Don't Look Back

by Ben Cheetham

  “Don’t slow down,” she hissed.

  The rope was halfway cut through. Ella attempted to squirm her hand free. Slickened by blood, it slipped through the loop. A figure stepped into view, faceless in the shadows of the archway. Manoeuvring Henry and Ella behind him, Adam thrust out the knife in warning.

  The figure advanced from the shadows, revealing thin white hair combed over a liver-spotted scalp. Sharp blue eyes stared from a long, narrow face.

  “Mr Mabyn,” exclaimed Adam, his voice caught between relief and caution. Did the taciturn old solicitor know about Heloise? “What are you doing here?”

  “I received a phone call from Miss Trehearne informing me that you intend to move out of Fenton House.” Despite the bizarre scene, Mr Mabyn’s tone was as dry as ever. “I have some documents for you to sign, but I see that this is not the time.” A flicker of something – possibly concern or perhaps merely curiosity – showed in his eyes as he looked at Ella. “Do you require an ambulance, Mrs Piper?”

  “The only thing we require is to get the fuck out of this house,” she retorted. “Now move out of our way.”

  Mr Mabyn stepped aside. “Why would I stop you from leaving? Indeed, you can no longer remain here even if you wanted to. The conditions of your tenancy have been breached.”

  Ella’s eyes flashed with accusation. “You know about her, don’t you? That’s why we weren’t allowed up here.”

  “I assure you, Mrs Piper, I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Ella scowled doubtfully. “I’m going to tell the police everything.”

  “You must do as you see fit.”

  “Stay where you are,” Adam warned, edging towards the archway.

  The solicitor spread his hands. Adam stopped suddenly. With a sharp intake of breath, Ella dragged him and Henry behind the table as another figure emerged from the archway. Heloise was the same height and build as Ella. She had the same shoulder-length, thick brown hair too. Ella’s pink lipstick glistened on her lips, offset by skin as pale as a prisoner after months in solitary. Ella’s white cotton dress clung to her damply. The upper half of her face was concealed behind a glittering silver-filigree masquerade eye-mask. She moved with a catlike slow-grace, her soft brown eyes flitting between the room’s occupants.

  For a moment, there was silence as if no one knew how to react. Then, with only the slightest tremor betraying his apprehension, Mr Mabyn said, “This is private property.”

  In reply, Heloise whipped a knife out from behind her back.

  “Don’t!” cried Adam as she thrust it at the solicitor.

  Ella screamed and made to cover Henry’s eyes, but he batted her hand away.

  Mr Mabyn grunted and doubled over as the blade pierced his shirt and slid into his belly. For a second there was no blood, but as Heloise pulled the knife free a crimson stain bloomed like… Like a rose, thought Adam.

  The solicitor’s knees went from under him as Heloise plunged the blade into his back. He hit the floor face first and rolled over. A strand of rusty spittle stretched from the corner of his mouth as he rasped, “Please, please…”

  Heloise stooped to slash at his throat. Frothy arterial blood spurted into her face. Mr Mabyn trembled as if an electric current was being passed through him. Eyes bulging, he let out a gurgle like an emptying sink. Then the silence returned, more deafening than any bell.

  Heloise straightened, her gaze coming to land on Adam. The sadness in her eyes pierced him as deeply as a knife. Her gaze pleaded with him. He could almost hear the words in her mind – Don’t leave. Please stay with me.

  Ella snatched the carving knife from Adam. She whirled to hack at a section of the painting, revealing a cavity. A ladder bolted to the wall went down into darkness. Ella tore at the canvas until she’d created a hole big enough to clamber through. She thrust Henry towards the ladder. “Climb down!”

  Henry descended from view. Ella followed him, pausing to look anxiously at Adam. “Come on.”

  “Go,” he hissed, keeping his gaze fixed on Heloise. “I’ll be right behind you.”

  As Adam retreated towards the ladder, Heloise took a step towards him. “Don’t come any closer,” he warned, jabbing the knife in her direction.

  Stay, pleaded her eyes. Stay here with me.

  “No,” he said, his voice shaky but resolute.

