CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Bayliss stood on the jetty, staring at the departing bow of the lobster boat. He raised his hand to wave, but no one on the craft was looking back at him. Cameron Whyte had said barely two words to him on the crossing, and the small crew of weather-hardened lobstermen had said even less; their surly attitudes leaving him in no doubt that he wasn’t welcome on their boat. He shrugged and hefted his rucksack onto his shoulders and made his way inland.
The cottage he’d used as a base last time he was here was one of a group of three, each in varying states of dilapidation. He pushed the door but it didn’t give. When he looked closely he could see it had been secured by a row of heavy screws. The MOD had obviously sealed the place after they’d turfed him off the island. He went round to the rear of the cottage, but the same technique had been used on the back door. Idiots! Did they really think that was going to deter him? He found a rock and smashed a window, reached in and unclipped the catch. Seconds later he was inside.
The camp bed he’d used the last time was still against the wall where he’d left it, but the canvas had been slashed several times, making it unusable. He smiled. He must have really pissed them off. The bed didn’t matter. Assuming they would have destroyed his original bed, he’d brought one of lightweight aluminum and nylon with him, stowed in his rucksack. He dragged the old bed out of the way and quickly erected the new one. He lay down on it and stared up at the broken ceiling. In the back of his mind he could hear his grandmother’s hectoring voice, berating him for coming across to the island; for consorting with the ungodly. ‘No good will come of it. You mark my words.’
The salt-sea air had given him a thirst. He rolled over and reached into his rucksack, pulling out a can of beer and flipping the ring-pull. The liquid hissed and bubbled out of the can, spilling over his hand and dripping to the floor. Quickly he closed his lips over the opening and took a long pull. The beer fizzed on his tongue and all the way down his throat. Halfway through the can he belched loudly. From somewhere in the cottage he heard a fluttering of wings. He obviously had company.
Although there were a couple of hours of daylight left in the sky, the cottage was dark, filled with shadows that shifted under his gaze. He shivered and pulled out a blanket, draping it over his legs, letting the fleecy material warm him. For all his bravado Kulsay still had the power to spook him. There was something unwholesome about the place that affected him on a deep, almost subconscious level, making him feel that every action he took, every move he made, was being watched and recorded by hidden eyes.
Setting the can down on the floor he reached into the rucksack again and took out a large, leather-bound journal in which he kept his notes on Kulsay. The notes were copious, detailing the island’s history, the events that had happened here, as well as biographical details of the key players in Kulsay’s colorful past.
The previous evening he’d added the name of Robert Carter, and the others Carter had brought with him. Only Carter himself had a few paragraphs after his name. The others he’d find out about while he was here. He was one of the few people aware of the Department’s existence, and not at all surprised that they had been called upon to investigate the island. Whether they’d have more success than the Ministry of Defense remained to be seen.
‘We’re ready to start,’ Jane said. ‘Are you?’
Carter was sitting on the patio smoking a cigarette, staring across at the garden. The sun was starting to die in the sky, its light rendering the trees and shrubs in muted tones. He screwed out the cigarette in the ashtray. ‘As ready as I’ll ever be. You’ve never attended one of my séances before, have you?’
‘I’ve never had the pleasure.’
Carter laughed gruffly. ‘Some pleasure. I should point out though that I won’t be going into a trance or speaking in tongues or any of that mumbo jumbo. I’ll simply be opening up and seeing what impressions I get. The point of us all sitting around a table and linking hands is so that I can connect with the others and draw on their powers as well as my own. I expect everyone to open up as fully as me, otherwise there’s no point. If someone’s blocking, then it will disrupt the flow. I want everyone to open their mind and become as receptive as possible. One skeptic at the table can ruin an entire sitting.’
‘I’d hardly describe myself as a skeptic.’ Jane was very conscious she was about to get defensive with Carter again. What was it about him that made her so argumentative?
Carter smiled and touched her face. ‘What makes you think I was talking about you?’
‘Well, weren’t you?’ She pulled away even though at that moment, right now, she wanted to grab him and kiss him.
He got to his feet, scooped up his packet of cigarettes and slipped them into his pocket. ‘Not exclusively but, as you raised it, I’d like to see you rein back the analytical side of your mind until the séance is over.’
‘Just go with the flow you mean?’
‘Precisely.’
‘Deal,’ she said.
‘I want to have a word with Kirby as well before we get started. If she’s too scared to open up fully, then I see no point in her taking part,’ Carter said, as they headed towards the French doors.
Jane took hold of his sleeve. ‘She won’t be in any danger, will she?’
He shook his head. ‘As long as she stays linked to the group, and to me, I can protect her.’
The way you protected Sian? The words flashed into her mind but she bit them back before they reached her lips. ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ she said instead.
‘Yes,’ he said, holding open the door for her to enter. ‘I thought you might.’
When they entered the library the others were already seated at the table. Carter took his place at the head whilst Jane slotted herself in between Kirby and McKinley.
Jane leaned in to Kirby. ‘Are you certain you want to do this?’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Kirby nodded her head but didn’t answer.
