He sat cross-legged under the branches of the large oak tree and fingered the petals of the roses placed under its shadow. The branches were laden with coloured leaves, awaiting the autumn winds to unburden their treasures. It was the first anniversary of Callum’s death, and it felt a lot warmer than last year, when the leaves had been forcefully shed with wind so cold it watered his eyes and reddened his nose. Bert groaned as he opened his fingers, realising he had plucked the flowers bare.
‘Aw shit,’ he said, scattering the petals so an animal could take the blame. It was the first time he’d sworn aloud since Callum died. After all, who was left to swear to? Not his mother or father that was for sure.
Father withered to nothing after the funeral. He didn’t need to speak; the pain was evident from the deep grooves on his face. His eyes sunk deep in his skull, motionless and unthinking. Every night he sat on the porch, staring out at the tree, mumbling to himself about cutting it down. But mother wouldn’t let him, saying it was a memorial of the only child she had ever loved. Mother lost all interest in Bert and he was free to roam the land as he pleased.
Sometimes he caught his parents’ thoughts. If Bert had died in infancy, Callum would still be alive. They infested his brain, hardening his heart and darkening his soul. They didn’t know he could hear them. The darkest thoughts sprang to his attention like poison darts, and there was nothing he could do but allow them inside.
Bert jumped as a twig snapped behind him, and rustling footsteps made him spring to attention.
‘It’s me,’ his mother’s soft voice whispered, flat and emotionless.
‘I was just …’ But Bert couldn’t finish because he couldn’t think what he was doing there.
‘You don’t need to explain. Now come home, I need to lock up and you’ve got school in the morning.’
It was the first time mother had spoken directly to him, other than one-syllable responses. Bert searched for something to say. Something that would make her stay. Sometimes, when mother was near, his emotions felt all jumbled inside, all going in different directions, making him feel sick. A big part of him was eaten by the darkness, but sometimes he wanted her to stroke his hair, just like she did with Callum. When he was little, mother would loosely throw her arm around his shoulder, and it made him feel all happy inside, like butterflies dancing in the sunlight.
‘He’s not gone, mum, not really,’ he said. Perhaps his words would help her forgive him if she thought her loss was not quite so great.
Mother froze, the moonlight throwing her face into a patchy light, blotted by the rustling leaves overhead. Her eyes were puffy from crying and her words delivered by a voice tinged with urgency. ‘What did you say?’
Bert dug his fingers into the soft brown soil in front of him. It smelt earthy and rich. ‘I … I said he’s not gone. He talks to me. I don’t think he ever really left.’
Mother rushed over in two long strides and dropped down, grasping him by the shoulders. ‘Is this some kind of joke, Bert, because if it is …’
Bert flinched, expecting a slap for suggesting such a thing, but all he found were the whites of his mother’s eyes, searching his face for signs of hope. ‘No joke, mum, I swear. He spoke to me just today.’ Bert bit his lip, choosing his words carefully. ‘A girl in school was mean to me and he was angry about it.’
Grace stiffened as her cold fingers dug into his shoulder. ‘Callum never got angry.’
‘He always stuck up for me, mum, you know that.’
Mother considered it. Her head should have told her it couldn’t be true, but her heart, raw and aching, won out. ‘I’ve heard about things like this, when twins have a telepathic bond. Can you hear him now?’
Bert screwed up his face. He needed to think this one over. ‘Not right now, but he’s always there, I can feel him, inside me.’ He shook the earth from his fingers and pointed to his chest. It was a half truth. There was certainly something in there.
Mother blurted out a convulsive sob, so sudden that it made him jerk back, for fear he had gone too far. Letting go of his shoulders, she wiped her eyes then pulled him to her, wrapping her arms so tightly around him he could barely breathe. The smell of coconut shampoo arose from her wavy blonde hair, and he closed his eyes as he breathed in the precious moment.
‘Callum,’ she whispered, ‘Callum, if you can hear me, daddy and I love you so much.’
Bert closed his eyes and pretended she was talking to him. His mother’s body shuddered and she released her grip, swallowing back her tears and fixing the loose strands of hair that were taken by the light breeze. ‘Bert, if you ever get a message then you’ve got to tell me, but say nothing to your father, OK?’
Message? Bert thought. The only messages he got were from the voice in his head telling him to hurt people. Mother sighed as she spotted the rose petals scattered on the ground. Her attempts at growing flowers around the ill-fated oak tree had failed as the pansies and daffodils withered and died. Bert allowed himself a secret smile. He could have told her – nothing would grow in soil soaked in blood.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Bert sucked what was left of his roll-up cigarette. Taking his mother’s car was a wise move. The police were bound to be looking for him now, and they had all sorts of gadgets to check number plates and such. He used to watch a lot of police programmes on the television. His mother didn’t allow a television in the house. He shrugged. It didn’t matter where he watched it. The past did not matter to him any more. When he was well, everything would slot together like pieces of a puzzle. He would be himself again, and the clouds would clear to bring days filled with hope and lucidity. He had enjoyed watching Jennifer leave work, stopping to talk to the ragged old man. Mother’s binoculars were proving quite useful. He had cracked a smile as a lone raven swooped over their heads, stopping to perch in the spindly tree overlooking the bench. They were part of him, the ravens. They were as capable of carrying his presence as much as if he walked up behind her and whispered in her ear.
