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<h2>22</h2>
<p>"It's happening again."</p>
<p>"Eh?" Jack mumbled. "What time is it?"</p>
<p>He was half-way out of the seat, one arm stretched, fingers
fiddling for his watch on the side table. Papers were scattered on
his knees and at his feet. The room had gone cold since he'd dozed
off.</p>
<p>"I saw it." Lorna Breck's voice, all shaky and urgent. "It's
<em>hunting</em> again."</p>
<p>"Wait, hold on a minute. Slow down." He brought the watch up,
peered at the dial. It was nearly eleven. He'd only been asleep for
half an hour, sprawled in the chair, but he'd been down deep. The
jangling of the telephone had jarred him out of it, but he still
felt as though he was swimming for the surface of wakefulness. He
shook his head, tried to speak, but a yawn stretched out the first
word and made in incoherent. When it was spent, he tried again.</p>
<p>"Yeah. Go ahead."</p>
<p>"I saw it again." Lorna Breck blurted. "I wasn't asleep this
time and I saw it. It's killing people. Or it's <em>going</em> to
kill them."</p>
<p>Jack broke through the surface and came completely awake. Oddly
enough, his mind took a lateral step. <em>And we'll find O'Day
tomorrow,</em> was the first thing he thought. There was no point
in taking any chances, despite his scepticism of what Andy Toye
called the <em>supra-</em>normal. Lorna Breck was clean. He'd had
her checked out. Maybe, Jack thought, maybe she did get a buzz or a
twitch, or some sort of second sight, and if she did, he would use
it no matter what anybody said.</p>
<p>"Where?" he asked.</p>
<p>"I don't know," she said, talking fast. "In a big place. There
were echoes. It came down through a hole and got them. I can still
see it."</p>
<p>"What do you see?"</p>
<p>"A big square hole on the ground. There's something lying there.
Like a bike. Yes. It <em>is</em> a bike. It went down through
there. I can hear it, like an animal in a cave."</p>
<p>"What else can you see?" he asked, not taking the time to be
surprised at his own question.</p>
<p>"A cellar. Somewhere big and dark. There's shelves. It has one
of them. Two of them. Oh, there's blood all over, and the smell is
choking." She broke off and he heard a strangled cough, harsh and
metallic in the line."I can feel it's hunger. It hates them all. It
<em>wants</em> them all."</p>
<p>"What else?"</p>
<p>"There are two others. They're running away. Climbing back up on
the shelves. I can feel their fear. Oh, they're terrified. They
know it will get them. They're going up towards the hole. One of
them is crying and the other is pushing him. Oh, Mr Fallon, they're
only <em>boys.</em>"</p>
<p>There was a dead silence. Jack was about to urge her on. Lorna
sounded as if she was talking in her sleep, or giving a scene by
scene account of a war atrocity. He could hear the emotion squeeze
at her voice.</p>
<p>"Now, he's outside. I can hear his feet. Like drums. The other
one is coming. It's right behind him. Oh my. <em>Oh no</em>. He
can't get out."</p>
<p>She broke off again, but her breathing continued, rasping and
panicky.</p>
<p>"Lorna, keep talking," Jack ordered.</p>
<p>"It has him. The other one is trying to pull him out. But it has
him. I can see his face. His eyes are looking at me. He
<em>knows.</em>"</p>
<p>Then she wailed right into Jack's ear.</p>
<p>"Oh, please no. Oh god. It's pulling him down. He can't hold on.
He's crying. The pain in his leg. It's tearing him apart."</p>
<p>Jack was struck silent with the intensity of her running
commentary. There was no doubt in his mind that she believed what
she was seeing. On the other end of the line, the girl whimpered.
