The Forgotten (Echoes from the Past Book 2)
Page 1
Table of Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Epilogue
The Forgotten
Echoes from the Past
Book 2
by Irina Shapiro
Copyright
© 2017 by Irina Shapiro
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form, except for quotations in printed reviews, without permission in writing from the author.
All characters are fictional. Any resemblances to actual people (except those who are actual historical figures) are purely coincidental.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Epilogue
Excerpt from The Unforgiven
Notes
Prologue
She never felt the fatal blow. After the terror and pain of the past half hour, it almost felt like a caress, a cool hand on the brow, comforting her and telling her that it’s all right to close her eyes and let go. She stared up at the stormy sky as she fell, its low, threatening clouds heavy with rain and the air thick with the cries of seagulls. There were shouts of angry men and calls for justice as well, but she never heard those. They were nothing more than a roar in her ears, blending in with the crashing of the waves on the shore as the storm intensified.
She lifted her hand, reaching for something unseen, and let it fall as her gaze fixated on a brief glimmer of sunlight peeking through the gloom. A single bird wheeled just above, its wings spread wide as it glided toward the sea. It was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, and she smiled, wishing she could watch it forever.
At last, she allowed herself to close her eyes. She had no more reason to fight. She knew with unwavering certainty that her boy was gone, and now she was free to go too. She slipped away, quietly and without a fuss, as undemanding in death as she had been in life.
Chapter 1
New Year’s Day 2014
Dunwich, Suffolk
Dr. Quinn Allenby huddled deeper into her coat in an effort to keep out the bitter wind as she walked toward the ancient graveyard of what had once been the Leper Hospital of St. James. Several locals milled about, hoping for a glimpse of the grave, but for the most part, the cemetery was deserted on this Wednesday morning. The day was cold and damp, with a thick mist blurring the edges of the crumbling ruins and making the landscape appear almost gothic. Bare tree limbs formed an intricate lacework pattern against the leaden sky, but their trunks melted into the gauzy mist that swirled between the weathered crosses and left a slick coating of moisture on every surface.
“Here, take my gloves,” Gabe said, handing Quinn a pair of leather gloves that he pulled out of his coat pocket.
Quinn accepted the gloves gratefully and pulled them on after taking one last look at the beautiful diamond ring on her finger. They’d been engaged for less than twenty-four hours, but instead of celebrating and sharing the news with their families, they were in Dunwich, of all places, summoned by Rhys Morgan of the BBC to come and examine the remains that had been unearthed by a curious terrier on his morning walk. Rhys was pacing just outside the tent, a mobile phone pressed to his ear as he talked animatedly to someone on the other end. A young man with a video camera stood idly by, exchanging looks of bitter resentment with a middle-aged woman who was in the process of adjusting the lighting to better illuminate the scene. Rhys likely dragged his employees away from New Year’s Eve celebrations and brought them to this bleak village for something that might be nothing more than the mortal remains of a medieval leper.
To Quinn, Dunwich was probably one of the saddest places in England. Some referred to it as the ‘Atlantis of Britain’, but in Quinn’s opinion, that was too romantic a name for a bustling port city that slid into the sea and was reduced from a population of several thousand to less than one hundred. Dunwich had once been the capital of East Anglia, with a port to match that of fourteenth-century London, but a series of terrible storms coupled with a powerful coastal drift eroded the coastline, permanently covering about a square mile of the town with seawater.
Of the original structures, the ruins of the Leper Hospital and Greyfriars Franciscan Priory were the last remnants of the medieval town. The Franciscans had wisely moved their priory further inland in 1290, and the Leper Hospital had been built far from the main population for fear of contagion. The port and the rest of the town, including twelve churches, were fifty feet underwater, with the last proud structure, that of All Saints’ Church, succumbing to its fate and vanishing into the North Sea in 1922. Now, the village of Dunwich numbered a handful of houses, a museum, and a pub, and was a melancholy spot on the face of the Suffolk coast.
“Quinn, glad you could make it.” Rhys’s tone wa
s brusque as he rang off and strode toward Quinn and Gabe. “And Gabriel Russell. Even better. Two archeologists are better than one, I always say,” he chuckled without mirth. “You two seem to be attached at the hip these days,” he remarked caustically.
Gabe threw Quinn an expectant look, but Quinn ignored it. She saw no reason to share their news with Rhys. Quinn had to work with Rhys Morgan, but they didn’t have to be friends, especially not after what she’d learned from her mother. Rhys was not her biological father, but he could have been, being one of the three men who assaulted her mother when she was a teenager. He’d contacted Sylvia and tried to make amends, but Quinn could never truly forgive him or give him her trust ever again.
