“I am four hundred years old,” he said. “I've fought in eleven wars and seen atrocities you couldn't believe. There is nothing you can show me that I haven't already endured.”
Pietro smiled coldly. “Then you won't mind if I make you prove that.”
“I always wondered,” Dante began. “Why not just turn, why this laughable half-life? You might be old but I'm still stronger and faster than you, and I can still control your mind.”
“You are unclean. No vampire will be welcomed into the next life.”
“If you're so worried about the next life, why not die naturally? Why this farce, this quest for eternal life?”
“Because I have so much more to learn in this life.”
“No,” Dante laughed. “You're afraid. Afraid the afterlife won't be the paradise you've been promised, that you'll be condemned to hell. That's why you don't mind killing or living off something so 'unclean', because you've already done something so much worse and you know Heaven will never be yours.”
Pietro didn't reply. In fact his face was frozen into such a twisted mask of hatred that for a moment, Dante thought that the image was paused. He knew he'd hit a nerve.
“What was it? What did you do?” Dante sneered and the screen went dark.
Chapter Thirteen
Frankie felt better after her wash, though she hadn't particularly enjoyed trying to wash her long hair over the sink.
When she was done, she scraped her wet hair back into a ponytail, changed into her workout clothes and headed to the living room to find Will.
“I'm going for a run,” she said.
“Will you be okay?” Will frowned.
“I'm fine,” she brushed his concerns aside.
“Do you want me to come with you?”
Frankie shook her head. “I prefer running alone. Besides, don't you have to get back to work?”
Will nodded reluctantly and Frankie left before he could argue with her.
She made her way onto Roseburn Terrace and ran towards Corstorphine Road. She turned off at Western Corner and headed down Saughtonhall Drive, then turned left. At the end of Saughtonhall Avenue, she crossed the bridge over the Water of Leith and followed the footpath that ran alongside the river. The path came out in Roseburn Park and she jogged across the park, coming to a stop near the Roseburn entrance, not far from the maltings where Will lived.
She stretched her muscles then began her preferred Tai Chi workout. As well as being a martial art, which was always useful, practising Tai Chi required Frankie to focus all of her attention on the movements. That stopped the whirlwind of thoughts and worry in her head and allowed her to calm down and find clarity.
By the time she was finished, her muscles were aching from the exertion but she felt much better in herself. As she walked back to Will's she realised that she wasn't out of options. She had yet to hear from Dante's American friend, and it was still possible that one of the foreign agencies would turn up some related information.
She needed to check her emails, she realised, since she'd been pulled over before she could do so earlier.
Will was gone when she returned, so she had another quick wash and changed into her regular clothes. She called a cab to drop her off where she'd abandoned her car at the side of the road, but instead of driving to the Barracks, she found herself driving to her home. The lights were on as she pulled up outside, so she knew that someone was home.
She wasn't really ready for a confrontation with her mother, but she knew that it had to come and she reasoned that she might as well get it over with.
She resisted the urge to ring her own bell and let herself in with the key.
“Frankie, is that you?” her mother called from the living room.
“It's me,” she went through to find them watching the news. As she looked around the living room she could see numerous tiny changes that her mother had already made, like moving her ornaments, vases and candlesticks. One of the armchairs had also been moved into a different position.
Anger flared inside her as she realised that she would have to throw most things out now that they were covered with her mother's psychic impressions. She managed to bite down on her anger and sat down in the unmoved armchair, facing her parents.
Her mother looked tearful, but Frankie could see that it was just an act, put on for her benefit.
“Mum, I need to talk to you and for once I need you to just listen to me. Can you do that?”
“I don't see why-” Cecilia started but was cut off.
“Fine,” Frankie remained calm as she stood up. “Then I'll collect some more things and be gone.”
“Frankie, no,” her father pleaded.
“Dad, I have spent my whole life not being heard. If Mum and I are ever going to move on from this, she has to listen and until she's ready, there's no point trying.”
She turned her computer on, then went upstairs to pack some more clothes. Thankfully her bedroom looked pretty much as she had left it. This time she grabbed a small suitcase from the spare bedroom and actually thought about what she needed. She packed her toothbrush and paste, her hair drier and straighteners, some hair bands and clips, a selection of outfits and underwear.
As she was packing, she heard her father raise his voice and paused for a second. She had never in her life heard him shout before and she wondered what he was saying. She wished she could make out his words.
By the time she had dragged her case downstairs, the argument appeared to be over. She left the case in the hall, went back into the living room and sat down at her desk as she logged onto her computer.
“Frankie, your mother has something she'd like to say.”
Frankie swivelled the chair around and faced them.
“Francis, uh, I mean, Frankie,” her mother paused and took a deep breath. “I'm sorry we argued and... I am willing to listen to what you have to say.”
Frankie noticed that it wasn't a real apology, but came to sit in the armchair anyway.
