by Cross,Amy
“Maybe we could try spending a little more time together?” I ask, even though I know I sound rather desperate. “You don't really want to stay cooped up in your room all alone, do you? It seems rather silly for you to be up there and me to be down here, when we could be enjoying one another's company instead. Don't you think so?”
She mutters something under her breath, although I can't make out the words. Still, it's clear she's not interested in what I'm saying, and I watch as she heads slowly up to the landing. Finally she disappears from view and I wait, listening to her footsteps until I hear her bedroom door swing shut.
I hesitate for a moment, before grabbing my laptop and opening the lid.
Thirty seconds later, an icon starts flashing on the desktop, and I realize that Dylan's program has detected a call being made from Katie's computer. A few seconds after that, I realize I can just about hear her muffled voice from upstairs. I lean forward, ready to open the program that'll allow me to eavesdrop, but at the last moment I hold back as I realize that this is wrong. Finally, I close the laptop's lid.
I can't do this.
I'm not the snooping type.
I sit in silence for a few minutes, listening to the sound of Katie talking to someone upstairs. I desperately want to know who's on the other end of the line, and what they're saying, but I know I have to trust my daughter. Despite everything she's been through, she's still the same girl I raised, and I feel certain that she wouldn't allow herself to become involved in anything untoward. She's home, that's what matters. She's home with me and nothing bad can happen to her again.
I have to trust her.
***
The first siren stirs me, but it's only with the second that I sit up on the sofa and realize that I must have nodded off during Question Time. I look over at the window, just in time to see a third set of flashing blue lights racing past the house.
“What in the name of...”
Getting to my feet, I wince a little as I feel my tired bones clicking together. It's almost midnight, and I certainly don't feel like a spring chicken as I reach the window and pull the net curtains aside. At that moment, an ambulance shoots past the house, bathing the town in a flashing blue light and illuminating the faces of several of my neighbors as they stare out at the commotion.
I don't want to appear nosy, but I'm still fully dressed so I head to the front door and pull it open, stepping out onto the pavement just as the flashing lights disappear around the corner next to the pub.
“What's going on?” I ask, turning and seeing that more and more people are coming out of their houses. The whole town seems to have been woken.
“There were gunshots,” Else Carey explains, her eyes wide with shock. “I think they came from up near Highbeam Farm.”
“That's Joe O'Brien's place,” her husband points out. “He was having trouble last night.”
“I saw three police cars,” Else continues. “They don't send three out unless something serious has happened.”
Before I can reply, I hear more sirens heading this way, and a second ambulance speeds past at full whack.
“I hope he hasn't done anything stupid,” Tom Malone mutters, having emerged from the house next to mine. “Old Joe can be trigger-happy when he's got the spirit in him. He was ranting in the pub tonight about people killing his sheep, and he'd had a few by the time he left. We tried to stop him, but he wasn't having any of it. The man can be a bloody fool when he feels like it.”
“He's shot someone!” a voice calls out suddenly.
Turning, I see Holly Barnes coming out of her house.
“I just spoke to Jane,” she continues, “and she said Joe caught some people out messing with his sheep again. He shot two of them, and the other one made off on foot while he was reloading. She says it's an awful mess up there, there's police all over the place and Joe's swearing he didn't do anything wrong. You know what he's like. He reckons if they were on his land, they were fair game. I don't think the police are gonna see it that way.”
Feeling a rumbling sense of panic in the pit of my stomach, I try to tell myself that I mustn't jump to conclusions. Still, as the others continue to drill Holly for information, I turn and hurry back into the house. I'm quite certain that Katie would never allow herself to get mixed up in anything bad, but at the same time I have to go up to her room and check that she's okay. Just as I reach the bottom of the stairs, however, I hear a faint bumping sound coming from the dark kitchen, and I turn to look over at the doorway.
A moment later, I realize I can just about make out a figure in the darkness. I watch in horror as the figure comes closer, and finally Katie steps into the light. Her eyes are dark and fixed on me, and there's mud smeared on the hem of her night-shirt. There's something else on her hands, too.
Blood.
For a moment, she simply stares at me, with her mouth hanging open slightly. She seems strangely slouched, with curved shoulders, as if she's on the verge of collapse and is only being held up by a set of strings. After a few seconds, however, she starts shuffling toward me, heading toward the stairs.
“Where have you been?” I ask, unable to hide the fear in my voice.
She mumbles something, but her voice is barely audible.
“Where have you been?”
This time I place a hand on her bare arm, and I'm shocked to feel that her flesh is ice-cold. She immediately stops and turns to me, and I can't help noticing that her eyes seem slightly bloodshot.
“Katie,” I continue, trying to stay calm, “have you been outside? It's 3am!”
Looking down at her mud-caked feet, I realize the question is already answered.
“Where were you?” I ask. “Katie, please tell me you weren't...”
My voice trails off. I can scarcely bring myself to say the words.
She whispers something, but again I can't quite hear her properly.
