A Body Displaced (Lansin Island 2)

by Andrew Butcher

  ‘In the taxi on the way here. Driving past a field, I thought I saw a figure … and maybe it registered that I could see it, but then I practised what you’ve been teaching me.’

  Tamara smiled approvingly. ‘And did it work?’

  ‘When I looked back out of the window, it was gone. I couldn’t feel its presence any longer.’

  For roughly four months, Juliet had visited Tamara biweekly to learn how to block out the spirits. She made the decision to visit the quaint hamlet of Willow and seek help from the witch after her confidence had been flipped upside down.

  It was half a year ago when she had begun staying indoors most of the time. But on the occasions she had had to go outside, she struggled to handle the spirits. Some would stare, follow her, talk to her, ask her questions. And one time a spirit had even mimicked her movements, maybe to taunt her, before it vanished.

  Fortunately, most of the dead paid her no mind. Unfortunately, the ignorant ones could be just as disturbing. She’d once seen triplets, three little girls with mocha hair, trailing behind a couple. The ghost children were slathered in blood. At the time, Juliet wondered if they knew they were dead, if they would ever move on. Or would the girls stalk their living parents for years to come?

  Tamara hadn’t agreed to help Juliet at first, disagreeing with her desire to block out spirits quite possibly in need of help, but Juliet’s desperate state had convinced the witch. And so their training began. Juliet gained a level of control quickly, noticing a difference after just one session. Her quick grasp had made possible the trip to London with her gran, and over the following weeks, she continued to work with Tamara.

  Juliet’s constantly improving health and mental stamina aided her learning. As things began to settle, her biggest concern became how much time she spent indoors. The habit needed breaking. After all, the spirits were more bearable now, and the case of Aldrich’s murder appeared to have hit a wall. Sometimes Juliet worried that people sensed her guilt, that they intuitively knew she’d done something wrong. But she would rationalise that it was just paranoia.

  ‘Juliet?’ Tamara waved a hand at her. ‘Are you feeling alright?’

  ‘Sorry.’ She blinked rapidly, coming back to the now. ‘I’ve had a lot to think about.’ She attempted a reassuring smile.

  Tamara squeezed her eyebrows together. ‘Of course.’ Then her face relaxed. ‘That reminds me. I looked into the matter we discussed. The way you’re full of life and energy. I’m afraid I don’t know what is happening to you.’

  The words were not what Juliet had wanted to hear, but all she could say back was, ‘It’s fine.’

  ‘I am sorry. I told you I’ve not met anyone like you before. I sensed you were different when we first met, and I can sense and know many things others could never perceive, but … I can’t know all the effects that losing your soul will have on you.’

  ‘Hopefully not many more; seeing spirits is bad enough.’ Juliet surprised herself with a laugh, feeling light-hearted for the first time in ages.

  ‘I don’t know what’s to complain about with good health.’

  ‘I’m not complai—’ She cut herself short. ‘Well, maybe I am. But it’s not that I’m ungrateful. I’m just so used to working hard and eating well to keep fit. Now my habits make no difference.’ She sensed a sadness she hadn’t realised was present in her body. ‘My favourite obsessions, exercise and dieting, have become unnecessary.’ It surprised her how easily she spoke with Tamara. Have we become friends? she thought, and then told herself, Friends don’t charge forty pounds per hour for their help. But she could hardly blame Tamara for that.

  ‘You are too strict with yourself,’ Tamara said in her frank way.

  ‘Maybe I am.’

  Tamara slapped her knees energetically. ‘Okay! Let us begin. You seem to mostly have control over your ability. So what do you wish to work on today?’

  ‘I don’t have as much control as I want. It’s easy enough to do once or twice, but I want to passively block the spirits out, so I only see them when I want to.’

  ‘Hmmm. That should be achievable. Let me try something … Close your eyes and focus on what you’ve learnt, while I read your energy.’

  Juliet did as told. Shuffles came beside her, and air brushed close to her face. She knew Tamara would be ‘scanning’ her with her witchy hands. She tried hard to make lucid intentions, but thoughts of Aldrich crept into her head. She discarded them. Focused. Doubts emerged. She refocused. Then she saw images of a ball of light bobbing through enchanted woods, and ancient steps leading down to a portal. How can these things exist?

