Trauma (28 page)

Resign, thought Main.

'But let's not even consider that. I'm sure this will all be over soon and don't think we expect you to be idle in the meantime! Mr Close has other ideas! I said I'd send you along to him before you go.'

'Very good sir,' said Main taking this as his cue to leave. He got up and shook hands with the headmaster but avoided his eyes. As he opened the door the headmaster called out, 'And don't forget, John, we're all behind you!'

Main closed the door behind him and paused for a moment, 'Yes sir,' he murmured. 'Life is a team game.'

Arthur Close was taking a class when Main looked through the clear glass panel on his door. The writing on the blackboard said that he was doing A Midsummer Night's Dream with the lower fourth. A small boy with spots and spectacles was standing up at his desk and reading from his book which he clutched with both hands. He spoke in an unvarying monotone to Close's obvious dismay.

'Don't you feel anything for the character, boy?' Close demanded

'Yes sir, replied the boy in the same monotone.

'Then let's hear it! You're not reading the obituary column of The Times! Shakespeare can be very funny! Don't you think?'

'Yes sir,' replied the monotone. 'Hilarious.'

The class giggled and Close searched for signs of insolence in the boy who remained inscrutably impassive. The impasse was broken by Close noticing Main outside the door. He instructed his class to read on while he came outside.

'Good to see you John,' said Close with a firm handshake. 'The headmaster told me you'd be coming in today. I hoped we might have a word.'

'I've been suspended,' said Main flatly.

Close looked uncomfortable. He said, 'I don't think that's the way to look at it, old boy. We just thought ...'

'We?'

Close looked even more uncomfortable. 'Well I was asked for my opinion naturally ...'

'Naturally,' said Main dryly.

'Well we do have to consider the effects of any kind of scandal on the school but that's not to say that we don't understand what you've been going through and we're really all behind you, you know.'

Main nodded and said, 'I know.'

'What I was thinking was . . .' said Close in conspiratorial fashion, 'while you're on leave you could work on the end of term production?'

'The school play?'

'Exactly!' exclaimed Close. 'What do you think?'

'What did you have in mind?' asked Main, thinking the suggestion was vaguely unreal.

'That's the exciting thing,' continued Close. 'In the past we've always done Shakespeare. I thought we might surprise everyone by doing something different!'

'How different?'

Close leaned closer and said, 'I thought we might put on a Noel Coward production!'

Main looked at the small figure in front of him with his cherubic face and eager expression. Same planet, different worlds, he thought. 'That would be very exciting, Arthur,' he said.

'I thought you'd agree,' said Close. 'So why don't you give it some thought and get back to me. I was thinking of Salad Days. What do you think?'

'Exciting,' Main lied.

'Good, then that's settled. I can't tell you how glad I am to have you back in harness even if it's at a distance for a while and I'm sure it's only going to be for a very short while. And don't forget ...we're all behind you.'

Main smiled and left.

It was after nine in the evening when he returned home. His feet were sore and wet and he was hungry. After leaving the school he had driven out into the country and parked the car in a lay-by before setting off on a long walk. He had walked for over three hours in shoes that weren't up to the conditions, at first oblivious to the fact but then becoming all too aware of wet feet and hurting ankles as the rough ground took its toll. It had also rained while he was out in the open so his clothes were wet through. For the first hour or so, he had not really noticed the discomfort; he was so confused and angry inside his head. He really feared that he was beginning to crack up.

Just as he’d been beginning to think he had a grip on things the visit to the school had pushed him deeper than ever into depression. He felt entirely alone in a world where everyone was playing a part and no one said what they meant. They were reading a script from the Bumper Book of Middle Class Behaviour. He was beginning to question just about every value he had previously believed in. What the hell was the school all about? Just what were they training the pupils to become? Prats like Arthur Close? Middle class puppets existing in their own little world, isolated from reality by a sea of 'niceness', ignoring anything nasty in the firm and sure conviction that it would go away if you ignored it for long enough. Jesus!

Main tried to stop thinking as he climbed the stairs to his apartment. He searched in his pocket for his door key and had difficulty extracting his hand because of the wetness of the material. He cursed out loud but the words froze on his lips when he saw that the door was already open.

He looked at the lock for signs of splintered wood but saw that it appeared to be undamaged. He considered that he might have left the door open earlier when he had gone out but almost immediately dismissed the idea as a non-starter. He could remember closing the door and checking it as he always did. The flat had been burgled less than two years before and he could still remember the awful feeling of knowing that a stranger had been in your home, helping himself to anything he fancied, opening everything, reading everything, touching things.

He remembered the look on Mary's face when she realised that the burglar had been going through her clothes. It had been physical assault by proxy. The fact that some cash and electrical equipment had been taken had been a minor consideration in comparison to the mental anguish the break-in had caused them. There was no question of him having left the door unlocked today. It had been as secure as only a stable door can be the day after the horse had bolted. But it had happened again!

There was a light on inside the flat! Surely the burglar wasn't still here? He pushed the door open a little and was puzzled. There was something odd about the light. It was too dim to be one of the room lights and ... it was flickering!

Oh my God! The place is on fire, thought Main as he pushed the door wide open but something in his sub-conscious stopped him believing it. There was no sound of anything being on fire. No crackling or roaring. There was no smell of smoke. Far from it, the flat was cold and absolutely silent.