“Katie,” I say firmly, “I need to know where you've been tonight. Something has happened up at Highbeam Farm, something rather dreadful, and I need you to tell me that you weren't there and that it's nothing to do with you. That's all I need. Just tell me you weren't there, and everything will be alright.”
“I wasn't there,” she whispers, “and it's nothing to do with me.”
I stare at her, but her eyes seem rather glazed, almost as if she's in some kind of daze.
After a moment, she turns and starts shuffling up the stairs, leaving muddy foot-prints on the pale cream carpet.
“Katie, what have you been doing tonight?” I ask. “Katie, I need you to talk to me! I thought you were going to bed earlier, but evidently you crept out of the house after I fell asleep. Katie, come back down this instant! This is important!”
Ignoring me, she shuffles around the corner and out of view.
“Katie!” I shout. “I am your mother and I demand that you talk to me!”
No reply.
Starting to feel desperate, I hurry up the stairs, reaching the landing just as her bedroom door swings shut. I make my way over and knock, but I already know there'll be no reply. Reaching down, I turn the handle and push the door open, and I'm immediately struck by an overpowering rotten stench that seems to fill her room. I step forward into the darkness, and it takes a few seconds before my eyes adjust to the lack of light. Katie is slowly climbing into bed, moving lethargically and a little stiffly, and she's already slipped out of her muddy night-shirt. I watch as she pulls the sheets over her naked body.
Before I can ask if she's okay, I spot several dark objects on the floor by the window. I step closer, only to see that there are half a dozen dead crows on the carpet, each with their chests seemingly ripped out. Their beady eyes are wide open, and -
Suddenly there's a banging sound at the window, and I see another crow furiously flapping as if it's trying to get inside.
“What in God's name is going on in here?” I ask, turning to see that Katie has rolled over in bed and now has her bare back toward me. “Katie, w
hy are these birds on your floor?”
She mumbles something, but I can't make out the words.
“This is intolerable,” I stammer, heading to the door and fumbling for a moment before I find the light-switch. As soon as I've flicked it on, I turn and look back across the room, although I immediately let out a gasp as I see that there are more dead crows all around the bed.
And on the far wall, Katie has used their blood to paint several large symbols. They're the same symbols I saw in her apartment back in London, and one of them is the same as the graffiti that was daubed all over the church's door.
Katie is still on the bed, still on her side, although she's whispering quietly to herself and she looks to be shivering slightly under the thin sheets.
“Katie?” I say cautiously, trying to stay calm. “What's happening in here, Katie? Are you -”
Suddenly she sits up and turns to me. The sheets fall down, revealing her bare chest with thick wounds carved into her flesh. Some of the wounds look old and scarred, while others are fresh. Beads of blood are dribbling down onto her navel, and in several spots the bed-sheets are stained red.
“What happened to you?” I ask. “Katie -”
“I don't know,” she says firmly.
“Katie, please -”
“I don't know,” she says again, staring at me with a calm expression. “I don't know.”
I hesitate, fighting the urge to run from the house and call the police. Finally I step closer, unable to stop staring at the wounds that cover her chest. After a moment, I start to see patterns, as if she's been trying to carve symbols into herself.
“I don't know,” she stammers. “I don't... I don't know.”
“What don't you know?” I ask. “Katie, you've said those words over and over, but I don't know what they mean. What is it that you don't know?”
“I don't know.”
Spotting a knife on her bedside table, I hurry over and see that there's blood on the blade. I pick the knife up and see that it has a serrated edge, and then I realize that Katie has turned to watch me.
“You need help,” I tell her. “I don't know what's going on with you right now, but first thing in the morning I'm going to call the number we were given by the hospital, and you are going to try seeing a therapist. You might think it's unnecessary, but... I mean, look at you! You're clearly not well!”
“I don't know,” she says calmly.
“Just stay in here until then,” I continue, keeping hold of the knife as I head to the door. “I'll get a bin bag and start cleaning up those awful birds, and in the morning you're going to get the help you need. This is going to stop. Do you understand?”
I pause for a moment and turn back to look at her. She's still sitting up in bed, still staring at me.
“Katie,” I say cautiously, trying but failing to hide the fear in my voice, “just tell me one thing. Please, promise me you weren't up at Highbeam Farm tonight. Something happened up there, something very bad, and I need to know that you weren't part of it.”
“I don't know,” she replies.
“Were you with those two girls? The two girls I saw you with on the street earlier?”
“I don't know.”
“You must know what you were doing tonight!” I continue, before realizing that I'm starting to sound exasperated. “What were their names?”
“I don't know.”
“You don't know their names?”
“I don't know.”
“Katie, talk to me!” I shout, finally losing control. “You can't keep acting like this! You have to tell me what's happening!”
“I don't -”
“Stop!”
Shaking with rage and fear, I take a step back, but she seems just as calm as ever. I open my mouth to beg her again, to plead with her to talk to me, but deep down I know there's no point.
“Just wait here,” I stammer finally. “I'll be back up in a few minutes' time. Just stay right here and don't leave the room. Okay?”
