Midnight is a Lonely Place

LXIX

He saw her often in his dreams, the wife who had betrayed him. He saw her laughing. He saw her in her lover’s arms. He saw her again and again in her blue gown, the splash of scarlet dripping down her skirts, her eyes open in wild agony and hate. And again and again he heard her curse him. A woman’s curse. A dying curse, made before the gods themselves. He would awaken shivering, sweat sheening his body and if Augusta woke, he would claim it was a touch of the marsh fever. He was scared of dying. While he was alive she could not touch him, but in death they would be equals. And the priest. Her lover. What of him? Was he there too, waiting? Waiting to avenge the greatest betrayal of all, a false message from the gods. He stared into the darkness and he was afraid.

The second time they stopped to rest Kate felt for Alison’s pulse. The girl was getting weaker all the time, her life force draining visibly as they watched. She glanced at Anne. ‘What can we do?’

Anne shrugged miserably. She felt helpless. All her knowledge of the human mind had deserted her. She had no basis to work from. This was not covered by any category she had read about. This was no chemical imbalance of the brain; it was not multiple personality disorder; it was not schizophrenia; it was not any kind of manic state. Marcus was an external force, a parasite implanted inside the girl’s head and she had no parameters within which to work. ‘I wish I was religious. I feel a priest would be more help than anything else,’ she said slowly. ‘Or a medium of some sort as a go-between. Our culture doesn’t give us weapons to fight this any more. I don’t know what to do.’ She looked at Jon and then at Pete, kneeling in the snow. The sleet, driving into their faces had turned without their realising it to rain. The wind, stronger than ever, had a warmer feel now. Behind them, like an ever-present enemy, the water lapped higher, flowing in amongst the trees, stealing imperceptibly through the undergrowth.

‘Is he still there?’ Kate murmured to her sister. ‘Is he still inside her?’

Anne shrugged. ‘I don’t think so. She’s calm; her strength has gone.’

‘Then where is he?’ Kate looked up into Jon’s eyes as he bent over her to look at Alison.

Jon gave a wan smile. ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

Anne stood up, stiffly. The woods were very silent; the trees seemed to be listening, shrugging off the hissing rain and wind.

‘Perhaps with the grave flooded, he’s left completely.’ Patrick stood up too. Jon and Pete bent to pick up the stretcher and slowly the small procession began to move on. Kate paused a moment, staring back the way they had come. He wasn’t here now. The woods were empty. But that didn’t mean he had gone for good. Something deep inside her told her that he was still around, somewhere. Waiting.