by Anni Taylor
“Stella, please, I just want to help.”
She clutched the railing of the bridge. “Everyone wants to help. I don’t want their help.”
“Tell me what you want?”
She didn’t answer. She didn’t want to talk to me. Maybe she didn’t want to answer questions—maybe she couldn’t.
Boldly, I took another step. “You made the scarecrows burn. You said you would. And you did.”
Swallowing, I kept walking, all the way up to her. “You did it, Stella. It’s a beautiful fire.”
I held my breath in the needle-fine stretch of silence that followed.
“I want them to know,” she said finally. “I want them all to know.”
“You lit the fire because you wanted to tell everyone something, didn’t you?”
She nodded hesitantly.
“They can all see it now.” I desperately wanted to ask her what it was that she wanted to tell everyone. But I sensed she wasn’t ready to do that.
She wrapped her arms around herself. “I got the kero from my grandparents’ shed. I didn’t want to steal from them, but I had to.”
“They won’t mind.”
She stared up at the sky. “Is it still burning?”
“See the smoke? It’s still burning.”
“Good.” She eyed me suspiciously. “They pumped me full of drugs at the hospital. I don’t feel right. It’s like one half of my brain is dead and the other half won’t stop. It won’t stop. I can’t stop the thoughts. I want them to stop.”
“When I was a teenager,” I told her, “they put me on all kinds of drugs. I thought I was going crazy.”
“Why did they put you on drugs?”
“I have epilepsy. Even now, sometimes, they get the drug wrong. Or sometimes it’s the dose that’s wrong. And sometimes, it’s hard to know if it’s the drugs or an on oncoming seizure, or both. It’s scary.”
She hung her head. “I’m scared. I feel…wrong.”
“All I know is that you’ll get through it. You will. You’ll get to the other side.”
“What does it matter? There’s nothing on the other side. Nothing good.”
“Listen, Stella, I had really bad depression as a teenager. An effect of the epilepsy. It doesn’t affect everyone that way, but it did do that to me. And I’m still here.”
“How did you get better?”
“I learned ways of coping. I can teach you.” I turned my head, checking to see if anyone was coming.
“Who are you looking out for? You’re waiting for someone. Did you call someone and tell them I was here?”
“No. I didn’t. I don’t have a phone with me.”
“Something’s going on. Why do you look so scared?”
“I don’t like being out here at night. Are your grandparents at home? Can we go there?”
She shook her head vehemently, taking a step back from me.
“You’re going to get too cold out here,” I said. “Look at you. You haven’t got enough warm clothes on.”
The night darkened again as she continued to back away, her posture stiff.
“Stella, please.”
“Get away from me!” In a flash, she spun around and fled.
I tried to follow, but she merged with the dark forest too soon.
“Stella!” I called in desperation. I’d had her, practically in my hands, and I’d let her get away.
She’d run in the direction of the peat marshes. If she fell into the snow-covered bog and suffocated there in the mud, I’d never forgive myself.
“Stella! Stella!” I was screaming now, running. Giving away my location to anyone within range. But I couldn’t make myself stay quiet.
A tall figure ran up to me, breathing out white mist. I didn’t recognise him in the dark before he spoke. “Isla, what a night. Between the bogles and Stella missing, I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Peyton!”
“Aye, it’s me. I’ve got Aubrey and Diarmid out looking, too.”
My heart fell when I heard Diarmid’s name. He was one of the men with the tattoo. But at least Aubrey was with him.
“I found Stella.”
“You did? Where—?”
“She ran off. It’s my fault.”
“Hey, don’t blame yourself. That kid tends to run away a lot.” He swept a lock of hair back from his eyes. “Where did she go?”
“She was on the bridge but now she’s gone—that way.” I pointed desperately.
“Poor kid. I’ll get a proper search party organised. I’ll get the whole of Greenmire down here if I have to. Don’t worry. We’ll find her.”
He took his phone from his jacket pocket. “Aubrey! Stella was just sighted near the bridge. She’s headed for the marshes. Where are you? Well, get yourself over this way, dammit. Let Diarmid know, too. Hey, Isla’s here. Yeah, I’ll tell her.”
Finishing the call, he pushed the phone back into his pocket. “She said we should all catch up for a round of hot chocolate once we find Stella.”
“That would be nice. Peyton, I’m worried about those marshes. She knows how to find her way through it in the daytime. But it’s night. And there’s a covering of snow. I’m too slow with this sore leg of mine.”
“Right. Look. I’ll head there now and make sure she’s not in trouble. If you spot my brother and sister, tell them to hurry. Aubrey will be better at talking to her than me.”
I nodded, my breath cold in my throat and my lungs tight with fear for Stella.
39
ISLA
I stumbled forward, watching Peyton’s long figure speeding away. I hoped he’d find her quickly.
Retracing my steps, I headed back to the path and then along the wide-open strip of land that led back to Braithnoch and scarecrow hill.
The roaring fire had collapsed, still sending bright sparks into the inky sky.
I could no longer hear anyone out on the moor or in the forest.
Had the others really gone?
Or were they still there, with their torches switched off, just standing in the moor and waiting.