  Heloise opened her mouth wide and screamed – the angry scream of a child who couldn’t get what they wanted.

  Adam dove for the ladder. He fell half-a-metre before catching hold of a rung. Without looking to see if Heloise was pursuing him, he scuttled down the ladder. At the bottom was a small space hemmed in by crumbling lathes and plaster walls. One of the wall panels stood open, barely visible in the gloom. Beyond it was blackness.

  Hands grabbed at Adam from above. Long fingernails raked at his face. He struck out blindly with the knife and another ear-piercing scream rang out. He threw himself into the blackness and thrust the wall panel shut. It trembled as Heloise pounded wildly against its other side. He rammed the knife into the floorboards at the base of the wall, wedging it shut. He jerked around as more hands caught hold of him.

  “It’s me,” hissed Ella.

  Adam groped for her hands. “Where are we?”

  “I think we’re in the passageways. She’s been coming and going this way all day.”

  “Where’s Henry?”

  A frightened little voice piped up from behind Ella. “I’m here, Dad.”

  Another childishly enraged scream spurred Adam into motion. Ushering Ella in front of him, he hastened away from the sound. “If we’re on the second-floor, there should be a left turn just up ahead.”

  “Here it is,” said Henry.

  They groped their way down a flight of stairs. A pinprick of light lanced into the passageway through a peephole. Adam felt about until he found a concave section of wall. It slid outwards at a push, revealing Walter’s bedroom. He closed the moveable, cherub-wreathed pillar and shoved a dressing-table in front of it.

  They made a dash for the stairs. At any second Adam expected Heloise to spring from some other secret panel, knife in hand. As they passed The Lewarne Room, he glimpsed the open trapdoor. An image flashed through his mind – George and Sofia trapped in darkness, clawing at the trapdoor until their fingernails were broken and bleeding. How long would it have taken them to die? Days? Weeks? Had Heloise stood overhead, waiting for their screams to stop?

  Ella grabbed a coat and shoes on her way out of the front door. Shaking himself free from the horrific questions, Adam snatched up the car keys from the sideboard and followed her and Henry outside. Winifred’s portrait looked on sadly as they fled the house.

  The weather forecast had got it wrong. The setting sun was burning its way through the fog, gradually unveiling the garden. The sea was still hidden from sight.

  They piled into their car. As Adam started the engine, Henry pointed skywards and cried out, “Look!”

  Adam followed the line of Henry’s finger towards the top of the tower. Heloise was standing on one of the windowsills. She was naked except for the masquerade mask. Her skin shone paler than the fog. A noose was looped around her neck. Like a bird taking flight, she spread her arms and stepped off the windowsill. She plummeted several metres before the rope snapped taut and the noose tightened. For several long seconds, she jerked about like a crazed puppet, kicking her legs and clawing at the air. Then she was still.

  Adam and Henry gawped up at Heloise as if transfixed. Ella broke the spell. “Can we please leave now?”

  Wrenching his gaze back down to earth, Adam accelerated around Mr Mabyn’s Mercedes towards the gates.

  Chapter 32

  “You’re bleeding,” Ella said to Adam.

  He glanced at his reflection in the rearview mirror. A pair of gouges glistened on his forehead. “Heloise scratched me.”

  “She could have done a lot worse.”

  “I don’t think she wanted to kill us.”
r />   “No, she wanted to be me. She kept asking about you. What’s his favourite this and what’s his favourite that.”

  “Like the questionnaire.”

  The fields were materialising from the fog. Cows were grazing peacefully. Here and there, in the valley below, glimpses of thatched roofs were visible. The normality of the scene seemed strangely unreal to Adam.

  “Do you think Rozen knows about Heloise?” he asked.

  “Of course she does. Otherwise how else could Heloise have survived all these years? Do you remember when we first went to the house there were no dust sheets in Walter’s bedroom? I bet Heloise slept in there.”

  Adam braked at the end of the lane, his brow furrowed.

  “Why have you stopped?” asked Ella.

  “The other day Rozen asked me to look in all the mirrors in the house. That’s how I found the basement where Heloise trapped her parents.”

  “Perhaps that’s what Rozen wanted.”

