by Amy Cross
“When are you going to realize that it's over?” she snarls. “Shaltak wants me, not you! You're pathetic, Judith! People won't even remember you round here! They sense the evil in your soul and they're starting to hate you more than ever!”
I try to push her away, but I can't. Instead, she starts pressing the knife down toward my chest. My left hand is still trying to turn the blade to the side, while my right hand is pushing as hard as I can against Prue's shoulder. I can already feel myself getting weaker, and I know Prue will soon manage to drive the blade into my body. I look around, desperately hoping that I might be able to get away, and then at the last moment I spot a rock on the ground next to one of the graves.
Letting go of Prue's hand, I grab the rock and then swing it straight at her head, smashing her on the temple and sending her crumpling to the ground.
I spot the blade flashing in the moonlight, but I don't give her time to attack me again. Instead, I bring the rock crashing down against her head for a second time. I see and hear and feel her skull cracking with a dull thud. She lets out a pained groan and her body jerks slightly, but I'm already raising the rock again. This time, I bring it down against her eye, obliterating the socket and sending blood splattering out across the moonlit grass. I raise the rock yet again and watch for a moment as more blood bursts out from between broken sheets of bone, and then I smash the rock over and over against Prue's face until all that is left is a bloodied mess. Then I keep going, aiming at the top of her neck, hitting her and not even caring when blood sprays against my face. I work myself into a frenzy, bashing her head until finally my hands seize up and I drop the rock, and I see that I have bashed Prue's head clear away from her shoulders.
Just like...
I pause for a moment, before dropping the rock and pulling back.
I wait, in case this all turns out to be a nightmare, but this time Prue seems to be really dead. It all happened exactly as I hallucinated it before, except that this time it seems there shall be no miraculous reversal.
“You surprise me,” Shaltak's voice says after a moment, whispering in my mind. “I felt sure that she would be the victor.”
“I didn't do this,” I stammer, as I feel panic welling in my body. “I didn't, I mean, I couldn't have, I...”
My voice trails off as I realize that, all these years later, I have finally made good on the dark promise of that summer's day.
“Come to me,” Shaltak continues. “The priest is sleeping, and I shall ensure that he does not wake until we are done. We need to discuss your future, Judith. We need to have the conversation that I had expected to have with Prudence.”
“I don't want to be...”
I pause for a moment, and then I stumble to my feet.
“Elizabeth,” I whisper.
“Come into the church,” Shaltak says, “and everything will become clear.”
***
Father Perkins sniffs and snorts as he rolls over in bed, and then he starts snoring again. I watch for a moment, before gently bumping the door shut.
“I told you,” Shaltak says, “I'll make sure that he sleeps through the night.”
Turning, I head across the corridor and then alone the aisle, making my way toward the altar. Although I cannot help but relive the moment of Prue's death over and over, I feel strangely calm; I am not trembling or shaking, or weeping, and I feel no fear as I reach the far end of the aisle and look up at the high, beautiful stained-glass window that rises high above. For a few precious seconds, the sheer beauty of Briarwych Church is enough to fill my soul with wonder, until I remember why I came here tonight.
“You have hidden depths,” Shaltak says. “You might not look strong, Judith, but you possess something extraordinary. You have an ability to exceed your capabilities. You continue to grow, to develop. Your potential has not yet been reached, which excites me. Together, Judith, you and I can go far.”
“I want my daughter to be safe,” I reply.
“Is she not safe now?”
“Something's wrong with her. I don't know what, not exactly, but she's suffering and I want that to end.” I wait, but Shaltak says nothing. “I'll give you anything,” I continue, “but only on the condition that Elizabeth is safe. And that she's with me.”
“What do you offer in return?”
I take a deep breath.
“What do you want?” I ask.
“I want the one thing that you possess, that I do not.”
“I don't know what that is.” Again, I wait for an answer. “My soul?” I ask finally. “Is it my soul that you want?”
“You think I don't have a soul?” She laughs. “I have more than enough of a soul, Judith. What I lack, in your mortal world, is a body.”
“You want a body?” I ask, before realizing what she meant. “You want my body?”
“We can share. I have been in your body a few times already, mostly staying quiet and journeying with you. I want to become more a part of you, so that I can feel what it is like to be human. Once I have done that, I shall be able to manifest my own body. That manifestation is the easy part. I just need some experience first, so that I know what I must create.”
“And then what will you do?”
“I honestly haven't decided.”
“But you're not...”
I hesitate to say the word.
“You're not a demon, are you?” I say cautiously. “I know I've asked you that before, but I'm still not sure what your answer meant. I can't make a pact with a demon, I just... I can't!”
“I am whatever you want me to be, Judith,” she replies. “Your words mean nothing to me. But I will help you, and I will do what I can to save your daughter, and on that you have my promise. I hope that will be enough for you, and that over time we shall be able to cooperate a little more fully. I need to learn from you. I need to know what it feels like to have a body again, to be alive. Will you help me with that?”
I pause for a moment, before nodding.
