Even Pretty Things Rot: A dark, heart-pounding psychic thriller

by Farah Ali

  Jack’s throat tightened. ‘My God.’

  Maggie nodded unhappily. ‘Yes. Lila managed to escape. The police think the little girl saw her father kill her mother and sister and fled to the stables to hide. But the poor thing ran into a stall housing a sick horse. It was damaged, half-wild really. Noah had purchased it cheaply apparently. Anyway, Lila hid in the stall, terrified. Her father came after her. But the horse was spooked and kicked Lila in the head.’

  Her voice grew husky and she paused staring down at her hands. Jack waited for her to continue.

  ‘The police assumed Noah Cassandra found Lila, and thinking she was dead went back into the house. He took out his revolver, returned to the bedroom where Amelia and Maura were and shot himself. It was a shock. A real shock to us. Despite his flaws he was a good man who adored his family. He must have snapped.’

  Both were lost in thought and a couple of silent minutes passed until Jack cleared his throat.

  ‘So I take it Lila was seriously injured? She couldn’t give the police her version of events? How old was she?’

  Maggie wiped her eye. ‘No. She had a fractured skull and was in a coma for two months. She was five-years-old when it happened. It took her a long time to recover in the hospital, and when she did they discovered she had amnesia. She can’t remember what happened that night. She lost her family and her memory and was given epilepsy and the Gift instead. Not a fair exchange at all.’

  ‘Any other family?’

  ‘She has an uncle and a cousin here. George and Daisy Gallahue. But George sent Lila away from Deerleap after the hospital discharged her. She was put in foster care. She returned to the Hollow when she was eighteen.’

  Jack stared. ‘But she was just a kid? Why didn’t her uncle take her in?’

  Maggie spread her hands. ‘It was a bit of a surprise. And a shame if you ask me. Family should stick together. But...we shouldn’t judge. George adored Amelia, his sister. And Lila looks very much like her father. Perhaps he couldn’t deal with the constant reminder of Noah Cassandra.’ She sighed. ‘So sad.’

  ‘Poor kid. No wonder she’s...different.’ Jack felt a little guilty. He still didn’t believe Lila Cassandra was psychic or clairvoyant or whatever, but perhaps she channelled her trauma into her ‘Gift.’ If it comforted her, who was he to disparage it. And with a jolt he understood why she went to the graveyard when frightened. She goes to see her family. The thought gave him an odd sensation in his chest.

  Maggie logged off. ‘Do you think her memories will come back? I almost hope for her sake they don’t.’

  Jack thought about it. ‘I’m not sure. Probably not if she suffered brain damage. And it happened when she was very young. Our brains are complex structures maybe hers is trying to protect her from the trauma of remembering.’

  ‘I hope you’re right, Inspector. She’s suffered enough.’

  Chapter Ten

  Jack meandered down the narrow lanes armed with Lila Cassandra’s address. Thick rolls of mist tumbled down from the mountain shrouding the trees and seeping over Deerleap Hollow to mingle with the darkness. Even fog lights barely penetrated the murk and he braked hard when half-a-dozen deer emerged from nowhere and leaped across the lane just in front of his car. The last deer stopped in the middle and stared at him with a disconcerting human-like curiosity. Jack beeped the horn and the doe strolled into the forest at a leisurely pace, not the least bit skittish.

  ‘Deerleap Hollow indeed.’

  It took another fifteen minutes before he located Lila’s home, a two-storey structure backing onto a tiny plot of land. It was just after ten and a light was on. An abandoned windmill stood forlornly nearby and there were two other homes further down the lane. Jack wondered whether she liked the isolation.

  He parked and remained behind the wheel thinking about her tragic past. He had known tragedy too, and though they hardly knew each other Jack felt a sudden connection to her. He cringed a little as he recalled how boorish and dismissive he had been in the meadow. He wanted to make amends and gain more insight into how she found Bianca Hayle. Jack hoped she would be more comfortable and forthcoming in her own home.

