Noel nodded. “Makes you re-think everything, doesn’t it? About mental illness, and everything you’ve ever been taught, really?”
Becky blinked away another sudden rise of tears. “Noel - do you think Callum’s still alive? What‘s your gut feeling?”
“I don’t know…”
Suddenly the flat buzzer sounded, severing the conversation. They looked at each other, eyebrows raised.
“Mark?” Becky said.
“I’ll get it.”
Becky reached out and grabbed his arm. “No. You don’t deserve his temper and he has no idea what we’ve just been through. Leave it. I’ll sort things out when I’m fully recovered. Until then I’ll message him and tell him it’s nothing to do with you - that I’m ill and need some help. Leave it - please!”
The buzzer sounded again, a palm flat against it for a good twenty seconds. Followed by the sound of footsteps receding down the hallway.
“I think we need a coffee, don’t you?” said Noel, standing up.
“Noel?”
He turned at the doorway. “Hmm?”
“Do you know what’s happened to Jack?”
“They had the priest to him, according to Isaac. I think, only based on hearsay, that he’s gone home to Ireland with his parents. I don’t think he’ll ever be the same again, though.”
“But is he well? You know…sane? Okay - you know what I mean?”
“He was exorcised, Becky. I didn’t want to tell you in case it freaked you out.”
“Exorcised? Oh my God! So someone else thought he was possessed? How did that happen in a hospital? Oh my God, oh my God…this is a fucking nightmare. We’re living in a horror movie. Oh God, Noel, I’m so, so scared. That means…what happened to me too…?”
“Isaac was pretty cagey about the whole thing, but it seems Jack’s mother got a priest in, and the resident M.O. agreed. I gather it was originally for the last rites but the priest ended up being there for two days. After that he was whisked off to Ireland with his parents. According to Isaac he was hours from death when he and Kristy saw him.”
“The M.O. agreed to an exorcism? Really?”
“Things had been happening in the hospital - suicides. Isaac said it was a last resort and very hushed up. I gather he’s okay in that he’s alive, but you know - finished really - certainly as a doctor. Oh and Hannah lost the baby, too.”
“Oh no. Oh that poor family.”
“I know.”
“Oh God, poor Jack! And that could have been me too…”
“Yes. But you knew to ask for help. You must have had your faith deep down, Becky - you must have! It’s the only difference between you. But Jack had very clearly and publicly rejected everything spiritual - even argued against it on many, many occasions - I heard him myself! So I guess he didn’t have anyone to ask for help…he couldn’t ask God if he didn’t believe he was there? I don’t know - I’m just guessing. Poor bastard.”
Becky turned to look at him full on. “You know, everyone who was directly involved with Ruby has been under psychic attack! And we’ve all been totally unprepared and unguarded because we’re looking in the wrong direction - basically at the pharmaceutical industry to cure all ills! Shit, you know what this means? That now there’s only me, Amanda and Kristy left on Ruby’s case? And we’ve still not got to the truth. We don’t know who she is, where she came from or what happened to her except she went after Paul Dean in Woodsend. Why? A satanic cult? And how come it’s affected the rest of us all these years later? Frankly, and we’ve got to face it, none of us have any idea what we’re dealing with or what to do about it!”
“Correction - there’s actually only you and me left, Becky. Amanda resigned yesterday - she’s apparently been taking a lot of time off anyway. And Kristy’s disappeared.”
“How do you mean - disappeared?”
“She’s taken a month’s leave to do some lectures, followed by an extended holiday.”
“Oh great. I actually thought she was onside! It’s not exactly a brilliant time to go swanning off again, is it?”
Noel shrugged. “She’ll be back.”
“I know, but a month! There’s no one for Ruby now…I’m still off sick and you weren’t even her case worker.”
“I know. Lousy timing, I agree.”
“So why did Amanda go? I can’t believe it.”
“She was shit scared, Becky. Let me get those coffees.”
“Noel?”
He sighed demonstrably. “I’ll die of caffeine withdrawal in a minute.”
“Sorry, no but listen, Noel - is it Christmas?”
