My Name Is Lydia (Jack Nightingale short story) (4 page)

Her jaw dropped and
she flinched as if she had been stung. She shook her head and tried to speak
but all she could do was repeat one word. “How… how … how?” Her right hand
moved up as if it had a life of its own and began to massage her scalp just
behind her ear.

“How I know isn’t the
issue,” said Nightingale. “But if you did a deal to have a baby, you need to
tell me.”

“I can’t tell anyone,”
she said. “Not even Matthew. No one must ever know.”

“That ship has
sailed,” said Nightingale. “I’m guessing that you have a pentagram behind your
ear, just under your hair.”

The look of
astonishment on her face and the way her hand fell back into her lap let
Nightingale know that he was right. “You need to tell me everything,” he said.

Tears began to run
down her face and she leaned forward and pulled a handful of tissues from a box
on the coffee table in front of her.

 
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. I would have
done anything for children. Given anything.”

“Did you meet Marcus
Fairchild at the McLean house? During one of their weekend parties.”

Her eyes narrowed.
“You know Marcus?”

Nightingale nodded. “I
know he’s a dangerous man.
A high-ranking Satanist.
Did he tell you that?”

“He didn’t say
Satanist. He said he practised Wicca. A sort of witchcraft.”

“He lied,” said
Nightingale.

“He said he could
help. Or rather, he said he could show me how to ask for help.”

“Black magic?”

She shook head and
wiped her eyes. “He didn’t say black magic. He said Wicca. Of course I didn’t
believe he could help at first. Matthew and I had tried everything. We’d spent
thousands of pounds and got nowhere. Marcus was so convincing, so persuasive.
Finally I decided to try.”

Nightingale was pretty
sure he knew how it had gone, but he asked anyway.

“You summoned a demon,
and sold your soul. Want to tell me about it?”

Her eyes widened.
“What? No!
Of course not.
Sell my soul, that’s
ridiculous.”

“But you did a deal,
right?”

She dabbed at her
eyes. “I went to a meeting with Marcus. A ceremony. It was all… very strange.
We all drank from this metal goblet and…
”
 
She shuddered. “I think I was
drugged.”

“I’m not sure you
were,” said Nightingale. “Deals have to be done when you are sober and your
mind is clear. It has to be that way. Tell me what happened next.”

“I can barely
remember,” she said.

“Try.”

She shuddered again
and stared at the carpet. “We were in a circle. There were braziers burning. I
could hardly breathe. They were banging drums and blowing trumpets, it was so
noisy. And then Marcus began shouting stuff, Latin I think it was. I wanted to
leave, I wanted to get away, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move.” She blew her
nose. “Then she appeared.”

“She?”

“The angel, Marcus
said.
The angel who can grant wishes.
The angel who
gave me my babies.”

“Babies? Plural?”

“I was promised twins.
That was the deal. I swore eternal allegiance to Proserpine and I would get
twins. But she lied.”

Nightingale stared at
her. “Proserpine?”

She nodded.
 
“A young girl, black hair, black eyes,
dressed as a
goth
.”

“With a dog? A black
and white dog?”

Her eyes narrowed.
“How do you know that?”

“I’ve come across her.
She’s not an angel.”

“Marcus said she was.
He said she was a force for good.”

“Yeah, well Marcus was
lying. So Proserpine promised you two babies?”

“I didn’t think I’d be
able to do it twice. I was running out of time.”

“And tell me again
what the deal was?”

Her hand went up to
her ear. “I had to swear on a black book that I would do Proserpine’s bidding,
and that I would agree to carry her mark.”

“And you didn’t think
that maybe it was a bad idea?”

“I wanted babies. And
when it was all happening, it was like a dream. Even now, looking back, I’m not
sure that it was real. Except that two months later I found out I was pregnant
and seven months after that Christine was born.” She forced a smile. “I’ve
never told anyone this. Not even Matthew.”

“And you mustn’t,”
said Nightingale.

“I’ve made a terrible
mistake, haven’t I?”

Nightingale looked
pained. There was nothing he could say that was going to make her feel better.

“Why did Marcus lie to
me?” she asked.

“He wanted you in
Proserpine’s power.”

“How do I get out of
that?”

“By talking to Father
Mahoney. You were lucky – she could have had your soul, then there’d be
no hope for you.”

She began crying again
and dabbed at her eyes with a new tissue. “And what about Christine?” she said
between sobs. “What can I do?”

“Proserpine tricked
you. She promised you twins and she gave you twins. It’s just that they’re in
the same body.”

“Can’t we get Father
Mahoney to do an exorcism? Cast the evil presence out of her body?”

Nightingale shook his
head. “This isn’t a possession. Lydia isn’t a demon
who
has invaded your daughter. Lydia IS your daughter. The evil twin, if you like.
And it looks as if she’s going take control. Which is probably what Proserpine
wanted from the start. That’s why the deal was so easy, why she didn’t press
for your soul. She wanted you to give birth. It feels as if you were set up
from the start.”

“This is a nightmare,”
sobbed Mrs Warren.

“That’s why you went
to Father Mahoney for help in the first place, isn’t it?” asked Nightingale.

Mrs Warren nodded. “I
couldn’t tell him why, though.”

Nightingale took out a
cigarette and lit it. He studied her as he inhaled and held the smoke deep in
his lungs. He blew smoke and then nodded slowly. “I don’t think we can cast
Lydia out. But maybe there is something we can do.” He took out his phone. “I’m
going to call my assistant. When do you expect your husband back?”

“Not until late,” she
said. “He has his surgery and then he’s got a business dinner. He’ll be out
until nine at least.”

Nightingale nodded.
“Hopefully that’ll give us enough time.”

