by Aline Riva
Then someone shook his shoulder, and as he woke up he gave a cry of pain, as for one terrible moment, it felt as if every bone in his body was broken.
“Zack!” said Sarah, and the pain left him as he felt as if he had crashed back into his own, unbroken bones, and for a moment, he clutched at the fading bruise where he felt sure his ribs were shattered, but now he could breathe, he was back in his bedroom in his own time and sitting up in bed and Sarah was beside him as sunlight streamed in through sheer nets.
“I couldn't wake you!” she said as fear reflected in her eyes.
He let out a breath and felt grateful for the ability to breathe easily once more.
Sarah's face was chalk white as she looked at him in alarm.
“What happened?”
He shook his head.
“Give me a minute...I just need a minute to breathe,” he told her, “I need to be sure I'm really here...”
“Of course you are!”she exclaimed, “Where else would you be?”
“Dying after a battering arranged by Frederick Brackenby,” he replied, and she saw the haunted look in his eyes, and understood at once.
“It's happened again?”
He nodded.
“I'll be okay, I just need to get up... I'll see you downstairs. I need ten minutes to get my head back together.”
“I know you do,” she replied, guessing at once the vivid dream seen through Thornton's eyes must have been terrible.
Then she left the room and Zack got out of bed, went through to the bathroom and turned on the shower, but before he got under the hot water, he stood in front of the mirror, running an anxious gaze over his body, just to be sure no physical injuries had been brought back from the past. His body was unmarked, save for the bruising he had received on the first occasion. He still felt cold from the memory of the ordeal Thornton had suffered, and then as he stepped under the hot water he knew it couldn't wash away the memory, but at least it would lift away the chill from his bones that seemed to have followed him back from that terrible nightmare.
Once he was out of the shower and dressed, Zack went downstairs to join Sarah in the kitchen, and to sit at his table and drink tea from his favourite mug in a room filled with everything that reminded him that he was back in his own time felt comforting. He had never known until now how just how comforting he would one day find the sight of the washing machine and the dishwasher and the microwave oven and even the kettle, all reminded him he was no longer back in the past and seeing through Thornton's eyes.
He sipped his tea, his shaking hands cradling the hot mug as he paused to gather his thoughts, and then he set the mug down and looked across the table at Sarah.
“It happened again. I dreamt of Thornton, I saw though his eyes. This time I saw what happened on the night the cottage was broken into. He was alone, sleeping in his clothes – I think he was worried that something might happen, but he wasn't worried enough to pack up and run. Maybe he was waiting for Lillith, perhaps they'd made their plans...but he was sleeping on top of the covers in his suit, and he woke up, then there was this man beside him who beat him and dragged him out of the cottage. Others were waiting outside. So was Frederick, they took him to the field behind where the old manor house used to stand, and they battered him with hammers – broke every bone in his body, then he was dragged off down the dirt road that would have led back towards the village.”
He paused, recalling the words of the curse.
“Thornton cursed the Brackenby bloodline. He knew he was dying so he cursed Frederick and every Brackenby to follow him. Frederick said he would be buried under the cobblestones of Harpley, and that people would walk over his bones and never know he was there...”
He paused again, picked up the mug and cradled it, still needing the warmth of it to chase off the chill of the memory.
“But that's good!” Sarah said to him.
He stared at her.
“Good? I had to live through Thornton's fatal beating and you're calling that good? How can you say that?”
“Because you saw his last moments - that means you must have seen where the grave is.”
He gave a heavy sigh.
“It all faded out as you woke me up. Last thing I remember is Thornton being on the ground, they were dragging him back towards the village.”
“But if they wanted him under cobblestones,” she pointed out, “They couldn't have dug up anywhere that would have been noticeable to the public – they hardly would have dug up the square, left a fresh grave and opened up the market the next day. That would have looked suspicious, same with public walkways. If he had been buried in a public place, someone would have noticed the ground had been disturbed and the police would have heard about it when they investigated. I know those were different times, but a shallow grave, recently disturbed ground – something like that would have been a glaringly obvious clue.”
Her theory made perfect sense.
“So it was on private land,” he said, “It had to be...and I bet Kyle can turn up the records on all the building work and foundations laid by the Brackenby estate. If he can find that, we could narrow down the search.”
She started to smile.
“Frederick was a greedy man – he liked earning money but hated parting with it, I know that because when I was chatting to Kyle, he told me a railway company rejected the offer of use of Frederick's land because he wanted too much money to let the track run though it. So I'm guessing he didn't often order building work to be done, or pathways or floors to be laid unless he had to. And hiding a body would have meant he had to have some work done somewhere, and I bet he made an excuse for it so it looked innocent. He would have made sure he covered all his tracks.”
“So we just have to find that paperwork,” Zack said, and suddenly his mood had brightened a little as finally, the sharp memory of Thornton's beating was sliding away from him, as he thought about new possibilities.