The thought made me shiver. I didn’t know what was really going on here. Everything felt uncertain and hidden from me.
A faint cry carried on the blustering wind. A girl’s cry.
Stella was out there on the moor somewhere.
My right leg hurt with every pounding jolt as I ran out into the open. The lonely wind screeching on distant hills and the thick darkness sparked danger along my spine.
I heard her again. Straight ahead.
I could just make out the craggy hills of Braithnoch, with its crumbling, original stone house. I’d taken portraits of Alban there just yesterday. That already seemed like an age ago.
Another cry came. Further away.
Why was Stella crying out like that? She’d been so silent before, not wanting anyone to know where she was. Was someone making her scream on purpose?
A terrible thought occurred to me. If a group of people were out there, playing a game with me, they could be using Stella to draw me out. If so, I was running straight into a trap.
Something was wrong. Really wrong.
I was heading directly into danger.
Everything inside of me screamed run. Turn around and run.
But I couldn’t leave Stella.
My heart in my throat, I struggled across the snowy moor, approaching the archway of the old building. The weakest reflection of light from the snow splashed across the stonework. But the light didn’t reach inside the archway.
It was so, so dark in there. Cold sweat bathed my body under my clothing, shivers racing up and down my back, my leg feeling almost useless.
Just walk inside, see if she’s there, and walk straight out. Maybe she’s just hurt. Maybe she fell and twisted her ankle.
I knew none of that was true.
Her cry hadn’t been the cry of someone who’d twisted their ankle.
It had been the helpless cry of someone who was te
rrified.
Mustering up courage, I took a step.
Every inch of me didn’t want to go in there.
Images, sounds and smells from the room in the church reeled in my mind.
Mattress of blood.
Candles in the dark.
Rosary beads swinging.
Brutal pain tearing through my body.
Agonising waves shooting in my head.
Maddening, tormenting, manic chords of the piano.
A crucifying sense of loss, a hollowness worse than the pain.
I forced myself forward.
The arch was overhead now. I moved inside. “Stella,” I whispered. “Are you here? Are you hurt?”
I was keenly aware of my heart beat.
Then I heard a whisper close by me. “Shhh.”
Stella’s voice.
Why was she asking me to be quiet?
I kept my voice so low I could barely hear it myself. “Come with me. Please.”
The reply came swiftly this time. “He’ll see us.”
“Who?”
I heard boots shuffling around. And I heard someone’s loud breaths—someone who wasn’t Stella. He swore under his breath. I couldn’t tell who it was. But whoever he was, this wasn’t a game to him. He wasn’t enjoying the pursuit. It was the sound of someone who was desperate. The footsteps tramped away, to the side of the building that faced the mountains.
“He caught me,” she whispered. “But I got away.”
Stella’s hand slipped into mine, clutching it, holding on tight. We inched slowly towards the archway, keeping our footsteps silent, each of us holding our breath.
40
ISLA
A crackling sound preceded the sudden flare of a match. A man was hunched over, his back to me, lighting the match. He flicked the match into one of the glass lamps on the shelf, then swivelled around.
“Peyton,” I gasped.
Whoever had been in here was gone and Peyton had found us.
But by the way Stella began backing away—pulling me with her—I knew the truth.
No. No, no, no.
Peyton is the one Stella’s afraid of.
The glow from the lamp flickered against the aged walls behind him. He took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. His eyes were a strange mix of determined and anxious.
“Peyton,” I said quickly, battening down my nerves. “Thank God you’re here. We’ve found Stella. I’m taking her back to her grandparents now.”
“Should have stayed in Aviemore, Stella,” he said, ignoring me. “It was okay before you came back.”
“I’ll go back. Tonight.” Her voice trembled.
“Ah, I don’t even know how things got to this point,” he said, a hint of confusion in his voice.
“You know,” Stella cried at him.
He blew out a nervous stream of cigarette smoke. “I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“You told me it wasn’t wrong. You told me my mum said it was okay,” Stella said. “But it was wrong. You shouldn’t have done what you did.”
I listened with growing horror.
Peyton gave a shake of his head. “It was all fine by her. She wanted you to grow up a bit.”
“You’re telling lies,” Stella raged at him. “When I told Mum, she said it was a bad thing. She said I must have made it up because I didn’t like you.”
He inhaled deeply on his cigarette. “You did like me. You loved me.”
“No,” she insisted.
“Peyton,” I broke in. “I’m going to walk out of here now with Stella.” Being bold and direct was the only thing I could think of. I nodded tensely at Stella.
He stared as if noticing me for the first time. Angrily, he puffed on the stub of his cigarette and threw it against the wall. The next moment, he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a long-bladed knife. Seizing Stella by the hand, he yanked her away from me and brought the knife up under her chin.
Every nerve in my body jumped and fired. “Don’t! Don’t you dare hurt her.”
“I’m just setting things right,” he said, his voice filled with a strange, controlled rage. “You two won’t understand. Everything has to be…right. You have to keep things straight. All in order.”
Tears tracked down Stella’s face, glistening wetly in the dark light. “You’re a fucking molester.”