  An owl whooped as he walked up the curving path, his footsteps cushioned by pine needles, and the unearthly screams of mating foxes made him jump. Inhaling deeply he enjoyed the scent of burning wood in the air. Jack tapped on the front door noting the impressive pair of antlers hung there and the remarkably large tomatoes growing in the soil off to the side, the vines thick and supported by bamboo canes. Part of the guttering had come away from the house and he wondered why she hadn’t fixed it.

  There was no answer so he tried again, louder this time. A shadow appeared in the net curtain covering the glass panel and the door opened an inch.

  ‘I’m closed. Come back tomorrow.’

  ‘Excuse me, Miss Cassandra. I’m sorry to bother you so late. It’s Inspector Jack Montague. I’d like to talk to you.’

  A pause. Then a husky voice. ‘Am I in trouble?’

  ‘No. No, of course not.’

  Another pause. The gap widened, the bell above the door jingled, and she was there barefoot, her straggly hair in a ponytail, wearing an oversized grey cardigan over a short floral dress with a fallen hem. He entered, closing the door behind him, gazing around the small shop front. A huge array of painted antlers of all sizes hung on the walls from floor to ceiling. Colourful beaded pendants and earrings, homemade he assumed, were displayed on five shelves within a cloth-lined bookcase. Three wide baskets on a wooden trestle table held attractive homemade soap, candles, and pouches of potpourri. Random bits of furniture that Lila had rescued and refurbished with a distressed effect sat in one corner.

  Jack swallowed as he followed Lila’s stiff back up a rickety staircase. Shabby chic. Angela would have liked those pieces.

  Lila led him into a cramped, dimly lit living room and pointed to a lumpy armchair opposite a rocking chair. A burst of song startled him. Turning, he saw a bundle of yellow fluttering inside a birdcage. Lila crooned to the canary and as if rewarding her attention it puffed out its chest and warbled with increased intensity.

  ‘What’s its name?’ asked Jack.

  She smiled at the bird. ‘Tulip.’

  ‘Tulip. That’s nice. I like it.’

  ‘He’s hand trained too, you know,’ she said with pride.

  Jack’s attention was drawn downwards to the thin faded rug. Lila had slim, delicate feet and long pretty toes, each one perfectly proportional to its neighbour. Her toenails were neatly clipped and bare of nail polish. They didn’t need it.

  He smiled a little. Angela had hated her feet and been acutely embarrassed of them. She never wore sandals, kept her socks on in the house and didn’t like Jack seeing or touching them. It was true, her wide heavily-veined feet, with their bunions and unfortunate shaped toes weren’t attractive, but Jack hadn’t cared one jot—they were part of her and he loved her.

  Lila coughed and he flushed, embarrassed to be caught staring so intently. She bit her lip and crossed her arms.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘I’m surprised you didn’t know I was coming beforehand?’ joked Jack, but as soon as he uttered the words he wished he’d kept his big, clumsy mouth shut.

  Her forehead creased and she looked away.

  ‘Sorry. That was crap.’

  She shrugged and pretended to examine the pile of library books on the coffee table. The silence stretched on and Jack shifted uncomfortably against the scuffed leather. His respect for her went up a notch. Everyone else in this town wanted to pump him for details about the Bianca Hayle case. A shelf-stacker from the supermarket had sidled up to him then practically chased him down the aisle hoping for gossip.

  Jack sighed and leaned forward. ‘Lila, I want to apologise for how I spoke to you in the forest. I should have listened to what you had to say. I’m sorry for being so abrupt. Can we go over it one more time?’

  Lila inclined her head. ‘Apology ac
cepted. Go ahead.’

  They went over the events that led to her discovery of the body. Lila stuck to her story and didn’t deviate from her previous statement but neither could she offer anything new. She truly believed her visions had led her to Bianca.

  ‘And Bianca wasn’t the only girl you’ve...seen?’

  ‘No. I saw a girl with dark curls. Dead. Like Bianca...with flowers.’ She gulped.

  Jack smoothed down his hair, exhaustion creeping over him. He’d only slept a couple of hours last night and it was catching up with him. He stood. It was now or never.

  ‘Lila, how did you know about Angela? Please tell me the truth. I won’t get angry. Did you look me up on the internet?’

