by Farah Ali
Jack groaned. ‘Please tell me she found help and he got rescued.’
Warren, enjoying his story, shook his head dolefully. ‘Sadly not. His girlfriend, by pure luck I might add, managed to find her way back to Deerleap. No radio, no phone signal, no compass. It took her two whole days and she was a rambling mess by the time she came out—kept talking about black-eyed ghosts who tried to grab her. A search party looked for her boyfriend, but she couldn’t remember where he was and they couldn’t locate the underground cave. Poor man. He must have died alone in the dark, afraid and in terrible pain. And who knows? Maybe a cursed spirit took him.’
Jack shuddered. Lila looked at him, her eyebrow raised. He was very pale.
‘We won’t get lost. I promise. And the spirits only come out when it’s dark. Apparently. But if you see one, whatever you do don’t talk to it, they’re evil. They are jealous, oh so jealous of the living, and their goal is to trick and torment us. And definitely don’t follow one or your tortured soul will end up wandering the forest for eternity.’
‘Are you reading my mind? Please stop it,’ he said, only half-joking. ‘And I don’t believe in ghosts, especially jealous ones.’
Lila ducked her head with a smile. ‘Sorry. I wasn’t trying to read your mind. But I pick up strong emotions, I can’t help it. And you shouldn’t dismiss things so readily, ghosts exist. You’ll see for yourself one day, I’m sure.’ She changed the subject. ‘What do you know about ley lines?’
‘Ley lines? I’ve heard about those. They’re like a prehistoric, invisible grid. Ancient, mystical alignments in the landscape. Angela had a book about them, she was into the supernatural.’
Angela. A spasm in his chest.
Lila nodded, pleased. ‘Deerleap is on a powerful alignment of ley lines.’ She gazed up towards the mountain. ‘A ley line passes over the mountain. I’ve felt different ever since I returned to the Hollow. Powerful almost.’ She tensed. ‘We’re here.’
It took a little while before Jack realised where they were. He looked up, glad to be out from under the canopy of trees. ‘This is the clearing where Bianca was found. We came by a different route.’
‘My way is quicker.’ She looked around. ‘I think it might help me to see where Abigail is.’ She blanched, shrinking into herself. ‘The air is charged with death. The killer came here. It’s the only connection we have.’
Lila slipped out of her canvas shoes, closed her eyes and made her way to the spot where Bianca’s body had been laid out. There was no sign Bianca had lain here, but Lila just knew. She wiggled her toes in the damp grass, taking comfort in the sensation, trying to prepare for what was to come.
Unsure of what to do Jack shoved his hands into his pockets and watched. Clouds cloaked the sun and he shivered as the hair on his arms stiffened and brushed against his sleeves.
Lila’s half-open eyes looked at nothing. Her breathing slowed down. She swept all thought away until all that was left was Abigail. Abigail with her black curls. Sixteen-year-old Abigail who liked to dance.
‘Abigail,’ she murmured. ‘Where are you? What happened to you?’
Her arms fell limp to her sides. She was no longer in the clearing, no longer in the forest, no longer in Deerleap. Mist swirled around her ankles as she peered into the darkness. She cringed, resisting the urge to cover her nose. Rotting flowers.
The mist churned and eddied into the centre before spiralling upwards and disappearing into the sky.
Lila looked around. She was in a dusty lane comforted by the scent of bark. Quiet and close to the trees. A striking teenager in jeans and red trainers came towards her, switching her satchel from shoulder to shoulder. It was heavy. History essay. She hated history.
An idling engine turned her tongue to sawdust. Lila reached out but the girl walked past and her fingers clutched empty air.
‘Abigail.’
The mist returned billowing around her. When it cleared Abigail was on her knees on a bare patch of earth, a makeshift hood over her head, hands behind her back, a noose savaging her neck. The girl’s sobs and pleading brought tears to Lila eyes.
‘Please don’t hurt me, I won’t tell anybody, I promise. I want to go home, I want my mum. I’m so scared. Oh God, I’m so scared.’
Lila was holding something in gloved hands. She looked down. It was a roughly hewn rope. Following it with her eyes she realised it swung over a thick tree branch all the way down to Abigail’s noose. An unseen hand whipped the hood off and Abigail’s eyes rolled in terror.