He could picture her, eyes tight closed as she held on to the
vision no matter what the cost.</p>
<p>"It's coming now for the other one," she said softly, almost
eerily slow. "I can see it coming out."</p>
<p>"What does he look like?"</p>
<p>"It's black. You can't see it properly. Just a shadow, but it
moves. Like a spider. It's reaching for the boy. He is stepping
towards it. Oh, please!" Her cry soared up an octave and almost
deafened Jack. "Get back. Get away! Its eyes. <em>Don't look in
its</em> eyes." This came out in a screech.</p>
<p>Another pause, then she started again. "There's something in his
hand. Like a gun. It makes a noise. It's..."</p>
<p>Another silence. "..in its eye. He's hurt it. It's snarling. The
boy, he hurt it. And it's hurt him. On his hand."</p>
<p>Jack heard the sharp intake of breath. "Now it's going back.
He's beat it and it's getting away. He's got to go. It will come
back. It will come for him. I can feel it."</p>
<p>Then she screamed at the top of her voice: "Run. <em>Run
away</em>. For God's sake <em>run!</em>"</p>
<p>The cry was long and drawn out and rang in Jack's ears so loudly
his hand jerked the receiver away from the side of his head. When
he pulled it back, there was nothing but silence.</p>
<p>"Lorna?"</p>
<p>The silence continued for a while, then he heard her
breathing.</p>
<p>"Lorna? Are you all right?" It was a stupid question and he knew
it.</p>
<p>"Hold on. I'll come over. I'll be there in ten minutes."</p>
<p>He clattered the receiver down on the cradle, brushed the rest
of the papers onto the floor and shoved himself out of the seat. He
was still wearing the clothes he'd had on all day and his hair was
standing up in corkscrews, but he had no time to notice or care. He
hauled his shoes on then reached for his coat which was still slung
over the back of the other chair and shrugged his arms into the
sleeves. A minute later he was easing out of the narrow drive and
down Cargill Farm Road, heading for the other side of town. A harsh
rime of frost had opaqued his windscreen and the wipers at full
strength fought a game but futile battle to scrape it away, though
there was just enough of a clear space above the wheel to let him
see out. He shot a red light at the bottom of the hill where the
road crossed over the through-town carriageway and gunned down
towards Strathleven Street.</p>
<p>He had to knock on the door several times before Lorna Breck
replied, asking tremulously who was there. The locks clicked and
she opened the door a fraction. He saw one eye peer out then she
opened the door fully. Her face was so white the smattering of
freckles looked as if they were painted on, and she held a dressing
gown tight round her as if huddled for warmth. He stepped into the
house and as he went past her, the girl swayed and she started to
droop as if the last of he strength had gone. He turned quickly,
got an arm around her waist and held her upright. Against him he
could feel the shivery vibration of her body, like a top guitar
string wound up close to snapping point.</p>
<p>He eased her into the room, sat her down, then without a word,
went through to the kitchen and put the kettle on. In the two
minutes it took for it to boil, she said nothing at all. He made
two cups of instant, spooned plenty of sugar in both, then took
them through and made her drink one of them, holding the cup for
her because her hands were shaking so violently she would have
scalded herself. He waited patiently, sitting in the opposite
armchair that he'd pulled across until their knees were almost
touching, until she'd finished the drink, sipping his own coffee in
alternate shifts. It did him some good and seemed to be helping
her.</p>
<p>Finally, he put both cups down and leaned forward.</p>
<p>"You're alright now," he said, wondering where to start. "You're
safe."</p>
<p>"Nobody's safe," she said flatly. Her grey eyes swivelled up
towards him, glistening in the light of the side lamp. "Not until
they kill it. I don't know if anybody can."</p>
<p>He took her through what she'd said she'd seen, and despite her
reluctance, her repugnance, she went over it, again and again. One
thing he knew for certain. If the killer had struck tonight, she
had the perfect alibi.</p>
<p>"I don't know when, and I don't know where," she said.</p>
<p>"I saw it on the top of the roof with something in its hands. It
happened on the night before they found the dead man hanging from
the rope. It threw him off. It just hit him and hurled him away. I
now think I saw it <em>when</em> it happened."</p>
<p>She drew in her breath in a stutter, the way small children do
when they've been crying. "But when I saw it on River Street, that
was <em>before</em> it took the baby. I just don't understand it.