  ‘Juliet,’ said Tamara in a hard tone. ‘You must still be resisting; there’s too much conflict in your heart and mind.’

  Juliet opened her eyes. ‘Yes, I know … I am trying, though. You know this doesn’t come easily to me.’ She thought of the first time she’d visited Tamara, when she’d slammed the door shut on her way out, incredulous of the witch’s diagnosis.

  ‘What are you struggling with? Surely you’ve seen enough spirits by now to believe in their existence.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Well, you are not believing in something. Do you doubt your own ability to gain control?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ In everything, Juliet always gave her best. She considered herself as capable as anyone else, if not more competent. Maybe all the unknowns were holding her back now. Thriving in this world was easy because she could focus on success and see the practical steps towards it, but when it came to her ability, she knew very little about the Spiritworld (and even less about the Otherworld). This left her with no clear path. For all she knew, dangerous beings inhabited these other places; why would she want to interfere?

  ‘Actually,’ she began, ‘I think I find it hard because I don’t understand how it all works. How could my mind alone affect something outside of my body? Something physical?’ She paused. ‘Wait, is the Spiritworld a physical place?’ The question boggled her.

  ‘Juliet … Even with what I know about the Spiritworld, there is much more I do not know. It is nothing like our world, you see. But this should neither hinder nor frighten you. Take the time to go inside of your head and assess your thoughts, ensure they are congruous. Sense your emotions throughout your body. If you’re feeling contradictory or tense, you are most surely unclear in your intentions. When you believe it can be done, and you can focus all your energy into one path, you will succeed.’

  Juliet quirked her mouth at Tamara’s cheesy words.

  ‘You are not taking this seriously,’ the witch said heavily. She frowned in a way that aged her. With her vivid hair and proud face, she looked youthful for someone of her age, but every so often, Juliet caught glimpses of frailty.

  ‘I am taking it seriously. Trust me, I am.’

  ‘Hmmm. If it will help you to see it in a more serious light, I’ll explain that when I ask you to believe, I do not mean it in a silly way, as if the difference between believing in fairies could kill one or bring one of their kind back to life. That is not true. It’s more to do with knowing yourself. For example, if a man found himself in a desperate way, no food, no drink, no money, he wouldn’t refrain from stealing simply because the law says he should not steal, and not because other people tell him it is wrong, either. He would refrain because he has looked inside himself and decided in his heart and mind what is wrong and what is right. Putting aside the opinions of others, he has come to truly believe in his own reasoning. He has faith in himself … and there is power in faith.’

  ‘I thought you weren’t religious.’ Juliet realised how stupid the comment was as soon as she said it. She had taken in Tamara’s explanation. I know what to aim for now. She tried hard to let the comment about fairies slide on by; if they existed, she wished to remain ignorant.

  ‘You know I am not.’ Apparently Tamara felt no need to expand on her response, which Juliet was glad for. ‘Oooh!’ the witch exclaimed. ‘Can you feel it? A spirit is trying to get
through.’

  Juliet primed her senses. The temperature dropped and the fire madly flickered. She heard taps and echoes. She’d come to realise she was the only one who saw the theatrics that accompanied some ghosts. Tamara had told Juliet that maybe she was glimpsing elements of the ‘in-between,’ the Spiritworld … or that the weird happenings could just be the way her mind interpreted those elements.

  ‘Juliet, this is your perfect chance to practise. Consolidate your learning!’ said the witch excitedly. ‘I can feel how strong this spirit is; it wants to reach you.’

  ‘Okay.’ She took a rallying breath. Eyes closed, she found a new determination. She gathered her reasons for blocking out the spirits. Each reason she examined and accepted as valid. She hunted for doubts and picked out their flaws until they were no more. She remembered all the impossible things she’d seen, and in the most rational way possible, she forced herself to accept their existence.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tamara, almost frantically, ‘a sturdier energy emanates from you now. This is good. Keep it up.’

  Juliet opened her eyes, and she felt it: Her control was taking charge. But before the spirit was banished, she glimpsed a flash of blood. The room was normal again, the face a forgotten blur, the gore no more.

