A Body Displaced (Lansin Island 2)

by Andrew Butcher

  Looking at the picture, his body ached, but he reminded himself of the vision. She’s alive. I’ll find her.

  The sketch of the curly-haired man was to one side, with a caption providing information on who to contact if anybody recognised him. Everyone will recognise Sideshow Bob, thought Nick bitterly, and he surprised himself with a stupid laugh. People nearby gave disapproving looks. Oh, well … Laughing was better than losing hope.

  He skimmed through other papers, relieved to see the story hadn’t made national news. As he left the shop he wondered if the death of a homeless person would make it to any papers at all. Maybe if Kerra were younger, or a celebrity, the incident would have gone national.

  He made it to The Fallend. The large shopping street had a fifty-foot wall at one side, zigzagged by steps that led to the upper grounds. Creaky Crystals was in the corner, tight against the wall, and was one of the only tourist shops in the lower grounds, an area flooded with general stores and supermarkets. The upper grounds had a lot more tourist shops, restaurants, high street brands, and also a lively marketplace.

  Many off-islanders were shocked by the amount of Pagan stores in Amiton; the largest town on the island successfully capitalised on Lansin Island’s history and attracted followers of earth-based religions from across the world. Public rituals were hosted for all eight Pagan festivals each year. The next approaching was Beltane, and although the biggest money-maker was Samhain—or Halloween, as it was more commonly known—Beltane was a better time of year for big outdoor events, and people were encouraged to get involved.

  The moment Nick entered his workplace, Janet Morgan exploded in tears and ran up to him. Her face was horribly contorted in grief, stretching back her lips and revealing her large teeth and gums. She tried to talk, but the sounds came out stunted. Seeming to realise she would be unable to speak until she composed herself, she put her arms around Nick and hid her face in his chest. Her sobbing was so fierce, it was hard for Nick to balance.

  When Nick saw Mora watching with teary eyes, he just wanted to pass out and avoid the pain.

  Eventually, Janet moved back and said, ‘I’m, so, s-s-sorry.’ She made a crying noise that was like a siren picking up volume. ‘I, set, y-you, b-b-back up, with, her … hunh.’ She started to wail again.

  He pulled her to him, rubbed her back. ‘Don’t worry. It’s not your fault.’

  She made more noises, maybe in protest.

  ‘The police will find her.’

  She cried a little longer, then hurried off to the toilets at the back of the store. There were only a few customers in, and they politely ignored the drama. Nick approached his manager and friend Mora.

  ‘Nicolas,’ she said delicately, ‘if you want to talk, then you just let me know. But I’m sure this must be difficult for you.’ She looked him in the eyes. ‘I won’t ask questions.’

  Mora’s understanding moved him more than Janet’s lament. He swallowed. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And, Nicolas …’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘I appreciate you coming in today. You know you didn’t have to.’ She smiled at him. Mora was a careful thinker, and spoke her mind with apparent ease. Short, plump, and in her forties, she had a calmness about her. Her skin was yellowy-white to the point of looking peaked, her eyes were green, and she had cropped medium-brown hair. She loved Creaky Crystals and her staff.

  Nick smiled back, then began his usual duties. He kept to himself for most of the morning.

  The new part-timer, Lucy, came in at one o’clock. She’d been hired after Nick was given a full-time position, replacing a colleague who’d suddenly left at the end of last year. Lucy seemed oblivious of the news about Kerra, and Nick was glad for that. It was a relief to have someone not treat him as if he were fragile.

  ‘Hello there, young Nicolas!’ Lucy said in a staged voice. She was actually younger than him by four years, but oh well; Lucy said whatever she wanted. She wore big, square black-rimmed glasses that seemed to hover in front of her skinny face, and she stood with an odd posture, sticking her chin out as if her head wanted to be as far away from her body as possible … Or maybe it wanted to beat her feet to every finish line?

  ‘Hey.’

  She looked at him with mock judgement. ‘Are you hanging?’ she asked. Her hair was short and peroxide blonde with dull brown roots peering through.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What’s up with you, then? You don’t look so fresh.’