There's no reason why it's <em>me</em> who sees these things, and I
don't want any of this."</p>
<p>"Take it easy," Jack said as soothingly as he could.</p>
<p>"I can't," she snapped back. "It's killing me too." She looked
up at him again, wide eyes brimming, and toughed her hand to the
centre of her chest. "Killing me in here."</p>
<p>He leaned forward and took both of her hands into his, kneading
them gently. They were soft, and despite her shivering,
surprisingly warm. But as soon as he touched her, she jerked back
as if she'd handled a live wire. Her eyes snapped wide open and she
drew in her breath in a sharp gasp.</p>
<p>"What's the matter now?" he asked, alarmed, wondering if he'd
hurt her.</p>
<p>The girl's mouth opened and closed dumbly. No sound came out.
She looked as though she was taking some kind of seizure. She held
that pose for several seconds, looking like somebody kicked in the
belly, before her breath came back. She let it out in a long, slow
exhalation.</p>
<p>"Are you alright?" he asked again. She shook her head, very
slowly, then raised her eyes up to him. They were huge and the
swimming tears spilled out and onto her cheeks.</p>
<p>"She felt no pain," Lorna said softly. Her hands clasped tightly
on Jack's fingers.</p>
<p>"Pardon?" he asked, perplexed.</p>
<p>"The little girl. There was no hurt, no pain. There was no
time."</p>
<p>"What do you mean?"</p>
<p>"I saw it. I don't know why and I don't know how." The whole
tone of her voice had changed. Now there was no fear there, only a
gentle compassion. "It was your daughter, wasn't it?"</p>
<p>Jack's heart dropped into his belly. He could feel the skin
crawl eerily on his back.</p>
<p>"I don't understand," he said, trying to keep his voice neutral.
The girl kept her eyes fixed on his, face placid behind the
sparkling lines of her tears.</p>
<p>"You've blamed yourself for not being there. You keep seeing her
over and over again. But it was not your fault. It was too quick
for her and she felt no pain. Your wife and your daughter, they are
at peace. I <em>know</em> it. You can let them rest."</p>
<p>"How on earth..." he blurted, but she squeezed his hands in a
strange reversal of roles.</p>
<p>"I don't know how. When I touched you, I could <em>see</em> it.
I saw what you see, but there was more. I could feel them. I
<em>can</em> feel them."</p>
<p>She smiled at him, very gently and the pinched, harried look was
gone. In that brief second, she was beautiful.</p>
<p>"They are with you, and forever. Not in pain and anguish, but in
love. I can see them smiling at you."</p>
<p>It was her turn to lean forward.</p>
<p>"They want you to forgive yourself. I can feel the heat of their
love and the strength of their peace."</p>
<p>Jack tried to pull away, horrified at the emotions which were
twisting inside him, but she held onto him with surprising
strength.</p>
<p>"I don't know how, and I don't know why," she said softly, but
insistently. "Something has happened to me, something terrible. I
see all these dreadful things and they frighten me because I know
they are true and they are happening. But now I can see other
things as well."</p>
<p>She leaned back and drowned him with her eyes.</p>
<p>"If there is a bad, then there must also be a good, I
think."</p>
<p>"But it can't be possible," Jack said. He felt as if he'd been
hit a dull blow to the side of his head.</p>
<p>"I don't know what is possible. I've got this curse, but maybe
part of it is a miracle. Maybe, if you help me to be brave, I can
help you."</p>
<p>Jack sat there, transfixed by the small slim girl with the
lilting voice, completely thrown off balance. He didn't know what
to think. She was either completely crazy or he was. And the crazy
thing about it was, he wanted to believe she was completely sane.