Lila smirked and in a voice utterly unlike her own she pretended to comfort the girl.
‘You mustn’t be afraid, child. You’ll be going home soon. I promise. Now hush.’
She pulled the rope. Abigail rose to her feet with a scream. Lila braced herself and pulled harder, straining with all her might. Abigail’s feet hovered three inches from the earth. She kicked her legs. Lila pulled harder one hand climbing after the other, glad to be wearing gloves. Wouldn’t do to get rope burn. Wouldn’t do at all.
Lila held onto the rope as Abigail dangled, her legs cycling, spinning in the air.
‘Why shouldn’t I have nice things? Pretty things? Why shouldn’t I have nice things? Pretty things? ‘Why shouldn’t I have nice things? Pretty things?’
Jack, alarmed by Lila’s guttural chanting and the heaving of her chest, ran forward.
‘Lila? Are you all right?’
Intent on staring up at her prize, Lila didn’t hear him. Abigail’s eyes were still open, bulging, a blue tongue protruding between her lips. The kicking stopped and she swung gently in the breeze.
The scene faded out. Now Lila sat holding a hand mirror, the patina of age marking it out as an antique. Curiosity and fear gripped her—whose face would she see?
She could hear the doleful tone of a church bell. From somewhere deep inside she knew this was a warning. But she couldn’t help herself.
She lifted it. The bell chimed louder until it was deafening.
Jack put his arms on her rigid shoulders panic raising his tone. ‘Lila? Stop, I want you to stop it now, please. Come back, come back to me.’
The stiffness and twitching terrified him. He shook her. ‘Lila?’
She spoke but her words were garbled. Her eyes rolled up and she began to convulse in his arms. Jack laid her down cushioning her head as she writhed on the ground. For a harrowing moment he had no idea what was wrong.
Then he remembered and his breath escaped in a whoosh. Epilepsy. She’s having a seizure.
He brushed the hair from her face. ‘You’re all right. I’m here. You’re safe. You’re safe.’
In reality Lila’s seizure lasted for less than ninety seconds, but for Jack it was an eternity. Profound helplessness surged over him—the last time he’d felt anything like this was when he received the call that Angela had driven into the sea.
I’m so sorry for putting you through this.
Lila became still. She blinked sleepily peering up at Jack’s anxious face. Jack wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth with his sleeve.
‘What...where...’
‘You’re in the forest. You had a seizure. How are you feeling? Do you need to go to the hospital?’
‘No. No, need. I’ll be okay in a little bit.’ Lila closed her eyes, exhausted, gathering her thoughts, waiting for the dizziness to pass.
When she was ready Jack helped her to her feet, making sure she drank from the water bottle clipped to his waist.
Lila brushed herself down. She usually felt immense shame after a seizure. It had happened once in front of Daisy and George just after her arrival to Deerleap. When she regained consciousness the horror on their faces left a scar inside her for weeks afterwards. But it was different with Jack—he wasn’t disgusted, he was aching for her. She was glad he had been there.
‘Thank you for helping.’ She gave him a wan smile. ‘I hope it didn’t scare you too much.’
Relieved, Jack laughed. ‘Kid, you have no idea.
Are you sure you’re all right? I shouldn’t have asked you to do this. Not with your...your illness.’
‘No. I wanted to help.’ She turned her head up towards the pale sun. ‘I know where she is.’
‘You know where Abigail is?’
Tears sprang to her eyes. ‘Yes.’
Jack’s heart sank. ‘She’s dead isn’t she?’
Lila, still lightheaded, led him back into the trees describing what she’d seen in a low voice as they headed deeper into the forest.
The savagery of Abigail’s last moments stung him. ‘It’s sick. Sadistic. I’m going to catch him. No matter what,’ Jack snarled.
Lila frowned, remembering the hand mirror. A man wouldn’t use that would he? If only she’d seen a face in the reflection. A tree branch brushed against her cheek and she batted it away in frustration.
Jack struggled to keep up with her. ‘Was there anything, any clue about his identity?’