“Yes, angel. In three days time.”
After he’d gone, Becky slumped back onto the pillows. If she didn’t know better, she’d say there was an unwritten conspiracy to stop anyone from ever discovering what happened to Ruby.
And now there was only herself to do the job. Which she would do - for Ruby, for Callum, for Martha, and for Jack. Because there was a person at the root of this - someone who was getting away with the worst imaginable abuse anyone could inflict on another human being. And that someone had also unleashed an unknown, uncontrollable darkness on an unsuspecting world.
From deep within herself, an unexpectedly warm, honeyed feeling spread through her veins - a renewed strength, along with the realisation that if this was the very last thing she did, she’d find that person and drag them into the floodlights by the hair, for all to see.
She waited for an inner voice to tell her she was crazy - to jump ship now like Amanda had done, in the name of self preservation. Only that voice never came.
***
Chapter 28
Cannes, Provence.
Kristy stretched and yawned, reached for her mobile and clicked on, ‘One New Message’. Amanda Blue!
She scrolled down. Started to chuckle. Then threw her head back and laughed raucously until the tears ran and her stomach muscles hurt. Ruby had apparently stopped in the middle of a drawing and told Amanda she was ‘next’. Amanda was worried enough to resign: she was a single mother with a small child, and the pressure was too much. She hoped Kristy would take care. ‘Only u & B left now who know full story - pls watch ur back! U know where I am if u need to chat.’
Kristy deleted the message, then tossed the mobile onto the plush cream carpet and lit a cigarette. Boy did it feel good to smoke - like a liberated, rebellious teen all over again! On the bedside table there were two empty champagne bottles. She emptied the dregs of one into a glass and looked at her watch. She’d to give a lecture in fifteen minutes.
Her suite was on the top floor of a luxury hotel overlooking the Mediterranean. She’d been upgraded after a contra-temps with the haughty, rather smug receptionist last night. Made a fuss to the manager, and ended up staying in the presidential suite, which came with glittering chandeliers, a king-sized bed, a black marble bathroom with a sunken bath, and a full sound system. How decadent, how thrilling - to listen to The Rolling Stones full blast while soaking up to your neck in scented bathwater! Rising naked from the steam she’d lit candles and admired her own body in the many faceted mirrors. Such, such….self-indulgent pleasure!
Room service had been even more satisfying…Champagne on ice, smoked salmon, cocaine…Kristy’s mirth bubbled over as she pulled on yesterday’s clothes and buffed up her hair a bit. Fuck - where were the notes for this lecture? Oh well, piss it - winging it would have to do!
In the cheval mirror there was an expression of shock, though, on the pinched, ashen face looking back at her. There were smudges of grey beneath her eyes, the pupils tiny as a pinhead. Something not at all right with that reflection. Was that herself? She peered closer, tracing her fingers down cheeks that seemed more bony than she’d imagined, avoiding eye-contact. Something not at all comfortable - almost, she thought, like looking at someone else instead of yourself. Someone you didn’t recognise. How odd! Must be the cocaine…Cocaine? Kristy? Cocaine??
She stepped back in alarm, suddenly a
ware of the creased clothes, and the blood. Blood? Blood smeared on her smart, nude court shoes. Blood grouted into her nail-beds, and streaked in her hair.
You can’t go out like that.
The woman in the mirror smiled then, the eyes glinting shades of lilac and purple.
No you can’t. You mustn’t. What will people think?
Again, the reflection ignored her. Shrugged. And grinned.
Please stop. No, don’t do this. Kristy!
Watch me. Moments later she stalked into the marbled foyer, located the bar and ordered a double whisky before entering the conference hall and walking up the aisle, past hundreds of fellow psychiatrists and psychologists.
On spying her, the conference organiser visibly breathed a sigh of relief and rushed forwards with a microphone clip. “Ah. Dr Silver. Thank goodness. We thought you’d got lost. ”
Kristy climbed the steps on the side of the stage, her footsteps cutting into the wooden floorboards as she walked towards the lectern. For a few silent moments the audience waited while she fiddled around with the laptop. Nothing seemed to work properly. And where were her notes? Oh God, had she left them in her room?