“I will,” I tell her. “For Elizabeth.”
“Then you shall find her mind calmed upon your return,” Shaltak explains. “It will take time for her to recover entirely, but she is already strong. In some ways, she is like you. She is defiant.”
“I should go to her,” I reply, taking a step back. “I want to be with her.”
“Of course,” Shaltak says, “although there is one other matter to which you should attend first.”
“What's that?” I ask. “Please, I want to get home to my daughter. Can't this other matter wait until tomorrow?”
***
A few minutes later, I finally manage to roll Prue's body into the grave that has been dug for Violet Durridge. Hurrying back across the moonlit cemetery, I grab the other body parts and then I throw those into the grave as well, and then I grab a shovel and start covering the corpse with soil. It takes a while, but finally Prue's body has been completely covered and I step back in an attempt to catch my breath.
Now I can go home to Elizabeth.
Chapter Fifteen
“And we ask that you take Violet into your kingdom, Lord,” Father Perkins says, as a light rain continues to fall, “and that she is granted the rewards of her life here in our community. Amen.”
“Amen,” I whisper, but I am the only one.
It is shocking indeed that nobody else has come to pay their respects to Violet, but I suppose I should not really be quite so surprised. Briarwych is a quiet place at the best of times, and I have often noticed a certain coldness in the people here. Besides, those who wish to mark Violet's passing will probably prefer to do so at the Hog and Bucket, where they can drink beer after beer and remember her in their own manner. I had thought that one or two of them might come to the funeral, but evidently this is not to be.
Looking down into the grave, at the coffin which has already been lowered into place, I briefly think back to the other night, when I buried Prue in that same space. Now, with the groundsman about to start filling th
e grave in, the secret of Prue's death looks set to be hidden forever.
“I must confess,” Father Perkins says as he comes over to join me, “to a certain sense of melancholy on this sad occasion. Nobody's funeral should be so sparsely attended.”
“We make our own lives,” I remind him. “Perhaps this day should be a warning to all of us.” I turn to him. “I know this might be rather forward of me, Father,” I continue, “but would you like to come to have tea with Elizabeth and me one evening? We would be more than happy to set an extra space for you at the table.”
He opens his mouth to reply, but he seems a little hesitant. Indeed, he has seemed rather reluctant ever since I spotted him speaking to Prue the other day. I can only imagine the lies and half-truths she must have told him, but I am confident that I can win him over again. With a little patience, I believe I shall be the wife of a priest yet.
“One evening, maybe,” he says cautiously. “Thank you for your kind offer, Ms. Prendergast.”
“Call me Judith,” I remind him. “You have done in the past.”
“I should go inside and get back to work,” he says with a sigh, as the rain seems to intensify a little. “This is not the day for being outdoors, is it? I don't know about you, but I intend to go inside, make a nice cup of tea, and perhaps read for a while before I start writing a few letters.”
With that, he heads into the church. I stand at the grave for a moment longer, watching as the groundsman dumps another shovelful of soil onto the coffin. He's employing the same shovel that I used a couple of nights ago, and after a moment I look down and see that already the coffin is starting to get covered. As the groundsman works, he has no idea that he is filling not one grave, but two.
***
“I'm afraid that it was a very sad affair,” I tell Elizabeth as I head over to the kitchen table. “One must be mindful of these things. Some lives might seem enjoyable, but they are frivolous and they do not, in the end, contribute anything of worth to society. Why, I imagine that within a few years the name Violet Durridge will have been completely forgotten.”
I take an apple from the bowl, and then I glance at Elizabeth as she watches me from the doorway. I allow myself a faint smile as I see that, just as Shaltak promised, she has rather straightened herself up and recovered from her woes of last week. Soon she'll be back to normal and ready to go to school again.
“What is it?” I ask, aware that there's a slightly odd look on her face. “Elizabeth, what's wrong?”
“You're different,” she replies.
“I am?”
“You're very different,” she continues, as I take a bite from the apple. “I don't know what it is, Mother, but you seem so much more at ease with yourself. Did something happen?”
“Not that I can think of,” I tell her. “Perhaps there has been a change in the air, that's all. One never knows, does one?”
Smiling, I head over to the sink, but then I glance at Elizabeth as I realize that she is still watching me.
“Whatever is the matter, darling?” I ask, worrying slightly that she might be suffering a relapse. “You know you can tell me, don't you?”
“I just...”
She pauses, and then she smiles and that strange look is gone.
“It's nothing,” she says, “I'm sure I was just reading too much into it. I think I might go to my room now and read, ready for school later in the week. That's okay, isn't it?”
“Of course,” I tell her. “You're very studious.”
She turns and walks away, and I can't help but notice that she still has that very faint limp that I first noticed last week. I haven't wanted to pry too much, but at the same time I cannot help but wonder how and when she picked up some extra little injury. Deep down, I am worried that this injury might be related to that afternoon in the forest when I caught up to her, although I know I would never have actually hurt her. I scolded her, perhaps, but I would never have actually caused her any physical harm.