“You liked hanging out with me,” Peyton told her. “You loved me. Admit it.”
“I didn’t love you,” she said. “You made me say it. You made me believe it. I thought I was the one who’d done something wrong when Mum caught you kissing me.”
He made a derisive sound between his teeth. “Why didn’t you just bleed out in the playhouse, Stella? It’s what you wanted.”
“Every cut was because of you,” she cried. “For the last two years, every cut was you.”
“You can’t pin that on me.” He shook his head. “That’s not right. I’m not to blame.”
Stella’s voice rose. “I was a twelve-year-old kid, Peyton. It took me two years to realise that.”
His expression deadened. Dropping his arms from Stella, he began pacing the room, knife still in hand. He paced in a regimented way. Two steps one way, three steps in another.
My mind filled with a black despair. I had a single thought: survive.
I edged towards Stella, putting a finger to my lips to make sure she stayed silent. Peyton wasn’t noticing either of us in this moment.
Keeping my gaze fixed on Peyton, I took her hand. Holding onto her, I began inching towards the arch.
He angled his head around. “Stop moving. For fuck’s sake. Don’t make this hard on me.”
“Peyton,” I said. “Here’s what’s going to happen. Stella and I are walking out. You are going to go back to your own house.”
“You know that’s not what’s going to happen,” he told me.
I believed him.
“It’s the best thing for you.” My voice shook. Talking to him wasn’t helping. I was speaking out of wild desperation.
A hollow laugh emitted from his chest. “I’m not two years old, Isla. I’m in trouble. Very big trouble.”
“No, you’re not. Not yet.” I shot Stella a quick glance, hoping she knew that I didn’t mean that.
Peyton’s face twisted darkly. “I’m not going to jail. Not even for a minute. It’s not right to lock someone like me away. This is all a grand injustice.”
“Then let us walk out of here,” I said. “That’s the only way to fix this.”
“I am going to fix this,” he hissed. “I’m going to make it better. Everyone else is gone. I told Kirk I saw Stella hitching a ride out on the road. Aubrey and Diarmid aren’t even here, but you guessed that, right? It’s just us.” He closed his eyes and then sprung them open wide like umbrellas. “You, Stella, are going to stab your good friend Isla. People will believe you did it. Because you’re a crazy loon who just escaped from the nut house. And because Isla is the goody two shoes who tried to stop you from killing yourself in the playhouse. Then you’re going to cut your wrists and jump off the edge of the drop-off. You’ll do a better job this time—the cuts will be so deep you’ll bleed out in a minute. If the fall doesn’t kill you first.” He trembled, his face showing a manic fear. “It’s perfect. I’ve got it figured out. Everything goes back to normal after that.”
Stella shook her head, retreating into the wall. “I won’t do it.”
He dragged her towards him, turning her and grasping her in a bear hug from behind. Shoving the handle of the knife into her fingers, he closed his hand tightly around hers. “Of course you will.” He forced her arm outwards, making jabbing motions with the knife. “Look. Look at you, Stella. You’re a crazy little girl.”
We can’t get out.
He’s going to kill her.
It’s my fault. I sent him straight to her.
Stella’s face was milky-white in the dim glow. Her eyes huge and terrified.
The glow of the lamp was
fading. The fire was almost out of fuel.
Not seeing Peyton and his knife would be even more terrifying than seeing him there in front of me.
He charged at me using Stella as his puppet, slashing at me with the knife.
I screamed, trying to protect myself.
Breath sucked from my lungs as the knife swept across my abdomen.
The knife sliced in through my clothes, into my skin, into my flesh.
My body dropped to the ground.
“Fuck you’ve got a loud scream,” he taunted. “But that’s okay. If anyone should happen to hear you, you screamed because Stella stabbed you. You’re dead now, Isla. Your guts are cut open.” He stared down at the thick blood on the knife’s bade, transfixed, looking queasy at the sight.
“I didn’t want to do any of this,” he said with distaste. “This isn’t me. I wasn’t the one who left you in that revolting old church, Isla. But no, good old Peyton gets sent to do someone else’s dirty work.”
I stared up at him, his words instantly clearing everything else out of my mind. “That was you who carried me out of that church?”
“Yeah,” he said.
“That man had a tattoo…” I whispered.
“You mean this?” He blinked at me, yanking his shirt and jacket across to expose the flesh on his left collarbone.
He had the tattoo of the cross and rose.
“You remember seeing that?” He scowled. “And I was assured you’d lost your marbles and your memory wasn’t ever coming back. Oh well, it’s all come to another ending now. Some might find that poetic.”
“Who sent you there?” I rasped. “Who?”
He gave a thin, brittle laugh. “You actually remember me but not them? That’s insane. I get blamed for everything, don’t I?” He gazed down at the bloodied knife again, his eyes growing blank. “Ah, Stella, I wish I didn’t have to do this. I loved you. But it’s gone too far. I don’t have a fucking choice.”
“Peyton,” I cried. “You do have a choice. You haven’t killed anyone. You can—”
As I spoke, he gripped Stella’s arms. “Just in case the knife didn’t go deep enough, you’re going to stab Isla again. Then it’s your turn.”