“There's a real chance we can find my bones!” he said, and he smiled, and so did Sarah as she carefully hid her unease - because he had just done it again, he had said it so casually as if it was the most natural thing in the world to say : My bones...
Then his smile faded and he ran a shaking hand through his hair.
“But I'm in no rush today,” he added, “I'll phone Kyle and then I'm going to lie down. That dream left me feeling lousy, it's like I can't get over it yet. I feel like my nerves are shot to pieces.”
“Just take it easy,” she agreed, “You look shaken up.”
“I am,” he admitted, “It was so real, I'm not sure how much more of this I can take.”
Sally Brackenby was walking along the hallway that led to the sweeping staircase of the Brackenby mansion. She had got up early to clear some work connected to the estate, and now the main office was a place she didn't need to visit for the rest of the day, she was toying with the idea of going through more old paperwork with her husband, because she was sure there was enough material there to help Zack with his book, but it just needed sorting through - and there was so much of it, because back in the days before computers, everything was on paper and filed somewhere and the old former office was stuffed with dusty files...
“Sally.”
She stopped walking and turned around, shocked at the shattered tone of her husband's voice. She had left him sleeping and got up early to go to the office, and she had expected him to be up much later, because Kyle often slept in late. But not today. He stood there in his ripped jeans and a t shirt with splashes of colour across it, looking just like he always did – except for one thing – the look in his eyes was tearful and haunted.
She went back up the hallway and joined him. He waited for her outside the bedroom door, just standing there watching her as she hurried to meet him.
“What's wrong?” she asked.
“Remember when I first fell ill?” he asked, “It started with the rash?”
She nodded, unable to forget the rash, that pink r
ash that looked like nettle stings – it had been the first warning sign that her husband had the same deadly and rare disease that had killed every other Lord Brackenby...
“I can't forget the rash, why?” she said.
He turned over his left arm. As she saw the familiar raised, bright pink welts, she caught her breath.
“There's no need for me to have those tests,” he said, “I've already got my answer, it's not in remission any more, I'm dying.”
She blinked away tears. She had expected Kyle to collapse sobbing, because this was his worst fear coming true and she had expected him to be an emotional wreck, but for now, the shock of it had left him numb.
“It was there when I woke up this morning,” he said in a hushed voice, “I know the score. There's no more treatment that can save me. I had my shot at that and it wasn't enough. If I'm lucky it will be six months before I get worse and need to start on pain relief. This isn't fair.” He blinked away tears, but held his composure, “It's not fair because I've got you and the estate is doing well and I have Zack too, I have a best friend after all I've been through, I have a new friend who makes me happy. I was starting to get out there and live again, Sally!”
“And you still can,” she reminded him, “Carry on as long as you can, we both have to make the most of the time you have left. And if you want to go and see Zack, see him. But you have to tell him. Don't hide it.”
He looked into his wife's eyes and managed to hold back from letting the pain he felt inside spill out in weeping that would see him crumble to the floor an emotional wreck.
“I just want to carry on as normal – at least for now,” he told her, “I have to have that. I deserve that.”
“Of course you do,” she told him, and then she hugged him tightly, and as she let go again, she took hold of his hands and looked into his eyes.
“I know what this looks like and it probably is – but there is a chance, a slim one, that maybe that rash is something else.”
“Oh Sally don't clutch at straws!” he said as her words brought him no comfort.
“I'm not, I'm just saying, until you've had the tests, you won't know for sure. It's next week, so not long to go – once you've had those tests -”
“And waited weeks for the results, while I start coming apart over it, can you imagine what that will do to me?”
“But there's a slim chance you might be wrong about the rash,” she reminded him, “Please don't think the worst, okay? We just have to get through this. And we can, we can face anything together.”
He gave her another hug and then kissed her.
“As long as I have you I can cope,” he said.
Then his phone rang and he took it from his pocket and answered it.
“Zack,” he said, and he paused to listen and then gave a reply, “I was going to take a look through the files today. Actually I think I'll go and do that now. Speak soon, okay?”
As he ended the call, Sally looked at him with concern in her eyes.
“You need to tell him, just in case you're right,” she reminded him.
“I will, later,” he replied, “He just asked me if I could look through 1912 records to see if Frederick paid for any cobblestones to be laid around the time Thornton vanished. I'm going to get on to that right now. Want to help me search?”
She nodded, feeling thankful the call from Zack had, for now, taken his mind off the worst of his fears.
“Of course I will,” she told him, ”We'll search together.”
The dusty old office was unlocked once more, and Sally opened up a filing cabinet on one side of the room, as Kyle walked to the other end where more cabinets lined the wall, and went to a second row of drawers marked 1912- 1915.
As he opened up the top drawer and took out a handful of heavy files laden with paperwork, he was still thinking about the rash on his arm and what it could mean. Then as he went over to the table and set the papers down, he heard Sally say she wasn't finding much over her side, and was going over to his to look through the other section, and now his thoughts switched to Zack and the search for the bones, and he opened up the top file and blew off a layer of dust, then took out the paperwork and laid it out, and finally sat down, his back to the room as he faced the window and checked through the papers, all the while trying not to think about how he had heard the voice of Frederick last time he had been in this very spot.