He watched as Jennifer glanced up at the raven overhead and brought her hand to the back of her neck, caressing the skin before shooing the raven away. But the bird stared fixedly at them both, and as her hand returned to scratch her neck once more, he allowed a smugness to wash over him. This would be easier than he thought. But all in good time. He was enjoying playing with her too much to cut it short now.
That evening he drove back to the forest where he abandoned his van. It was quite safe there because nobody ventured far into Raven’s woods any more. Turning on the radio, he began to warble as he drove down the bumpy unused track. His mother’s rosary beads swung back and forth from the mirror as he did so, and he forgot all his worries as he filled his thoughts with future plans.
It wasn’t until he drove over the narrow bridge that he noticed somebody poking around in his mind. The thoughts felt icy cold, frozen sparks shooting through his brain. He did not appreciate their attempts to see through his eyes. He knew exactly who it was. Bert stopped singing and clenched his teeth at the audacity. He scratched behind his ear. Who did she think she was, nothing but a girl poking around in his private thoughts? Worse still, she was trying to catch him off guard when he was driving. He ground his teeth. He instructed her, not the other way around. An angry itch spread over his raised skin like a coat of wasps and he dug his nails into his right arm. He would give her something to worry about. She was not playing fair, using her power to catch an old man off guard. He drew back his lips at the prospect of the pain he was going to make her endure, blocking her probing with his favourite poem. While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, as of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door, his voice whispered in the darkness.
‘Who are you?’ Jennifer whispered.
Bert laughed at the audacity. You come knocking on my door and you ask me who I am?
‘You have made yourself known to me prior to this, so I would argue it is you knocking on my door,’ the self-assured
response came forth.
Bert’s cracked lips twitched in a smile. Perhaps she was more of a challenge than he thought. He liked that. He granted her an answer. Why I’m Raven of course.
‘Did you kill Emily?’
Maybe, maybe not. A faint echo of laughter.
‘What do you want, Raven? Tell me, perhaps I can help …’
You’ll find out soon enough. But do not come to me uninvited again …
But Jennifer probed further, reaching out for clues.
Bert climbed out of his van in his secret place in the forest, gathering every ounce of energy to deliver his warning. Dropping to his knees, he dug his bony fingers into the soft soil of the earth, summoning the eager darkness. The trees echoed with flapping wings, working with the clouds to blot out the dying sun. The air filled with cries of abandon. Bert took a deep breath and held it. GET OUT little pig! I said, GET OUT! he screamed internally, the shockwaves sending the unwanted intruder back to reality. Spent, Bert leaned against a tree as he sat, the birds coming to nest all around him. He took what he could from the land to replenish his energy. Jennifer Knight was drawing near. He touched the cards in his jacket pocket. It was time for another prediction.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Her brief contact with the Raven left Jennifer uneasy in her skin. Despite the wine, she could still taste the tobacco in his mouth and feel the dull throb of the veins in his temple. Parting the curtains in Will’s flat, she peered out to the grey-blue slate rooftops of the houses across the road. A couple walked down the deserted street, arms interlinked as their footsteps echoed through the night. A blast of cold night air sliced through the gap in the window, and Jennifer strained to listen for the flap of black feathered wings. Thoughts loomed cold and dark as goose bumps rose on her skin. What if they were waiting for her at home? she thought, sitting on the rooftops and chimney pot as she pushed the key into the door. What then? She rubbed her arms. Ravens didn’t usually come out at night but she was living in a world where anything could happen. Speaking seductively to the murderous man had made her flesh crawl, and she could not bear the thought of sleeping alone. The ten o’clock news rang out on the television. Will shook the half-empty bottle of wine and placed it back on the table. ‘You’re not in a hurry to go, are you?’
Jennifer shook her head, a little frisson of nerves bubbling inside her as the words formed in her mouth. ‘I was wondering …’ she said, taking a deep breath to finish her sentence. ‘Do you think I could stay over? It’s just with everything going on, I don’t want to be on my own.’
Will’s face broke into a smile. ‘Of course. You can sleep in my bed. I’ll kip on the sofa.’
‘Thanks,’ Jennifer said, half-heartedly. She was not ready to let him go just yet. ‘Do you think we can stay up for a while? Watch some movies?’ Jennifer kicked off her heels, wishing she’d worn something more comfortable than a shirt and trousers.
‘Your encounter’s really shaken you, hasn’t it? We can stay up all night if you like, it’s not as if we have to get up for work in the morning.’
‘I’d like that,’ she said, picking up her empty wine glass for replenishment.
Will turned on the old portable television, jabbing at the plastic buttons as a hazy picture came up on the screen. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I moved the flatscreen into my bedroom. It seemed like a good idea at the time.’
‘Well, what are we waiting for? You bring the sofa cushions. I’ll bring the booze,’ Jennifer said.
‘I didn’t want you to think …’ Will’s voice tapered off as he reddened.
