by Sophie Jaff
Sael doesn’t question Cathal further, only asks, “How bad?”
“Bad.” He looks away.
So now they’re in Cathal’s car and driving to Wales. And they are not proceeding with caution. They have thrown caution to the winds and are speeding full tilt, trying to catch up to the blue dot on the screen. During the ride, Cathal filled him in on just how “bad” it had gotten.
They had been trying for ages to have a child. Margot, his first wife, had no difficulty conceiving Bella. Bella now a teenager who goaded and jabbed at Niamh. Cathal thinks this might have added to the pressure. Niamh had always been a little insecure when it came to his first marriage, his wealth, his background, though he had told her time and time again that he loved everything about her. She had believed that a baby would secure their life together, give it solidity, even a respectability she publicly scorned but clearly longed for. Life became a never-ending stream of specialists and treatments, injections, medication, poking and prodding, soulless clinical rooms, invasive questions, and negative test results.
She had borne it so bravely, much better than him. And when she finally conceived, it had seemed like a miracle. They were so happy. Until the night a few weeks ago when she shook him awake, their bedsheets soaked bright red.
Afterward, she has turned her face to the wall. Refused to see the visiting midwives, to talk with her family, to contact her friends. Yet when he passed their room he would hear her voice, low but animated, talking with someone.
“Grief takes everyone differently,” his mother had told him.
“Just be there for her,” said her sisters. “She’ll come around.”
At three a.m., her side of the bed would be cold, empty. Muffled murmurs coming through the locked bathroom door. Her hip bones began to protrude through her stained pajama pants; lank strands of greasy hair fell over her eyes. He begged her to seek help, pleaded with her.
“She’ll help me. She’ll see me through. She knows what to do.”
“Who is she? What are you talking about?” He kept asking.
Niamh’s gaze sliding up and away and over his shoulder. Looking at someone or something he couldn’t see. She smiled as if to reassure an invisible presence. He had felt like a shit downloading the software onto her phone, but he can’t pretend he trusts her anymore. He is afraid of what she may do to herself.
Sael wants to go faster, as fast as possible, but he knows that if they are stopped now by a traffic officer, that’s the end of it. The English are serious about their driving laws. It will slow them down, use up time they don’t have.
He looks out of the window. The sky is yellowing. Something is coming, he thinks. Something is coming. I hope we make it. But he doesn’t have a good feeling.
They speed along without saying anything for a long time, and then Cathal glances at the blue dot and swears and brakes and puts on his indicators.
“They’ve gone off the motorway.”
Sael grabs the phone, starts navigating. “Left. Okay, stay here, they’ve taken a right.”
They are heading down smaller roads, and the sky grows darker and darker.
“What’s around here, do you think?” Sael’s own words sound wrong, cracked and strained.
“Fuck if I know,” says Cathal.
And then they see a sign. It’s in Welsh, a string of letters full of L’s and W’s, but the symbol of the little walking man tells them all they need to know. There are footpaths for hikers all around here.
“Why in God’s name would they be here?” There is a bewildered note in Cathal’s voice that frightens Sael.
Then they see a lone car parked along the shoulder of the road, the passenger front door open. Cathal pulls up sharply behind it.
“It’s hers,” Cathal says. He almost doesn’t turn off the ignition because he’s trying to get out so fast.
There is something horrible about that open door. Sael hurries toward the car, glances inside, sees that their phones are there, also a bag that has some sandwiches and a bottle of water in it. But why wouldn’t they take that with them?
Cathal is already half running down the road, looking desperately to either side. Sael also begins to trot, but there’s no sign of any of them. A wind is blowing, lifting Sael’s hair; it’s warm, weirdly intimate. It only adds to his unease. He has an urge to call out, but knows in his gut that to do so would be a mistake.
Cathal has stopped. “Fuck,” he breathes.
Sael is about to ask when he sees for himself: two footpaths steeply diverging.
“We’ll have to split up.”
“Wait, what’s this?” Cathal is bending over something in the grass, something red and soft.
Sael’s stomach twists over in a greasy lump. “It’s Lucas’s,” he says. “It’s his shirt.” He remembers buying it for Lucas, a Polo shirt, a ridiculous amount of money to spend on a five-year-old, but he hadn’t been able to resist himself. He looks around wildly, then gives a cry as he steps on a small pair of jeans. He holds them up so Cathal can see.
“Thank Jesus,” Cathal says. “Let’s go, the light won’t last for long.”
34
Lucas
Lucas opens his eyes. Noises are coming from Kat. He remembers taking Cordy to the vet, and this huge dog—it was called a Doberman pinscher—kept growling. It’s a sound full of teeth, like thunder but lower. Lucas didn’t think a person could make that kind of noise.
“What’s happening?” His question comes out before he can stop it. He didn’t mean to ask one because he is terrified of Niamh.
“We’re close.” She sounds very excited, like a kid on his way to Disney World. “We’re almost there!”
He is afraid to ask any more questions. He stares out of the window for clues about where “there” is. They’ve turned off the motorway now, onto a narrow road bordered by pine trees, and there aren’t any other cars around. The sky is deepening into a yellowy purple like a bruise. It must be windy because the pine trees sway.