She thought carefully before answering. ‘I had the sense there was something wrong with them. An injury, maybe. They’ve experienced some sort of trauma. Their mind is dark. Bitter. And cold and hurtful, like a spike of ice. And they adore and hate themselves in equal measure.’ Lila rubbed her temples. ‘It’s hard to describe. I’ve not experienced anything like it before.’ She shivered. ‘I don’t want to meet this person.’
Jack glanced at the back of her head puzzled. ‘Of course you won’t.’
Lila didn’t answer and he heard a sharp intake of breath.
‘Lila?’
Over the rustling of leaves and the scurrying of wildlife Lila heard a sound that turned her mouth to ashes.
Tick, tick, tick.
Chapter Sixteen
Daisy, wrist deep in Mrs Sylvester’s hair, daydreamed, hardly registering the gossipy words streaming out of her elderly client’s mouth. Every so often she interrupted with a cleverly timed ‘uh-huh’ or ‘really?’ but she wasn’t listening to Mrs Sylvester’s shock and horror at the recent murder and the McNally girl’s kidnapping. Daisy was bored of having this conversation on repeat—it was the fate of anyone in the beauty industry to discuss the same topics over and over again. True, the recent events were exciting at first, but now the whole sorry debacle bored her.
But Daisy had learned long ago that her level of personal engagement was directly related to the size of her tip so she always made an effort to be bubbly and interested. Sighing, Daisy shot a dissatisfied look around Beauty Queen’s hot pink interior. All the seats were filled, all the shampoo sinks were in service, the nail bar was bustling, the rooms in the back were in session and six women waited patiently by the door. It was business as usual in Deerleap Hollow’s most popular beauty parlour.
Daisy, a trained beautician and hairdresser, dreamed of owning her own business. It was that dream, in part, which had brought her back to Deerleap from the city. That and the fact she’d been having an affair with a married man who’d gone back to his wife and broken her heart. She sniffed. Best not to dwell on that. But her own business, how brilliant would that be?
Daisy smirked, imagining Gillian Kilgore’s snooty narrow face pinch in annoyance when she opened Daisy’s Beauty Parlour and stole all her customers.
The phone trilled and the manager, in an unflattering ruffled blouse rushed past to answer it.
‘Hi Gillian,’ said Daisy with a sweet smile.
But she needed money for that. Her mouth turned downwards and her dimples disappeared. She’d considered asking her father, but George’s farm wasn’t exactly making them rich.
She caught sight of her reflection in one of the wall mirrors and cheered up. Everything would be all right, she was young and attractive and Jeff had dumped Blair, that little slut.
‘Time for shampoo, Mrs Sylvester. This is a new one, let me know what you think, doesn’t it smell wonderful?’
As she lathered the peach-scented liquid into Mrs Sylvester’s pink scalp, Daisy’s thoughts drifted to her strange cousin. It had taken a while but Daisy had grown to like Lila. Sure, Lila was peculiar, but she was kind and pathetically eager to please, and when she wasn’t being embarrassing it was nice to have her around.
Daisy loved her gruff father, but he was moody and difficult at times. He refused to date and fixed her with a strange look whenever she tried to set him up. It had just been George and Daisy ever since Daisy’s mother’s death. And only four-years-old when Noah Cassandra murdered his wife and daughter she couldn’t remember what George had been like before the tragedy, but she was certain it had soured him, making him withdrawn and angry. Once, around the anniversary of their deaths, she’d found him drunk and crying in the barn. It had shocked her to the core—her father was usually so stoic.
Daisy rinsed Mrs Sylvester’s silvery white hair enjoying the sensation of warm water over her wrists.
Her lips pursed as her thoughts turned back to Lila. Just this morning Daisy had gone with George to the feed store and Old Benjamin had limped over to ask why Lila and the new Inspector had disappeared into the forest a couple of hours ago.
George had frowned. ‘The forest? Lila and Montague? Are you sure?’
‘Oh yeah. I saw them with my own eyes. I was driving past Deerleap Pass.’ He licked his whiskery moustache. ‘Looking for the McNally girl maybe? Police must be desperate if they’re enlisting psychics now.’
Daisy was delighted. It was about time Lila did something exciting. And with an older man to boot. You go girl. Good for you. Didn’t know you had it in you.
‘Hmm. Maybe it’s a date. Not that the forest is the best place to go for—’ She coughed.