Jennifer flashed a smile. ‘I don’t,’ she lied. Will was only taking it slow because she asked him to. But lately any romance between them had come to a grinding halt. Her heart fluttered in her chest and she felt sixteen all over again.
The bedroom was bigger than Jennifer’s but came with a more lived-in feel. A kingsize bed graced the middle of the room, and it was a typical bachelor pad, reasonably clean, comfortable, with shelves filled with the latest PlayStation and Xbox games. Will apologised as he tidied, picking up clothes and shutting wardrobe doors, removing empty coffee cups from his bedside table, and switching off the harsh overhead light in exchange for the soft bedside lamps. Jennifer smiled as she came from the bathroom wearing a pair of tracksuit bottoms borrowed from Will, and a freshly washed t-shirt. For once her mind was not on cleaning, and she plumped the cushions as she lay on the bed, patting a space beside her. ‘Leave it, Will, just come and sit beside me. It’s fine.’
Will gave her a curious glance before leaning back on the cushions and pillows, locking his hands behind his head. They settled back into easy conversation as the movie played, berating the actors, and the weak plot about a superhero disguised as a homeless man.
Will leaned his head on his hand and turned to her as the end credits rolled.
‘Do you think George is like that?’ he said. ‘To us he’s some harmless old dude, shuffling around, but in reality he’s biding his time, waiting to save us with a flap of his cape.’
‘If he’s got a costume on under his clothes it must be pretty stinky by now,’ Jennifer said.
Will flattened his pillow as he turned to look at her. ‘I don’t get it, how come you’ve taken such a liking to him?’
Jennifer smiled, her eyes dreamy. ‘You probably think I’m mad but …’
‘Go on,’ Will said gently, coaxing out her inner thoughts.
‘Since the incident last year with Frank, I feel like there’s been a weight lifted. It’s hard to explain, but I feel better in myself, less selfish.’ She gave an uncomfortable laugh.
They rarely spoke about the incident in the boathouse, and it all felt like it happened so long ago. A fleeting look of concern crossed Will’s face. It was gone so quick she wondered if she imagined it.
‘Anyway, you know all about me. What about you? You must have some skeletons in your closet,’ Jennifer said.
Will stifled a yawn with his hand. The white mark from the absence of his wedding ring had gone, and Jennifer found herself feeling pleased about it.
‘There’s nothing exciting to share,’ he said, glancing over at the digital alarm clock by the side of the bed, which glowed ‘02:00’ in red flashing lights.
But Jennifer didn’t want to go to sleep yet. Sleep would bring the nightmares. Her face buried in the pillow, she turned to face him, inhaling the scent of fabric softener.
‘Aw c’mon, there must be something about you that nobody else knows, or at least nobody from work. I don’t mean bad habits or anything like that, you must have something to share.’
Will tilted his head to one side and a spark of inspiration brought a smile to his face. ‘There is actually, but you’re not to take the piss out of me in work for this.’
Jennifer crossed her chest with her finger. ‘I won’t, I promise, what happens in Will’s manor stays in Will’s manor.’
‘OK.’ Will turned down the TV as an advert for toilet cleaner flashed on the screen. ‘Have you ever wanted a tattoo?’
Jennifer’s eyes twinkled. Did Will have a tattoo? It was possible, she had never seen him naked. ‘I’ve thought about it.’
‘Where would you have it?’
‘On my side, say here,’ she said, pointing to the bra strap visible under her white t-shirt, ‘down my side to below my hip bone.’
Will gave a wry smile. ‘No anchors or love and hate on your knuckles?’
‘No, definitely not,’ Jennifer said.
‘Maybe something pretty, and trailing, like a vine, or dark flowers?’ Will said.
‘Yes, I’d say you’ve got it. So what’s your secret? Have you a tattoo?’
Will’s eyes glinted in the warmth of the bedside light. ‘I do as it happens but my surprise is something else. Stay where you are and I’ll show you.’
The bed bounced as Will jumped off and padded to the wardrobe in his stocking feet. ‘Ah, here it is,’ he said, pulling out a brown leather bag which was bu
ried in the back. Rolling open the flap, an array of art supplies fanned on the bed.
Jennifer took one look at the pens and gave a nervous giggle. ‘Oh my God, you’re not going to tattoo me, are you?’
‘Yes. No. Kind of. It’s temporary ink. Want to give it a go?’
‘I’d love to,’ Jennifer said, mellowed by the wine, and warmed by his presence. ‘Have you ever done this before?’
‘My brother bought his own tattoo parlour a couple of years ago, he gave me a tattoo and showed me how to do it. He’s a brilliant artist.’
Jennifer thought of Will’s doodles in interview, and all the scraps of paper buried in his drawers at work. ‘So you’ve done this before?’
‘I’ve given tattoos, yes. You’ll have to stay still, mind. I don’t want you to see this until I’m done.’
Jennifer lay on her side, leaning on her elbow as she supported her head with her hand.
‘You’ll have to lift up your t-shirt. I can’t draw over it.’
A giggle erupted from Jennifer’s lips. ‘Of course, all in the name of art of course.’
‘I assure you it is, Miss Knight. If you’d rather have a butterfly on your ankle…’
Time To Die Page 14
