by Amy Cross
“Matthew Cooper?” she asked cautiously.
“I...” he began to reply, his voice frail and thin. Clearly weak, he reached out a shaking hand and pointed at a plastic chair next to the bed. “Go on,” he stammered, “park yourself.”
“I'm sorry to disturb you,” she told him, moving the chair closer before sitting. “I just need to ask you a few questions.”
“Again?” he asked, staring at her with old, milky-white eyes. “How interesting can one old man really be, eh?”
“What do you mean?”
“Haven't I...” He paused, struggling for breath. “Haven't I already answered enough questions for you?”
She stared at him for a moment. “I've been here before, haven't I?”
He frowned. “Of course you have.”
“How many times?”
“Three before today.”
Staring at him, she felt certain that she'd never seen the old man before. At the same time, she had no choice but to accept that she had some hidden extra life, filled with things she didn't remember doing.
“You and the other young lady,” he continued, “have been so kind to me. I have no family left, but...” He turned to look over at the flowers. “I think perhaps she went overboard with those. I tried to tell her I don't need so many, but she just kept on bringing them.”
“Who?” Alice asked, before realizing she could feel a slow, creeping sense of realization crawling through her belly. “Do you mean Hannah?” Reaching over, she took a look at the card attached to one of the vases, and sure enough she saw the name Hannah scribbled in black ink. She took a look at the other cards and found that the same name was written on many of them, and then she came across one with her own name as well.
“To Matty,” she whispered, reading out loud from the card, “all the best, Hannah and Alice.” She stared at her name for a moment. “That's my handwriting.”
“You mustn't get so angry with her,” Matthew replied. “I know she grates sometimes, I can see your sense of frustration, but she means well even if she doesn't quite know how to express her feelings properly. If she -” Before he could finish, he started coughing heavily, and Alice grabbed a glass of water for him from the bedside table. As Matthew drank, some of the water spilled down his chin, and finally he pushed the glass away again.
“When I came to see you before,” Alice continued, “what happened, exactly? What did we talk about?”
“Don't you remember?”
“I don't remember much these days.”
“She said that might be the case,” he replied. “She said it would be difficult for her to localize the effect.” Pausing for a moment, he finally turned and pointed down at the cupboard below his bedside table. “Can you open that for me and take out the small album you find? I think maybe it's time for you to see them. She said this day would come.”
“What day? What do you -”
“Just get the album for me, will you?” he continued. “It's okay, lass. She told me what to do.”
Reaching down, Alice opened the cupboard and took out the leather-bound photo album, before passing it carefully to the old man. She watched as he opened the front, and she couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, finally, she was about to get some answers.
“My mother,” Matthew said after a moment, holding the album up so she could see a faded picture of a smiling woman standing in the back garden of a red-brick house. “Dorothy Cooper. She was such a proud woman. I still miss her so much, she died just after the war, you know. Lived through all the horrors and then dropped dead one afternoon in 1950. Heart attack, while she was hoovering. Still, no-one ever promised that life would be fair, did they?” He turned to another page in the album. “My father,” he whispered, flicking past a picture of a man in uniform, before coming to another image, this time showing a different man sitting in an old-fashioned wheelchair. “My uncle Charlie. He spent most of his life in hospital, he never recovered after the war. Nowadays you'd call it post-traumatic stress disorder, but back then he was just seen as a broken man. He died in a place not too far from here. They say he was screaming by the end.”
“I'm sorry,” Alice replied.
“She's in here somewhere,” he continued, turning the pages with his trembling hands before finally stopping and staring at one photo in particular. Tears had already reached his eyes, and he took a deep breath before turning the album to show her a picture of a little girl, around nine or ten, and a little boy the same age, standing next to a garden fence. “That's me,” he explained, with a hint of joy in his voice, “with my friend Wendy.”
“She -” Staring at the photo, Alice couldn't shake the feeling that she'd seen it before. “Wendy,” she whispered, as a shiver passed through her chest. The name seemed familiar, somehow.
“We went everywhere together,” he continued. “For a while, at least. We were always out playing in the street and exploring the neighborhood. You could do that back then, as kids, 'cause things were safer. It feels like it was all a lifetime ago, but honestly, those were the best days of my life. Sad, eh? And then, when her mother died, she was taken in by the nuns at Barton's Cross, and I didn't see her after that.”
“Not even after the war?” Alice asked.
“She was dead by then,” he replied. “My best friend, she was, and she died not long after this photo was taken. She ran away from the monastery once, but my mother helped them find her and she was taken back. The second time, she never left again, she died shortly after she was put back in there. There was a terrible fire, brought the whole place crashing down. So many kids died, it was an awful tragedy.” He paused. “I never stopped thinking about her. I'd give anything to...” He paused again, before turning to Alice. “Well, you understand, I'm sure. She meant the world to me, did Wendy.”
“I'm sorry,” Alice said again.
“Just before Wendy died,” he continued, “she ran away from the monastery and came back to the street where we lived. That was the last time I saw her. She was talking a lot about someone she'd met, someone named Hannah. Going on and on about her, she was, like she really didn't know what to make of the whole thing. I'd never quite seen her so agitated. She had these burns, see, after the night the Spitfire crashed. She looked like she was in a right state.”
