by Anni Taylor
Part of her seemed like it had stayed behind, in the forest. She could see the forest the way it often looked first thing in the morning, a fog-enveloped ship drifting along. She was the captain of the ship.
Below, she could see the tattie bogles on the hill, their arms stretched out at their crazy angles, shadows long on the grass.
She could see craggy rock formations and forests between Braithnoch and the properties of the Keenans and the Chandlishes and the Flanagans.
Something was wrong. A bad feeling.
She tried to push it away, but it pushed against her.
The fog cleared, and she found herself standing in the forest. Right in front of the playhouse. Her ship gone.
Her throat clamped, and she tried to turn. But no matter which way she went, she somehow still ended up facing the playhouse.
Through the trees, the colour of the sunrise deepened. No, that’s wrong. The sky should be growing lighter in the morning. She couldn't tell now whether the sun was dropping or rising. But she desperately wanted it to be morning.
Her heart thudded. All thoughts pulled away from her mind into a black vacuum.
Everything was racing.
“What’s happening to her?” Daddy’s voice rang out clearly.
Elodie heard the words, cardiac arrest, then, “You need to leave the room, Alban.” It was Nurse Lucy speaking.
Next time she woke, it was still dark. It was always dark now. She was trapped tight, in her little world.
She felt terrible—worse than before.
Did they know she could hear them? Sometimes, she didn’t think they could. Because they spoke about her like she wasn’t even there.
Her father was there again—maybe he’d never left. He sounded almost angry now. “Tell me what I can expect. I need to know.”
A man spoke. “I’m sorry, Alban, I can’t answer that.”
“Doc, is there anyone, anywhere who can bring her out of it?” Dad said. “I’ll pay anything. Do you understand? I’ll pay any amount. I’ll find the money.”
“I understand,” the doctor replied. “Of course you would. But there’s no medical facility in the world that could do anything more. I’m so sorry.”
Sorry. That was a word Elodie was hearing a lot.
Everyone was sorry.
So sorry.
No one had answers.
And she was drifting again.
37
ISLA
Falling snow made Braithnoch a blur.
Things felt awkward as Officer Kirk Flanagan parked in the driveway of Alban’s house. When he said goodbye and told me to take care, I was certain that he thought I was unhinged. My report at the police station hadn’t made sense.
My heart battered at my ribs.
Dried blood spread across a mattress.
The old piano that looked like a toothless grimace.
How could I explain what happened to me when I didn’t know myself?
I’d stay here until the storm eased. Then I’d go stay in Inverness and decide from there what my next move was—whether I should go home or stay and pursue this to the end.
I sent a one-line text message to Rory: Sorry. I had to go. Isla.
If he was innocent, I didn’t want to leave him wondering where I was. He could be out in the snow searching for me.
I packed in a rush, taking all the clothes out of the drawers and wardrobe that I’d put there less than two weeks ago.
After double-checking that my medicines and passport were in my handbag, I ran across to the McGregors’ house. I’d left a coat there and it was the only thick one I had left—I’d left my other one behind at the pub. I’d grab the coat from the house, return to the cottage and then wait for better weather. Maybe I couldn’t get a cab until tomorrow. But maybe I’d get lucky and the storm would die down quickly.
Neither of the McGregors’ cars was parked outside. The house was probably locked up.
But when I tried the front door, it was unlocked. Pushing it open, I walked inside the house. I slipped out of my boots and crossed to the mud-room.
My hand froze as I reached to take my coat from the peg.
Someone else was in the house. I heard footsteps coming down the hallway.
God, who could it be?
The steps were coming closer. If I stayed here, I’d be trapped. If I ventured out, I’d be seen, but at least I’d have a shot of getting away. And whoever it was, my best guess was that they already knew I’d walked into the house.
I stepped out, ready to flee.
Alban, in a long jacket and blue jeans, stared back at me.
“I didn’t think anyone was—” I started.
“Jess’s car needs new tyres and a few repairs. It’s being fixed. She went out in my car with Rhiannon to her mother’s house. She’s coming back soon, before the storm gets any worse.”
I took a deep, silent breath, trying to appear normal. “Oh. I remember now, about Jessica’s car.”
He frowned. “I was upstairs a few minutes ago. I saw Kirk Flanagan drop you off. Is something wrong?” He switched on the hall lamp. Yellow light flooded into the dark hall.
“No. He just gave me a lift home because of the storm.”
“He did?”
I nodded, deciding not to try to explain further. Anything I said would just be a lie. The thought charged through me that I wasn’t going to be seeing Alban again. That made me feel even more desolate. But it was even more reason for me to leave. Falling for him was wrong of me.
“Alban,” I said, “I’m going to go stay in Inverness. I’m… not certain if I’ll be returning. I’m sorry that I didn’t get to do the family portraits.”
“Is there a problem? Something wrong with the cottage? It’s not…it’s not a problem with Jess, is it?”
“No, the cottage is lovely. And so is Jessica. It’s just personal reasons.”
“Okay. Well, I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, but his eyes still held a question.
I folded my coat across my arm. “I want to thank you for your hospitality while I’ve been here.”