Because that would mean that everything she said was true.</p>
<hr />
<p>The last train pulled in from the city at eleven thirty. Kenny
McIntyre, the one-man stationmaster, ticket-collector and
occasionally porter, was down in the Horse Bar having a drink to
drown his woes. His wife Isobel had told him she was three months
pregnant and that was the last thing he'd wanted to hear. The odd
thing about it was that he could not remember having done it with
her for a while. She'd had a severe case of leg-lock for months as
far as he could recall, and he'd wondered about the possibility
that she might have found another man. Kenny, bull-necked, red
haired and pot-bellied, had dismissed the notion. She was stuck up
in the flat in Loch View all day. There was no opportunity for her
to be getting a leg under anybody else, and anyway, she had never
been that adventurous in bed. He eventually assumed that he'd
knocked her up one night after a couple of hours and several beers
in the pub. Maybe he couldn't remember, but he wished he had. He
wondered how it had been for him. He also wondered how he was going
to cope with a squawling kid in the tiny flat. That was going to
make life hell, and it was just as well he was on the night shift.
His late hours also meant that he missed the violence of Isobel's
morning sickness, which was a blessing. Of the hirsute and
surprisingly athletic man from Housemarket Supplies, he knew
nothing, even though she was still inviting him into the house and
into her body every week.</p>
<p>The train came in, but Kenny stayed in the bar. At this time on
a Wednesday night, there would be few passengers, not enough to
worry about the odd one or two who might have skipped on a train
without a ticket. There would be no inspectors to wonder about why
he wasn't at his stall. The floor of the bar vibrated as the train
pulled away. A few minutes later, two young men with wearing
football colours came staggering in, happy as larks, each holding
the other upright. Obviously their team had won a midweek fixture.
Despite their condition, the barman let them have a drink. Kenny
McIntyre ordered another whisky and sat alone at the end of the
bar, cursing his luck.</p>
<p>Up at the station, raised thirty feet above the road, Sandra
Mitchell and Walter Dickson, whose grandfather ran the newsagents
shop on River Street sat in the waiting room, entwined in each
other's arms.They'd been kissing non-stop during the thirty-minute
journey and had failed to notice the prim and elderly woman sitting
opposite who had glared at them in reproof the whole time. They
only came up for air when the train had stopped at Levenford and
they had only just made it onto the platform before the doors
scissored shut. It was a freezing night and in the cold air, their
breath clouded out in front of them. Walter guided the girl into
the waiting room, an old, red-brick building with a dirty fireplace
which hadn't been lit in years and a stained wall the colour of
bile which was hieroglyphed with graffiti. He pulled her down onto
a slatted seat and jammed his mouth on hers, sliding his hand
inside her coat and cupping his palm round the yielding warmth of
her breast. She gave a little moan, squirmed in half-hearted
protest, then pushed herself against the pressure. The Lochend
train came in ten minutes later, a clatter of sound and a flicker
of passing lights as it headed, empty, back to the terminus.</p>
<p>Walter's hand eased out from the warmth and sneaked down to her
knee. Without hesitation he brought it up the inside of her thigh,
feeling he smooth nylon slide under his fingers. The girl
stiffened, closed her legs and trapped his fingers. She pulled
away.</p>
<p>"No, Wattie. Not here."</p>
<p>"But there's nowhere else to go," he protested. She had three
brothers and a sister and parents who would kick up a stink if they
thought she'd let Walter Dickson near her. He was an only child of
parents who went to church every Sunday and would bring hell and
damnation down on his head at the merest hint of anything
pre-marital, and anyway, they did not approve of young Walter's
choice of girlfriend.</p>
<p>"But we're still not doing it," she said sharply.</p>
<p>"I've got something," Walter responded earnestly.</p>
<p>"I don't care. Somebody might come." She wriggled away from him
and stood up to adjust her clothes. Inside she could feel the need
begin to burgeon, but if she did it with Walter, then she wanted it
to be nice, not on a slatted bench in a filthy waiting room which
smelled of stale piss and smoke, and for some reason, freshly
peeled oranges. He got to his feet and pulled her against him. She
could feel him hard against her belly and the desire flared.</p>
<p>"No. Not here," she protested, but it came out weakly, almost a
whine."</p>
<p>"Where then? We could go to Billy's."</p>
<p>Billy was Walter's cousin, who lived in Miller Road, only two
down from where young Neil Kennedy's family were existing in miasma
of grief and fading hope. He had a flat with a little box room.