“But if that photo was taken during the war,” Alice replied, “it must be more than seventy years old.”
He nodded.
“Hannah can't be more than seventy,” she continued. “I mean... Can she?”
“Not to look at,” he replied, turning to the next page in the album and then holding it up, revealing another photo of Wendy, this time playing in the street. “Last time Hannah was here, just this morning, she told me that I needed to show you the photos the next time you came. She told me it was important, that it's the right moment for you to find out all about the things that happened back then.”
“What things?” Alice asked. “What has all of this got to do with a little girl who died during the Second World War?”
“Everything,” he replied, “and nothing.” He stared at her for a moment, before reaching out and taking one of her hands in his. There was a small tattoo on his hand, just below the base of the thumb, although it was nothing more than a dark smudge now. “You still don't see it, do you?”
“See what?”
“Yourself.”
“My...” She paused, trying to work out what he meant. “Myself?”
“In the photos,” he continued. “Look closer.”
Taking the album, she flicked back to the first picture of Wendy. She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, but at the same time she felt an inkling deep in the back of her mind that maybe he was trying to remind her of something, something she'd forgotten a long time ago. She sniffed a couple of times, but still the moment of truth remained just out of reach.
“You can't deny it,” Matthew told her. “I can see it in your eyes.”
“See what?” she asked.
&n
bsp; “Wendy,” he whispered, as tears rolled down his cheeks. “My Wendy. Born, 1932. Died, 1941.” He paused, keeping his eyes fixed on her. “Born again, 1989.”
“Born again?”
“The same soul, in a new body,” he continued. “It happens quite often, I'm told. I was never much one to believe in that sort of thing, but Hannah explained it to me and, well, at my age that sort of thing starts to become a little more possible. You have the same eyes, it's a real giveaway. Don't you see? You might not remember your old life, but I'm sure you've been drawn to it in certain ways.” He paused. “Don't you recognize me? Don't you remember?”
Shaking her head, she handed the album back to him.
“You can't deny it,” he added. “Even if you wanted to pretend it wasn't true, you don't have that choice. Hannah told me -”
“Where is she?” Alice asked.
“I don't -”
“Where's this Hannah woman?” she continued, pulling her hand away and getting to her feet. There was a hint of fear in her belly now, growing by the second, and with it there came a flash of anger. “She seems to like playing tricks on me, but she sure as hell isn't keen on showing her face, is she? I don't know how she managed to get you to join in, but it's pathetic the way you -”
Before she could finish, she saw a sudden, striking image in her mind's eye: a badly-damaged fighter plane shooting overhead, dropping through the night sky as air-raid sirens sounded in the distance. A moment later, she heard a boom, and for a moment she actually felt as if the whole room was shaking.
“You remember, don't you?” Matthew asked. “You know it's true.”
“No,” she replied, taking a step back. “This is sick. You're trying to push me into some kind of breakdown. Do you actually think you're being funny?” She turned and looked around the room. “Where is she? Are you recording it all? Are you getting off on the sight of me falling apart?”
“Please,” he continued. “Sit down and -”
“Is she in here?” Storming over to the wardrobe, she pulled it open and looked inside, searching first for someone hiding and then for any sign of a camera or microphone. Her hands were trembling and she could feel cold panic rising through her chest, but at the same time she was also angry at the idea that she was being tricked. It was as if someone already knew about her problems in the past and was now trying to push her completely over the edge. “I know you're -”
Suddenly another image filled her mind: she saw a burning man reaching toward her, his face consumed by flames. She could feel the heat, too, crackling across her skin, but only for a fraction of a second. There was something else in the inferno too, a kind of orange glow.
“Please,” Matthew said again, “you have to listen to me.”
Sniffing again, she turned to him.
“No,” she stammered, “I -”
Feeling something wet on her upper lip, she wiped the liquid away and saw to her horror that she was bleeding. Hurrying to the mirror by the door, she realized blood was starting to pour freely from her nose, and a moment later she saw that the same thing was happening to her ears. As a wave of nausea and dizziness struck, she turned to Matthew, but after a moment she had to grab hold of the edge of the wardrobe in order to keep from collapsing.
“The tunnels,” she whispered, remembering the last time the world had seemed to spin around her.
“Listen to me,” Matthew continued. “Please, Wendy -”
“No,” she stammered, blinking a couple of times as she realized she couldn't see properly. She took a couple of steps forward before dropping to her knees as she felt more blood running from her nose.
“You can't deny it,” Matthew hissed. “You have to let the memories back into your mind!”
She opened her mouth to reply, but instead another image entered her thoughts:
She was in a large hallway with a high, vaulted ceiling. All around, there were statues in alcoves, staring down at her as if they pitied her every step. There was a nun on either side, and they each had a hand on her shoulder as they led her into the monastery.
“You're going to be okay here,” a voice told her, with a faint Irish accent. “We'll look after you, I promise.”
Feeling a sharp pain in the back of her head, she let out a faint cry and dropped onto her side. She could hear raised voices nearby but she was powerless to respond. Instead, she simply rolled onto her back as her whole body began to shake violently, and as blood flowed from her mouth and nose.