  ‘It worked.’ She began to smile, her shoulders descending and losing tension. For a short but amazing moment, she felt like her usual self. Optimism rushed into her mind. I’ll start busying myself again. I’ll learn something new. I’ll get back to work. I’ll confront Mum and Dad. I’ll give this thing with Austin a real shot. But nevertheless, she tinged her hopeful thoughts with caution.

  ‘Well done.’ Tamara put a hand on Juliet’s arm. Her lips moved into a smile that hinted at sadness.

  ‘Are you okay, Tamara?’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ She straightened her expression. ‘The way you smiled there, you reminded me of someone. That’s all.’

  Juliet believed it decent to remain silent. If Tamara wanted to share, she would.

  After a while an idea came to Juliet. A question she should have asked months ago. With a frown, she said, ‘Tamara …?’ elongating the name enquiringly. The medium responded with a nod, then waited. ‘The first time I came to see you, you told me my soul had moved on to the Otherworld.’

  ‘Yes.’ Tamara sounded cautious.

  ‘Is there any way to get it back? Do you know how to get to the Otherworld?’

  Silence prickled the air while Tamara sat mute. The witch turned her eyes away from Juliet and gazed at the fire. Dancing orange, the blaze seemed like a spectator equally as interested in Tamara’s answer as Juliet was. The witch sighed heavily before answering, though if in regret, relief, frustration, or for any reason at all, Juliet couldn’t tell.

  ‘No, I’m afraid I don’t. And it’s unlikely you will ever find a way there.’

  A sigh escaped Juliet this time, an extended exhale—this one undeniably in frustration.

  CHAPTER THREE

  WHEN HE CAME to, a paramedic was looking down at him. Her eyes were big. She began to talk, but he ignored her, his mind screaming for Kerra. He heard the woman’s voice go on, inflection at the end of each sentence, but her words were insignificant. ‘Hey, there, what’s your name?’

  Where is Kerra?

  He realised he was lying down on a landing halfway up the stairs. He pushed himself up to his knees.

  ‘Your name’s Nicolas Crystan, right? I’m—’

  Owhh... He went to raise a hand towards the throb above his ear, but the lady with large eyes gently moved his arm aside. I fell and hit my head, he remembered. Then in finer words the paramedic explained that Nick had cut the right side of his head, and apparently Mr Hayworth had acted fast to staunch the blood flow while the ambulance was on its way. The bleeding had stopped, but in a while, the paramedic would check the wound again.

  ‘Do you feel nauseous at all?’

  Stop asking me questions. Where’s Kerra? Who’s looking for Kerra? For some reason, he was unable to speak. The thought of talking made his stomach churn. He shut his eyes hard. His mouth had brewed a foul taste from the blood and his time out cold. The side of his face felt stiff, caked with dry blood.

  ‘Are you experiencing any dizziness?’

  A moment passed. His body settled, so he cautiously opened his eyes. He saw Mr Hayworth standing down in the hallway. The hotel owner stared up at him, seemingly concerned. Nick failed to understand why Edward Hayworth looked so troubled.

  Police officers were dotted about. The live music was no more. A row of people queued before a policeman, an odd sight for Nick in his dazed state. The officer scribbled onto a pad, then gestured to speak to the next in line. Everyone looked eager to leave.

  The scene was horribly serious, and it sobered Nick in a swift moment. ‘Where is Kerra?’ burst out of his mouth. The paramedic jumped, and every police officer turned to Nick with sharpness.

  ‘Mr Crystan,’ the woman said softly, ‘the police are looking for her now.’

  ‘Is she alive?’

  The paramedic somehow ignored his question in a polite and empathetic way. ‘Once you feel okay to stand, we are going to take you to the hospital for a check-up.’

  ‘I’m staying here.’

  ‘It won’t take long—’

  ‘I’m not going.’

  The big-eyed woman lost her empathy then; with a face of exasperation, she said, ‘Fine. You’ll need to sign a form.’ She hurried off, then returned with it. While Nick signed, she inspected his wound again and explained how to care for it. ‘Don’t drive for at least twenty-four hours, and if you live alone, I recommend having someone over to watch you for the next day or so.’