“So, what have we got?” Quinn asked, pulling aside the white tarpaulin and stepping into the tent that had been erected above the grave. Rhys was right on her heels, his excitement palpable. He’d been searching for a suitable subject for the next installment of ‘Echoes from the Past,’ a program about archeological mysteries, hosted by the renowned Dr. Quinn Allenby. What the viewers didn’t know was that Quinn was possessed of a rare gift, which Rhys exploited shamelessly to flesh out the characters and learn their secrets. Quinn was able to see into the past when holding an object belonging to the deceased in her bare hands, an ability that often left her feeling heartbroken and frustrated. Rhys clearly hoped that this new find would be another mind-blowing mystery, one to rival the first episode of the program, entitled ‘The Lovers.’
“What we have here is a shallow grave on the fringes of the cemetery,” Rhys replied. “There’s no headstone, no coffin, and the deceased, who appears to have been a child, is buried face-down. I’ve already cleared it with the local constabulary, and they’re sure that the burial is not a recent one, so they have no professional interest in it.”
Quinn squatted down next to the grave with Gabe peering over her shoulder. She’d seen many graves and many human remains, but something about this particular one made her swallow back tears. Unless the deceased had been a very short adult, it had to be a child, a child who’d been dumped face down into a hole and left to rot — a child who was unloved, unmourned, and unwanted. Or was he? Rhys was right; there was a story here, and probably a very interesting one.
“Well?” Rhys prompted, impatient as ever. “What do you think?”
“I won’t know anything for certain until the bones are excavated, cleaned, and tested. But here is what I do know. The skeleton appears to be that of a child. It was buried face down as a sign of disrespect, possibly even as a punishment. Prone burials were used throughout history to humiliate the dead and their families. I have no way of knowing if the child died of natural causes until a bone expert examines the remains. I would like to dig several trenches in the immediate vicinity to see if there are any more such burials. I can’t imagine that it was just the one. We might need to get permission from the diocese, given that we’d be disturbing a patch of land bordering hallowed ground. Rhys, I’ll leave that up to you. Let me get my tools and protective clothing. I don’t want any contamination of the site. Gabe, perhaps some of your students might like to volunteer. This is an excellent learning opportunity, and I need someone to do the grunt work,” Quinn added with a smile.
“I’ll call the Institute. In the meantime, I’m at your disposal.”
“When was the last time you held a trowel in your hands, Dr. Russell?” Quinn teased. Gabe had given up digging in the dirt to become head of department at the UCL Institute of Archeology in London, having had his fill of practical experience. Despite his complaints to the contrary, he enjoyed the role of administrator and liked being around young people, who were enthusiastic and eager to get their hands dirty. Gabe patted his pockets, a look of consternation on his face.
“I can’t find my mobile. I must have left it at yours,” he said. They’d left in such a hurry that morning that it was entirely possible that Gabe left his phone behind. He had a habit of leaving it wherever he used it last, and that would have been in bed last night when he texted his mum to tell her that Quinn had said yes.
“Here, use mine. The Institute is in the contacts,” Quinn said, holding out her mobile to Gabe.
“Thank you.”
Gabe stepped off to the side to call his assistant, Sherry Lee. She wouldn’t be in the office today, but would get his message as soon as she came to work tomorrow and put out a call for volunteers. Gabe handed Quinn back the phone and blew on his hands, which were turning red with cold.
“I think we’ve done all we can for the moment,” he said, giving Quinn a hand up.
“I’d like you to get started as soon as possible,” Rhys protested. “Dave, here, will film the excavation and the removal of the bones. I thought it’d be a nice touch for the opening scenes of the episode. People like to see what the remains looked like in situ. Drinks on me at six,” he added in an effort to pacify his disgruntled employees.
“Right. Let’s go get our kit,” Gabe said as he escorted Quinn out of the tent. “Are you all right?” he asked as they walked back toward his car where all their equipment was stowed in the boot.
Quinn shrugged. “I wish I could just walk away from this one.”
Gabe turned Quinn to face him and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Why? What’s bothering you? Did you see something?”
“No,” Quinn shook her head. “But there’s something about this case that disturbs me. Probably because someone saw fit to purposely disrespect a child, even in death. It’s unsettling."
