A Cry From Beyond (17 page)

“I
understand,” I said, meaning it. Willis frowned as if deciding
whether or not to believe me. In the end, and much to my relief, he
turned and fought his way back through the crowd to retake his seat
at the other end of the bar. Returning my attention to the child, I
again tried to establish what was inside the blanket, at the same
time wondering why she and her mother were never in one another’s
company.

“I’m not
going to hurt you,” I said when she began to back away. “I just
want to speak to your mother. Do you know where she is? She was
here a moment ago. Do you know where she went?”

“You’re
supposed to help us,” the child suddenly blurted, appearing all at
once angry and frustrated. “You promised.” She searched my face for
recognition. “You don’t remember, do you?”

Before I
could react, she turned and fled in tears and as she did so, I saw
to my horror what really lay within the rotting folds of the
blanket, not a doll but human remains. I felt myself sway
unsteadily and clutched at the bar counter for support.

A voice
spoke into my ear. “Are you all right mate?” It belonged to the pub
landlord, alias Mr Hyde. He still held the baseball bat and looked
like he wanted to use it.

“I’m
fine,” I lied, “a slight giddy spell.”

“Yeah,
sure,” he said cynically. “Any trouble and you’re out.
Understand?”

Without
waiting for an answer he moved on to lecture a couple of unruly
youths, while on the other side of the bar a bouncer physically
ejected the skins, the original instigators of the
trouble.

I ordered
a drink at the bar in an attempt to calm my nerves, and then
rejoined Michelle and the others.

“Mind
telling me where you’ve been?” Michelle asked, plainly angered by
my prolonged absence.

“I
thought I saw someone I knew,” I said weakly.

“And did
you?”

“What?”

“Know
them?”

“Err;
no.”

“You
don’t sound too sure.”

“What did
Bill Willis want with you?” David asked, interrupting
us.

“Who’s
Bill Willis?” Michelle asked.

“One of
the locals,” I told her and to David I said, “He just wanted a
friendly chat.” David raised his eyebrows sceptically.

By now
the fighting had stopped, and people were again relaxing into the
spirit of things. Willis, I noticed, stood alone at the bar counter
supping from a pint pot. There was no sign of Kayla or her
mother.

I rubbed
the nape of my neck sensing the beginnings of a headache, stress
ache more likely, not really surprising I thought, bearing in mind
what I’d been through that evening.

“Let’s
call it a night, shall we,” I said to Michelle, belatedly agreeing
to her earlier wish. A taxi was duly ordered to return us to High
Bank, and we left the others to carry on partying. Once inside the
cottage I made straight for the bedroom where I collapsed onto the
bed. Michelle joined me shortly afterwards, offering me aspirin for
my headache which I gratefully accepted. Then we stripped off,
slipped beneath the covers, and slept.

Sometime
during the night Michelle shook me awake.

“Who’s
Melinda?” she asked, staring down at me suspiciously.

“I have
no idea,” I replied truthfully, whilst desperately trying to shake
off the effects of sleep. I glanced over at the alarm clock, saw it
was the middle of the night and said, “What the hell is this
Michelle?”

“You were
talking in your sleep John.”

“Clever
me...”

“Cut the
sarcasm buster.”

“I’m
sorry. What did I say?”

“I
couldn’t make out much. You repeatedly spoke of someone called
Melinda: said you needed to speak to her. Was she the one you made
reference to at the party? Did you see her at the pub tonight? Is
that why you left our group like you did? Best tell me the truth,
because I’ll know if you’re lying.”

“I’ve
never heard of anyone called Melinda,” I repeated.

Michelle
would have none of it. “You were out of your seat like a shot. You
looked like a love sick pup.”

“I went
to see Bill Willis.”

“Try
again, sweetheart.”

“I
swear.”

“Last
chance!”

“Why
won’t you believe me?”

“Why?
I’ll tell you why; because I called Jenny as soon as we got back.
She told me all about your Bill Willis. I find it extremely
difficult to believe you’d try to court the friendship of someone
who allegedly hates your guts: unless of course you’ve developed a
death wish!”

I was
suddenly lost for words. My silence served to fuel Michelle’s
anger.

“I mean
it John,” she said, fighting to control her emotions. “If you don’t
tell me I’ll leave right now and I won’t be back: ever! Now who did
you go over to see?”

“No one:
I swear!”

She made
to throw back the sheets in readiness to jump out of
bed.

“What the
hell is this, Michelle, the third bloody degree? Come on, surely
you don’t think I would set out to two time you so blatantly?
”

Her reply
came in the form of a cold hard stare. A brief standoff ensued. And
then: “Okay, you win,” I said realising I had to tell the truth to
retain her trust. Hoisting myself up to a sitting position I said,
“”There’s this woman and her daughter. They’ve turned up here at
the cottage a couple of times, independently of each other. They’ve
never entered the house, but stayed outside in the grounds. I have
no idea who they are. I thought I saw the woman tonight, but I
must’ve been mistaken.” I paused to collect my thoughts and decided
not to mention the child or the unnerving incident involving her.
In conclusion I simply said, “My intention tonight was to discover
who they are and what interest they have in me. The child is called
Kayla; that much I do know. Whether the woman’s name is Melinda, I
have no idea.”

“Does
anyone else know about them?” Michelle asked.

“Not that
I’m aware.”

“
It all sounds very fishy to me.”

“You
don’t believe me?”

“Let’s
just say the jury is out on this one, for the moment at
least.”

“How can
I prove it to you?”

“Why not
introduce me.”