  ‘Thank you,’ he said weakly.

  She smiled with compressed lips, then said, ‘That’s okay. The officers need to talk to you. I’ll fill them in on your condition.’

  He nodded; it hurt. The paramedic whose name he never caught moved away slowly and spoke to a burly policewoman. Nick tentatively arched his neck to look up the stairs … where his romantic weekend was supposed to begin.

  Another officer stood at the top of the steps, guarding the way. It surprised Nick how many were present. How long was I unconscious for? Maybe when the first couple had arrived, they’d realised backup was needed to effectively handle a hotel full of potential suspects … or maybe the situation was worse than Nick knew. Right now he didn’t care for police procedures, as long as they found his girlfriend.

  Crying came from somewhere, a woman, but Nick couldn’t figure the location.

  ‘I’m Detective Constable Roughton.’ She caught him off guard. When he turned in the direction of the voice, he found a bulky woman, intimidating in size but not uniform; she wore a khaki trench coat that made her look big and shapeless, a smart white shirt underneath, and below she had on black trousers and shiny brogues. When Nick thought of the word ‘detective,’ he usually imagined people dressed a lot fancier than this.

  ‘This is PC Callard.’ She nodded towards a uniformed man standing to her side. His face was grim and tired; he was probably starting a night shift, or at the end of a long day’s work. ‘We’re going to take a statement and your personal details for now. Are you okay to talk here?’

  ‘Yeah.’ He gave his details, explained why he was at the hotel, why he’d left and come back, where he’d went, what he’d seen in his guestroom, what he’d done when he’d seen it, and why he’d been running when he fell. ‘I wanted to find her.’

  ‘Okay. That’s all for now.’ Roughton said everything louder than necessary, making Nick uncomfortable. Her large frame cast a shadow up the steps and onto the landing.

  ‘So you weren’t trying to get away?’ Officer Callard asked. Roughton turned to her colleague, her jaw noticeably tight.

  ‘No,’ Nick answered forcefully. Most of the people queuing looked over at him, as if he were a threat. They think I’m guilty. A rush of blood moved through his body. He became defensive. ‘Why aren’t you looking
for her? Who is looking for her?’

  Roughton held a hand up to Callard, as if to cut off a reply, then said, ‘My colleagues are searching for Miss Evans as we speak. The more information we get, and the sooner, the better our chances of finding her.’

  Nick’s mind transported back to when he was sixteen, when his mother had disappeared. He’d answered a lot of questions for a detective back then. Many people had thought Nick’s dad, John Crystan, was guilty (or could at least be blamed for driving his wife away). Even Nick’s extended family on Samantha’s side treated John and his sons with suspicion. Relationships broke down fast; Nick effectively lost aunts, uncles, and cousins. As if losing his mother wasn’t bad enough.

  Detective Roughton seemed about to say more, but Nick hung his head in his hands. He tried to be strong while the side of his skull throbbed. Remembering the past and thinking of Kerra injured, scared, alone, or worse, could easily have made him cry, but he held it back. He’d been tear-free for months. Now wasn’t the time to start sobbing; he needed to keep it together, for Kerra’s sake.

  So much blood …

  His head shot up. ‘Have you spoken to a man named Callum? He saw me with Kerra last. And his wife, they both saw me return … Maybe they know something? Or, or, Mr Hayworth?’ He threw a finger towards the hotel owner, pointing frantically. ‘Oh, and—’

  ‘Mr Crystan,’ Detective Roughton raised her voice. ‘You’re going to have to calm down. If you persist in asking questions, I’ll have to caution—’

  ‘I saw a man with curly hair,’ he blundered on. ‘He was in the hall. Then when I came back he was out the front.’

  So the detective cautioned him. ‘You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention …’

  Nick stopped his rambling. People were watching, judging. ‘Are you arresting me?’

  Roughton looked at him, her gaze level. ‘Not if you’ll voluntarily come to the station for an interview.’

  His face turned hot. He could only answer, ‘Okay.’ Closing his eyes for a moment, he thought, I’m such an idiot. I should have kept quiet and tried to help the search. Now I’ve made myself look suspicious. ‘Can I stay and help look for her? Please?’