There was a possibility he'd let them in there for an hour.</p>
<p>"I don't know. I'd be embarrassed."</p>
<p>"Don't worry. He'd never say anything. Billy's always got girls
in there."</p>
<p>She needed some more persuasion, so he kissed her again and slid
his hand inside the coat again, fumbling for the nipple. She
stiffened against him, making little undulating motions with her
hips. When he thought he'd worked at it enough he pulled back,
still kneading with his right hand.</p>
<p>"How about it," he said thickly.</p>
<p>"Alright," she whispered back, voice now hitching with the
rising urge. He have her a quick hug that told her she'd made the
right decision and they walked out of the waiting room onto the
deserted stand. They made their way to where the exit ramp dived
down in the centre of the raised area, between the two tracks. Out
in the dark in the west, a train clattered in the distance. The
couple were about to walk down the slope when a shadowy figure came
towards them along the platform. Sandra heard the scrape of
footfalls and twisted round, still holding on to Walter.</p>
<p>"What's that?"</p>
<p>Walter turned. A man was walking slowly, dragging his feet on
the concrete close to the edge. He stumbled, caught his balance and
came on.</p>
<p>"Just a drunk," Walter said. "Couldn't bite his finger by the
look of him."</p>
<p>The stranger came closer, lurching from side to side. They could
hear him muttering to himself. Behind them the train rumbled louder
as it crossed the bridge.</p>
<p>The man came staggering towards them and Sandra shrank back.
Walter eased her to the side, leading her towards the exit.</p>
<p>"Nowhere else," the stranger mumbled, weaving awkwardly. He
looked as if he was blind. His coat flapped behind him and his
clothes looked several sizes too large. His face was gaunt and
haggard. "Can't stop it. Nowhere else to go. Bastard."</p>
<p>He lunged up towards the boy and girl, pale face agape.</p>
<p>"Bastard was <em>in</em> me." The words came out in a blurt.
"Dirty now. Nothing left."</p>
<p>"Get away," Walter said. He held a hand up and pushed the weird
stranger away. The man didn't even seem to notice. It was as if he
hadn't even seen them.</p>
<p>"Don't want to," he slobbered. "Don't want to do it." He
stopped, swayed.</p>
<p>"Can't stop it. Nowhere else to go. Bastard."</p>
<p>The train came roaring across the bridge with a rythmic clatter
of wheels, the night mail from Mallaig away up in the north,
nearing the end of its run down through mountains and moors on the
West Highland Line.</p>
<p>In the cab of the diesel, Tom Middleton was leaned against the
window, peering ahead through the viewhole, one brawny hand curled
on the dead man's handle. The lights of the station hove into view.
It was close to midnight and the lights were all on green as they
should be. On the mid-day run, if he was driving, he'd hit the
whistle to let the train scream through, but at night, it was
against the rules, unless he spotted something on the track. The
first lights of the platform flickered past, then something black
fluttered right in front of the train. There was a very muffled
<em>flump</em> and something flew past the window. A high scream
sounded mutely then dopplered away as the train thundered past the
station. The engine was well beyond the east slope of the platform
by the time Tom reacted. He lifted his hand from the lever and the
brakes bit. He could feel the wheels grind against the track, his
whole body thrown forward against the plate and the cabin was
filled by the screeching sound of distressed metal. The train
shuddered on, the carriages slamming against the buffers and
careered in ever slowing progression as far as the automated signal
box, almost a quarter of a mile along the track.</p>
<p>The scarecrow man had reeled away when Walter had pushed him,
oblivious to his surroundings. He turned and they got a look at his
face. It was completely devoid of expression, the slack, sagged
face of a dead man. The night train had come thundering into the
light behind him and an odd grimace had contorted the man's
face.</p>
<p>His eyes opened wide and his wet mouth had closed. He turned
away from them and took two faltering steps forward. The noise of
the train was almost deafening, but Sandra clearly heard the man
shout.</p>
<p>"No. I don't <em>want...</em> "</p>
<p>And then he was running forward on the edge, too close to the
lip. He leapt out over the track, both hands stretched out at his
sides like a figure on a crucifix and the train smashed into him
with a sickening sound.</p>
<p>Walter's hot desire collapsed. Sandra's urge evaporated in that
single second.</p>
<p>Everything happened in slow motion. The man was in the act of
leaping, coat flapping behind him, his white hands out as if to
embrace a lover. The train caught him full on the body. Something
flew off and tumbled into the air, whirling over their heads. The
stranger was thrown forward right into the air. They followed his
progress in the fragment of time it took for the train to rocket
past. He was up over the platform, tumbling and twisting like
nothing human, like a bunch of rags, then he was down. The huge
wheels whirred on and over. They couldn't possibly have heard
anything, but both of them later swore that when the wheels ran
over him, there was a crunching sound. They heard it in their
dreams for weeks after that.</p>
<p>The train crashed onwards with a rumble-and-thump as the wheels
racketted on the joins.</p>
<p>"Jesus fu..." Walter said. He took a step forward, another two
steps back, then went round in a complete circle, still holding on
to the girl who was completely rigid, both hands up at her face.
