The Resurrectionists

by Kim Wilkins

  Tony Blake opened the door, jolting the Reverend out of his morbid fantasy. “Sorry, Reverend,” he said. “Didn’t mean to surprise you.”

  The Reverend put his hand over his heart as though that could still it. “It’s all right, Tony. What can I do for you?”

  “Have you heard back from Lester, yet?”

  “Yes, and I’ve called Australia. I think we can expect something to give soon.”

  “But you can’t shrink from your other promise, now.”

  “What other promise?”

  “When she gets back, you’ll have to send the Wraiths.”

  The Reverend shuddered. He couldn’t stand to have that word used in the friendly light of morning. “Tony, you know I can’t send them. I can only ask and wait upon the providence of a greater power.”

  “But you will ask?”

  “We’ll see if it’s necessary. Now don’t mention it again. It unsettles me so.”

  Tony gave him a look that said he grew weary of trying to understand the Reverend’s motives. “Why do you do it, Reverend?”

  “Because it’s what my father and my father’s father did. That’s not so surprising, surely. Your father was a policeman, too, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “We none of us fall so far from the tree that bore us,” said the Reverend, not meeting Tony’s eye. “I’m just fulfilling my destiny.”

  Maisie was in the wood behind the house again. Why did the dream always start here? A submerged terror was rising up through her body.

  Am I dreaming now?

  Yes, she was, and she refused to have this horrible dream again.

  She stopped running and asked, “Why am I having this dream?”

  In front of her, Reverend Fowler materialised, attempting a friendly smile with those misfitting false teeth. “How did your grandmother die?”

  “She was sick. She went for help. She didn’t make it.”

  “You should run. They’re coming for you.”

  Reverend Fowler disappeared. The sounds of the chase were approaching. But she was dreaming, nothing could hurt her. She turned and stood her ground. Two dark shapes were moving in the distance, darting between trees. She breathed out and saw her breath like fog.

  “I’m not afraid of you. I know I’m only dreaming.” Then why did her heart begin to pound, her knees begin to quaver?

  The ringing phone woke her up. She lay in bed, grateful for the bland comfort of a ceiling and four walls. She could hear Sacha in the lounge room, answering the phone. In a few moments, he was knocking at her door.

  “Yes?” she asked cautiously.

  “Telephone for you. It’s Adrian.”

  Adrian? She checked her watch. It was only seven o’clock. She threw back the covers, pulled on a robe and went out to the lounge room. Sacha had left the phone on the table and gone back to bed.

  “Hi, Adrian.”

  “Maisie, are you okay?”

  “Of course I’m okay. Why are you ringing so early?”

  “I tried to ring last night. Where were you?”

  “Sacha and I went to the pub, then we had a late dinner,” she said, wondering why she felt guilty. “You sound frantic. What’s the matter?”

  “Somebody phoned from England last night, saying that you were in danger.”

  “What?”

  “He said if you didn’t come home soon, something bad was going to happen to you.”

  She was temporarily dumbstruck. Eventually she said, “Who was it? What did he sound like?”

  “He sounded like he was putting on a fake voice – kind of soft and high. Maisie, I want you to come home.”

  Home? Now? “Who would do this? Why are you so sure it’s somebody from England?”

  “I…ah…I guess he didn’t actually say where he was from. But it was probably the same lunatic who put a brick through your window.”

  Was this typical Adrian, overreacting? “Adrian, you’re not making sense. Sure the people of Solgreve are a bit mad but they’re not dangerous. They’re all fundamentalist types –”

  “Who think you’re a witch.”

  Maisie leaned her elbows on the table. “You know, Adrian, how would somebody in Solgreve get our number? For a start, it’s silent. How do you know it wasn’t someone else, someone in Brisbane, someone who knows I’m away and wants to upset you?”

  “Like who?”

  “I don’t know – our family has hundreds of enemies. Mum’s not the most popular human being on the planet.”

  “Maisie, listen to yourself. You’re being ridiculous. Just come home.”

  “I’ll be home soon enough.”

  “Come home today”.

  Don’t tell me what to do. “No,” she said firmly. “I won’t be intimidated. I’m not finished here yet. I have to find out how my grandmother died.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “It just seems impossible. You’re trying to tell me that the people of Solgreve, a bunch of dumb, backwater hicks, are international criminal masterminds who can find silent numbers in foreign places when they don’t even know my parents’ names. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I’d be happier if you were back here,” he said softly. And it was his softness of voice, reminding her of all the reasons why she loved him, which moved her where his desperation couldn’t. She gave in a little.

  “Okay, as soon as I get back to Solgreve I’ll phone and bring my return flight forward a couple of weeks. I’ll sort out a few more things, and I’ll try to be home around the same time you’re home from New Zealand.”

  “And in the meantime, get somebody to come and stay with you. Cathy, or even that Sacha guy.”

  “I’m sure Cathy would come for a while. And my grandmother’s house is like a fortress, believe me. Trust me to be smart enough to stay safe. And in the meantime, try to think of who else might be trying to upset you. Or Mum.”

  “I can be back from Auckland on the eighteenth.”