“Okay then. Thank you, Mum.” She rung her gloved hands together in a nervous gesture. She felt like a child again, but she was damned if she'd act like one. “I have something to tell you and I know you won't believe me. And you don't have to believe me, but you do have to accept it if you want to have a relationship with me.”
Her mother stiffened, obviously having an idea of what was coming. Her father took Cecilia's hand.
“I don't have O.C.D. I'm psychic,” Frankie began. “Every time someone touches an object they leave a psychic impression on that object, and I can see those impressions.”
Cecilia opened her mouth to respond but her father squeezed her hand tightly and she stopped.
“That's why I wear gloves,” Frankie continued, “because seeing these things everywhere is distressing and when they're strong, it can even be painful.”
“Not this nonsense again,” her mother sniffed.
“It's not nonsense, Mum, it's the truth. A truth you've always denied and I'm not having it any more. Every time you made me take my gloves off, not only were you hurting me, you were also making me privy to a lot of information that I'm sure you never wanted me to know. I would feel guilty, except that I tried to tell you the truth on many occasions and you always rebuffed me.”
Cecilia gave a long-suffering sigh and Frankie laughed.
“Okay, I know that you used to put salt in all Mrs Mclintock's cakes so she would lose the bake-off competition at the church every year. I know that you called the police and Social Services on our neighbours and accused them of being drug dealers, even though you knew that they just smoked the occasional joint for pleasure. I know that you hid Dad's papers from him when you didn't want him to go away for the firms AGM. I know that you have sexual fantasies about Father Potts, Mr Wainwright and Mr Braithwaite. I know that when you were seventeen, you kissed Angie Beakman, and you enjoyed it. Do you want me to go on?”
“Anyone could guess some of those things and you always were a sneaky litt
le child; it wouldn't surprise me to learn that you had been spying on me for all those years.”
“Fine, then tell me how I could know this, because I know for a fact that you've never told anyone. When you were nineteen you became pregnant and paid fifty pounds for a backstreet abortion. It got rid of the baby but it left you with an infection that you were too scared to tell anyone about until it was too late. That's why you can't have children, not because you have endometriosis like you tell everyone. Which you don't have, by the way, it's just a good excuse for some sympathy every month.”
Her mother had turned quite pale. Her father didn't look much better and Frankie felt slightly ashamed of herself. She knew that she shouldn't feel bad for telling the truth, but it was hard to break the habits of a lifetime.
“Cecilia, is this true?” Peter asked,
Frankie's mother had tears shining in her eyes, and for once Frankie thought that they might be real. She didn't answer her husband for a long moment but eventually she nodded her head.
“Oh my god,” Peter dropped her hand and buried his face in his hands.
“Dad, she was nineteen and terrified. She knew her parents wouldn't understand and would disown her if she told the truth. The man she slept with was married but he didn't tell her that. When she told him about the baby he gave her the cash and told her to get rid of it. She didn't have a lot of choice and I know she feels awful about it. The only reason she didn't tell you was because she was ashamed.”
Cecilia looked up, shocked that Frankie was defending her and perhaps even a little grateful.
“How long have you known?” Cecilia asked.
“For as long as I can remember. Every year, about the time you had the abortion, you used to get really sad. And every year I used to try and cheer you up. I'd make you things and bring you breakfast in bed and be on my best behaviour, as though I could somehow make up for the child you lost.”
“And I pushed you away,” Cecilia admitted. She pulled a tissue from her pocket and wiped her eyes. When she was done she began twisting it between her hands, clearly uncomfortable and strangely, mirroring Frankie's earlier gesture.
“I also know that you think my gift is evil,” Frankie stated, trying to keep the hurt out of her voice. “But if there is a God and he made everything in heaven and earth, then it can't be evil unless I use it to hurt people. I don't want to hurt anyone, in fact I wish I was normal, but as long as I have to live with this, I might as well try and use it for good. That's why MI5 wanted me, Mum, because they could see the potential.”
Neither of her parents seemed to know what to say.
“I'm really sorry that I hurt you, both of you, but I don't think you left me any other choice, Mum.” she took a deep breath. “I have to check my computer now because my friend is missing and I need to find him. I'll give you a call later in the week and if you want to, maybe we can have dinner together and talk some things through.”
No one said anything as she checked her emails and the only noise was from the television. When she was finished she shut the computer down and stood up.
“Bye then,” she said, hoping for a swift exit. No such luck.
Her father stood up and opened his arms to her. She fell gratefully into his embrace.
“I don't blame you, Frankie. None of this is your fault.”
Frankie pulled away and took her glove off. She slowly raised her hand and when he didn't stop her, she closed her eyes and touched his cheek so she could see how he was feeling.
She smiled at him as she took her hand away. While he was angry with Cecilia for lying to him all these years, he also saw this as an opportunity and had decided to follow Frankie's example and try to change their marriage into something better for both of them.
Despite all the times her father had sat back and not risen to her defence, this was why she could never hate him for being weak, because he truly was a good man. He was incapable of hating or hurting anyone, and he couldn't hold a grudge if his life depended on it.
