Midnight is a Lonely Place

LV

HATE

ANGER

FURY

raging inside her head. There were no words, no form; a mael strom of whirling pain.

‘Mummy!’

The cry was muffled, agonised. It fell into the black silence of the room, unheard.

‘Mummy, help me!’

They were inside her head, locked in battle. He, Marcus, always the stronger, tearing at the core of her brain, wanting her, using her, needing her voice, her arms, her strength.

And she. Claudia. She would not give in. The truth must be told. Nion. Betrayed. Insult to the gods. Nion. Nion. Love of my life, partner of my soul.

Tear them out. Be rid of them. Be free of them. Nails. Rip them out with her nails. Tear her head open.

‘MUMMY. HELP ME!’

‘Let the truth be told. I will have the truth told.’ The scream is louder now. Claudia is gaining in strength. ‘The grave is open. The secret is out. The people of Britain shall avenge our death. The fall of the Empire will not be revenge enough. May the gods of all eternity curse you, Marcus Severus Secundus, for what you have done…’

‘No, no, NO!’

Alison sat up violently, her hands to her temples. Her nails were red with her own blood. She stared round the room. The lights were no longer on, but she could see quite clearly. The woman was standing by the window, her blue gown moving gently as though the wind were blowing from behind her, her feet in the soft dune sand, her hair tangled in its combs. She seemed to see right through the wall, through the house, through the darkness and the snow.

Alison cowered against the wall. Blood. There was blood everywhere; down the front of the woman’s dress; on the floor on her own sheets and – she looked down suddenly, seeing without trouble in the darkness, all over her own hands.

Her own scream blocked out the sound of voices. She screamed on and on, out of control, out of her head now, watching herself from the doorway, watching the group of people downstairs rise from the kitchen table, pick up their candles and head towards the stairs. Diana was there first, the flame of her candle shivering and trailing smoke.

‘Alison. Alison, darling! Oh Christ, what’s wrong with her?’

She could see her mother’s arm around her, see her mouth moving, but she felt nothing. He was there now, inside her head again. Laughing. Why was he laughing? Laughing at the blood and the pain. Laughing at her: the woman by the curtains. She was indistinct now, a shadow from a distant past. Nothing more. Disappearing. Vanquished. Crumbling back into the sand. Part of the forgotten time…

‘Pater noster…’ It was Patrick’s voice, trembling, in the shadows. ‘Libera nos a malo. Ave Maria. Libera nos a malo.’ The words slid into a sob of pain.

‘Her face. Christ, Di, look at her face.’ Breathless, Roger had joined the group on the landing, peering over his wife’s shoulder. ‘Shut up, Paddy!’ He turned on his son. ‘I won’t have that sentimental crap uttered in this house!’

‘Go away, all of you.’ Diana tightened her grip on Alison’s shoulders. ‘Go away. I’ll see to her.’ She glanced up, scarcely able to see through her tears. ‘Kate, will you stay. The rest of you go downstairs.’

For a moment Roger opened his mouth, about to speak, then he changed his mind. He handed Kate his candle and turned away. He was shaking visibly as he ushered the others down.

Obediently Kate went to the bathroom for a facecloth and, wringing it out brought it back to the bedroom. Diana wiped the blood from Alison’s hands, then gently she guided her back to bed. ‘You’re safe now, sweetheart. Quite safe.’

‘What about her face?’ Kate was holding the candle steady.

‘I’ll leave it for now. They’re only superficial scratches.’ Diana glanced at her wearily. ‘I’m not letting you and Paddy or Joe leave this house again tonight.’

‘Someone must get help, Diana.’

‘Time enough in daylight. Everything must wait until then.’

‘But what about Greg? What about Cissy?’ Kate had been appalled at the sight of Cissy Farnborough lying, barely conscious, on the sofa by the fire.

