Scattering Like Light (11 page)

“OK? Can you feel it yet?”

“It feels weird, as if it’s warming up somehow.”

The strange coiling sensation was back, wrapping around my wrist. I took another deep breath, feeling the strange and unnatural power growing within me, ready to be unleashed.

I pushed.

There was a sudden explosion of sparks and I felt myself being thrown backwards across the balcony. I hit the stone floor with a thump. Callum had been thrust in the other direction, so I scrambled up quickly to check that he was being consumed by the light. But he was sitting on the floor, looking absolutely normal with no sparks or glittering lights tracing their way across him. He was peering curiously at his amulet and a quick glance at mine showed that the glow was beginning to fade.

“Callum? Are you OK? What’s happening?”

“Nothing as far as I can see.” He sat up and stretched out his arm, examining the amulet from every angle.

“Is it OK? We’ve not broken it, have we?”

“No, it seems fine. That was freaky.”

I realised that I was being watched by a small crowd of tourists, so quickly bent down and pretended to pick something off the floor. “Ah, found it!” I moved the mouthpiece for the phone and spoke clearly into it, shrugging and smiling at one of the tourists as I did so. “Sorry about that, Callum. Where were we?” I went back to leaning on the rusted golden railing and looked out at the far horizon. Within a second Callum’s arms were tight around me.

“What happened there then?” He was struggling to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

“It was weird. It started out feeling exactly like it did last
time, when I stopped Lucas, but then, well, it was almost as if someone had put in a barrier and the power rebounded back to me.” I rubbed my backside carefully. “It packed a bit of a punch.”

“Tell me again what you did to Lucas –
exactly
what you did.”

I cast my mind back to that terrible day only a few weeks previously when I had chased after Catherine, then Rob, and finally ended up fighting with Lucas. “Rob was kneeling on the floor. Lucas was standing in front of him. I had just put the amulet back on after Rob had torn it off his wrist. Lucas put his hand out and Rob suddenly went rigid.” I shivered despite the warm summer’s day.

“Carry on,” Callum encouraged gently.

“I stepped between them – as far as I could see in the reflection in the mirrored building anyway. I thrust my amulet into Lucas’s and pushed, just like I did just now.”

“So your amulets were in the same space?”

“Yes. Ooh, do you think that’s it?”

“It could easily be. Up here I’m solid to you and your amulet, so we can only get them alongside each other. When you attacked Lucas your amulets were lined up in the same way ours are when we talk. I bet they have to be in the same space.”

“Yes! That’s bound to be right! So our plan would have worked anywhere but up here.”

“I guess. Unlucky, eh?” He squeezed me tightly for a moment and bent down to kiss my cheek. “Can we try again downstairs?”

I flexed my fingers. “I feel fine. It doesn’t seem to affect me at all.” I looked down at the Thames far below. “We should probably be by the riverbank anyway, so I can raise the alarm the minute you appear in the water. It was a bit stupid of me not to think about
that earlier.”

“OK, shall we go now?”

“Might as well.” I quickly glanced around me at the balcony. For a moment we were alone. “Kiss me, Callum, quickly.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice, twisting around so that I was pressed close to his chest. His soft lips found mine, and for a moment I drowned in his touch, taste and smell. His mouth became more urgent and I couldn’t help responding. Suddenly he broke off, breathing heavily.

“I need to be over there with you,” he said in a husky voice. “Come on, let’s go and get it done.” With a final squeeze he released me, then grabbed my hand and started pulling me towards the “down” exit.

I laughed, holding tight to his hand as we slipped through the narrow doorway. Almost immediately his fingers became less firm, and as we descended there was quickly nothing for me to hold on to. But there was a new and exciting urgency to our plans, so I continued following down the treacherous stairs as quickly as I dared, the memory of his kiss still lingering on my lips.

We were nearly at the bottom when there was a flurry of activity among a small crowd of translucent figures. I could see a swirl of cloaks and Callum suddenly pulled up.

“What’s up? Who’s there?” I called as I saw him deep in conversation with someone.

“It’s Matthew. Give me a minute, will you?”

The tingle went from my wrist as he and Matthew continued. Matthew was pointing, and whatever he was saying it obviously wasn’t good news. I sighed. I was getting used to things going badly around me in the cathedral. I left them to it and stepped through the door into the bright sunlight of the Stone
Gallery. Quickly checking around that the strange vicar wasn’t lurking nearby, I moved to the edge where I could admire the view and talk comfortably into the phone when he returned.

After a few minutes Callum was back at my side. I glanced up at his face, and even in the daylight I could see that he was ashen.

“What? What’s happened now?”

His voice was urgent. “Matthew says there’s something you need to see before it gets moved. Please come now, we have to hurry.”

“OK, I’m coming, but why don’t you tell me on the way?”

“It’s right here.” We had reached the strange fibreglass shelter that covered the entrance to the top of the stairs. Inside was a seat where the security guard or guide usually sat. It was a hard plastic seat, and absolutely unremarkable.

“What am I looking at?” I asked, puzzled.

Matthew suddenly came into view on my other side, and he walked quickly to the chair and pointed. Next to it in a small stack were a number of magazines and papers. On the top of the pile was a copy of the
Evening Standard
, rather dog-eared and folded open. “Quickly, take it!” urged Callum.

“Really?” I scanned around but the guide was nowhere in sight. Some tourists were approaching though, so I snatched the paper and ran down the tight spiral staircase. Callum kept pace with me easily, but by the time I emerged at the Whispering Gallery I was monumentally dizzy.

“I’m going to have sit down for a moment or I’ll fall over,” I hissed, sinking on to the closest part of the bench. None of the Dirges were nearby. I used the paper to fan myself briefly. “That was not a good idea. Right, what am I looking for?” As I spoke
I smoothed the paper out over my knee. It had the usual range of stories on the page, from celebrity watching through to minor disasters.

