“That’s correct. You and Linda are free to go wherever you please. Thank you for what you’ve done and for keeping your side of the bargain. I appreciate that living where you have for the past twenty-two years has not been easy, but I hope the money you will receive will compensate for the inconveniences I have bestowed upon you.”
Butler ended the call and replaced the phone on its cradle.
From the window of his study he could see the rooftops in Whitcombe Fields Road, just over a quarter of a mile away. Directly in his line of sight was the ridge of 11a, the only detached building in the row.
The hairs on his neck stood up as he contemplated what was going to happen.
Chapter 22
Late February
Charlie stared at Heather from the book shelf as she lay on her bed. His dark hollow eyes and manic grin were accentuated by the glow of the streetlight as it shone through the gap in the curtains. She’d become obsessed with the stone face painted by her niece ever since she’d heard her great grandmother’s voice on New Year’s Day. She'd been told to keep him safe and they would need each other. Heather didn’t know what the message had meant, but was sure it was important.
Tiredness got the better of her and soon she was in a deep sleep and experiencing the most vivid dream.
Heather lay next to the tombstone in the graveyard of St Michael on the Mount Without. The same stone where she’d heard the strange voice the previous summer. Wearing only her pyjamas she shivered in the damp chill of the late February night. She sat up and ran her fingers over the dates which were only just legible.
Born ----ber 1- --99
Died September 6 1839
Alongside the grave lay a beautiful bouquet wrapped and tied with a blue bow. The flowers had a small white envelope attached. She took the envelope, removed a card and in the dim light read the words.
‘To Sophie and Finn, congratulations and thanks for giving us a grandson, love mum and dad x x’
It was the flowers that her mother intended to take to the maternity hospital.
She looked at Charlie staring at her from a polythene bag next to the tombstone and placed the flowers in the bag next to the painted stone head.
She sat on the damp ground and looked at the gravestone.
“You’ve found me,” said a voice coming from the stone head.
“Who’s there?” called Heather looking around the dimly lit graveyard.
“My name is Charles Nash, and this place is where I rest.”
Heather was afraid, alone and cold. The voice frightened her.
“Charlie,” whispered Heather.
“That’s right Heather. I’m Charles. I'd like to introduce you to an important person, who cared for me for a long time. Look over your shoulder.”
Heather strained her neck to see a frail lady dressed in a heavy winter coat. She had a soft kind smile and tired eyes.
“Hello Heather. Don’t be scared, I won’t harm you.”
Heather was beyond scared.
“What do you want with me?”
“You are an important person and have been chosen for something very special.” said the frail voiced old lady.
“I knew your Great Grandmother Elizabeth.” added the woman.
Heather sat up and backed away from her.
“What’s going on?”
“I can’t stay for long, but you must listen and believe what I say. You’ve been chosen, and Elizabeth has helped with making the choice. Your Great Grandmother has passed a special gift on to you. You have the gift of the veil of tears. You have the ability to speak with the dead. Charles Nash needs you and you must be here for him as I have over the years. My time has come and gone, and now it’s your turn.”
“What do you mean, my turn?” said Heather as she shivered in the night air.
“You will find out. Soon, things will make sense. Please be here for Charles.”
Heather looked at the gravestone and wondered whether this was happening. She turned to the old lady, but she had gone. Instead stood a tall man in a high visibility jacket.
“Excuse me, are you okay?” asked the man.
Before Heather answered, he spoke on a radio and called for an ambulance. He slipped off his police jacket and put it over Heather to keep her warm.
“It’s a bit cold to be out in your pyjamas isn’t it?”
Heather was confused. The police officer knelt next to her.
“What’s your name and where do you live?”
Heather told him her name and where she lived. She found it difficult to speak because she was shivering.
“I’ve called for an ambulance, it will be here soon.”
The sound of sirens approached and within a few minutes the ambulance arrived. A paramedic helped her aboard and rushed her to nearby Frenchay Hospital. The officer sat with her and watched the paramedic attend to her. The ambulance sped through the night and within minutes pulled up outside Accident and Emergency.
“She has hypothermia,” said the paramedic as hospital staff wheeled her into the warmth of the hospital.
Heather couldn't comprehend what was happening. Medics were scurrying along the corridor and staff were busying around her covering her in warm blankets to increase her body temperature.
The police officer waited with her until she could speak.
“So Heather, now you’re warm and safe I want you to tell me what you were doing?”
Heather shook her head.
“I’m not sure. One minute I was at home in bed, and the next thing I remember is being in the graveyard.”
“So you don't know how you got there?”
Heather didn’t answer and took a sip of tea.
“Did you drive?”
She shook her head again.
The officer sensed her confusion.
“Is there anyone I can call? I think the hospital will be sending you home soon.”
“Yes, you can call my sister Sophie. I’m sure she’ll be happy to take me home.”
Heather placed the tea beside her and turned to the officer. His face became a blur and the surrounding sounds faded as she slipped out of consciousness.