“Yes, it is. Do you want to speak to Rhys about opting out?” he asked, already knowing the answer. Quinn was under contract to finish out the series, and Rhys, being the consummate showman, would never pass up a dramatic, disturbing case because of the tender sensibilities of his star. Quinn was a professional and would behave like one. But there was one way in which she might be spared the gruesome details of the child’s life and death: if there were no personal objects found with the remains. That way she would be flying blind, using only scientific data, her heart not engaged.
“No, I have to do this, but perhaps I’ll get lucky.”
“Fingers crossed,” Gabe said with a warm smile, knowing exactly what Quinn was referring to.
Quinn crossed her fingers and returned his smile. It helped to know that he understood her so well and was there to support her.
Chapter 2
They’d taken a room at The Ship, the only inn in town, which was surprisingly modern and comfortable. The rest of the rooms went to Rhys and his assistants, and the student volunteers, who had to share. Dunwich wasn’t exactly a hub of tourist activity, so the inn had a limited number of rooms. Quinn claimed the chair closest to the fire and cautiously moved her feet toward the flames. The warmth began to spread from the soles of her feet upward, making her sigh with pleasure. After a week of digging in the mud, the damp and chill had seeped into her bones, leaving her feeling cold even after a scalding hot bath, but part of the chill wasn’t entirely physical.
That first day, Quinn and Gabe walked over to the beach, drawn by the screaming of the seagulls and the strange history of the place. The beach was eerie and deserted, the sky low and threatening. The foaming waves rolled onto the beach with frightening frequency, the sea indifferent to the damage it’d done. Quinn looked out over the roiling sea, her eyes scanning the area where the old town would have been. She tried to picture Dunwich as it might have appeared in the early fourteenth century. Quinn imagined the bustle of activity as the townspeople went about their business, and the forest of ship masts visible from every part of town. She glanced toward where All Saints’ Church had once stood. There were still people alive today who could recall seeing it perched on the cliff before the tower finally collapsed into the sea in 1922, the cliff eroded by the pounding waves.
“Let’s go,” Quinn said to Gabe as she turned her back on the hungry sea. It frightened her, and she wanted to get as far away as possible from its fearsome power. They never went bac
k to the beach, concentrating instead on the ancient grave and spending quiet evenings at the inn.
Quinn and Gabe worked on their own for two days, carefully unearthing the child’s remains until reinforcements arrived in the form of four upperclassmen. By that time, Rhys had received permission from the diocese to search the grounds, but was expressly forbidden from disturbing any existing graves or excavating hallowed ground, which was absolutely fine, since the burials Quinn was looking for would not lie within the perimeter of the cemetery.
Quinn continued working on the original grave while Gabe helped the students mark two new trenches, which would extend horizontally on either side of the open grave. If anyone was buried within ten feet of the child on either side, the volunteers would find them. They came upon the second skeleton on the third day, a whoop of excitement coming from the trench on the right. The other two students looked sour, having nothing to report but a broken beer bottle, several modern-day chunks of metal, and a plastic lighter.
“Quinn, you’ll want to see this,” Gabe called out as they carefully removed the top layer of earth, mindful of disturbing the remains. Quinn climbed out of the grave and went to take a look. Most of the skeleton was still lodged in the ground, but there was no mistaking the position. It’d been buried face down, with no sign of a coffin or any remnant of a shroud.
“This one is definitely an adult,” Gabe said as he took in the size of the skull and length of the spinal column. The legs were yet to be uncovered. Quinn nodded in agreement.
“Can we excavate this one ourselves, Dr. Allenby?” Tara Moore asked, eager to work independently. Of the four students, she was the most driven, and the most meticulous in her methods. Quinn liked her immensely, and was eager to encourage her in any way she could.
“Since you were the one to find it, you get to be in charge, Tara. Dr. Russell will observe and guide.”
“What about us?” John Myers demanded from the other trench.
“Give it one more day. If you don’t come up with anything by end of day tomorrow, you may join in. There’s enough work for everyone.”
John and his partner looked sour, but nodded in acquiescence before returning to work. Quinn hoped they wouldn’t find another grave; two prone burials were more than enough, but they had to be thorough, as did she. She labeled and bagged the bones then went back to carefully sifting through the disturbed earth in search of anything they might have missed. After nearly a whole day on her knees, trowel in hand, she found nothing. The body hadn’t been buried with any personal objects; there was nothing in the grave, not a scrap of leather or a piece of metal. Quinn breathed a sigh of relief, thankful not to have to delve into the life of the buried child. She declared the grave finished with and was about to move on to the second grave when there was a cry of triumph from John Myers.