His evil ancestor had said he was going to die. But Sarah had reminded him Frederick wanted to scare him...He started to wonder, could the ghost have made that rash come up on his arm? Was this trickery designed to frighten him? Suddenly he hoped it was the work of a malicious spirit, because if it was, it gave him real hope the rash could indeed be a false alarm...
Then as he looked through the paperwork, he blinked, noticing the word cobblestones and pathway and then he saw Frederick's signature next to a date, and he gave a gasp.
“I've found it!” he exclaimed, and as Sally looked up from the filing cabinet and he turned his head to look at her, the sunlight hit the empty glass vase on the desk, the light bounced off and he scraped the chair back in alarm as the paper began to smoke and then burn, as a flame flickered upwards, shining amber as it ate its way through the middle of the document.
“What the hell -” he said, and Sally ran over, looking in alarm at the sight of the old papers as the burning spread through, eating away at the paper as an orange glow spread back as the paper diminished, and the flame grew higher.
Kyle grabbed another folder and smacked it down on the flame, he smacked it over and over until the flame was gone and all that was left was a slight haze of smoke in the air and the stink of burnt paper.
“I don't believe this!” he said as his face paled, “I saw a flash and the paper just started burning!”
Sally looked down at the pile of papers, now scorched and blackened with a hole burnt through to the closed folder beneath it.
“The sunlight did that?”
“Maybe not,” he said, “I just found something...Frederick paid a local builder to lay a cobblestone pathway at Ravencroft Cottage – but the date was two weeks before Thornton vanished. Maybe it was genuine work that needed doing – or maybe it was his alibi.”
She frowned as she looked at the scorched paper. It had burned so badly nothing could be read from it now.
“This an odd coincidence,” she pointed out, “I've never know sunlight to cause a fire that easily. It's almost as if someone or something wanted to stop you taking a good look at that document.”
He thought about Frederick's ghost, and felt a prickle of cold pass over his skin.
“Maybe,” he replied, “But at least what I read before it burned up narrows down the search. I need to get over to the cottage, this could be the clue Zack's been looking for.”
“Are you sure you're okay to go out?” she asked, and her gaze shifted briefly to the rash on his arm.
“If a ghost can burn a paper it can cause a rash to scare me,” he told her, “Maybe you're right, maybe I'm not dying.”
“I so want you to be right,” she said, “Do you need me to come with you to the cottage?”
“I'll be fine,” he promised.
Then he hurried from the room and made for the stairs, and as he left, Sally looked to the burned paperwork and as much as she hated to think her husband was being menaced by an evil spirit, the thought gave her hope that perhaps he was right, and the rash was no more than an attempt from beyond to terrify him by playing on the worst of his fears.
As his car sped through the country side, Kyle kept the memory bright in his mind of what he had seen written on that paperwork before it had caught fire.
“You will die,” hissed Frederick, and the voice was old and bitter and cracked as it spoke loudly into his ear.
After the shock of finding the rash, strangely, hearing his dead ancestor's voice had lost some of its power to scare him.
“Piss off!” he said as he turned a corner and headed for t
he long straight country lane that led to Ravencroft Cottage.
“He tainted your blood,” the voice said mockingly, “Thornton Ravencroft cursed us all.”
“Piss off!” Kyle snapped again as he kept his hands on the wheel and drove carefully, determined not to let the ghost who could well have caused the rash that terrified him, to now cause a crash that could kill him, “Piss off back to the dark side of hell or where ever it is you belong!”
The voice spoke again, and his cursing had done nothing to enrage the already bitter spirit, who continued to taunt him.
“You can lift the curse,” he said into his ear, “Kill Zack. You know where the guns are kept.”
Kyle gave a gasp, pulled over to the side of the road, stopped the car and switched off the engine.
“Shut up!” he yelled, and his voice echoed about the country lane as nearby birds took flight.
The sun was shining on to the fields and the sky was azure blue, butterflies flitted about wild flowers growing at the roadside, and now no ghostly voice spoke into his ear, because Frederick was gone.
Kyle breathed a relieved sigh, but then as he sat there he considered his words:
Kill Zack?
Would that lift the curse?
He didn't want to kill his best friend...
Kyle thought about his other remark, the one about the guns. Yes, he did know where they were kept - there used to be shot guns on the property, left over from the days when his father had been alive, but after his death, and being a man who detested bloodsports, he had got rid of them. But not the hand gun he kept upstairs in the bedroom, his own gun, a weapon kept in case of intruders... that was loaded and kept in a shoe box on top of his wife's wardrobe. She hated the idea of the gun being in the house, but she felt safer for it too, and so did he because a couple of years back a few of the finer houses in the area had been broken into and the robbers had used violence. It had seemed the best course of action, to be armed and ready in case he ever had to face an intruder...