  “Why would she want that?”

  “How should I know? Maybe the secret got too much for her. Does it really matter?”

  “Yes, it matters.” Adam turned the car onto the lane that sloped down into Treworder.

  “Why?” Ella said in a voice that was equal parts annoyance and apprehension. “Let the police deal with Rozen.”

  Adam shook his head. “She owes us some answers.”

  “I don’t want to see that old lady again,” Henry put in from the backseat.

  “You don’t have to,” said Adam. “You and your mum can stay in the car. Don’t worry, Henry, Rozen can’t do anything to hurt us.”

  “Can’t she?” Ella asked doubtfully. “For all we know Rozen helped Heloise murder her parents.”

  “You didn’t see her this morning. She could barely walk to the front door. I’m sorry, Ella, but I have to do this. I need to look her in the eyes and find out if she knowingly put us in danger.”

  “What will that achieve?” Ella jerked her thumb towards Fenton House. “She’s as crazy as her niece.”

  And you chose to exploit her madness. A grimace passed over Adam’s face as Doug’s words came back to him. “Perhaps I feel as if we owe her something too. Her last living relative is dead. I think it would be best if she heard it from me, not some stranger.”

  Ella’s silence suggested she reluctantly agreed with that last part. She stared out of the window as the road wound down past the whitewashed cottages and along the front of the cove. The streets were empty. Two ranks of fishing boats blocked off the rear of the shingle beach. Waves curled into the seaweed-strewn shore. The air smelled of brine and dead fish. The little village had a deserted, desolate feel.

  Adam pulled over next to a phone box. “You call the police while I’m speaking to Rozen.”

  Ella caught hold of his arm as he made to leave the car, her eyes wide with worry. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “I won’t be long.” A curious light came into his eyes. “Earlier today I thought I saw you by the sitting room door. Your hair and dress were wet.”

  “It wasn’t me.”

  Adam nodded as if that was what he’d expected to hear. He made his way past The Smuggler’s Inn to Boscarne Cottage. There were no lights on in the front windows. The curtains were closed. He approached the front door decisively, but his fist hovered hesitantly over it. He thought about Rozen’s parting kiss, the strange strength he’d felt in her frail hands as she held him to her lips. Perhaps he should leave it to the police to tell her about Heloise? He recalled something Rozen had said about her niece – She was the sweetest little girl you could ever hope to meet. That hardly tallied with the wild-eyed creature that had tried to stop them from leaving Fenton House. Heloise had almost tricked him into believing Ella’s ghost walked the hallways of the house. Perhaps she’d used Rozen’s beliefs to similarly manipulate her.

  He knocked on the door. A moment passed. He knocked again and waited another half a minute before bending to call through the letterbox, “Rozen, it’s Adam.”

  No reply.

  He tried the handle. The door was locked. He glanced around as if uncertain what to do, his gaze coming to land on the alley that led around the back of the cottage. He headed for the back gate. It swung inwards at a push. The living room curtains were open. The hearth emitted a soft, reddish glow. Rozen was sitting in her armchair, her face lost in shadow. Edgar lay at her feet.

  Adam knocked on the glass. Rozen didn’t move. The pug lifted his head. Looking mournfully at Adam, he gave out a high-pitched whimper. A cold hand closed around Adam’s heart at the sound. He knocked louder. Rozen remained motionless. Edgar rested his chin back on her slippered feet, closing his eyes.

  Adam looked at the French door’s lock. The key was in the other side. He picked up a pebble from a rockery and hit the pane of glass adjacent to the lock. It cracked, then shattered at a second blow. He reached through, turned the key and opened the door.

  “Rozen,” he said again, his voice hushed with apprehension.

  He didn’t expect a reply. Even the deepest sleeper would have been woken by the breaking glass. Edgar lifted his head again, growling as Adam entered the room. “It’s OK boy,” said Adam, holding out his hand.

  His growl softening back to a whimper, Edgar clambered to his feet and waddled across to nose at Adam’s hand.