“And I’ve enjoyed our conversations. Listen, I can take you to Inverness when you’re ready to go. After Jess comes back.”
“Oh, thanks. But I’ll get a cab.”
“All the way to Inverness? That’s a long ride.” His eyes sharpened. “So, Greer doesn’t know you’re going?”
“No, I haven’t had a chance to talk with her yet. The phone coverage was out, and I couldn’t call anyone.”
“The phones have been fine, here. A little bit of interference, but that’s all. Where have you been?”
“Far enough to lose reception, I guess.” I gave a playful laugh to cover up the fact that I was being evasive.
My gaze came to rest upon a black and white photograph on the wall. I hadn’t ever noticed it before. It was situated in a dark recess, and I’d never seen it under the bright light that Alban had just switched on. This photo was of a young group of men. Five of them. They were standing in front of the scarecrows on the hill. It was summer. Their bodies were proud with the swagger and defiance of youth—shirtless, with sunlight hazed across their faces.
Although the sun was casting deep shadows, I could recognise them—a much younger Alban, Diarmid, Rory, Hamish and another boy who I could tell was Kirk, the police officer.
Every one of them bore an identical tattoo, just above their left breast bone. The rose-and-cross tattoo.
Kirk had told me there a few people who bore the tattoo, but he hadn’t mentioned that it was this particular group. And he certainly hadn’t told me that he himself had it.
The discordant notes of the piano broke through my mind.
Dark room.
Smell of rust and decay.
Someone pacing backwards and forwards.
One of the people in this photograph had been at the church with me. One of them had hurt me.
I could still hear the piano playing in my head.
&nb
sp; A sudden thought occurred to me. The piano—if someone had been standing in the room while the piano played, there had to have been more than one person at the church.
I clamped a gasp tightly in my throat. There could have been a whole group of people there for all I knew. Maybe all of these men—some kind of cultish group in which people got drugged and tortured.
If that were true, I was already in deep trouble.
“Are you all right?” Alban asked.
“I—Everything’s fine.” I straightened the coat that was folded over my arm, fiddling with the lapels. “I have to thank you and Jessica for all you’ve done for me. It’s been a wonderful experience.”
A frown rippled across his forehead. “Isla? Your voice is shaking. It’s obvious that something’s up. I don’t want you to go like this. Whatever it is, I’d like to know.”
“You’re right…there is something. My mother’s ill. We’re very close and I’m not dealing with it very well.”
He tilted his head slightly, as if he didn’t believe me. I was sure I didn’t sound believable. My mind was racing.
He reached for my arm. “Isla, please. Let me help.”
I pulled my hand away. “It’s okay. Really.”
“Don’t run away from me again.” His words rushed out, the tone deep.
“Again?” I questioned.
His expression grew strange. He squeezed his eyes shut, shaking his head. “I didn’t mean to say that.”
I took a step back.
Yes, you did mean to say that. You just admitted that there has been another time in which I’ve run away from you.
You know me from before.
38
ISLA
The shrill sound of the kitchen phone pierced the air.
Alban sighed heavily, his gaze fixed on me. “Would you give me a moment? It might be Jess. Come through with me. We need to talk.”
I nodded. Walking after him, I tried and failed to keep my breathing even. Did he know I was afraid of him?
Where could I go from here? Snow was piling up in fast layers outside. Night was almost here. Greer was in Aviemore with Kelly. It was the middle of a snowstorm. She couldn’t come and get me. I could run to either the Keenan’s or the Chandlishes houses. But both Hamish and Diarmid had the rose-and-cross tattoo. Even Kirk—the only police officer on duty right now—had the tattoo.
There was nowhere safe to run. I had to find somewhere to hide until I could figure out how to get away from this place.
Where was Jessica? Alban said she’d be coming back soon. Once she was here, Alban would have to put his mask back on and pretend to be the devoted husband and father.
Behind Alban’s back, I pulled my coat on, buttoning it up.
Alban answered the phone. “Rory? What’s going on?” He swung to me, his eyes guarded, then turned his back again. “Yeah, she’s here. What—?”
Alban snapped his words off suddenly. He stared off into the distance, past the living room and through the soaring plate glass walls.
A bright orange spot glowed up in the hills.
It was as if the hill were on fire.
Even from here, I could tell which hill that was. Scarecrow hill. Someone had set the scarecrows on fire. Five columns of flames shooting skyward from the wide blanket of white.
An urgent knock resounded through the house. A knock at the front door.
“Rory, got to go,” Alban spoke into the phone. He flicked his gaze my way, his mouth agape. “Stay here.”
As Alban jogged through the house to the door, I followed but stayed far behind, stalling in the corridor.
I heard a male voice. It was Kirk, the police officer. “Alban, we’ve got an emergency situation. Stella Keenan is missing from the hospital. The girl’s on suicide watch. She hasn’t been here, has she?”
“No. Hell,” Alban responded. “Do they have any idea where she went?”
“No one has any clue. She was reported missing about half an hour ago, but she could have been gone longer. Hey, what’s with the fire up on the hill?”