Still moving cautiously in case anyone was still inside, Main stepped quietly into the hallway and moved towards the source of the light. It was in the living room. He listened at the door for a moment before pushing it slowly open. The light was coming from a candle. It was mounted on some kind of a stick in the middle of the floor and had five flames coming from it. It was shaped like a human hand. The flames guttered in the draught that came in from the open front door. The room was filled with dancing shadows.

Main looked into the other rooms in the flat before returning to the living room and turning on the light. Nothing appeared to have been disturbed although he would have to check further. Nothing as far as he could see had been damaged and all the drawers were still in place. Last time every drawer in the place had been taken out and emptied on to the floor. The television and Hi Fi equipment sat where they always did and he could see that a five pound note he had put under an ash tray on the mantelpiece earlier was still there.

'So what the hell?' he murmured as he moved closer to inspect the candle. '... is all this about?' He leaned over and blew out the flames.

There was a strong smell of candle wax from the still smoking object as he lifted it off its spike. It was much heavier than he expected; he nearly dropped it. He was filled with a sudden feeling of horror as he turned it up to look at the underside. The candle wasn't just shaped like a human hand; it was a human hand!

Main felt himself go weak at the knees as he dropped it and took an involuntary step backwards. His hand flew to his mouth and he gagged back the impulse to throw up. The seconds passed and he steeled himself to take another look at the thing. There was no doubt about it. It was a human hand that had been severed at the wrist and covered in candle wax to make it the most macabre object Main thought he had had ever seen.

Main picked up the telephone to call the police and then had second thoughts. He called Ryan Lafferty instead.

'Could you come over here please? Something's happened. I need to talk to you.' Main had difficulty speaking. Shock had constricted his throat.

'Can you tell me anything about it?' asked Lafferty, a little surprised at the request.

'Not over the phone' replied Main still staring at the hand on the floor. 'But please come.'

'On my way,' replied Lafferty. He was there within fifteen minutes.

Lafferty found the door to the flat open. He knocked gently but there was no reply so he tried again, this time calling out Main's name.

'In here,' came the reply. It sounded weak and distant. Lafferty followed it through to the living room where he found Main sitting on the edge of an arm chair staring at something on the floor. 'Are you all right?' he asked.

Main pointed at the floor and Lafferty saw what he was looking at. 'Oh my God,' he whispered softly. 'Is it ...'

'It's real,' said Main. 'Look at the underside.'

Without touching it, Lafferty moved ground to where he could see the severed portion of the wrist which had not been coated in candle wax. The raw flesh had taken on a dull brown appearance but it was unmistakably real. 'I could do with a drink,' he said. 'How about you?'

Main, still staring at the hand replied. 'I'm trying to give it up. I've got Salad Days to do.'

Lafferty looked at him, trying to make sense of what he had said but failing. It was obvious that Main was in a state of shock. He went to the drinks cabinet and brought back two large brandies. Main accepted the glass and drank without taking his eyes off the hand. 'Whose?' he croaked.

Lafferty sat down on the other chair and looked at the hand. He said, 'The hand of a murderer . . .'

The comment seemed to bring Main out of his trance. 'What?' he said, turning to look at Lafferty.

'By rights it should be the hand of a convicted murderer.'

'You know what this is all about?' asked an incredulous Main.

Lafferty nodded and replied, 'I think so. It's a Hand of Glory.'

Main repeated the phrase, obviously still bemused.

'It's a witchcraft symbol. The hand of glory opens any locked door. It gives the one who made it access to anything and everything it desires access to. There's no escape.'

Main considered what had been said before concluding, 'So they want access to me.'

'I think it's a warning,' said Lafferty. 'They're telling you to back off because they can get at you any time they want.'

'How do you know all this?' asked Main.

'I cam across it in the book on Scottish witchcraft I told you about. The last time one of these was used was in North Berwick, not more than twenty-five miles from here . . . four centuries ago.'

'North Berwick?' exclaimed Main but it's . . .'

'I know,' interrupted Main. 'It's a sleepy sea side resort where the kids go to make sand castles and businessmen play golf on Sundays. But it hasn't always been that way. In days gone by it was a hotbed of witchcraft.'

'Ye gods,' said Main.

'In the late sixteenth century there was a Grand Sabbat called at North Berwick. There were three complete covens in the area at the time; that's thirty-nine witches. The Grand Master of the Sabbat was a man called John Fian, a school-master by day in nearby Prestonpans. It was said that he could open up North Berwick Church at will using a Hand of Glory. They used it for their meetings. His followers used to raid the church yard and dismember corpses for their charms.'

Main said, Do you think that's what they did to Simon?'

Lafferty didn't know what to say. He could see the pain in Main's eyes but he could think of nothing comforting to say apart from, 'All this was a very long time ago and even it was the reason it wouldn't change the fact that your son's soul is safe. These people couldn't touch it.'

Main shook his head and said, 'I still can't believe this is happening. I mean, God! This isn't the middle ages and we're sitting here talking about witches and warlocks. It's crazy! This was all centuries ago!'

Lafferty said, 'Jesus Christ lived nearly two thousand years ago yet his followers persist. I'm afraid we have to consider that the followers of darkness persist likewise.'

'What should I do, Ryan?' asked Main.

Lafferty saw that he was looking hopelessly vulnerable. He shrugged his shoulders and said, 'Frankly, I don't know.'

Main broke into a smile which took Lafferty by surprise. His eyes asked the question.