  “All right,” she said, even though it hurt her to say it. “I’ll be back the same day.” Less than a fortnight, a distance in time which was countable in days. Not really enough time for Sacha to fall in love with her, or for her to become a powerful psychic. Back to reality.

  “I’m going to call you every day from Auckland. If you don’t answer I’m going to panic.”

  “There will be no need for panicking. Have a good time at the summer school.”

  “I love you, Maisie. Sorry if this has ruined your trip.”

  Maisie said a half-hearted, “It’s okay.” The sky was gradually growing lighter outside. She watched rain drip off the eaves.

  “It’ll be good to have you home,” Adrian continued.

  Home. The word closed around her and stuck to her skin. She felt as though she’d just been told that she’d spend the rest of her life colour blind. “Yeah,” she said, not caring that Adrian would pick up her insincerity. “It’ll be good to be back.”

  Janet listened to the whole story, nodding in that controlled, intellectual way she had. They sat in the air-conditioned music room, a tray of tea between them, taking refuge from the unbearable humidity which clung to the walls in every other room of the house.

  “What do you think?” Adrian asked. He had to get on a flight to Auckland in less than twelve hours, but couldn’t stop worrying. Perhaps he should cancel and rush over to England.

  Janet tapped a fingernail thoughtfully on her knee.

  “I think Maisie’s right to be sceptical about who called. It is far more likely that it was somebody who already has our number. We made it a silent number in the first place because of harassment calls.”

  Adrian felt his tension ease a little. Janet could always see things clearly – at least, things that didn’t relate to her. “So you’re not worried?”

  “Oh, yes, I’m worried. But the whole trip has been a terrible worry to me. If, as you say, she’s going to have a friend staying with her and she’s coming home early
, I think you can head off to Auckland without too much heartache.”

  “I thought about cancelling the summer school, going over to be with her.”

  Janet sniffed dismissively. “Don’t be ridiculous. You know you’re not serious. Your profile will be lifted enormously by teaching this school. It’s probably one of the reasons Churchwheel’s have contracted you. You have far too much riding on it to cancel it at the last minute. Professional musicians must be professional.”

  “You’re right.”

  She leaned forward and refilled his teacup. “I’ll call my mother’s solicitor in York and tell him to keep an eye on her. Would that make you feel better?”

  “Much better.”

  “Then consider it done. Now, when is she coming home?”

  “Around the eighteenth. Less than two weeks.”

  “I’ll have a word to the director of the City Symphony, see if she can have her old job back. I don’t think they found anybody permanent to replace her, and her hand must be better by now.”

  Adrian spooned sugar into his tea and stirred it absently. “What’s wrong with her hand?” As soon as he said it, he remembered the fake injury. He could feel his heart pick up a beat as Janet scrutinised him. “Oh, that. I’d almost forgotten. Yes, I’m sure it’s much better.”

  Janet’s eyes narrowed. “Adrian? Is there something you’re not telling me?”

  Adrian felt as though he were being examined on the end of a pin. Nothing got past this woman, nothing. What now? Lie more and really dig his own grave? Or admit everything? “I…I don’t know what you mean.” He didn’t sound convincing and he knew it.

  “Adrian, you’re lying to me. You live in my home, I treat you like a son, and you’re lying to me. I’d expect this from Maisie, but not from you.” Incredulous, accusing.

  Adrian gulped. Don’t get anxious. “Janet, I…” But he already knew he was defeated.

  She smiled tightly, nodded once as if it had already been decided. “It would be better if you told me everything.”

  “Should I try to contact my grandmother?”

  Sacha looked up from his coffee. They were sitting in a crowded patisserie in Soho. A rowdy group of South African backpackers had taken over the table next to them, trapping them in a corner. From Maisie’s vantage point, there seemed to be no escape.

  “That’s not too weird to ask, right? Trying to speak with the dead?” Maisie continued. She was so unused to talking about these things she always expected laughter or accusations of insanity. Sacha didn’t respond with either.

  “You could try. I doubt if she’s still around. Sybill was very ambitious about her Afterlife.”

  “What does that mean?”

  The group next to them burst into loud laughter. Sacha waited until they had quietened down before proceeding. “Sybill spent a lot of time communicating with the dead.”

  Maisie didn’t know why that made her feel queasy, but it did. “Is that so?”

  “She had a theory about what happened after death. There are three places you could go. First, you could be earthbound, through psychic or emotional trauma.”

  “Like a ghost?”

  “Exactly. She spent a lot of time working on helping earthbound spirits into the next life. Because that’s the second option, to be born again as somebody else.”

  “Reincarnation.”

  “Right. But it’s not an endless cycle of death and rebirth. Not according to Sybill. When you’ve collected enough psychic lessons, you go beyond that cycle. To a realm of perfection: heaven, or nirvana, or whatever you want to call it. Most people plug away at it for centuries, life after life, learning all the facets of humanity. Sybill was hopeful that she was approaching the end of the cycle. And to speed her passage, she was doing everything she could to develop her own psychic powers. With enough energy, she thought she could drive herself all the way across. She wanted her life as Sybill Hartley to be her last life.”

  “Do you think she managed it?”