“Wish I could answer that. I only just spotted it myself,” said Alban.
The fire—it was Stella. I was suddenly certain of that. She’d said she’d make the scarecrows burn one day. That meant she was out there. Alone and scared.
I had to find her. That was the only thing that was clear right now. It might have been me who pushed her over the edge. I couldn’t leave her out in the storm.
Alban was still talking with Kirk. I grabbed my shoes from outside the mudroom, then headed down the hallway to the laundry. I remembered seeing a door that led outside in there. Wind thrust through the door as I unlatched it and pulled it open. I closed it behind me and headed straight across to the forest, pulling my coat’s hood snugly over my head.
The forest would hide me.
I could see the moon now, storm clouds moving furiously across the sky. The snowfall had stopped.
The night air was lighter that I imagined it would be. I remembered Gus Chandlish mentioning the glow on a snowy, moonlit night. It was true—once my eyes had adjusted, I could see my way forward enough not to blunder into trees.
Behind me, someone called out Stella’s name, the beam of a torch flashing. Officer Kirk. He must have decided to look for her out here, too.
I crouched to the ground.
There were others. I heard distant shouts above the wind.
Fleetingly, the thought crossed my mind that Kirk could have been pretending about Stella being missing, knowing that I could hear him. This could be some brutal game played between Alban, Rory and Kirk.
I glanced back around at the fire glowing through the trees.
Whatever else was true, I was sure that it was Stella who set the scarecrows on fire. She was here.
I kept running, ploughing my way through the snow drifts and staying silent. If I called out to Stella, then Kirk would hear me.
The air grew brighter as I neared the columns of flames. A man ran past in the open—Kirk.
Kirk paced up and down near the fire, inspecting it and retrieving his phone. “Haven’t located her yet. There’s a fire happening up here on the hill at Alban’s place. I came to check it out. Found an empty can of kerosene at the scene. I’ll guess that the kero was poured over the scarecrows before setting them on fire. Yeah. Yep. Okay, I’ll—”
Another man, silhouetted in the orange glow, stepped out from the trees. He punched Kirk twice in the head.
Kirk stumbled back.
A third punch sent Kirk flopping to the ground, unconscious.
Who was that? Why did they hit Kirk? Blood spurted through my veins, making my heart thud out of time.
Pulling myself to my feet, I fled deeper into the forest.
Someone was following.
I twisted around. My foot caught on a rock, pitching me forward. I landed hard on my hands and knees. Pain exploded through my body. Scrambling to my feet again, I inhaled quick, deep mouthfuls of chilled air.
Hands caught me and dragged me to my feet.
I whirled around. “Hamish!”
He was drunk, smelling of whisky, cigarettes and sweat. “Are you okay?”
I sensed that he wasn’t going to hurt me. But I still couldn’t trust him. “It was you who hit the police officer, wasn’t it?”
“I fucking hate him. Hate all the police dogs. He’s gonna make Stella keep running. I told mum and Camille not to call the police. They didn’t fucking listen.”
“Where’s Camille? Is she here somewhere?”
“She’s on her way. They didn’t watch Stella properly at that damned hospital.”
“How do you know she’s here?”
“Someone got into our shed and stole a can of kero. The only people who know where the key is hidden is me and mum and dad—and Stella. So, it had to be her.”
“How long ago did she leave the hospital?”
Hamish stared at me drunkenly, as if I hadn’t spoken. “She lit the bogle
s, I know she did. I know her. I know Stella. No one else knows her like I do. No one. No one knows….”
Alban ran past, at a distance, calling out my name and then Stella’s. He didn’t see us.
Hamish turned to watch him, his grip on me slackening.
I shoved Hamish back and tore away from him.
I raced across the wide-open section between the forest that belonged to the McGregors and the forest that belonged to the Chandlishes. Storm clouds covered the moon now and the night had darkened.
I thought about the day Stella had taken me to the bridge that spanned the creek. Could she be there? The creek wasn’t far from here.
I couldn’t go the same way she’d taken me last time—through the peat marsh. But I could go the way that I’d walked with Rory, just in reverse. I’d follow the path through the forest that led from scarecrow hill to the fence line, then turn left and follow the path straight up.
My face froze as I blundered along the path. I stuck within the cover of trees, trying to stay out of view. I yanked my scarf up over my mouth and nose.
Stella, where are you? Did you go this way?
I listened for a gurgle of water but heard nothing. I almost thought I’d gone past the bridge when I spotted it. The water in the creek had frozen over, a dull luminescence on its surface.
The moon shone out from the clouds again.
A girl sat on the bridge, long legs dangling.
Stella.
She wore boots—boots that were too large for her. She clutched an overcoat over a doctors’ hospital gown. I guessed she’d stolen the boots and overcoat from the hospital. She must be freezing.
I crept closer, scared that if I rushed her, she’d run off. And I wouldn’t be able to catch her.
Stepping onto the bridge, I walked close enough for her to hear me without me having to call out and alert the others that were in the woods. Hooking a finger into my scarf, I manoeuvred it down over my face so that she could see who I was.
She tilted her head as I approached, then scrambled to her feet.