She stared into the darkness of the auditorium for several heart thumping moments. Tired, she was just tired.
Someone whispered in her right ear. A sharp, hiss of a whisper. “You have just been deconstructed. How does it feel?”
Kristy whirled around to see who had spoken, but there was no one behind her on the dark, empty stage.
She turned back to the lectern, trying to ignore the white faces staring up at her from the front row. Think, think…she could do this without notes, of course she could. This was about Disassociative Identity Disorder and no one knew more about this subject than herself, especially as the paper she’d had published was a case history she’d been working on for years. With or without a Microsoft presentation she could do this.
“You’re being an arrogant, stuck-up bitch again!” said the nasty hiss. “Everyone hates you, did you know that?”
She twitched a glance over her shoulder, before examining the computer again, and re-checking the connections one by one. Keep calm. It’s okay. Nerves, just nerves…Nothing worked, though.
Finally, she switched it off. Coughed and cleared her throat. She had to say something. Anything. She opened her mouth, but with horror realised a voice other than her own was speaking. Something low and foreign, syrupy thick and guttural was coming out. Mostly though, and here was the real shock of it - the voice was male!
She flushed hotly, sweat rising under her skin, sticking to her palms, oozing under her arms. From deep within the audience there came the sound of confused murmuring, rising to a droning hum.
“Dr Silver…”
Kristy peered into the dark auditorium. “Who’s there?”
The voice now came from the side. “Dr Silver!”
She swung round to the left. “Who’s out there?”
“Dr Silver!” The voice now to the right.
She swung around and around again and again. Where was the voice coming from?
You need to tell them what a whore you are! After your husband fucked that cunt in his office, tell them what you did…tell them how you got yourself fucked up the arse in an alleyway, you dirty fucking bitch…by a patient…
“What?”
“Dr Silver - are you all right?”
You’re just a filthy, disgusting whore - a dirty slut - a pill-popping pig…not fit to be human. All we’ve done is give you what you really wanted - what you really want because that’s who you really are…just a drug-addicted whore…
The strange thing was, these iron-heavy legs of hers wouldn’t move and yet her body must be pacing back and forth along the podium because there were people trying to hold her, footsteps pounding along the floorboards, strong arms grabbing at her own, which were flailing wildly in the air, although they too felt dead and disconnected.
Who was shouting obscenities? Who was being so nasty and disgusting? Saying the worst imaginable things? Was this a breakdown. Was this what it felt like? Oh my God…….
A hot, pouring-out feeling exuded from between her legs. Crushing pain cramped her stomach. Loud giggling echoing in the black bowl of her head.
“Help her!” someone said.
“Get her off the stage.”
“She’s ill. We need to get her to hospital.”
Jesus Christ - I’ve been stopped.
***
Chapter 29
November 2013: Rookery Mill, Tanners Dell
I’ve been here before, haven’t I? Only it’s a hell of a lot colder this time - freezing, in fact - with most of the windows broken or missing, and just the few damp twigs I could scavenge, hissing and spitting in the grate. Got to keep it together, though. It’ll take a day. Less. For the right moment.
That’s all the time I’ll have anyway, because Jes’ll know where to look. And looking is what he’ll do when he sees half his stash missing - look I had to get it from somewhere! Anyhow, he’s not daft - quick off the mark for a smack head pimp is Jes - and if it‘s a choice between a day without smack or a beating, I’ll take the beating anytime, know what I mean? I’ve got just enough to see me through…just…if I play it right.
Night’s closing in. It happens fast here in the woods. One minute smoky and grey, the next it’s so black you can’t see the hand in front of you. There are voices out there…getting a flashback…out of the window, coming out of the trees are torches flickering and floating in a long line….No, they’re gone…What was that then? A dream? Or a memory? God, I don’t know. My brain’s shot to pieces.
From here you can lie low, really low, like no one in their right mind is ever gonna come here, especially at night. Maybe I shouldn’t have lit the fire? Better stamp it out. How stupid am I?