“I can’t.
I’ve told you, I don’t know who they are, let alone where to find
them.”

Michelle
lapsed into thought.

“Penny
for them,” I said.

“Tell me
truthfully John. Do you think we have a future together, or am I
wasting my time with you?”

The
question caught me off guard. I struggled for a reply.

Sounding
hurt and angry Michelle said, “I take your silence as a
no.”

“It’s too
early,” I replied, irritated at being put on the spot.

“We’ve
known each other for over two years,” she reminded me.

“But it’s
been a loose arrangement,” I argued. “I didn’t realise you were
looking for commitment.”

“I
wasn’t.”

“So
what’s changed?”

“I’m two
years older for one thing.”

“What’s
brought all this about?”

“I just
want to know where I stand John.”

I felt
cornered. Despite my best intentions I failed to summon up a
reply

“Why
won’t you let me get close John? What are you so afraid of,
huh?”

“I’m not
afraid of anything.”

“You were
afraid of the dreams.”

She was
referring to the night terrors I once suffered, dreams that seem so
real they continue into wakefulness. I used to get a lot of those
when I was a kid and they never really stopped, not even when I got
to the point in my life when I was perpetually stoned out of my
tiny mind. And then there were the premonitions I often awoke to,
equally vivid and equally scary because of it. The freaky thing
was, some of those premonitions came true, although I would always
put the fact down to coincidence. Like with the brochure
advertising High Bank.

“I don’t
get the dreams anymore,” I said, conveniently forgetting about the
one in which I’d envisioned Kayla, un-dead, in the
tunnel.

Michelle
shook her head in defeat. “There is absolutely no getting through
to you is there John?”

“That’s
unfair. Hey, where are you going?”

But
Michelle, butt naked and looking as gorgeous as ever, was already
out of the bed and heading for the door.

“Michelle?”

She
turned, with tears in her eyes.

“What
have I done?”

“Nothing,
but that’s the point.”

She
slipped on her bath robe, opened the door and crossed the landing
to the guest bedroom. Glancing round she said, “I would prefer to
sleep in here tonight.”

“Michelle, you’re making a mountain out of a
molehill.”

“Am I?
It’s always been the same with you John. Sex, drugs and Rock n
Roll.”

“I’ve
given up the drugs,” I said, hoping she’d fail to see through the
lie. “And when was there anything wrong with good old rock n
roll.”

Turning
to face me, hands on hips, she said, “And what about the sex John?
I used to turn a blind eye to the groupies because I could kid
myself you were too addled to know your own mind, that the drugs
and booze were to blame, but now...”

“What?”

“You say
you’re clean, so you don’t have any excuses for straying off the
straight and narrow, and yet you have this mysterious admirer who
visits you but who never strays into the house. Do you really
expect me to believe that?”

“Well,
yes,” I said falteringly. When it was put like that I had to admit
the story did sound questionable.

Michelle
disappeared into the guest room, quietly closing the door behind
her. I didn’t want her to sleep in there. It was the room in which
Mike had experienced his own form of night terrors. I dragged
myself out of bed, crossed the landing, and knocked the guest room
door.

“Michelle?”

“Go
away.”

“I don’t
want you to sleep alone.”

“Why the
sudden concern?”

“I care
about you.”

“How
gallant! Now for the second time of asking, go away.”

I was
forced to concede defeat. “You win Michelle, but promise you’ll
call me if you need anything.” Like help fighting off the dreaded
bogeyman, I felt like adding.

“I
wouldn’t call on you if my life depended on it,” I heard her mumble
to herself.

I felt
disillusioned and out of sorts. The headache was returning. I was
suddenly in the mood for a fix of some kind. Irish had come good
the day before, managing to provide me with quality gear. I crept
down the stairs and entered the kitchen unintentionally disturbing
Lennon. I got him settled again and then fished my fresh stash of
Charlie out of the cupboard beneath the sink, ran a neat line of
the intoxicating white powder along the drainer and snorted it
using a plastic MacDonald’s straw. Invigorated by the drug I left
the kitchen, quietly mounted the stairs and returned to the master
bedroom, where I eventually fell into an uneasy sleep...and
suffered another particularly bad dream.

It showed
me Kayla. She was crying. As always she held the cursed bundle in
her arms. From the darkness beyond I glimpsed women, children and
babies, who stared through eyes that saw nothing other than their
own eternal damnation. Their tortured minds reached out to me but I
refused to hear. Kayla looked past me. I turned and there stood her
mother. She smiled her beautiful smile and walked towards me. And I
wondered how that was possible, how she was able to even stand, let
alone smile and walk, when she was so obviously dead.

It was
four in the morning. I lay awake in bed listening to the creaks and
groans of the old house as it shifted restlessly on its
foundations. I felt isolated and alone. The only person I truly
valued chose not to be with me, preferring to sleep in a separate
room. All of a sudden I felt the need to check on her, make sure
she was all right.

I climbed
silently off the bed and crept over to the bedroom door, turning
the handle and pulling it open a couple of inches, determined to
make not a single sound. I quietly turned on the landing light and
peered out. The landing was empty. The door to the guestroom was
shut, the bathroom door slightly ajar, how it had been
left.

I stood,
listening, but heard nothing but the creaking protestations of an
old house. I left the bedroom and silently crossed the landing to
the guest room, where I turned the door handle, suddenly dreading
what I may or may not find inside that room. The disappearances had
begun to play on my mind, scratching at my conscience like a rusty
nail. God forbid Michelle had suffered the same fate as Mary Louise
and Terry. I would never forgive myself.