their combined power, as did Jamie. His eyes promptly rolled right up in his head, until only the whites were visible. He hit the ground, for the umpteenth time that day, but this time, it looked like he might be staying there a while. Ed issued a swift command to Hamlet who, needless to say, was part of the party. Hamlet diverted direction briefly, to greet me, brushing affectionately against my leg and nearly knocking me over, before moving on, to arrange himself firmly in front of Jamie.

  “Bloody hell,” muttered David, more to himself than anyone else, “I’m in an episode of Scooby Doo.” I thought it best not to comment, although I could see where he was coming from. Ruth, Rachael and Sam had gathered round Kitty.

  “Her heart’s stopped.” Sam said. He had, naturally, grown a fair bit, in the seven or so years, since I’d last seen him, but I remembered his absolute confidence in what he knew and I moaned, whether just in my head or aloud, I don’t know.

  “She’s dead?”

  “I didn’t say that. All of you. Here. Quick.” He had one hand firmly on Kitty’s chest and the other hand out to whoever got there first. I grabbed it. Glory and Ed moved equally swiftly, Glory reaching for my other hand, her touch reassuringly familiar, her body pressing close. Ed had one hand on Glory’s shoulder, the other, a welcome weight, on mine. Ruth and Rachael had arms around each other and Sam.

  We all knew what Sam needed, although probably only Ed understood the mechanics of a defibrillator. This wasn’t the first time we’d joined, at a time and place when the stakes were shockingly high. The power, heightened by emotion and multiplied by our contact, was there immediately. Sam, adding his unique strength and innate knowledge, channelled it through his hand, firing everything we had, into Kitty. We all felt the shock go through us too, and it rocked us on our feet, but no-one let go. Her body arched high on the sofa, then flopped limply back down.

  “Again,” said Sam calmly. And with that second shock-wave and violent convulsion, we felt the lurch, then the slow, sure beat as her heart, once again, took up the rhythm it had maintained for so many years. I didn’t have to put my question, Sam responded anyway,

  “She’s lost a lot of blood, we’ll have to st
rap her up quickly now, but everything’s in working order. She’s a tough lady.

  “Brain damage?” I was scared to ask, I knew that would be worse than death for her.

  “No.” He said, and so certain was he, that I was too. I was still clinging to his hand and let go slowly. Sam and I hadn’t got off to a very good start – he’d tried to kill me – but you can’t really hold that against someone can you? He was taller than me now, somewhere still between boy and man, but not yet that far away from the brown-eyed, traumatised six year old I’d first met. We’d been holding hands tightly back then as well, as the two of us and Hamlet, by the skin of our teeth, made it out of the Newcombe Foundation, physically unscathed if not emotionally unscarred.

  “Now you, Stella.” Sam was brisk. “We don’t have much time.” He indicated my blood-soaked jumper, which I lifted gingerly, so he could see the damage. David, who’d been moved out the way politely by Ed, when we gathered round Kitty, had stayed exactly where he was put. Transfixed, would probably be a fair description of what he was at that point. Amongst other things, and perhaps because it seemed the simplest thing to start with, he was trying to work out why Rachael, who he’d last seen at the Lowbells, was here now too, but he swore loudly and started forward, as he saw the mess my side was in.

  “Stella, Oh God, I didn’t realise. What happened?” Now the immediate emergency was over, I had to admit I was feeling pretty ropey, especially as the blood, dried on my ribs, had clotted and scabbed and was now painfully pulled away, with the jumper. The sharp stabbing pains were back, with every breath. I hoped David wasn’t going to ask too many questions, I didn’t think I had the oomph for explanations, even if I’d actually known where exactly to start.