I need it pitch black before I leave. Quarter to eleven now. Fog curling round the tree trunks, smoke and dead leaves heavy in the air. It’s so, so cold in here and getting colder, damp sinking through my clothes, soaking into my spine. I wish I didn’t have to hole up here of all places, but it’s the only place no one’s ever gonna see me. Even local teens don’t come here to shoot drugs or drink lager or get a shag or whatever. You can hear the dripping damp, rats scratching inside the walls, and there’s whispering in the corners, like bitchy girls snickering behind their hands giggling with malicious intent. It’s seriously fucking creepy - like you’re being watched from the shadows, fingers stroking your hair, a puff of breath on your cheek, silvery laughter…Even tramps don’t hunker down inside these walls for the night. Not a living soul….
I can see things. Hear things. I know they aren’t there. I know it…yet knowing that somehow makes it even more terrifying, because it’s like…what the fuck’s happening? What is this?
Just now I had to go to the bathroom, if you can call it that, picking my way down the endless gloomy corridor, and there on the floor was a cracked mirror. I picked it up. Staring up at me from behind my own jagged reflection was a woman, with wet, dark hair and bruised, hollow eyes. Eyes that moved around in their sockets to make me look at what she was looking at - in the bath…a child, more a baby really, having purple, mottled skin peeled off and the fat cut out with a knife. A woman with a coal-black stare looked over her shoulder and her gash of a mouth split open to show a toothless grin. I dropped the mirror, glass splintering on the floorboards, and ran back in here - an upstairs room with some dirty, damp blankets and a clear view of the woods below.
We know you see us. We know you’re here. Ruby, Ruuuubbbbyyyy………..
It’s just a place to hide out. Not long.
Lying here now, just waiting. Shutting out the whispers. Picturing the journey, going over and over how it’s gonna be. There’s this thing I have to do, because my mind floats off and when I wake up again whole days will have passed. So it’ll be too late if I don’t keep this together. I am Ruby. I am Ruby. I am Ruby.
Keeping it togeth
er. Blocking out the images. Images of the floorboards underneath me being pushed up, creaking and groaning, bloodied hands squeezing through the cracks…Don’t fall asleep. Don’t drift off. I am Ruby. I am Ruby…
They wake me, though, the spirits, rousing me into a half dream - fuck! I didn’t drift off, did I? Heavy boots are clomping up the ladder that serves as a staircase. Clomp. Clomp. Clomp. Footsteps moving down the dark corridor, each door being squeaked open, hinges groaning with rust.
My heart slams hard into my ribs, the beat pounding in my ears…I’m trapped. Is it Jes? What day is it?
The night now is a total blackout. But the moon’s position hasn’t changed…I could have sparked out for less than a minute.
The sound of breathing comes from behind the door, and the handle starts to turn. But Jes would be shouting, calling for me. This isn’t Jes.
Is this real, though? It feels like someone else is living this. As if there’s a distance between me and whoever’s experiencing what’s happening. No, it isn‘t real…Like I know the woman in the mirror wasn’t real. This happened to me before - I saw stuff through other’s eyes. Things happened here that I know about and can see and they know it. They… Like I know the man on the other side of the door has the palest eyes and the hardest stare I’ve ever seen. That the woman who was skinning the baby is without a flicker of humanity. That the children who once lay here in the dark knew what was coming.
I’m one of them.
I want to speak to those children - the ones who wet themselves long before gnarled claws reached down to snatch them from their beds, the ones whose tiny hearts gave out in fear, their faces now zooming close range into my own one after the other. I want to tell them they are safe now and not in this terrible place anymore - not trapped in this dark, hellish crypt. Their souls can dance freely into the light… But my body is floating across the floorboards as if in a trance, to open the door.
I‘m staring into the face of a man older than my father - a man with an expression so chilling it cannot possibly be human. My body arches like a cobra, spitting venom, pushing past him, tearing down the ladder until a freezing rush of air blasts into my face and the roar of thousands of tons of water cascading in torrents over shiny, smooth rocks, drowns out the guttural rage of a man thwarted.
Father of Lies Page 21