  Her head shot up, wariness in her eyes as he approached. She cringed slightly and he stepped back realising he was intimidating her. She lived out here alone, it was night time and here he was over six-foot of lean muscle and stubble, towering over her. Not that she was tiny—he estimated she was about five-foot-six. But there was a power imbalance between them. He shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled over to a watercolour painting of a lone stag on the wall.

  ‘Did you paint that? It’s good.’

  Some of the tension left Lila’s shoulders. ‘Yeah. I’d like to sell paintings, but it takes me so long to do a single one. Would you like a drink? I have juice. Or I can make coffee. Or tea?’

  Jack smiled. ‘No, but thank you.’

  She shuffled closer. ‘I didn’t mean to upset you. In the forest, I mean. I couldn’t help it. Sometimes it just happens. I promise it wasn’t a trick. I’m not a trickster.’

  Jack kept his voice neutral. ‘You understand why I find it hard to believe? My wife has been dead for almost two years now.’ He exhaled, wiping his mouth. ‘What if I wanted to talk to her? Could you help me do that?’

  Lila averted her eyes. ‘Maybe. But it doesn’t always work. You have to understand that. If the spirit doesn’t want to talk, then nothing I do will change that. And if you approach this with a closed mind then it won’t work either. That’s why people get angry with me. If it doesn’t work they think I’m trying to manipulate them into giving me money.’ Her forehead creased. ‘Then they go around town saying horrible things about me.’ She paused and crossed her arms. ‘Wait. Is this some sort of test?’

  ‘No, not at all. I’m just curious. If nothing happens I won’t think less of you, or talk about you. I promise. I just...want to try.’

  Lila was silent. He thought she was going to refuse, but finally she sighed. ‘Okay. I’ll try. But sometimes I feel sick afterwards, especially if it’s too intense or stressful.’

  ‘Sick?’

  ‘Seizures. I have epilepsy.’ She picked at her cuticles. ‘I usually know it’s about to happen because I hear church bells.’

  Jack recalled what Maggie had told him about her head injury and felt a beat of alarm. ‘Maybe this isn’t a good idea.’

  But Lila disappeared into the kitchen and he heard a drawer open and a chair scraping across the floor. Taking a deep breath he followed and sat at the wobbly table gazing around the room. The table was so small their knees touched. He was surprised not to see any tarot cards or a crystal ball. Maybe she was going to read his palm.

  Lila’s eyes were closed and she clutched something large and blue in her hand. He didn’t ask, but she answered as if he had.

  ‘It’s turquoise. It helps, makes the visions clearer, communication easier,’ she murmured.

  Lila had a strong attraction to turquoise, always had ever since her head injury. The precious blue-green mineral hummed and resonated, almost calling to her. It soothed her. She would drape herself in it if she could, but turquoise was expensive. The chunk in her hand was worth a lot of money, but it had been a gift from a special client when she was a teen, long before she returned to Deerleap and she was loath to part with it.

  Jack’s jaw twitched. He focused on the over-ripe bananas in the fruit bowl on the counter. What are you doing? Why are you encouraging her? Just go home and let her be. Angela is gone. Stop being a fool.

  Lila’s eyes moved rapidly behind her eyelids as if she were dreaming. Her breathing became slow and heavy and her head drooped until her chin almost touched her sternum. The silence became very loud and Jack realised he was sweating. Then her lips parted.

  ‘Angela. Jack. Jack. Tell Jack. Forgive him. Love you. Forgive yourself.’

  Jack sucked his teeth. ‘Angela? How do I know that’s you?’

  Lila lifted her head, but her eyes were still closed, darting from side to side.

  ‘Oliver.’ It was barely a whisper.

  Jack groaned.

  ‘Love you, Jack. Peace. At peace. With Oliver.’

  ‘It’s not enough. I don’t believe you, this is rubbish,’ he snarled. Every fibre of his being urged him to push back the chair and leave.

  Lila’s fingers tightened around the turquoise. The sheen of sweat across her forehead gleamed under the ceiling light. Her breathing accelerated.

  ‘Typical Jack love you silly man forgive yourself remember pigeon in Rome laughed so hard Angela forgive you peace rest in peace be at peace Jack Angela Jack pigeon told you to watch out Jack.’