  ‘Just tired.’

  ‘Why?’

  Nick laughed. ‘I don’t know. Nightmares.’

  ‘Don’t wear socks in bed, then,’ she said instantly, as if her advice was obvious.

  ‘I don’t …’

  ‘Oh.’ She shrugged. ‘I have bad dreams if I sleep with socks on.’ She walked off after that. No wonder people call you Kooky Lucy. She started browsing the CDs & DVDs section, as if shopping, not working. A customer walked in, but Lucy paid zero attention; she didn’t seem to understand social politeness (or customer service, either) and ignored most people unless she already knew them.

  The weather outside turned, and rain pelted down. The drum of the droplets on the glass front was relaxing to Nick. He began to feel hopeful.

  Then Kerra’s father came into the store, soaking wet and angry.

  A pain sparked in Nick’s chest; he felt like he’d been punched in the heart. Crap. His eyes widened at David Evans, who headed straight for him. Usually quiet and passive, David was shaking in rage, extending his arms. Like a bulldog, he had a round face, droopy cheeks, and beady eyes. His mouth was normally set in a natural frown, but right now his lips were twisted in anger. ‘Where is she?!’ he shouted.

  Rigid, Nick couldn’t respond.

  ‘Why didn’t you protect her? Where were you?!’ Spit flew from his mouth. He reached Nick, grabbed him with both hands, and shook him. His wet grip stretched Nick’s top.

  Mora must have been out the back, otherwise she would have intervened. Janet watched in horror, her hands covering her mouth, and Lucy’s jaw dropped as if she’d discovered the twist in a film. Some customers had similar reactions; others left in a flash.

  Embarrassment flooded Nick. Then anger. Enough to give him back his voice. ‘I don’t know what happened!’ he yelled in David’s face. ‘But I’ll find her.’ He only just realised that one of Kerra’s brothers was behind David, glaring.

  ‘You sorry excuse for a man.’ David pressed his forehead hard against Nick’s. ‘She never should have given you a second chance.’

  That got him. Nick shoved Kerra’s father forcefully enough to get out of his grip. Being the lighter one of the two, he actually pushed himself back farther than he pushed David away. ‘Believe what you want. But I’m going to find her!’ His body shook. Stick up for yourself. Stick up for yourself!

  David’s fists tensed by his side, his knuckles whitening, but Mora appeared and waddled over as fast as she could. A mobile phone was in her hand. ‘I’ll call the police,’ she threatened.

  ‘Urgh! No need. I’m leaving.’ David grabbed his son by the shoulder and stormed towards the exit. Before going, he spotted Janet Morgan; he pointed at her and shouted, ‘You! You’re not friends with him anymore.’ His arm swung around to aim a finger at Nick. ‘Don’t even talk to him!’

  He left.

  Janet stared at Nick, and a second later she burst into tears again. She was good friends with Kerra’s parents, having known the Evanses for years. Lucy comforted her, and Nick guessed later on that Janet must have filled Lucy in on the news about Kerra, because the socially awkward new starter began avoiding him.

  Mr Evans’s enraged face stuck in Nick’s mind all afternoon. But it wasn’t entirely bad; although he shook and found it hard to breathe for at least an hour, the confrontation strengthened his resolve. Reasons to be proactive in his search for Kerra multiplied as the day dragged on.

  Nick just wanted the shift to end. His impatient state irritated him as much as the scab above h
is ear, which had been easy enough to hide under his medium-length hair. Nobody had said anything, at least.

  After work, he received a call from the police. The woman said she was the family coordinator and had spoken with Mr Evans about the argument in Creaky Crystals. She told Nick that he and Kerra’s family shouldn’t be in contact while the investigation was underway and that she’d be updating him moving forward. Detective Inspector Talwar would only be in touch if further questioning was required, or if there was a significant development in the case.

  That was fine by Nick.

  He ended up in the snug that evening. Alone. An eerie feeling started to weigh on him. The same feeling that had haunted him a lot recently. He moved to the window and looked out at the front garden.

