My Name Is Lydia (Jack Nightingale short story) (3 page)

“Bye,” she said, then
looked up at him and frowned. “Do you think there’s something wrong with me, Mr
Nightingale?”

“Not really,” he said.
“Perhaps you just need some help to sleep better. Anyway, you have a good day,
Christine.”

She growled and bared
her teeth at him like a feral dog. Her voice dropped an octave and her eyes
flashed hatred. “My name is Lydia. And if you or
that fucking
old fool of a priest come
near me again, I’ll rip your fucking throats
out. Now fuck off and leave me alone.”

* * *

As Father Mahoney
drove back towards Central London, Nightingale told him what had happened in
the bedroom. The priest frowned. “And she wasn’t playing? Pulling your leg?”

“She sounded as if she
meant it,” said Nightingale. “It wasn’t the girl we spoke to. Her voice was
completely different.”

“It sounds as if she
is possessed,” said the priest. “But that isn’t possible.”

“You’re sure about
that?”

“No demon could hold a
copy of the Bible or not react to holy water,” said Mahoney. “And the way she
spoke about Jesus.” He shook his head. “No, possession is out of the question.”

“I have to say that
whoever was threatening to kill us seemed a completely different person to the
one we spoke to downstairs. But you know way more about possession than I do.”

The priest lit a
cigarette and handed his pack to Nightingale who helped himself.

“She can’t be faking
it, though. She’s only eleven, for pity’s sake.”

Nightingale lit his
cigarette. “The person who spoke to me in her room seemed a lot older than
that. And a hell of a lot more dangerous.”

“This is definitely
out of my field, Jack.
 
I’m not even
sure I believe in demonic possession, but even so this girl shows none of the
classic signs.”

“It’s not my field
either,” said Nightingale, without committing himself to an opinion on demonic
possession. “I really feel they need a psychiatrist or psychologist rather than
a priest and a detective. But we told them that. So did you.”

“I suppose so. And
you’re right. It’s up to the parents to get the right help. I have to say I’m
rather glad I won’t be needing to ask the Bishop to let me do the bell, book
and candle casting-out stuff.”

“No problem. Look,
Father, no point you driving me all the way, drop me up here at Putney station
and I’ll get the train home.” The Kia pulled up outside the station.
Nightingale climbed out and gave Father Mahoney a final wave before heading
inside.

* * *

Nightingale was
sipping coffee and frowning at the Daily Mail’s Sudoku puzzle when the office
doorbell rang. Jenny had popped out to get toner for the printer so Nightingale
crushed out his cigarette and headed for the door. His visitor was a tallish
grey-haired man of around sixty, wearing a dark suit and a rather garish red
spotted
bow-tie
. He studied Nightingale through a pair
of gold-rimmed bifocals, before clearing his throat and speaking. “Mr Jack
Nightingale?”

“Just like it says on
the door. Can I help you?”

“My name is Matthew
Warren. I’m Christine’s father. You were at my house yesterday with Father
Mahoney.”

Nightingale showed him
into his office and sat down. He reached for his pack of cigarettes but dropped
them when he saw the look of disapproval that flashed across the doctor’s face.

“My wife told me about
your visit yesterday,” said Dr Warren.
 
“I wasn’t aware she’d asked him to see Christine...much less that he was
planning anything as ridiculous as an exorcism.”

“He isn’t planning on
it. He doesn’t really believe in demonic possession, and Christine has none of
the recognised symptoms.”

“So my wife says. She
says you recommended psychiatric help.”

“It’s not really my
place to recommend anything.
I’m a private detective
,
I’m no doctor
. I have to say I’m a little surprised that you
didn’t go the psychiatrist route. Presumably you know people, professionals.
From the little I’ve seen, it’s as if there are two personalities inside her. I
wondered if you’d considered schizophrenia?”

“Christine is not
schizophrenic, I’m sure of that. It’s as if she has multiple personality
disorder, but outside of cheap novels that’s incredibly rare. Almost
non-existent as far as proven cases go.”

“Could Christine be
inventing all this?”

“No, I really can’t
see that. She’s a normal eleven year
old,
the ‘other’
personality seems far older, more sophisticated as well as more cunning and
malevolent. Did my wife tell you what she did to our dog?”

Nightingale nodded.
“She did.”

“Christine loved that
dog. I mean really, really loved it.”

“So you are sure there
is a different personality at work?”

Doctor Warren’s eyes
seemed not to want to meet Nightingale’s, focusing on different parts of the
scantily furnished office as he spoke. Nightingale recognised the signs. The
man was hiding something.

“I think you have a
theory, Doctor,” said Nightingale. “Why not tell me? I’m a good listener.”

Doctor Warren clenched
his fists, took a deep breath before speaking. “Christine was...is a very
special child. My wife and I had tried to conceive for over twenty years
without success. Finally we tried IVF. Three courses on the NHS and then three
more that we paid for ourselves. We decided to give up after the last one
seemed not to work. Then, suddenly, almost later than seemed possible, the
final try worked, and Christine was the result. I couldn’t begin to describe
how thrilled we were, especially since she seemed so happy and healthy. Never
any of the childhood illnesses, I can’t remember her ever even having a cold.
And now this.
It’s devastating.”

Nightingale nodded,
but didn’t interrupt.

“What I am going to
tell you is in strict confidence, Mr Nightingale.”

“Of course,” said
Nightingale.

Dr Warren took another
deep breath before continuing. “Last week I wanted to rule out anything
physical, so I took a blood sample from Christine and had it analysed. I did it
without telling my wife.”

“And was there
anything wrong?”

“No sign of any
physical problem. She’s perfectly healthy. Except that her blood contains two
different groups, and she has two separate sets of DNA.”