  Jack’s hands began to tremble. ‘Oh God. Angela.’

  Lila began to pant, her chest rising up and down in rapid motion.

  ‘ForgiveyourselfloveyoupeaceliveyourlifeJackgoodbyebyeJack.’

  Her chin dropped back to her chest. The turquoise slipped out of her hand and thumped to the floor.

  Jack gripped her fingers. ‘Is she still there? Can you ask her—’

  Lila blinked. She pulled away and rubbed her eyes. ‘I’m sorry. She’s gone.’

  Her head throbbed and she stood shakily, groping for the sink, drinking from her cupped hand. Jack’s eyes were wet and for the first time since Angela’s death, the malignant burden on his shoulders lifted a little. She forgives me. She forgives me.

  Lila wiped her chin, fighting the weariness. She caught Jack’s eye and looked away blushing. The dynamics between them had changed—the awe in his eyes made her shy.

  ‘Thank you, Lila. It’s incredible.’ Jack’s resistance crumbled. There was no way she could have known about Rome.

  Lila handed him a glass of water. ‘Can I ask you something? What did she mean about the pigeon?’

  Jack laugh-sobbed and put his head in his hands. ‘We went to Rome on our honeymoon. I was posing in front of a statue for a photo. She told me to move because there was a pigeon resting there who looked, in her words, really shifty. I said it would be fine and of course the cheeky bastard crapped in my hair. Angela laughed so hard she nearly choked. Oh God, how I miss that laugh.’

  ‘How did she...how did she die?’ Shadowy fingers constricted Lila’s heart. ‘You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

  Jack drained the glass. He hadn’t talked about this for a very long time. He gazed into Lila’s eyes. Big, open and free of judgement. Kind eyes. Innocent, but full of their own pain. He opened his mouth. The words caught in his throat. He clutched his knees and tried again.

  ‘My wife committed suicide. And she took Oliver, our newborn, with her.’

  Chapter Eleven

  Lila gripped the counter. There were thumbprints of sorrow beneath Jack’s eyes and she’d sensed he was grappling with something bad, but the truth robbed of her words. She fidgeted with the frayed hem of her dress unsure how to respond.

  Jack studied his rough hands. How strange. He’d removed his wedding ring before moving to Deerleap to avoid awkward questions yet here he was spilling his secrets to a stranger. He closed his eyes and saw Angela, smart in her trouser suit, her curly hair bouncing as she ran towards him waving a plastic stick, fear and delight dancing across her proud features.

  He cleared his throat. ‘We were so happy when we found out she was pregnant, even though it wasn’t planned. Angela was a lawyer. She loved her job and I didn’t want her to feel like she had to s
acrifice her career, so we talked about child-care options. But she said she was ready for a career break. She didn’t want to miss a moment and I was happy she was happy. The pregnancy went well and everything seemed perfect when Oliver was born. Oliver was perfect too, and the birth went smoothly. But Angela changed. She became moody and anxious. Crying a lot. I thought it was the baby-blues and I tried to get her to go to the doctor, but she refused and I didn’t want to push her.’ Jack sighed. ‘There was big case going on at that time and I was preoccupied. I knew the arrest would make my career and I was so caught up in myself I didn’t notice until it was too late.’

  He paused, collecting his thoughts. ‘She became restless and started calling me at work. Every half an hour, for no reason it seemed to me, until it got to the point where I just cancelled her calls. Her mood went up and down, sometimes she locked herself away, other times she was euphoric, chattering on and on, really excited. She became stranger and stranger. She was convinced the new next door neighbour, a sweet old lady, was spying on her and trying to kidnap Oliver.’

  Jack’s heart thudded in his chest. ‘All the signs were there, but I was too stupid and selfish to notice how serious the situation was. And the worst thing is I was angry with her. I thought Angela was upset because she missed going to work and was annoyed because I was so busy. On that day she tried to reach me, but I didn’t call back until it was too late. She put Oliver in his baby carrier and drove out of the city. A witness said they saw Angela driving the car full speed into the sea. It was too late by the time they got to her. They drowned. And it was my fault.’ A wave of misery crashed over him as he continued in a cracked whisper.