  As if the night wasn’t dark enough, the sycamores and evergreens blocked out the light from streetlamps and the moon. All Nick saw was an orange circular area, the entrance to the drive, lit by a nearby lamp post. Everything else was black, including the silhouette of the tall figure standing in the orange glow.

  Nick squinted.

  The dark figure’s shape seemed familiar, and his shape was all that could be discerned. The shadow’s head looked too big, topped with ... a mop of curly hair.

  Stealthily, Nick edged away from the window and aimed to exit the room. If he moved too fast, his observer might notice. He walked into the hall and towards the front door. After slipping on a tatty pair of shoes that were at the end of the hall, he pushed down on the door handle. Gently. His heart went beat, beat, beat-beat-beat! and only seemed to get faster. As cold air rushed in, Nick rushed out. The black silhouette shot to one side and ran off down the street.

  Nick pursued it.

  The watcher had the head start, but Nick would not let him get away; he’d catch him and do anything necessary to find Kerra. His thighs burnt hot, picking up speed, closing the gap. At school, he’d always been a decent sprinter, built for pace rather than the slog of long distance; he put his speed to use now and gained on his target. Closer, closer. They neared the end of the street. Nick’s fingertips brushed the fabric on the man’s back, but because of his outstretched arm, he lost balance and fell behind. He hadn’t realised it at West Edge Country House, but this curly-haired guy was really tall.

  Just as Nick caught up again, the man turned a corner. Nick followed. Around the bend he felt a buzz of energy, like the air had imploded, but he saw nothing. No one was there.

  With frantic pivots, he tried to spot the man through the dark. He turned one way, turned the other, turned back. He thought he heard a thud in the distance.

  The man was gone.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHE WOKE WITH Austin by her side the next morning. After they’d spent the afternoon together and she’d asked him to stay for dinner, to introduce him to Lillian, Juliet had felt that sudden lust again. Now she found herself in bed with the man, wondering how much she really knew about him.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said, and kissed her forehead.

  She smiled. You don’t even live on Lansin Island. You’ll get up and leave at any moment. ‘Where do you live?’

  He looked at her as if he’d woken up next to a different person. ‘In Birmingham, with my sister.’ His dark eyebrows came together on his bony face.

  ‘You don’t have their accent.’

  ‘I wasn’t born there.’

  They both said nothing for ten seconds or so.

  ‘Where were you born?’

  Austin’s face turned indignant. ‘Why are you interrogating me?’ He laughed, but it wasn’t his usual burst.

  Juliet shook her head. What’s wrong with me? ‘Sorry. It’s only … I realised I don’t know very much about you. And I suppose you’ll be leaving Lansin Island soon …’

  ‘I’m not sure yet.’ He smiled at her understandingly. ‘I could just go back to give my sister the research, and then, who knows? Maybe I’ll come live here for a while.’

  ‘But why? Won’t you become bored? Once you’ve seen everything worth seeing, there’ll be no reason for you to stay.’

  He laughed more genuinely this time. ‘Not true,’ he said, and gently kissed her lips.

  It reassured her. I’m like two different people. One minute I want to rewind what I’ve done, the next I want to do it again. ‘Are you going to any of the festivals coming up?’ she asked. ‘The Fire Festival, or any maypole dances?’ She didn’t plan on attending any herself, but she knew Austin wanted to see more of the happenings on Lansin Island.

  ‘Errhhhh, I don’t know yet. When are they? First of May?’

  ‘The Fire Festival is normally the night before. It’s held in a large field just north of Amiton; you pass it on the way here. They hold car boot sales there every Saturday, I think. But the maypole dances are on the first, and there will be a few at Wood Park.’

  Austin’s expression became regretful. ‘Ohhhh. I can’t … I’m popping back to see my sister on those two days exactly. Just to update her. And I’ve got some things to do.’ He laughed out, ‘Typical, isn’t it?’