  “If anyone could, it would be Sybill.” He took a sip of his coffee and leaned back in his chair. “Or you.”

  “Me?”

  “Sybill believed that intense psychic ability was a sign that the cycle was closing down.”

  “You’re scaring me. I don’t want to think about dying.”

  “Sorry.”

  “You mean that I’m on my last life?”

  “Sybill would say so. But let’s not think about it.”

  “I don’t feel particularly enlightened. I don’t feel like somebody who has learned everything.”

  “I thought you didn’t want to think about it.”

  “I’m so unprepared for all this weird stuff.” She looked down at her half-finished caramel tart. “Last night, I lay awake most of the night all panicked and bewildered. It’s overwhelming, the things I’ve seen and done. Dream-travelling, and evil spirits in my grandmother’s house, and finding out I’m psychic.” She raised her head, met his gaze. “You know, my family and Adrian aren’t just on another continent, they’re in another universe, one with different rules and laws of reality. They wouldn’t understand any of this.”

  “They might understand. You don’t know.”

  “I know. I know them. Part of me wants to run home and not be scared any more, but part of me is so afraid that if I do, things will return to normal and I’ll be miserable and unfulfilled for the rest of my life.” She pushed her hair behind her ears. “This psychic thing is the only thing I’ve ever had that didn’t come from them. It’s mine. It’s not in the Fielding how-to-live guide. I’m desperate not to lose it.” Coincidentally, she felt exactly the same way about Sacha himself.

  “Don’t be desperate. You’ll be a better psychic if you learn to relax,” Sacha said with an indulgent smile. “Do you want another coffee?”

  She didn’t really – it was expensive and a little too strong. But she said yes anyway because Sacha was half out of his seat and on his way to the counter. He picked his way through the backpackers. One of the girls looked at him admiringly. Maisie broke a piece of crust off her caramel tart and popped it into her mouth. The dreams were getting to her. They insisted that she find out for sure how Sybill died, but she didn’t know where to start. She was hardly equipped for private detection, and she had a vague notion that the whole project might be misguided and…well, stupid.

  Sacha returned shortly with two more cups. “So, you don’t think you’ll play cello any more when you go back to Australia?” he asked, moving the empty cups to the edge of the table and setting the fresh ones down.

  “I don’t want to.”

  “Why not? Just because you’re not passionate about it?” He edged into his seat.

  “Yeah, that. And the people. I never really felt like I fitted in with the orchestra.”

  “No?”

  “No. I mean, they all expected me to be a genius or a snob because of who my parents are, but I’m neither. A lot of them are geniuses and snobs though. They’re either incredibly out of touch with the real world because their whole being is consumed with music, or they want to pretend they’re that way. There was this one girl, a violin player, who really pissed me off. She always used to say that she’d never seen a Hollywood movie, and she was really proud of that. It’s so boring. It’s so elitist. And I think a lot of them disliked me even before they met me, because they thought I only got the job because of my dad.”

  “Are you sure you weren’t just being paranoid?”

  Maisie shrugged. “Maybe. But I still felt bad about it. I can’t help the way I feel.”

  “What will you do instead?”

  “I don’t know. I’m desperate to stay out of the orchestra, but I bet that even as we speak my mum is making a deal with the management to get me back in. That’s going to be the hardest part, telling Mum to butt out of it.” She looked up, and noticed that he was staring past her shoulder and out the window. She guessed she’d bored him. “Did you ever have aspirations to do something
different?” she asked carefully.

  He returned his attention to her, smiled and said deadpan, “No, working in a bakery is my life’s dream.”

  She laughed out loud.

  “With me it’s never been about career,” he continued, more seriously. “It’s always been about people or places. I don’t really care what I do as long as I’m where I want to be, or with whom I want to be with. I like living across the road from the sea. I like Whitby, and I have friends nearby. It wouldn’t really matter what I did. I don’t need much money or fancy things like my dad does. Just enough to keep my van running and have a few drinks with the lads from time to time.”

  “It sounds very uncomplicated.”

  “Yeah, well life doesn’t have to be complicated.”

  Maisie thought about this. It sounded good but she didn’t believe it.

  “My dad’s coming home tomorrow night,” Sacha said.

  “Oh? So we have to leave?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  The thought of returning to Solgreve made her fearful. She tried to analyse it, figure if it had anything to do with Adrian’s warning about the threatening phone call. But the fear seemed to be centred around the wood behind the cottage which she kept dreaming about.

  “Maisie…” Sacha started, then trailed off as if it was too difficult to say what he had to say.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You know what you said about how I should get to know my dad?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve thought a lot about it and I’ve decided you’re right. Would you mind terribly if I stayed a couple more days to talk to him? It would mean you have to go home alone.”

  Alone was the last thing she wanted to be on returning to Solgreve. And what if Sacha and his dad got on so well that he never came back? Who would teach her to be psychic? She couldn’t stand the thought of not seeing him again.

  “Maisie?”

  “Of course I don’t mind.”

  “I’ll give you Chris’s address and you can pick up Tabby and my van so you can drive straight home.”

  While the idea of driving a strange vehicle along strange highways was kind of scary, at least if she had his van he would have to come back for it, right? “That will be fine.”