And then I remember the linen in the dresser, and I realize that I have delayed looking for so very long. If I am ever to look at all, this should be the moment.
I still hesitate, as if something is holding me back, but then I turn and head through to the hallway. Once I'm at the top of the stairs, I stop for a moment and listen, and sure enough I hear Elizabeth saying her times tables out loud. Satisfied that she's busy, I go through to my room and gently shut the door, and then I kneel before the dresser. Opening the bottom drawer, I immediately see the piece of linen, and I can't help but notice that the bloodstain seems to be very slightly larger.
I glance once more toward the landing.
“Six times seven is forty-two,” I hear Elizabeth saying. “Seven times seven is forty-nine.”
Good. She is still doing her homework, like a good girl.
Slowly, I reach into the drawer and lift out the piece of linen. Whatever's wrapped inside is not heavy at all. I place the linen on the floor and then – despite the growing sense of fear in my heart – I begin to pull the layers aside, until finally I see a single red rose resting on the bloodied white fabric.
For a moment, this sight is something of a relief.
Then I notice the blood that is smeared all over the stem.
Peering closer, I see that there are small, dark strands stuck to many of the thorns. I touch one of the strands with a fingertip and find that it is slightly soft, like...
In that instant, I remember everything.
“Mummy, no!” Elizabeth screamed in the forest that day, as I held her down.
“Is this what was so important?” I shouted at her, as I held up the very same rose, which she had been carrying away from her meeting with the strange man. “Is this the only thing that matters to you?”
She continued to scream, but somehow I was too strong for her. I remember being filled with rage, with a kind of unholy anger that felt as if it was being channeled into my body. I remember reaching down and pulling Elizabeth's dress up, then pulling her underwear down, then turning the rose stem around so that the cut end was pointing at her body.
And then...
Unable to comprehend the true horror of what I did that day, I stare down at the rose as I sit in my bedroom. I stare in particular at the small strands of torn, bloodied flesh that still cling to the thorns. For a few seconds my entire body is still, but then the horror bursts through my soul and I let out an anguished gasp as I fall back and bump against the side of my bed, with the rose still in my hands.
My darling girl.
How could I have done something like that to her?
Her agonized, juddering screams ring out in my memory, just as they rang out in the forest. At the same time, I remember how she staggered home. I made her go before me, and I felt no compassion as she stumbled several times and almost fell. I hear my voice, commanding her to always remember her sins, to remember that sins can never be washed away, that they build up and build up in one's soul over a lifetime. She was sobbing, whimpering so loudly, but I would not let her stop. I made her walk all the way home.
Getting to my feet, I stare down at the rose for a moment before suddenly letting it fall from my hands. I step back, horrified by the sight of the perverted thing as it drops onto the carpet, and then I back out onto the landing. I feel as if an immense surge of horror and pain is going to burst through my body at any moment. I have to stop that surge, and so I hurry over to Elizabeth's door and – without knocking – I push it open.
“Three times eight is twenty-four,” she says as she sits at her desk. “Four times eight is -”
“Oh my darling!” I shout, rushing forward and dropping to my knees, then putting my arms around her and hugging her as tight as I can manage. “I don't know what came over me! I am so sorry!”
Sobbing, I rest my head on her shoulder.
“Four times eight is thirty-two,” she continues after a moment. “Five times eight is forty.”
Pulling back, I see that she is still loo
king at her schoolbooks. Her eyes are tear-free, and a few seconds later she turns to me and smiles.
“It's alright, Mother,” she says calmly. “You were right. I deserved it.”
“No,” I reply, shaking my head. “No, my darling, what I did was abominable! What I did was unforgivable!”
“I deserved worse,” she continues. “You helped put me back onto the right path, but it is my task to walk that path. I am going to keep myself honest from now on. You do not need to worry.”
“Your injuries,” I stammer, “they...”
I cannot even say the words.
“They'll heal,” she says, as if this is a matter of no great importance. “There'll be scars, I hope. I want to always be reminded of the lesson you taught me.”
“I am a monster,” I tell her. “I have done such wicked things to you.”
“You're my mother and I love you,” she says, as her smile remains. Then, suddenly, she leans forward and kisses me briefly on the cheek, before pulling back again. “There,” she adds. “Do you feel better now? You should be glad that your chastisement worked. I have put away my foolishness. Everything is going to be okay again.”
I wait for her to say that she understands, or that she hates me, for her to say anything at all. Instead, she stares at me as if I'm making a fuss over nothing, and after a moment her smile grows.
“You're a silly goose, Mummy,” she says finally. “Stop worrying so much.”
“But I...”
For a moment, I cannot believe that she is so calm. What I did to her was inexcusable, yet she is acting as if I merely gave her an admonishing glance. I want to beg her to forgive me, but she already has forgiven me, and far too easily.
“Might I continue with my work?” she asks. “I'm sorry, but I've already missed rather a lot of school over the past week and I'm keen to catch up. I'd hate to fall too far behind.”