‘It’s not compulsory, you know. Robert says that if you can’t open up fully then you could spoil the sitting.’
‘I’m fine, Jane,’ Kirby said. ‘Honestly.’
‘If we could all link hands…when we’re all ready,’ Carter said, staring at Jane, a question in his eyes.
Jane took McKinley’s hand and reached out for Kirby’s. The girl gripped Jane’s hand fiercely, making her wince. ‘We’re ready,’ Jane said.
‘Okay,’ Carter said, leaning back in his chair. ‘Let’s get this show on the road.’
‘Do you want me to get the lights?’ Raj said.
Carter looked around the room, at all the dark corners, the shadows potentially lurking. ‘No. We’ll keep it as bright as possible. I like to see what’s happening and I don’t like surprises.’
‘But I’ve put infrared film in the camera,’ Raj protested. He had assumed the lights would be out.
‘You’d better change it then,’ Carter said reasonably.
Muttering curses under his breath Raj forced himself out of his seat. There was a small delay while he put regular film in the camera. He then checked the light settings on the video. ‘Wish you’d told me earlier,’ he said as he resumed his seat.
Carter shrugged.
‘I think we’re ready now,’ Jane said. She checked the time by the long-case clock in the corner. ‘First sitting commencing at nine p.m.,’ she said for the benefit of the microphone.
‘Right,’ Carter said. ‘What ever you do, don’t break the circle.’ He directed the comment at Kirby who glared at him and gripped Jane’s hand even tighter.
Jane closed her eyes and started to take deep, even breaths. Gradually the pain in her Kirby-crushed hand receded, to be replaced with a soft tingling sensation. She was getting the same feeling from McKinley. It was like being plugged in to a low voltage battery. Soon she was aware of the silence in the room, broken only by the sound of the others’ breathing, and slowly even that faded away until she was focused only on her own heartbeat.
For a long moment her mind became a void; a deep pool of blackness; bottomless and vast. She felt she was teetering on the edge of it and that at any moment she might pitch forward and fall. And then images crept into her mind, filling the void, making the darkness recede. Gemma and Amy playing in the garden; David’s face, softly candlelit, gazing at her lovingly across a restaurant table; her fingers tracing erotic patterns on Robert Carter’s smooth, well-muscled back; a helicopter slowly sinking, inch by inch, into the ground. She gasped but kept her eyes tightly closed and tried to steady her breathing.
As she settled herself again more images burned their way into her mind. Tiles dropping silently from a bathroom wall; a hand reaching down, fingers forcing their way into her mouth, gripping her tongue; damp and dirty sacks reeking of stale urine smothering her face, making it difficult to breathe.
She tried to push the images away, forcing her mind to concentrate on happier thoughts. The birth of Gemma; her first bath—soft fingers smoothing soap over even softer skin. The indescribable smell of baby. Gemma lying in her cot, staring up in blue-eyed wonder at the Winnie the Pooh mobile hanging from the ceiling above her head; bony white hands gripping her tiny arms and dragging her down through the mattress.
‘No!’ She was on her feet looking about the room wild-eyed. The others were staring at her in puzzlement. Jane stared down at her hands. She had broken the circle.
She took a breath and tried to gather herself, but the image of Gemma being dragged through the mattress was hard to shift.
‘Are you okay?’ Carter was at her side, his arm sliding around her shoulder.
She gulped and nodded. ‘Yes. I think so…I…I’m sorry I broke the…’
‘It’s okay.’ He stroked her back.
‘I saw…’ She was finding it hard to breathe.
‘Not now. Don’t say anything now.’ This wasn’t the time for reporting impressions; they needed to draw more out.
‘But…’ She had calmed now, the feel of Carter’s hand on her back soothing her, making her heart feel less like a roller coaster coming down the final track.
He put a finger to her lips. ‘Do you feel up to trying again?’
She nodded.
‘We can leave it until tomorrow,’ he said, but she could tell he didn’t want to postpone. Neither did she.
‘No.’ She sat down again. ‘Sitting recommencing at…’ She glanced across at the clock in the corner, and then looked back at Carter in confusion. ‘One minute past nine? But how? I don’t understand.’
‘You only had your eyes closed for a few seconds, Jane. I hadn’t even started the séance when you broke the circle.’
‘Impossible. It must have been longer than that! Must have been.’ She backed away from the table. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t do this.’ She walked out of the room.
John McKinley rose to follow her.
‘Leave her,’ Kirby said. ‘She needs to be on her own.’
‘How the hell do you know what she needs?’ McKinley said, anger flashing in his eyes.
‘I know Jane. She has things she needs to work out.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as the fact that out of all us here to night she is the most powerful psychic.’
‘That’s rubbish,’ McKinley said. ‘Jane’s always insisted she’s not psychic. She says it’s what gives her objectivity.’
‘Kirby’s right,’ Carter said. ‘Jane’s powers are incredibly strong, but she’s been in denial for years and blocked them out. Self-delusion is a very cunning inhibitor. But she needs to learn to accept what she is and learn to use it to protect herself. If she doesn’t this place will rip her apart.’