“Take care, Dad,” she quickly kissed him on the cheek and left before her emotions got the better of her.
She knew that she wasn't in any state to drive yet, so she just pulled her car out of sight of the house and parked again. She turned the engine off and let her tears fall freely.
She had hope that the relationship between her and her mother might improve now, but she knew that in order to build a new relationship, she had to let go of the childhood that she wished that she'd had. These tears were her grieving for a dream she had always known could never come true, but that she had never been quite able to let go of before.
Will got back to find the flat empty. It worried him slightly but he wasn't Frankie's keeper and he just had to learn to live with disquiet. Frankie ignited a number of emotions in him, and there was a time when he thought that she might be The One and if he was being honest, there was still a small part of him that felt that way.
Of course she also drove him crazy. Less so now that he knew the real reason for her dislike of personal contact, but she still got under his skin in a way few people ever managed to do.
What was probably the worst part of being Frankie's friend though, was watching her self-destruct, and knowing that there was no way that he could stop her. Before today he had kidded himself that Frankie was just a heavy drinker. He excused her behaviour by telling himself that she was under pressure, or that she'd had an awful childhood, but now there was no avoiding the truth. She had a drink problem. Even now he couldn't call her an alcoholic. He considered pouring all the drink in the house away but part of him felt that if he did, he would only be proving that she was an alcoholic. Somehow by leaving the drink in the cupboards, she would simply be a problem drinker and not an alcoholic.
He didn't like these thoughts so he distracted himself by looking through the fridge for something they could share for dinner. Unfortunately he came up empty, so he grabbed his car keys and headed out to the local supermarket, buying enough ingredients for a few meals.
When he got back, Frankie was there too, sitting at the kitchen table with her notepad.
“Hey,” she smiled slightly as he walked in.
“Hey,” he answered. They were awkward with each other, something that he hated. “What are you doing?” he asked as he began unpacking the shopping.
“Just sketching.” she held up the page she was working on. “I think this is Pietro.”
Will smiled. If they had a sketch they could put it on the news and in the local papers.
“You sure it's him?” he asked.
“This is the man Zoe saw. I don't think it's completely accurate, she only glimpsed him for a fraction of a second before he knocked her out, but it's a start.”
Will smiled his approval and began unpacking the shopping.
“How are you?” he asked.
“I don't know,” she answered honestly. “I went to see Mum and Dad after my run. I told them the truth about me and let a few other cats out of their bags.”
Will turned to her, clearly concerned.
“And how do you feel now?”
“I don't know,” she shrugged. “I'm oddly optimistic that they'll accept me, and part of me is kind of relieved to have finally told them the truth. I'm also feeling weird. Scared. Like I'm a kid again and I'm just waiting for the hammer to fall.”
Will couldn't believe that she'd just opened up to him about her feelings, she hardly ever let her defences down.
“And I'm sorry about earlier,” she continued. “That was a terrible position to put you in, not to mention very unprofessional on my part, and I want you to know that it won't happen again.”
“You're quitting drinking?” he asked.
“No, but I am confining it to outside of working hours from now on.”
Will decided not to push it.
“I hope things work out with your folks,” he said sincerely.
Frankie went back to her sketching while Will began cooking. They made
small talk until Will served, when Frankie closed her notebook and they sat down to eat. It seemed that they had an unspoken agreement not to discuss the case for now, and only after the dishwasher had been loaded and the kitchen cleared did Will ask to see her sketch.
Frankie was a good artist and although some aspects of the drawing seemed hazy, Will was certain that if anyone knew this man, they would recognise him from the sketch. As it was her notebook, he slipped some gloves on and began flipping through the other pages.
“What are these?” he asked.
“The place I think Dante's being held in,” she explained. “Unfortunately there are no unique features on the buildings or a handy name over the front door.”
Will flipped from sketch to sketch. Some were external, of the building façade but a few were internal, of rooms. Some rooms looked more the size of something you might see in a hotel than a private house. He then came to a sketch of a corridor that seemed to be made of wood and glass, a little like an old greenhouse but long and thin.
“What's this?” he asked, tuning the pad so that she could see the sketch he meant.
“That's a corridor I saw but other than that...” she shrugged then a moment later registered his interest. “Why, do you recognise it?”
“I think so,” he said. “I just can't remember where from.”
“Take your gloves off,” Frankie ordered.
“What?”
“Take your gloves off and look at the picture. Maybe I can get some detail from your memory that you're missing.”
Will did as she had said and picked up the notebook. He examined the picture in detail, though sadly it was only a rough sketch and didn't have much detail drawn in yet. Still, there was something eerily familiar about it.
When he'd looked at as much as he could, he handed the notebook back to her. Frankie closed her eyes and concentrated as she took the book, immediately noticing something that Will hadn't.
“You haven't been here,” she informed him. “The image has edges, as though you were looking at a photograph.”
Will frowned, unable to remember seeing 'edges' in his memory of the corridor.
Past Life Page 12