“There,” exclaimed Callum, pointing towards the bottom of the page.

I read the headline and my blood ran cold.

Mystery River Man Tortured

Police confirmed today that they are setting up a murder inquiry after post-mortem results showed that a man pulled out of the Thames last week had been tortured to death. Identifying the man as 76-year-old Lucas Pointer, Chief Inspector Megan Sharman admitted they had few clues. “From the injuries observed at the post-mortem it was clear that the unfortunate Mr Pointer was systematically tortured, then dumped barely alive into the Thames. Although he was rescued in a matter of minutes it was impossible to save him. Our investigations are ongoing, but have been hampered by the fact that Mr Pointer was reported missing by his wife, Emily, fifty-three years ago. Mrs Pointer passed away last year, believing her husband to be dead. This was a horrific crime perpetrated by someone cruel and callous on a helpless old man, who suffered terribly. If anyone has any knowledge regarding this incident, or the whereabouts of Mr Pointer in the intervening period, please contact the incident room.”

I couldn’t breathe. I tried to reread some of the details but it was impossible; my hands were shaking too much. “I killed him,” I whispered. “Me. I killed him.” The paper dropped to the floor as I pressed my hands to my face, a huge tidal wave of fear threatening to engulf me. Callum was looking at the report again, trying to read it where it had landed by my feet. The panic was getting worse. I
cupped my hands over my nose and mouth, trying to take shallow breaths, but it didn’t help. “I’ve got to get out of here, right now!” I tried to speak calmly but I failed miserably. Several heads turned to look in my direction as I got to my feet. I stumbled blindly for the stairs down and it took a moment to realise that someone was trying to talk to me.

“Alex! Calm down. You need to get a grip.” I stopped in surprise at the unfamiliar voice.

“Ma … Matthew?”

“Yes. Get back there and pick up the paper. It’s an old one; you won’t be able to get another easily and you’ll need the details. Come on,
now
, before someone else takes it!”

I stopped and hung on to the cast-iron balcony rail, trying to make sense of what he was saying. “What?” I shook my head. “I don’t understand.” There was a sharp edge to my voice. All I wanted to do was get away; to get away and to run as far as I could.

“Pick up the paper! You need to know more, like the date it all happened. Do it
now
!”

“OK, OK, I’m going.” It was easier to do as he asked than to stand there and work out his reasoning. As fast as I could I made my way back to the seat, past several groups of tourists trying out the famous acoustics. One group had just sat down where I had been, and a middle-aged man was reaching for the paper.

“Sorry, that’s mine. I dropped it,” I said, rudely snatching it out of his hand. Before he had time to react I was gone, walking as quickly as possible back around the balcony to the main staircase. The Dirges melted away as I approached, but I would have walked straight through them anyway. I didn’t have time to mess about. The tourists were worse: they had no sense of urgency and were ambling gently through the little narrow corridors to the top of the
stairs. I was ready to scream by the time we got the landing and I could overtake them. Trying hard to fight the panic I started down the stairs as quickly as possible. I blanked my mind, thinking only of my next action. Get down the stairs. Get past all the tourists. Don’t run. Don’t let the weird vicar see you. Get to the door. Get to the door.
Get to the door!

My hands were clammy, the newspaper sticking to my palms as I pushed my way through the exit turnstile. Leaving the cool quiet of the cathedral I burst through the revolving door and on to the steps, blinking in the bright sunshine. I still had to be further away. It wasn’t safe. I needed somewhere to hide, to think. I started to walk as quickly as I could, desperately trying not to draw attention to myself by running.

I didn’t stop until I was at the river. The tide was low, exposing beaches of mud and shingle on the South Bank at the far side. Under Blackfriars Bridge the water lapped gently and benignly at the edge. It was quiet, with only the occasional pedestrian passing by. I found a seat and sank down, pulling in my knees to make myself as small as possible. Not only was I a murderer, I’d come within a whisker of murdering Callum as well. My head knew that they were all already dead, but my heart told me something quite different. My mouth felt like sandpaper and I had to hold on tight to stop shaking. My mind circled around that terrible moment when I had fought for Rob. I had wanted to stop Lucas, but did I want to torture him? If that had been the choice, if I had known, would I have still done it?

I wrapped my arms around my head, trying to block out the images that were swirling around in there, but one more awful fact surfaced: not only had I tortured and killed Lucas, I’d made him old.
Old!
Would I do the same to Callum?

Finally there was a familiar tingle in my arm, and Callum’s shocked voice in my head. “Alex? Keep still, will you?” The voice faded in and out and I realised that I was rocking violently backwards and forwards. I tried to stop but it was almost impossible. In the end I sat on my hands, but still couldn’t stop my head and shoulders.

I tried to speak but nothing came out, my mouth was so dry. I tried to swallow a couple of times and tried again. “I made him old, Callum, then I killed him. We can’t do it; I can’t do that to you. What if our experiment this afternoon had worked? We’d be fishing your tortured body out of the river there. We can’t do it!”

“Shhh.” I could feel his hand on my hair, stroking it rhythmically. “But we didn’t do it. We stopped and I’m still here.”

Another wave of despair washed over me. “But this means that I can’t – we can’t – try again. I’ll never be able to rescue you.” My voice rose to a wail as the tears started to stream down my face. All the consequences of what it meant were piling up: I couldn’t save him after all and every plan I had was crumbling. “I can’t bear it!”

“I know.” His voice was hollow, beaten. “I almost wish it had worked earlier. At least that way I would have gone into it thinking it was going to work and by now it would all be over.”

“You can’t want that, not really. You can’t honestly want to die.”