Heather woke to the sound of the seven o'clock alarm. She looked around her bedroom and thought of the dream. Stretching and yawning she sat up and perched on the edge of her bed. She made her way to the bathroom and ran the shower. She slipped off her pyjamas and stepped under the warm water which cascaded over her tired body and made her more alert. The water made her skin tingle and she let it flow over her short brown hair.
She noticed the colour of the water as it ran from her body. It was filthy brown. She looked at her legs and saw the remains of soil on her feet. She shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. She sat on the bathroom chair and examined her feet. Even after briefly being in the shower they were dirty. Bits of grass were between her toes and there was dirt beneath her nails.
“How did that get there?” she whispered as she removed the soil and grass with a damp flannel. Heather didn’t bother to continue showering and instead went back to the bedroom to get dressed.
She looked at the bookshelf. The head was gone. She stood motionless halfway through buttoning her blouse.
“Where have you gone Charlie?” she muttered under her breath.
Things were becoming surreal. The dirt on her feet and now Charlie had disappeared. He was definitely there the night before, she remembered him staring at her with his toothy grin.
She made her way to the kitchen of her ground floor flat and saw something in the hallway by the coat stand. It was Charlie, and he was lying on his side and facing the wall in a polythene bag. Alongside him were the decayed remains of stems wrapped in a faded blue bow. She removed them from the bag and saw a weathered envelope. The ink on the front had faded, and the envelope was open. Heather removed the small card from the envelope. She squinted her eyes and read the faded writing and as she did she said the words out loud.
“To Soph
ie and Finn, congratulations and thanks for giving us a grandson, love mum and dad.”
Heather shuddered as she tried to comprehend what had happened during the night.
She bent forward to pick the head from the bag. Warmth emanated from the stone. She was going to pick it up, but stopped as a voice echoed along the hallway.
“Heather, it's Charles Nash. We need to talk.”
Chapter 23
Early March
Sophie glanced at her husband as he took a sip of coffee and turned the page of the morning paper. He’d become different and developed a short fuse which would turn into a nasty temper. Normally he wore his hair short with a little turn up at the front, which Sophie often referred to as his ‘Tintin’ haircut, but he’d been letting his hair grow and looked scruffy.
“You could do with a trip to the barbers’ young man,” said Sophie jokingly.
“Pardon?”
“Your hair’s getting long, you need it cut.”
Finn put down the coffee, folded the newspaper, stood up and walked out of the kitchen.
He went upstairs to the bathroom to have a wash. Finn glanced at his reflection, saw how long his hair had become and how the grey strands over his temple were more prominent. He smiled approvingly, took his razor from the cabinet and covered his face with shaving foam.
“Shit!” he cursed.
The blade nicked his skin and blood mixed with the foam on his face. He watched blood run down his cheek. He touched the cut with his finger and spread blood across the side of his face. Something about it fascinated him. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the cabinet and picked away at the razor until he bent one of the fine blades out of place. It was protruding upwards above the others and was deadly sharp. He took the blade to his cheek and pressed it hard against his skin. With his eyes closed he dug the cold sharp metal into the side of his face, then gradually and precisely dragged the blade which tore through his skin so deeply it almost cut through to the inside of his mouth.
Blood gushed from the deep wound. It ran down his neck, onto his chest and to his stomach.
Finn watched his reflection as the right-hand side of his face became a crimson mess.
A few seconds later he was brought out of the dreamlike state by the burning pain from the cut. He came to his senses, grabbed a towel and howled in agony. The blood wouldn’t stop, it kept coming. He howled again.
Sophie could hear him from downstairs and came crashing up the stairs. She swung open the bathroom door.
“Finn, what the fuck have you done?”
He pushed the sodden towel against his face and couldn’t talk. Sophie took a step closer, pulled the towel from his cheek and gasped when she saw the cut which started at the base of his cheek bone and ran in a straight line to the side of his mouth. She grabbed another towel and pushed it against the cut to stop the blood pouring from his face.
“I’ll get help, wait there.”
She ran downstairs, out of the house and banged on Kieran’s door. It was ten past seven and Kieran opened the door wearing his dressing gown.
“Finn’s hurt, I need to get him to hospital, could you and Linda keep an eye on the children while I drive him?”
“Shit, Sophie. What’s happened?”
“I’m not sure how he’s done it, but he’s got a long cut on the side of his face. It’s deep, and bleeding heavily. He needs stitches.”
She noticed a look in Kieran’s eye, as if he wasn’t surprised.
“Linda’s not here, she’s at her mother’s, and I'm not the best person to look after your children. Why don’t I drive Finn to the hospital? I can get him there in ten minutes.”
Sophie agreed and Kieran went back inside and got dressed.
Kieran made his way to Frenchay Accident and Emergency. The same hospital Heather dreamt about.
In the car a one sided conversation took place. Finn held towels against the side of his face and Kieran did the talking.
“It feels good doesn’t it? I mean that cut on your face. I expect you feel as if you're a new man….. a real man.”
Finn looked at Kieran as he concentrated on driving whilst talking. Kieran looked down and caught site of the gold ring on Finn’s finger. He smiled.