Above them, something thumped onto the sloping roof. He looked up
in time to see an object strike the old gutter then tumble to the
ground. It hit the concrete with a solid thud.</p>
<p>"Did you see..." Walter began again. He turned to Sandra who was
still standing motionless, mouth open, eyes bugging out. "He just
jumped. Jeez... He bloody well..."</p>
<p>Sandra slowly started to move, like a sleepwalker coming out of
a dream. Her hands turned, thumbs out, palms up and she swivelled
her head towards Walter. He was still doing his weird little dance
of complete and utter indecision when he finally spoke.</p>
<p>"Blood. It's his blood," she whispered incredulously.</p>
<p>Walter took a step towards her. Her hands were still out, but
they were shaking violently as if she had a severe case of palsy.
She slowly brought them down and showed them to Walter. They were
red with blood. Then she looked at her sleeves and the front of her
coat. There were huge splatters all down one side. On her shoulder,
there was a thick red gobbet of something the same colour, but
which didn't look like blood at all.</p>
<p>"Walter," she whimpered. "Oh, Walter, I'm covered in
<em>blood</em>."</p>
<p>He seemed to snap out of his indecision. He reached out and took
her by the arm, not wanting to get too close to all the blood, not
realising that the side of his coat was also saturated. He pulled
her away from the platform, turning her round to go down the ramp
to the exit, feeling the nerves kick and jitter behind his knees.
He just wanted away from there. She allowed herself to be led
meekly, still holding her hands out. They went round the pillar at
the end of the barrier. The thing that had fallen from the roof was
lying at their feet. He looked down and looked away before it
registered, but Sandra's senses were tuned right up to perfect
pitch. She stopped dead, mumbled something, then fainted clean
away. He caught her just before she hit the ground, bending down to
scoop her flopping weight up into his arms. When he was still
crouched, his face was only two feet from the pale hand which lay
palm up, fingers half-curled, still inside the torn sleeve of coat.