The humming and growling noise grows louder. Kat is panting, like Cordy. In between she groans hoarsely and clutches her belly.
“We’re here,” Niamh announces abruptly.
She pulls the car over to the edge of the road, then grabs her bag, gets out, and runs around to the passenger side of the car. She pulls the door open, and Lucas smells the faint tang of salt on the blustering wind.
They must be near the sea.
Kat half falls, half scrambles out of her seat. Niamh offers an arm, and Kat takes it, leans on her. Together, Niamh leading, the two women begin to move down the shoulder of the road. And then they stop at a gap in the pines, where a footpath cuts away into the trees.
Lucas realizes that they are abandoning him. He doesn’t want to get out of the car, but he doesn’t want to be left here either. He’s hungry, and he’s tired. He has to go. He unbuckles his seat belt, picks up his backpack, hoists it on his shoulders, and runs to catch up. But he doesn’t want to get too close.
How will anyone find them? How will he find his way back, if he and Kat escape?
The wind is warm, too warm. It may blow him over if he doesn’t lean into it. Lucas doesn’t know how long they have been walking, only that it is darker now, and he is running out of clothing. He hopes the wind doesn’t blow his clues away.
Ahead the footpath curves to the right, to the sea, but Niamh and Katherine aren’t following it anymore. They keep going straight, up the slope of a hill that rises out of the thinning trees. He hesitates, drops his sweater at the base of the hill, near the path, and then abandons it to follow them. He doesn’t know how much longer he can keep going. He’s so tired, so tired.
In the last of the sickly light, Lucas can see the trunk of a great tree on the brow of the hill, and rising behind it, in the not-too-far distance, the dark gray bulk of a castle. But it is different from the castles he visited with Kat and Matthew and John. It scares him, and then he understands why.
Flags are fluttering at
the top of the turrets. This castle isn’t old, dead, like the others. This castle is alive.
As he climbs the hill, he hears the first wet cough of thunder. He gasps for air, a sharp stabbing pain in his side.
The slope is leveling out, and he can see Kat now. She is on her hands and knees near the base of the tree, and it looks like she’s struggling to breathe. Niamh kneels beside her, rubbing her back with one hand. The other she holds, palm up, in front of Kat’s face. She appears to be feeding Kat something, like he sometimes feeds Cordy. He creeps closer, but when he sees the smile twisting Niamh’s face, he begins to run.
“Stop! Stop, Kat! Don’t eat that!”
But Kat doesn’t stop. She doesn’t even hear him. She is licking Niamh’s palm clean.
“Stop!” he screams, tries to push Niamh’s hand away. “It’s poison!”
Niamh looks up at him in surprise. “Poison?” She laughs. “I would never give her poison. That could hurt the baby. These are herbs that are supposed to induce labor.”
“Labor?” The word makes no sense to him.
“How a baby arrives. The baby will be coming soon.” Her dark eyes are shining.
Lucas knows babies are born in a hospital. Kat had explained it to him, how she would go to the hospital when the baby was ready to come out, how a doctor would help her. She should be in a hospital. There should be adults, a doctor, not just him and Niamh alone, outside on a hill in a storm.
“How can we stop it?”
“Stop it?” Niamh glares at him. “Why would we stop it? We can only wait and let her have my baby.”
He stumbles back, almost falls over himself. My baby? This isn’t her baby. He doesn’t know what happened to her baby, but this is Kat’s baby.
Is she going to take Kat’s baby?
35
Lucas
Kat moans, writhes, sweats. Her cheeks are flushed; her eyes are filmy, unfocused. Niamh is sweating too as she gazes intently into Kat’s eyes, brushes Kat’s hair away from her face.
But Lucas is not watching Kat’s face anymore. Instead, he is looking at Kat’s necklace. It is shimmering, pulsing with light that radiates outward. He’s glimpsed it before. She never takes it off. It’s strange, a rough silver circle pushing into itself. It makes him think of a snake. And now it makes him think of a halo.
Lucas wants to know if Niamh notices this, but she’s still on her knees by Kat’s head, rocking back and forth as she squeezes Kat’s hand. Very slowly, very carefully, he leans forward into the light. He has never seen her necklace up close like this before, and only now does he realize the circle is actually a snake, a thin silver snake that is feeding on its own tail. Its scales ripple; its tiny red eyes gleam.
Niamh moves quickly, like a tiny monkey he once saw at the zoo. One moment she is clutching Kat’s hand, the next she is standing up, peering out into the gathering darkness.
She cocks her head to one side. “All right,” she says, only she’s not speaking to anyone that Lucas can see. “I’ll deal with him. See if I don’t.” She turns to him. “Hold her hand, stay with her. I’ll be right back.”
He nods.
She looks at him, and her eyes are dark and shining, like the snake’s. “If you make a noise, I’ll kill you.”
Then she walks into the darkness.
Lucas counts to five. He’s almost too scared to move, but this is his only chance. The necklace is bad. He reaches into his backpack, closes his fingers around the handle of the knife.