* * *

Mrs Warren went
upstairs to see her daughter while Nightingale phoned Jenny. “Is everything
okay?” she asked.

“Not really,” said
Nightingale. “But I have a plan. Can you get over here with Barbara?”

“I’ll call her. Why?”

Barbara McEvoy was an
old friend from Jenny’s student days, now a trained psychiatrist and hypnotherapist.
“I’m pretty sure that there are two personalities sharing Christine’s body.
It’s not possession
,
they both belong
.
But one is good and one is evil. I’m hoping that Barbara might be able to use
hypnotic suggestion to keep the evil personality supressed.”

“How did that happen?”
asked Jenny.

“It’s a long story.
I’ll explain everything but at the moment I need you to get Barbara here as
soon as possible.”

“I’ll call her and
pick her up,” said Jenny. “If there’s a problem I’ll let you know.”

Half an hour later,
Jenny’s Audi sports car pulled up in front of the Warren house. He had the
front door open for them as they walked up to the path. Barbara was wearing a
sheepskin flying jacket and tight blue jeans. Nightingale grinned. “You look
like you’ve been flying a Sopwith Camel,” he said.

“Nice to see you, too,
Jack,” she said, air kissing him on both cheeks. She brushed a lock of dark
brown hair over her ear. “What’s going on? Jenny said you wanted help.”

As Nightingale ushered
them into the hall, Mrs Warren came down the stairs. “Jenny!” she said. “What
on earth are you doing here?”

Jenny kissed Mrs
Warren and introduced her to Barbara.

“I think Barbara might
be able to help,” explained Nightingale. “Let me take her into the garden while
I have a cigarette. Perhaps you could take Jenny up to see Christine?”

As Mrs Warren and
Jenny went upstairs, Nightingale took Barbara down the hall, through the
kitchen and into the back garden. There was a white-painted gazebo next to a
small pond and Nightingale walked over to it as he lit a cigarette. He quickly
explained the problem, but didn’t mention the
Satanic
pact, Marcus Fairchild or Proserpine, the demon from hell. He stuck to the
basics – that Christine Warren was struggling to cope with a second
personality that was threatening to overwhelm her.

When he’d finished,
Barbara shook her head. “Jack, Christine isn’t a patient. I can’t go treating
people willy-nilly.”

“It’s hypnotherapy,
not brain surgery,” said Nightingale.

“Thank you very much.”

“I didn’t mean it like
that. Look, Christine needs help. There’s a second personality that‘s trying to
take over and I think you can stop it.”

“That doesn’t happen,
Jack. Really. There’s no real evidence of multiple personality disorder. We
only have the one brain, the one consciousness. Okay, your subconscious might
try to fool your conscious, but the idea of two personalities inhabiting one
brain has been pretty much discredited.”

“Then humour me,
please. Just put Christine under and have a root around.”

Barbara smiled. “A
root around?”

“Just see what you can
find.” He flicked his cigarette away. “These people need help, Barbara. They’re
at their wits end.”

* * *

Barbara decided to do
the session in Christine’s bedroom, figuring it was where the girl would be
most at ease. Mrs Warren stood by the window, watching nervously as Barbara
helped Christine make herself comfortable.

“Draw the curtains,
please, Mrs Warren,” said Barbara. “And Jenny, light those candles.”

Jenny borrowed
Nightingale’s lighter and lit three vanilla-scented white candles on
Christine’s dressing table.

Barbara sat on the
edge of Christine’s bed and talked to her softly, explaining what was going to
happen. Nightingale was sitting on an armchair on the other side of the bed.
Jenny finished lighting the candles, gave the lighter back to Nightingale and
sat on a wooden chair by the dressing table.

Barbara lowered her
head so that she was whispering into Christine’s ear. The girl seemed totally
relaxed, her eyes were closed and her golden hair had spread like a halo across
the pillow. Nightingale couldn’t make out Barbara’s words, but the tone was
soothing and he had to keep shaking his head to stop himself falling asleep.

Eventually Barbara
looked across at him and nodded. “She’s under.”

Nightingale stood up
and walked over to the bed. “Can you ask her to talk to me, and to do what I
tell her?” he whispered.

“Yes, so long as it’s
not something that sets up a resistance in her.” She turned back to Christine
and whispered in her ear. “Christine, Jack’s going to talk to you now, and I
want you to do what he asks. Is that alright?”

The girl said nothing,
but gave an angelic smile and nodded. Barbara got up and went to stand next to
Mrs Warren.

“Christine,” said
Jack, sitting down on the bed. “Can you hear me?”

“Of course,” she said
quietly.

“I want you to move
aside, Christine, I want to talk to Lydia. Can you do that?”

“I don’t know anyone
called Lydia.”

“Okay, just relax. Let
Lydia talk to me.”

“Who is Lydia?”

Nightingale said
nothing for several seconds. “Lydia?” he said.

There was no reply.

“Come on Lydia, talk
to me. There’s no need to hide. I know you’re there.” He put his mouth close to
her ear. “I’m a friend of Proserpine’s.”

Christine opened her
eyes. “What the fuck do you want, fool?”

“I just want to talk
to you.”

“About what?” Her
voice was a harsh rasp, almost metallic.

“About what you’re
doing. The way you’re hurting Christine.”

“Don’t worry, the
bitch will be gone soon,” said Lydia.

Mrs Warren gasped but
Nightingale flashed her a warning look and pressed his finger to his lips.

The girl tried to sit
up but Nightingale pushed her back. “Stay lying down, Lydia. And listen to
Barbara. She has something to tell you.”

He waved Barbara over.
“You need to put her under,” he whispered.

“I already did.”

“No, you put Christine
under. This is Lydia. Now you need to hypnotise Lydia.”