And then, finally, she remembered everything.
Chapter Twenty-Four
1941
She was in a large hallway with a high, vaulted ceiling. All around, there were statues in alcoves, staring down at her as if they pitied her every step. There was a nun on either side, and they each had a hand on her shoulder as they led her into the monastery.
“You're going to be okay here,” Sister Julia told her. “We'll look after you, I promise.”
Stopping, Wendy looked over her shoulder just in time to see one of the other nuns closing the main doors and sliding a bolt across. She felt as if she was being sealed inside.
“We're going to have to take a few extra precautions with you,” Sister Julia continued, “on account of your recent adventures. Don't worry, though, I'm sure you'll find a way to fit in with life here at Barton's Cross. We offer rigorous training and education, and a thorough introduction into a calmer and more productive life.” She smiled. “Does that sound good, Wendy? Do you think you can approach your time here with a positive attitude?”
“I want to go home,” Wendy said firmly, still fighting back tears.
“You are home.”
“No!” she shouted, pulling away. “I want to go home! I want to go back to my home!” Hurrying to the main door, she struggled to pull the bolt back, but Sister Julia and another nun hurried after her and gently pulled her away. “Let me go!” she shouted, struggling but failing this time to get free.
“Mother Superior won't like it if she hears you shouting,” Sister Julia told her. “Please...” Grabbing Wendy by the collar, she pulled her back, but Wendy twisted around and tried to reach for the door again. This time, when Sister Julia yanked her around, she caught the girl's feet and knocked them from under her, sending her crashing down onto the marble floor with a cry.
“My arm!” Wendy whimpered, trying to get up.
“I'm sorry,” Sister Julia said firmly, “but you only have yourself to blame. Now come along, Mother Superior has something very important to tell you. We also have to start your treatment. It's clear that you're getting worse.”
***
“You've had a very traumatic time of late,” Mother Superior said calmly, offering Wendy a faint smile from behind the desk in her study. “First the death of your mother, and then your time spent living on the streets after you absconded from our care.”
“I want to go home,” Wendy replied, holding back tears.
“And where is home?”
Wendy opened her mouth to reply, but she had no answer.
“A burned-out husk of a house?” Mother Superior continued, raising a skeptical eyebrow. “Your mother's graveside? If you truly have a home to which you can go, Wendy, please tell us where it is, and we would be more than glad to deliver you there. No-one likes to see a young lady become an orphan.”
Her bottom lip trembling slightly, Wendy looked down at the floor.
“The truth,” Mother Superior added, “is that you have no home to go to. It's a terrible state of affairs, Wendy, really it is, but... You are an orphan, and as such you have been placed in our care, and it is now up to us to determine the best course for you. While you are here at Barton's Cross, you will be assessed by a team of specialists who will try to understand your spiritual needs, and then most likely you will be sent to live someone else in the country, at least for the duration of this wretched conflict. Do you understand?”
Wendy sat in silence.
“Do you understand, child?
” Mother Superior asked, her tone tightening slightly.
“Answer Mother Superior,” Sister Julia whispered, nudging Wendy from behind.
“Yes,” Wendy said darkly, still staring at the floor.
“Then look me in the eye,” Mother Superior replied. “I know you're upset, but that's no excuse for rudeness.”
Slowly, Wendy raised her gaze and did as she was told. “I understand,” she said, her voice trembling now with the effort of holding back tears that had already begin to moisten her eyes.
“And then,” Mother Superior continued, “there is the other matter, the one that must be dealt with as soon as possible. Your treatment. Wendy, are you aware that you have suffered a most delicate misfortune? One that threatens the fiber of your soul?”
Wendy frowned.
“It has not been discussed,” Sister Julia interjected. “There was not time.”
“And she has given no indication that she is aware?” Mother Superior asked, as she made a note in one of the journals on her desk.
“None,” Sister Julia replied.
Sighing, Mother Superior made some more notes, before turning to Wendy again. “Child, I can't sugarcoat this for you, so you must simply be brave. You have become the unfortunate carrier of a malevolent entity that seeks to use you as its vessel. Do not be alarmed, there are ways to help you and to drive the demon from your body, but the longer we wait, the more difficult the task will become. Do you understand?”
Wendy stared at her.
“Do you understand?” Mother Superior asked again.
“Answer Mother Superior,” Sister Julia whispered.
“I...” Wendy paused. “No.”
“No,” Mother Superior replied with a faint sigh, before getting to her feet and making her way slowly around the desk, “of course you don't. It's a lot to take in, child.” Stopping in front of Wendy, she got down onto her knees and looked closely into the girl's eyes. “You have become possessed by a creature that means you wicked harm, and more harm again to the world around you. This might be a shock, but to all of us here, the truth is readily apparent. Even now, unbeknownst to you of course, that demon is staring out through your eyes and cursing me. I can sense its presence, everyone in this monastery can sense it, but you yourself are quite oblivious. That is how these things often go with children. The demon will only stir along with your passions, as you get older. If it is given the chance, anyway.”