It feels strange in his hand, not cold but warm, alive. He gingerly touches the chain. It burns his fingertips, and he drops it back against her neck. Then he bites his lip and takes hold of the chain again. Kat cries out, and Lucas can see that there are little drops of blood on her skin, as if the chain had been stuck on her flesh. His hand shaking, he takes the knife and slowly, oh so slowly, slides the blade underneath the chain.
“She will never take our baby.”
He freezes. Slowly turns.
The most beautiful woman he has ever seen sits in the gnarled roots of the tree. Her hair is long and dark, like Kat’s is now, and her dress is green. She is looking into the darkness where Niamh has run, and slowly shakes her head.
“What?”
“I said she could have the baby if she did what I told her. I lied.”
She sounds amused, like she’s telling a joke. Then she turns to stare at him.
Lucas is cold all over. He wants to throw up. His bladder lets go and a warm trickle runs down his leg. He doesn’t even notice. He can’t move.
She is worse than any of the other ladies who used to come to him. She is the one who wears Kat’s skin.
“And what do you think you’re doing?”
She doesn’t sound mad or surprised. She sounds interested.
“What?” It comes out as a squeak.
“What are you doing with that knife?”
Lucas looks down. He had forgotten he was holding it. “I don’t know.”
“Are you going to kill her?” She smiles.
“No!” Lucas is shocked.
“My mother was killed in the woods,” she says lightly. “By the same person who killed your mother.”
Lucas does not know what to say. He glances miserably away and then back. Momma.
“I was not much older than you,” the woman continues. “My mother and I had gone to the woods to look for mushrooms.”
Before he can stop himself, the question comes out. “Who are you?”
“My name is Margaret.”
“Are you a ghost?” he whispers.
“In a way. I lived a long time ago, but a part of me never died.” She rises to her feet, steps forward. “Now drop that knife.” She does not sound interested anymore. “Drop the knife, or I’ll make you wish you were dead and buried with your mother.”
36
Sael
Halfway up the hill, they see a castle silhouetted against the seething marbled sky, and beneath it a huge tree. The tree is bathed in pure white light.
Sael was the one who realized that Lucas had been leaving clues for them, shedding his shirt, his jeans, with a purpose, to mark a route. Sael remembers reading Hansel and Gretel to him and his heart twists. He had spotted the small blue sweater a little way off the footpath, guiding them away from the sea and up the hill.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” Cathal’s words are barely audible against the rising howl of the wind.
Cathal grabs Sael’s arm and pulls them both down to the ground.
“Stay low,” he whispers.
Now both of them are crawling on their hands and knees through the gloaming. As they near the tree, Sael can make out two figures underneath its branches. Katherine’s face is a mask of pain, and her screams cut through the keening wind. Lucas is bending over her.
Sael forgetting everything scrambles to his feet. “Katherine!” he shouts. “Lucas! Katherine!”
When Lucas turns around, Sael can see that he’s holding a knife.
Before he can ask why, Lucas cries, “Sael, look—”
The world goes dark.
37
Lucas
Niamh is running, running, out of the darkness behind Sael, raising a thick, jagged branch higher and higher.
“Sael, look—”
But Lucas is too late. Niamh smashes the branch into the back of Sael’s head, and he crumples, his eyes rolling backward. She shrieks triumphantly, lifts the branch high again.
She means to kill him. Lucas screams.
Niamh looks up, sees him with the knife near Katherine’s throat.
“No! You will never take my baby! Never! Never!” she cries, dropping the branch.
Then a huge man rushes up, tackles her, pulls her down. Together they fall to the ground.
Niamh is still howling.
38
Lucas
Lucas knows there is no time to wonder about Niamh, or who the man is. He focuses again on Kat, the chain resting on the
edge of the blade. And he pulls up, up.
Kat is suddenly staring at him, reaching her hands out and fastening her fingers around his throat. She is laughing and laughing. She is not Kat now but the woman who comes to watch him at night. She squeezes his neck tighter and tighter, squeezes and squeezes, and he cannot breathe, he cannot move, he cannot breathe, spots of color dance in front of his eyes as his vision fades, but he must, he must do this.
Exhaling everything he has left, he yanks the blade of the knife up against the chain, away from Kat’s neck, and it breaks in two with a great crack. There is a brilliant flash of light, and as a blast of wind blows him back, he sees the silver circle slide off the broken chain and roll away into the roots of the tree.
He lies there in the night, gulping air. It burns to breathe. His throat is on fire. His whole body hurts. He keeps his eyes shut.
After a long time he realizes that he can’t hear the wind anymore. In the silence, something soft touches his face, once, twice, a third time. Cool, but not wet. He opens his eyes. All at once the tree has bloomed, and tiny white blossoms are falling from its branches. They land on his hair, slide down his face, like kisses. He sits up.
When the petals reach the ground, a thin beam of white light shoots up, like a seed has sprouted and is poking through the earth to reach the sun. As the blossoms snow down, more and more and more lines of light flower, until he and Kat are cradled in an orb of light, blocking out the darkness.
The Light is beautiful. The Light is safe. And there in the Light he can make out a familiar shape. She’s standing there, smiling at him.