I wait, and this time she says nothing at all. Turning, I hurry out onto the landing and then down the stairs. My mind is racing and I don't know what I can do to help Katie right now, but it's obvious that she needs proper help in the morning. I'm sure I can get her an emergency appointment if I call as soon as the office opens, and until then I simply have to clean her room as best I can and then apply some antiseptics to her wounds so that she doesn't end up with an infection. And I have to bag up all those awful dead birds.
My hands are trembling as I grab some bin bags from the kitchen. I turn and head back through to the front room, but I stop when I spot my laptop on the sofa.
There's no sound from upstairs, so I'm quite sure Katie is still in her room. I need to go up and check that she's okay, but I can't help going over to the sofa and opening the laptop. My heart is pounding and I know this is wrong, but at the same time I only care about looking after my daughter. I double-click on the program that Dylan installed, and a window comes up showing some kind of video file.
After staring at the screen for a few seconds, I realize I've been inadvertently holding my breath.
I double-click on the file, and a moment later I see a recording of a video call. The main part of the image shows a mass of flickering static, buzzing black-and-white with such ferocity that I can barely stand to look. In the bottom-left corner of the screen, there's a small rectangle showing Katie's face, and she appears to be staring straight at the static. This is the call she made earlier in the night, before I fell asleep and before she left the house, but it takes a moment before I realize that I have my laptop muted.
As soon as I turn the volume up, I hear a rush of noise.
“I don't know,” Katie is saying on the video, staring blankly at the screen. “I don't know.”
There's a brief roar in the noise, almost like a voice is starting to break through, but I can't make out any of the words. Evidently the connection is extremely bad. The roar continues, and Katie remains completely silent until it passes.
“I don't know,” she says again.
The roar returns, but this time I can hear a voice twisting and surging in the background. Rather than turning the volume up and risking being overheard, I lean closer to the laptop's speaker.
“Are you ready?” a male voice whispers through the noise.
“I don't know,” Katie replies.
“When will you be ready?”
“I don't know.”
“Will you be ready in time?”
“I don't know.”
“The High Priest -”
The noise flares again, cutting off the voice.
“I don't know,” Katie says after a moment, as if she was able to understand.
This goes on for the next few minutes. I feel a sense of shock spreading through my chest as I continue to watch the video, and it's becoming increasingly clear that Katie is in contact with someone on the other end of this call. The voice returns regularly, but I can't make out any of the words. Still, Katie always responds to its questions with the same three words, and she seems to be almost in a trance.
Finally the video comes to an abrupt end, leaving me sitting alone on the sofa. My mind is racing, filled with the most awful possibilities, and I can no longer console myself by relying on Katie's innate character. The girl upstairs is still my daughter, but I don't think I have any idea what's going through her head.
Suddenly realizing that I've left Katie alone for several minutes, I close the laptop and get to my feet. The house is completely silent now, and for a moment I can't quite bring myself to go to the stairs. The thought of seeing Katie again is almost too much to bear, since I feel as if it's not really my daughter sitting in that room.
“Pull yourself together,” I mutter under my breath. “This isn't the time for silliness. Just -”
Before I can finish, I hear the door to Katie's room swinging open, and a moment later she comes running down the stairs. Shocked, I see that she's completely naked, wit
h markings carved not only into her chest but also down onto her waist and legs.
“They're dead!” she stammers, her eyes wide with fear. “They're dead, they...”
She hurries to the front door and tries to pull the latch open. I rush over and grab her arm, holding her back, but she's trying furiously to get outside.
“I have to go to them!” she hisses. “You don't understand! Something's gone wrong, they've been killed! I have to help them!”
“Katie, what are you -”
Letting out a cry of rage, she pushes me away and sends me crashing to the floor. As I struggle back to my feet, she pulls the door open and runs naked onto the pavement before stumbling and dropping to her knees. She tries to get up, but she seems too weak, and I rush to make sure that she's okay. There are still plenty of people outside in the cold night air, the same neighbors who earlier were gawking at the police cars and ambulances, but now they're staring at my poor girl as she starts crawling toward the curb.
“Katie, we must go back inside!” I tell her, hurrying over and reaching down to grab her arm. “Katie, please...”
“I have to go to them!” she sobs. “They must be so cold! I have to -”
Suddenly she rolls onto her side and starts sobbing, and now her whole body is shaking. I kneel and put my arms around her, holding her tight as several neighbors stare at us with shocked faces.
“It's going to be okay,” I whisper, leaning down and kissing her ice-cold shoulder. “I promise, Katie. Everything's going to be okay.”
After a moment, I turn to the gathering crowd.
“What are you looking at?” I sob. “For God's sake, somebody fetch us a blanket! And stop staring at her!”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Treatment
“Police have so far not released the names of the two victims,” the reporter continues, standing at the entrance to Highbeam Farm, “and it's believed that their identities are yet to be determined. While we wait for a press conference that's scheduled to begin at around 11am, all we can say for certain is that 65-year-old Joseph O'Brien has been taken into police custody on suspicion of two counts of murder. And the residents of Shropley wake this morning to news of a horrifying incident that has shaken this sleepy town to its core.”