  A strong smell of faeces hit Adam as he moved around the armchair to get a better look at Rozen. Her bony fingers were folded together as if in prayer in the lap of her turquoise dress. Her bifocals were perched on her nose, but her eyes were closed and deeply sunken into their sockets. Her skin hung in slack grey folds around her face and neck. Bright red lipstick couldn’t conceal the bluish tinge of her lips. She wasn’t smiling anymore. Her mouth hung open, the tongue protruding as if she was blowing a raspberry at Adam.

  He touched her throat. No pulse. A faint warmth suggested she’d only been dead a short time. His forehead twitched with the struggle to know what to feel. Sadness? Relief?

  He stared at Rozen for a moment as if awaiting an answer to an unasked question, then turned and left the room. Edgar followed him into the garden and along the alley to the car. Adam opened the backdoor, scooped the dog up and passed him to Henry. A smile of delight lit up Henry’s face. “Hi Edgar,” he said, laughing as the pug licked his face.

  Adam’s heavy heart lifted like the fog as he watched them.

  “What about Rozen?” Ella asked.

  The heaviness returning, Adam looked at her and gave a grim shake of his head.

  “You mean…” Ella trailed off into shocked silence as Adam nodded. She heaved a sigh, her gaze drifting towards the sea. The sun had fully broken through. It looked like it was going to be another beautiful day.

  Chapter 33

  One year later…

  Dozens of copies of the same book were displayed on the bookcase. The cover depicted an ornate silver-framed mirror with ‘Between Worlds’ scrawled across it in what might have been lipstick or blood. Adam was sitting at a desk in front of the bookcase. A long queue of people stretched away from the desk.

  With a somewhat fixed grin, Adam chatted and answered questions. The questions almost invariably followed the same pattern – Do you think Rozen knew about Heloise? Don’t you think it’s strange that she died at the same time as Heloise? How do you think Rozen died? Do you really believe Fenton House isn’t haunted?

  Adam’s answers were always the same – I don’t know. Rozen was an old woman who passed away in her sleep. There’s nothing strange about that. Fenton House was never haunted, at least not by ghosts

  The people queuing for Adam to sign their copy of his book rarely looked convinced by his reasoning, especially not when it came to that last question. In fact, the more he denied Fenton House was haunted, the more eager most people seemed to believe the opposite was true.

  The questions made Adam all the more glad that he’d expunged certain elements from the story – most importantly, the mutilated toy
bunny and any suggestion that Henry might have deliberately hurt his brother.

  Adam’s smile failed him as a woman slapped a dog-eared copy of his book down on the desk. His pen hovered over the cover. “Aren’t you going to sign it?” asked the woman. “I’ve come a long way for this.”

  Adam signed inside the cover ‘To Detective Sergeant Penny Holman. I hope you enjoyed the book.’

  “I’m not sure if enjoyed is the right word,” said Penny. “It’s certainly an interesting read.”

  Adam handed back the book. When Penny didn’t move away from the desk, he reluctantly asked, “Is there something else I can do for you?”

  She unfolded a sheet of paper and placed it on the desk. It was headed by ‘Forensic Biology Laboratory Report. Confidential. Samples submitted. Trace DNA from fingernails.’

  Adam frowned at it, then at Penny. “What is this?”

  “Those are the lab results from your son’s fingernail scrapings. In all the commotion after your short stay at Fenton House they were somehow misplaced. They only came to my attention a few days ago. You needn’t read the rest. It’s very technical, but the upshot is that both your wife and Faith Gooden’s blood was found under Henry’s fingernails.”

  A sudden queasiness lurched up Adam’s throat. He pushed back his chair and moved from behind the desk.

  “How do you think Faith’s blood came to be under Henry’s nails?” asked Penny, pursuing him to the bookshop’s entrance.

  The sun was shining from a clear sky. Shoppers, workers and tourists streamed along Oxford Street, each lost in their own world.

  Adam tried to settle his churning stomach with a deep breath of exhaust-fume scented air. Penny repeated her question, looking at him so intently that it was all he could do not to squirm like a worm on a hook. His mind was looping back over the night of Faith’s death. He recalled the way she’d shied away from Ella and Henry as they fetched her a blanket. Had Henry accidentally touched her? Yes, that must have been what happened.