“I expect things may appear confusing right now. Don’t fight these new feelings, go with the flow.”
The searing pain caused Finn to shudder and was made worse by Kieran driving over a pothole in the road. But Finn wasn’t bothered by the pain. In fact he found it comforting, as if cutting his face had been an achievement, a minor victory.
“Linda and I may be moving out soon. We don’t want to be around to find out what happens next,” added Kieran as he looked at Finn and winked.
Finn said nothing. What Kieran told him didn’t bother him. In fact he felt excited.
Two hours later Finn was back at home with ten stitches in the side of his face. Sophie had cleaned the bathroom, taken Rosie to school and was feeding Jack.
“What on earth happened?”
Finn shook his head and looked at his reflection in the mirror in the corner of the lounge.
“It was an accident.”
It was difficult to understand what he was saying as he could hardly open his mouth.
He went upstairs and changed into his work clothes. He stood in front of the long mirror in the bedroom as he did the buttons on his shirt. The ring caught his attention as it reflected. He looked at his scar and then the ring. Although the pain was still burning, he felt good. He felt more confident than he’d ever done in his life.
Sophie finished feeding Jack as Finn strolled into the lounge, with his jacket flung over his shoulder.
“Where are you going?” asked Sophie.
“To work. I’ve got a busy day and I’m late,” replied Finn in a muffled voice.
“You can’t go in today, you’ve lost a hell of a lot of blood.”
Finn shook his head, grabbed his keys and left the house without saying goodbye.
He made his way through the mid-morning traffic. He’d called the office as he pulled out of his road to explain why he was running late. He'd never used his phone whilst driving. He used to abhor drivers who used their phones, but today he didn’t care.
By ten he'd arrived at the office. Sally baulked when she saw the stitches and dressing on his face.
“Bloody hell Finn, you should be at home mate.”
“I’m fine, don’t make a fuss. I’ve got lots to do.”
He'd being growing tired of Sally. Until recently they'd been best friends in the office and worked well together.
When Finn had taken paternity leave last summer, Sally picked up a lot of his work, including securing the deal on the Rusling account.
Finn dealt with Rusling Ltd when they first approached SOS Graphics with a view to them designing their winter collection catalogue. He’d done the majority of the ground work, but was away from work when Jack arrived. Sally took over, completed the agreement and won the contract. The deal was about to be lost, but due to shrewd negotiating by Sally, she earned SOS Graphics a quarter million pound contract.
SOS paid a healthy bonus to any designer who closed a deal, providing they also worked on the contract.
Sally had been working on the Rusling account and was doing a fine job. Finn had been happy for Sally to take the bonus because she'd worked hard to win the contract. He knew that had he been in Sally’s position, Rusling Ltd could have gone with SOS’s rivals. SOS had lost several contracts to their competitors Graphic Solutions Ltd over the past few years.
But now Finn resented that Sally was earning extra money and wished it was him who was receiving the bonus. Although she'd got the contract, It had been Finn who'd put in months of work wooing Rusling.
Finn took it upon himself to inspect her work. He had to admit it was good, but there were stupid errors here and there and he noticed that a few of her decisions in her designs were flawed.
He had a meeting booked with his bos
s, Ian Tomlinson, in which amongst other things, he intended to discuss Sally’s progress with the Rusling account. At eleven o'clock he knocked on Tomlinson’s door.
“Christ Finn, should you be in today? You look awful. How did you do that?” said Tomlinson when Finn stepped into his office.
“It looks worse than it really is.”
“But what happened?”
“A mishap with a razor, don’t worry I’m fine.”
In a muffled voice, Finn told Tomlinson of the issues he had with Sally’s work and that he was worried that Rusling won't be happy with the quality of her graphics.
“This is a big contract Ian and we can’t afford to fuck up.”
Tomlinson was taken aback. It was the first time he'd heard Finn speak in this manner. He was a talented designer, but he was a quiet and amenable man who was seen, but not often heard.
“What are you suggesting?” asked Tomlinson.
“That you let me take over the Rusling account, before Sally does any more damage.”
“Okay Finn. Let me think it over, I’ll speak with Sally.”
Finn nodded with a smirk on his face.
“And there’s another thing.”
Tomlinson looked up from his laptop.
“I think we should expand our market.”
“Expand our market? In what way?”
“I think we should get new accounts from overseas, and in particular the United States.”
It was as if Finn had become a different person and Tomlinson was intrigued.
“I’ve been putting out feelers in the States for years and it’s a hard country to break into.”
“With no disrespect Ian, I reckon you’ve been taking the wrong approach. I’ve been looking into it and I think I’ve found a way in.”
Tomlinson sat upright and focussed on Finn. There was a look of determination in Finn he’d never seen before and he liked it.
“Okay, I don’t have the time to discuss this right now, but I'm interested in knowing what you have in mind,” said Tomlinson as he stood up and put his jacket on.
“But you understand that if you go chasing overseas accounts you’ll be spending time out of the country.”
The Third Skull (Book one - The Discovery): A Paranormal Mystery Thriller Page 11