Old Benjamin fixed a scandalised, rheumy eye on her. ‘He must be forty at least.’
Daisy grinned. ‘When’s that ever stopped a man? And age is just a number.’
George pulled his baseball cap off and scratched his head. ‘Enough, Daisy. Thank you, Benjamin.’
‘I just thought you’d wanna know, her being your kin and all.’ He staggered off.
Daisy snorted. Deerleap had a small-town mentality and everybody stuck their noses in everyone else’s business.
George stared after him, thoughtful. ‘You know anything about this?’
‘Nope. She keeps herself to herself, doesn’t really confide in me. You’re not angry with her are you?’ Daisy studied her father’s unreadable expression. He had never shown any interest in her love life and she doubted he cared about Lila’s.
Then she understood. ‘Ah. You’re worried she’s being psychic in there aren’t you?’
When he ignored her Daisy shrugged and skipped over to a friend who worked there.
George glowered before turning away and heading towards the oils. Lila getting involved in a murder investigation made him uneasy. This was the second time his niece had been mentioned in relation to the case. Maybe it was time he met this Inspector Montague and found out what was going on.
Daisy grabbed a soft towel and rubbed it gently over Mrs Sylvester’s head. She hoped for Lila’s sake she hadn’t offered to do a psychic reading for the police, or spoken to the dead, or whatever it was she did in that ramshackle house of hers. Her father would not be happy.
She bent down and gave her client a bright smile, flashing an expanse of white teeth.
‘That was nice wasn’t it? Ready for your cut? Just a trim today?’
Daisy settled Mrs Sylvester in a chair, retied the gown and combed through her soft, damp hair.
It would be better for you Lila my girl if you were having sex with the Inspector, rather than anything weird.
She considered warning her cousin then shrugged, smiling at her reflection. Lila was an adult and could handle herself.
Chapter Seventeen
Henning wriggled his fingers into a pair of latex gloves and tilted his head. ‘How did you find her?’
Jack hesitated, looking into the pathologist’s pleasant face and friendly eyes.
‘Lila Cassandra found her in the forest. She found Bianca Hayle too. Sh
e’s psychic. I know how crazy that sounds, but it’s the truth. I was there, I saw her do it.’
Henning blinked. ‘Psychic?’
Jack nodded. ‘Yup. But please keep that information to yourself. For Lila’s sake. And mine.’
‘Well. Well, well, well.’ The pathologist’s brow crinkled. ‘I am a man of science, but if you say that is how it was done then I will take your word for it. And do not fear, I am not one to gossip, but you will not be able to keep that secret to yourself for much longer. Not in Deerleap.’ He glanced at Abigail McNally and sighed. ‘The autopsy was unpleasant. Never is when conducted on a child or teen. The first time I performed an autopsy on a child was in Germany. That was thirty-five years ago and it has never gotten any easier.’
Jack could relate. He remembered attending a domestic disturbance as a new recruit and finding a young boy, barely eight-years-old, in dinosaur pyjamas clutching an eyeless teddy, a knife in his belly.
‘So what can you tell me Doctor?’ He tried to avoid looking at Abigail’s discoloured face, her beauty stolen by a butcher’s barbarity and the harsh fluorescent lights overhead. Nevertheless, his gaze kept straying to her sunken eyelids.
Henning cracked his knuckles. ‘She has been dead for eighteen hours. The Hayle girl was killed two days after she was taken. By the time she was found she had been dead for three days. It is interesting.’
‘Yeah. We think the killer took time to decide how to kill Bianca. It means he’s found a method he likes and is sticking with it. Now he’s killing shortly after the kidnapping. It’s bad news for us and for the next victim.’
‘A serial killer?’ Henning’s green eyes gleamed.
‘It looks like that.’ Jack braced himself. ‘Please tell me you found something incriminating.’
‘I’m afraid not.’ Henning ignored the Inspector’s groan and continued. ‘Everything is much the same as the Hayle girl. Subdued by chloroform and death by suspension hanging. A slow, unpleasant death like before. No fingernail scratches around the neck so her hands were tied. She has the same ligature marks as the Hayle girl. Her ankles were bound some time before she was hanged, but then unbound. He must like to see them kick.’