‘She’ll be all right. I can take care of her. There is someone trying to kill us all out there, Kate!’ Diana pulled the sheet up around Alison’s chin and tucked it in. ‘I am not letting anyone else set foot outside this house.’

Kate looked down at Alison. The girl was quiet now, lying very still on her blood-stained pillow, breathing long, even breaths as though she were asleep again. ‘What do you think happened?’ she asked in a whisper.

‘She had a nightmare.’ There was a desperate set to Diana’s chin.

‘I think it was more than that.’ Kate walked further into the room. The small intimate space, lit by the two candles was icy cold. On the floor in front of the curtains lay a scattering of sand. Kate stared down at it for a moment, frowning, then she turned away. ‘Why did your husband swear at Paddy for praying?’

‘He doesn’t believe in God. He stopped believing the day he discovered he had cancer.’

‘And does he believe in evil? In possession? In ghosts?’

It was Diana’s turn to shiver. ‘He’s a reductionist and a fatalist. He believes in nothing that cannot be scientifically proven.’

‘How strange.’ Kate’s eyes were fixed on Alison’s face. To her, Roger had come across as a man with poetry in his soul. And he was a man who still, in extremis, cried out the name of Christ even though it meant nothing to him.

‘Do you pray?’ Diana sat down on the edge of the bed and laid a gentle hand on her daughter’s forehead. It was very cold.

‘Not very often. But it was me who taught Paddy the words to say. Outside in the dark it seemed the right thing to do. He thought Marcus would understand the Latin.’

‘And did he?’ The note of irony Diana was aiming at somehow failed to materialise; the question came out straight.

‘I don’t know. But the words made me feel better. A shield. A talisman against evil.’

‘He’s got us trapped here, hasn’t he.’ Diana looked at her suddenly and for a moment she could no longer hide her panic. ‘Every one of the cars is damaged; the phone won’t work; no one knows what’s happened. Bill and Cissy tried to help us and look what happened to them.’ A tear slid down her face. ‘And Allie. What’s happened to Allie?’

Kate knelt beside her and took her hand. ‘I think we should take Allie downstairs. I think we should all stay together.’

‘She’s right.’ Greg’s voice from the landing made them both jump. He hobbled in and stood looking down at his sister. ‘I’ll ask Joe to come and carry her down then I think you should make a huge cauldron of soup for us all.’ He was looking at his mother. He glanced at Kate who was still kneeling on the floor. ‘Everything will seem a bit less fraught in the morning, then we can send for reinforcements.’

Kate gave him a watery smile. ‘You make it sound easy.’ The flickering candlelight, made her face look ethereal. She had, he noticed not for the first time, a frail, pre-Raphaelite beauty, emphasised by her disordered, tangled hair and helped, he supposed wryly, by the submissive posture, on her knees at his feet.

‘It will be easy. Everything is always better in daylight.’

‘Don’t tempt providence!’ As if realising that her position put her at a disadvantage, she scrambled to her feet. Standing, she was as tall as he. ‘Greg.’ She put her hand on his arm, her voice barely a whisper. ‘Look, by the window. On the floor.’

He raised an eyebrow, then picking up the candle, he limped across and surveyed the carpet.

‘Sand. It could have come from Allie’s shoes.’

‘But it didn’t. I was up here earlier and it wasn’t here.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘I just am.’ She shrugged. ‘I notice things like that. After the cottage.’

‘What are you saying?’ Diana turned to look at the carpet.

‘She’s saying that some sand has blown in the window and that it would be better if we all went downstairs and sat round the fire,’ Greg said firmly.

‘Don’t patronise me!’ Diana snapped. She stood up. ‘What does the sand mean?’ She looked at Kate.

‘All right, I’ll tell you,’ Greg said slowly. ‘It means that I don’t think we are dealing with a human killer. I don’t think there is anyone out there in the woods or on the beach. I think our enemy is a man who has been dead for nearly two thousand years; a man who is very, very angry because we have disturbed a grave in the sand. And I think we are all in terrible danger.’