  Hmmm. Juliet hated the word ‘typical’ used that way. She struggled to gather her thoughts, imagining Austin ‘popping’ back to Birmingham and never coming back again. Becoming annoyed at herself, she settled on avoidance as her best tactic. I should get up and say I have plans for the day to hint that he should leave. So that’s what she did.

  As Austin was about to walk out the front door, Juliet asked, ‘Where are you staying?’

  ‘Oh. Just with a friend who lives here.’

  After prying earlier, she didn’t want to ask for specifics. She smiled at him as he went on his way. Something wasn’t right about his answer, though; if he had a friend who lived on Lansin Island, then this friend could have given him the tour of Amiton, like Juliet had. Or had Austin used it as an excuse to go on a date with her? She hoped so.

  After going to her personal gym and taking a long but entirely effortless run on the treadmill, she showered, had breakfast, and called up to her gran to offer her some food. All she heard in response was a strained whimper. A shock went through her, and the sensation of the blood draining from her body.

  She hurried upstairs and knocked on Lillian’s door while letting herself in. ‘Gran? Are you okay?’

  Lillian was struggling to prop herself up in bed, her face strained and glistening with sweat. Through soft cries, she replied, ‘It’s my hip … I woke in the night and it ached so terribly.’ She dragged in a cautious breath. Juliet came to her side and put a hand behind her back, supporting her up. Lillian’s silvery-grey hair clung to her clammy, wizened face. ‘I hadn’t wanted to disturb you, so I waited for the pain to go and then fell back asleep. But now I have woken in pain again.’

  ‘Gran. I’m calling the surgery.’ Juliet tried to sound both stern and caring.

  ‘No, no. The ache is lessening now, sweetheart.’ Lillian was sitting upright by now and began turning to drop her legs out of the bed. In her golden nightgown, she stood up with a steady motion. ‘You see. It’s passed.’ She smiled in her genuine way and touched the back of Juliet’s elbow. ‘Thank you, sweetheart.’

  ‘You promised you’d get yourself checked out if the aches became worse. Please, Gran.’

  Lillian looked at her with a tired expression that seemed to portray: ‘I know my body better than you do; your worry is only making it worse.’ But what she said was, ‘If I have any more pains today or tonight, then I will call the doctors first thing tomorrow. I promise.’

  Juliet was reluctant to risk another day, but she had to bite her tongue. If it were her in Lillian’s position, she wouldn’t want anyone to nag. ‘Okay. But if you do wake up with pain tonight, just shout for me this time.’

  Because Lillian lived at The Haven now, her granddaughter had urged her a few months ago to register with the local GP. When Juliet had suggested her gran move in, Lillian accepted without hesitation; nothing much was left for her in Bath since her second husband, a man she�
�d been happily married to for almost nine years, died from a stroke last year. Juliet had arranged and paid for her gran’s most valuable belongings to be transported to the island, and one of Lillian’s previous neighbours was keeping an eye on the house in Bath while she decided what to do with it.

  Still worried, Juliet made up excuses to spend more of the morning with her gran. Preparing food for her, she asked, ‘I know we’ve talked a bit about it before, but why is my mum the way she is?’ It had been on her mind a lot since the argument, breeding irritation in her bones.

  Lillian straightened her posture in her kitchen chair and rested one of her hands on the back of the other. ‘Your mother has always been a cold woman.’

  ‘Even when I was little? Before she won the lottery?’

  ‘You tell me,’ said Lillian.

  Thinking back, Juliet said, ‘Well, she’s never been particularly affectionate, I know that. But I assumed she was setting an example for me, showing me how to be a strong woman, giving me space to achieve my goals by myself.’

  A sudden huff came from Lillian. ‘Sweetheart, I really don’t like to say it, but …’ She stopped, maybe rethinking what she was about to say.

  ‘What?’ Juliet paused her food preparation to see her gran’s face.

  Lillian looked sorry. ‘… I believe you may have come to those conclusions yourself.’

  I know … It’s called denial. ‘It just seems like there’s not enough reason for her to be the way she is. She loves money, that’s apparent, but I don’t believe money alone could have made her like this …’ She left her words open, hoping for enlightenment from her gran.