Nightingale gaped at
him. “But that’s not possible. Everyone has unique DNA...don’t they?”

“Apparently it isn’t
impossible, but almost unheard of. Do you know what a Chimera is, Mr
Nightingale?”

Nightingale frowned.

“Rings a bell. Wasn’t
it some monster in Greek myths?”

“Originally. Made out
of parts of different beasts, a lion, dragon, snake and a goat. Well a human
Chimera is much the same. One person made up of parts of two different people.”

“That’s surely not
possible, it sounds like something out of Frankenstein.”

Warren grimaced. “It’s
actually not as dramatic as it sounds. Apparently it’s more common in IVF
pregnancies than any other. What happens is that the pregnancy starts off as
twins, but one zygote fails to develop properly and is absorbed into the other.
”

“Zygote?” repeated
Nightingale. “You’ll have to explain that, I’m afraid.”

“A zygote is the first
stage between fertilisation and a foetus. When the weaker zygote is absorbed
into the stronger, often some evidence of its cells remains. Hence the twin
blood groups and DNA. It is rare, but it’s a recognised medical phenomenon.”

Nightingale was
struggling to get his head around the idea. It still sounded like some mad
scientist’s experiment gone wrong. “You can’t mean that two separate people
have been developing inside Christine? Like Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde?”

The Doctor sighed. “No,
that’s not what I mean,” he replied. “I just wonder whether there may be some
sort of conflict within Christine, but I can’t see how that could happen. I’m
clutching at straws.”

“But, if she is a
Chimera, could the other cells be removed?”

“Quite impossible.
They’ll be spread throughout her body, and impossible to localise. Besides,
they can’t possibly be causing these episodes.”

“So what’s your plan,
Dr Warren? What are you going to do?”

Dr Warren stared out
the window and blinked. Nightingale thought the man was on the verge of tears.
“I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do,” he said eventually.

“So what do you plan
to do?” asked Nightingale.

Warren sighed. “What
we should have done when it started, I suppose. Seek professional help. The
medical profession I mean.” He looked at his watch. “I’m sorry, I have a
surgery at the hospital. I’m late already.” He stood up and forced a smile.
“Thank you for listening, Mr Nightingale. I’d like to pay you for your time.
Yesterday and today.”

Nightingale shook his
head. “Pro Bono,” he said. “I was doing a favour for Father Mahoney. And, truth
be told, it’s not as if I did anything.”

He showed Dr Warren
out and lit a Marlboro, only to stub it out when Jenny arrived back less than a
minute later.

“Jack, what was
Matthew Warren doing here?”

“A chat about
Christine. He’s at his wit’s end. Did you know they used IVF to conceive?”

Jenny nodded head. She
went over to the printer and installed the new cartridge. “They tried so hard
to get pregnant. That’s what makes this all so horrible.”

“IVF does cause
problems sometimes.”

“You’re an expert on
children now?”

“I had a case a year
or so back. An unfaithful husband who was threatening to throw his wife and kid
on the streets. The kid had autism and I spent a lot of time with the wife.
They’d used IVF to conceive and she always blamed the autism on the IVF.”

“What does Matthew
think?”

Nightingale shrugged.
“He doesn’t know what to think.”

“It’s so unfair,” said
Jenny. “I remember talking to her ages ago, when I was at university, I think.
I’d come back for Christmas. She and Matthew were at my
parents
house, one of their shooting weekends. I remember her hugging me so tightly and
saying that she’d sell her soul to have a child like me. I thought it was a bit
scary, actually.” She finished installing the printer cartridge and turned
around to face Nightingale. She saw the look on his face and her eyes widened.
“Please don’t tell me you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

“Those were her exact
words?”

“It’s an expression.”

“Sometimes it’s more
than that, Jenny. Sometimes people follow through.”

She shook her head.
“She wouldn’t be that stupid.”

“Sometimes people get
desperate. They tried to have a kid naturally, and that didn’t work. Then they
tried IVF and that wasn’t working either. Finally, just as her biological clock
is about to stop ticking, she gets pregnant. Not long after she said she’d sell
her soul for a baby.”

Jenny’s hand went up
to her mouth. “What are you going to do, Jack?”

“I’ll have to talk to
her,” said Nightingale. “And hope that she tells me the truth.”

* * *

Nightingale’s MGB had
recently had an expensive service and a new set of tyres, so there was no drama
as he drove out to Strawberry Hill and parked in the road outside the home of
Dr and Mrs Warren. He knew that Dr Warren was at his hospital and he assumed
that his wife was at home taking care of Christine. He parked his car and
walked up to the front door. He rang the doorbell and less than a minute later
she opened the door. She was wearing a dark skirt and a grey blouse and didn’t
look as if she’d slept well. The make-up was a little more thickly applied than
the last time he’d seen her and it was caking in the wrinkles around her eyes
and mouth.

“Mr Nightingale? Was I
expecting you?” Her voice trembled a little as she spoke.

“No, but I have a
couple of questions for you, if you don’t mind. Could I come in?”

For a brief moment she
looked as if she was about to refuse, but then her shoulders sagged and she
opened the door. She led him through the hall and into the sitting room, waved
him to the same chair as the previous day and sat on the sofa. She didn’t offer
him anything to
drink which
Nightingale took as a sign
that she wanted him gone as quickly as possible.

“So,” she said,
flashing him a tight smile. “Ask away.”

Nightingale stared at
her for several seconds, wondering what the best approach would be. From the
look of her, she wasn’t going to put up with a lengthy interview so he decided
just to go straight in for the kill. Her reaction alone would tell him all he
needed to know. “I need to know which demon you made your pact with, and what
they promised you.”