In that instant of time, when the whole world had taken on the
peculiar sluggishness and everything had gained the sharpness of
supernatural clarity, he noticed the little bird on the end of the
second hand, walking round the rim of the watch still strapped to
the bony wrist.</p>
<p>"Woodstock," he said, very clearly, though he could not remember
the name of the dog in the baseball cap whose face was printed on
the flat dial. He lifted the girl into a carry-hold and walked down
the ramp, through the tunnel and out into the street. He made it
across to the Horse Bar, shouldered the door open, put the girl
down on the bench seat nearest the door, turned round to speak, and
vomited the pizza with anchovies she'd paid for after the
cinema.</p>
<p>The two drunks at the bar turned round and gawped stupidly.</p>
<p>"He's had enough," one said to the other, and they both
dissolved into a helpless fit of giggling.</p>
<hr />
<p>Jack Fallon was in a state of complete confusion when he left
Lorna Breck's house an hour after midnight. He was nonplussed,
baffled, bamboozled. His mind was reeling from conviction to
uncertainty and back to convinced certainty. He had to go and sit
in the car for five minutes before he felt clear-headed enough to
drive.</p>
<p>Their roles had reversed without any warning. She had been in a
state of complete panic, bordering on collapse. Her whole body had
been trembling and her face was slack and drained. Then he'd held
her hands and it was if something had jolted between then and sent
a shock wave through her nerves. When she'd started to speak, her
voice had lost its brittle edge and she'd spoken to him like a
mother comforting a child.</p>
<p>"I knew there was something when I first saw you," she said. I
didn't realise what it was. When you helped me in the street, I
sensed something, but it felt like danger, like death. That's why I
couldn't speak. I was so scared. I thought you were a part of
it."</p>
<p>"Part of what?"</p>
<p>"Of what's happening in this town," Lorna said, still holding
his hands tightly.</p>
<p>"But I am part of it," he said wearily. There were too many
things going in. He felt like a circuit that was in danger of
overloading. Thoughts were sparking and jumping, half formed, hard
to catch. "I want to stop it."</p>
<p>"I know. I know now. But then I sensed something terrible from
you, just for a second, but when you helped me into the shop, you
were so gentle that I knew it couldn't be you."</p>
<p>"I don't understand any of this," he admitted.</p>
<p>"Me neither, but I'm trying to," Lorna said earnestly. "I really
am. I can't help any of this. My granny said I had a better gift
than her because I was a seventh child."</p>
<p>"You've got family?"</p>
<p>"Four brothers. There were two more, twins, but they died at
birth."</p>
<p>"I've heard all that about seventh children. I don't believe
it."</p>
<p>"And neither do I. But I have to believe in this, because I
can't escape from it. It's as if something is locked in to my head,
like a radar or something. I didn't realise until the fire that I'd
been seeing it <em>before.</em>"</p>
<p>"Before what?"</p>
<p>"Before the fire. Those terrible dreams, really awful ones. I
kept seeing those people in a room, all of them around a table. Not
good people, <em>sick</em> folk. They were doing something and I
didn't know what it was, but I knew it was wrong. Then the room
went dark and something came."</p>
<p>"Something came?" Jack realised he was repeating the last words
of her sentences too often.</p>
<p>"That's the only way I can describe it. Something came into the
room in the dark. They brought it. They called it up. I don't know
what they did, or how they did it, but they called it up and it was
inside them. It was cold, terribly cold, like ice inside them,
because they had opened themselves up and called it."</p>
<p>"And then what happened?"</p>
<p>"It's a bad thing. Evil. They didn't know what it was, and I
don't either. But it came out and I could feel the bad in it. It
was like sin. It was dark and the thing came and everybody started
screaming and it was coming to get me and I was screaming too and
we fled down the stairs."</p>
<p>"Can you describe this place?"</p>
<p>"An old room. There were lots of ornaments and there was an old
woman. She was small, with a funny accent, like German or
something. They all took the cards off the table first and then
they put their hands on a stone and the wind came blowing through
them all and they brought the thing in to them."</p>
<p>In his mind's eye, Jack saw a group of people round the table at
Marta Herkik's home. Was that how it started. As soon as he thought
that, he realised he was starting to believe what the girl said,
then realised he'd already started to believe it before now.</p>
<p>"And what you said before, about me. Where does that come
from?"</p>
<p>"I don't know. It was like when I held hands with poor Agnes. It
was like part of her came in to me and then I could see it. Her
children were dying and I could feel the fear and pain. I could see
it there too."</p>
<p>"You're saying this thing was <em>there?</em>"</p>
<p>She nodded placidly, eyes still fixed intently on his. "I didn't
know then, but I'm sure now. That was one of the first times I'd
seen it. It was just a shadow, but it was moving among the smoke.
The baby saw it and she started to scream."</p>
<p>"So why didn't you mention this before?"</p>
<p>"I thought I was dreaming. I didn't know what I was seeing. And
anyway, who would have believed me? I didn't even believe it
myself."</p>
<p>"And what you said, about my girl?"</p>
<p>"I don't know how that happens either, but it happens. It's from
you. It's like you've got this big charge stored up inside you,
like a battery. That's what it felt like, what it feels like
now."</p>
<p>She squeezed his hands in hers. The touch was warm and
gentle.</p>
<p>"There's a big dam in your heart. You know it too. All the
pressure has built up because you can't let the sorrow out. You've
a good heart Mr Fallon."</p>
<p>"Jack," he said, almost automatically. It was impossible to sit
in front of this girl with her rumpled dressing gown, holding his
hand, and having her call him mister.</p>
<p>"I know," she said, with a hint of a smile. "You've a good
heart, Jack. It's the only good thing I've felt for a long time.
But you have to let the pain go, and let them be at peace."</p>
<p>"Tell me, then," he said slowly. He suddenly felt very
vulnerable, like a child faced with shadows in the night.</p>
<p>She closed her eyes, and stroked her thumbs down the space
between his own thumbs and fingers. Her brow furrowed in
concentration.</p>
<p>"Guilt," she finally said in a whisper. "Guilt and pain. The
pain is yours. Jewellery. I see jewellery."</p>
<p>"Jewellery?" he repeated automatically.</p>
<p>"Yes. No jewels. Sparkly jewels, all bright."</p>
<p>Jack's heart kicked over slowly.</p>
<p>"Jules. Sparkly jewels. I wrote that on her birthday card," he
said, voice catching. "Her name was Julie."</p>
<p>"And your wife. I see sunshine. You called her that?"</p>
<p>"Her name was Rae."</p>
<p>She frowned harder. "You have a picture in your head. You've
carried it around with you all the time and you take it out and
show it to yourself. But it's a trick. It's not real."</p>
<p>Lorna's voice rose. "It's not true. You could not have helped
them. Nobody could. They didn't see it coming. And then there was
nothing at all, only peace. They are at peace now, and you can let
them go."</p>
<p>Jack's heart did another lazy lurch inside his chest, as if it
had held itself still and then did a double beat at once.</p>
<p>"They want you to be happy," Lorna said. "It's true. I trust you
Jack Fallon. You trust me."</p>
<p>Close on to one o'clock in a bitterly cold night, Jack gunned
the car up the hill the whole the length of Clydeshore Avenue,
heading under the bare, spreading sycamores. He reached the top,
changed gear and sped down the slope, past the old cemetery. The
river mist lay in layers, like the set of an old horror film,
oozing round the ancient tombstones on the other side of the wall.
Jack was going too fast. On the turn, his back tyre slithered on
black ice and he felt the rear swing out. He drove into it, headed
for the brick wall on the river side of Keelyard Road, then the
tyres bit and he fishtailed the car back on to the straight before
he slowed down on the dark road and stopped the engine. His heart
was beating much too fast.</p>
<p>"Christ," he breathed. His stomach had gone all shivery in the
aftermath of the adrenalin hit. "I must be off my head," he said to
himself.</p>
<p>He sat for a moment, started the engine, drove for twenty yards
and a picture of little Julie's face came swimming out of the dark
and danced in front of his eyes. She was smiling at him. The memory
was hop-skipping on a sunny street, far from this chill winter,
holding her mother's hand. He'd last seen them like that down on
the shore, picking up shells. The vision was so strong that he
almost waved to them. They were not lying in pools of blood,
writhing in agony, cursing him for not being there, for not helping
them.</p>
<p>They were smiling at him on a sunny day.</p>
<p>It was the first time since they'd gone that he's seen them like
that in his mind.</p>
<p>He stamped on the brake and switched the engine off. The picture
faded from the forefront of his mind and Jack Fallon leaned his
head down on his arms. He screwed his eyes up against the smarting
of sudden tears, holding himself tight. He sat there for a long
time, seeing the street-lights through a wavery film as the pain
and anguish and sorrow he'd held back, dammed up for all those
years suddenly breached the walls, and flooded out.</p>
<p>Some time after that, the headlamps of his car came on again,
picking out the filigree of the winter mist and his car came slowly
over the old bridge and back into the centre of the town.</p>
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