The Weight of Souls

6 A TWINGE OF SYMPATHY

I followed the suit away from Ken High Street leaving behind the shoppers, street hawkers and laughing groups of workmates heading for bars.

In this more sedate area shops were open by appointment only and metal grilles obscured half-glimpsed chandeliers and antiques. None of the retailers here were open past five but a few were still shutting up as I walked past. The rattle of descending shutters kept breaking the deathly quiet and making me jump.

The only other person on the road was a woman with a shopping bag from Whole Foods Market. She was obviously heading for home but she turned off before I reached the Crescent where tall white houses loomed like ribs in an elephants’ graveyard, turned purple by twilight.

A glowing taxi passed the end of the road and disappeared.

I rubbed my hands on my skirt. “You’re sure this is the place?”

The suit nodded. “This is it. It’s been five years since she left the house. You’ll have to go in.”

My throat closed up as silence blanketed the street. But there was no way the Darkness was coming for me, not this soon; I’d only been Marked a couple of hours ago. The usual London noise was simply unable to penetrate the labyrinth of high white houses.

“Let’s get this over with.”

The gentle creaking of a tree seemed frighteningly loud and I jumped as a pigeon flapped almost apologetically to roost in its branches.

The murderer’s home was dark and still. “Maybe she’s out.”

The suit shook his head. “No chance. After she had me killed and he left her anyway she lost it. My so-called wife is in there, trust me.”

“And you’re sure she won’t answer the door?” I flexed my hands, hoping he’d say no and that I could simply ring the bell and shake her hand when she answered.

“Not if there’s no delivery expected.”

I sighed and checked out the house opposite. It had high walls, but lights glowed in the upstairs windows. I couldn’t see anyone, but I still opened the gate to number three and walked down the path as if I had a right to be there. The first lesson of breaking and entering that Mum had taught me was that skulking draws attention.

The suit preceded me down the side of the house. I risked one furtive look over my shoulder and when I saw that the street remained quiet I followed and breathed a sigh of relief as the road disappeared from view behind the hedge.

At the back of the house large windows overlooked a decked garden. A few plants in urns provided glimmers of green, but mostly the space was decorated with stone sculptures and mirrored water features.

I turned my back on the centrepiece of a jagged, rippling mirror and regarded the house.

The windows were all shut fast. The double doors that opened on to the decking were locked and a security alarm blinked above them.

“There’s an alarm.”

The suit shrugged. “Can you do this, or not?”

I glared at him and removed the glove from my stained hand. “Thanks to you I don’t have a choice.”

I looked closely at the lock. It was a pretty standard deadbolt. Nothing I couldn’t handle with a tension wrench.

Which was at home. I’d come straight from school. I opened my bag with a sigh and pulled out my History homework amidst yet another small sandstorm. The papers were connected with a metal paperclip and it was the work of a moment to create a makeshift pick.

I tapped my teeth with it and fixed my eyes on the alarm. It was a home security system from Everest. I sucked air in through my teeth, knowing perfectly well that Everest used pre-entry detection.

“I can’t get in while that alarm’s on.”

I was glaring at the blue logo when the light on the box blinked.

“She’s switched it off.” I frowned. “Why?”

The dead guy shrugged. “Maybe she’s letting the cat out.”

“Jeez.” I threw myself behind the water feature as a dumpy figure appeared in the darkness and cracked the door. A soft yowl told me a cat had just joined me in the garden. Briefly I considered rushing the killer. Then I shook my head. She might get back inside before I could reach her, then I’d lose my chance to transfer the Mark. I had to stay hidden.

After a slow count of one hundred I peered around the side of the mirror. The rear of the house remained dark and the figure had vanished.

I ran across the decking on my toes and stood outside the French doors. In the growing darkness my reflection appeared in the window. It was as if my own ghost had come to warn me to stay out. I put my nose closer to the glass and peered past my pale face to the room beyond. Before my breath fogged the window I saw a sitting room; uninhabited, cold and dark.

I flexed my fingers, shook my head and inserted the paperclip into the lock. Quick as I could I turned it, then I found my little metal nail file, slid the tool into the key hole and began.

Sweat made my grip uncertain and the roaring blood in my ears almost stopped me from hearing the pins fall into the housing. The hair on my arms rose and my back prickled. I was certain I was being watched.

Despite my mother’s rule to appear as if I belonged, I had to look over my shoulder. Movement caught my eye and my breath caught. Frantically I pulled my tools free, and tried to look like as much like an ordinary visitor as possible.

I heard no challenge. When my heart stopped hammering I realised that I’d reacted to my own movement reflected in the mirrored sculpture. The only audience I had was the cat who was peeing loudly in the gravel. Nice.

I rolled my shoulders, inhaled and pressed the heel of my hand to my forehead; then I started again.

The final pin clicked into position. I took a deep breath and turned the file. The plug rotated, the lock snicked open and I pulled my tools free.

My hand shook on the handle. I added enough weight to push it downwards. The patio door swung open on thankfully silent hinges and I stepped into the house.

My shoes squeaked on the tiled floor and I froze. I pulled the door closed behind me, tucked my tools away and rubbed my arms. The house was cold. Very little light followed me in from the garden and the room was grey with shadow and shade. A piano stood in one corner and two large, overstuffed sofas faced a well-stocked drinks cabinet. A crystal decanter distilled the dim light and turned it into a tiny constellation.

Carefully I tiptoed to the doorway and peered around. There was an alcove opposite me displaying an empty vase almost as tall as I was and to my left was a carpeted dining room. It too was quiet. I sped past the large rectangular table and ornate chairs and cracked the door open.

Voices made me hold my breath. Then I recognised a familiar theme tune. She was watching EastEnders.

I poked my head around the door and faced a long hallway. Doors flanked black and white tiles that led all the way to the front entrance. Light came from beneath only one, the farthest away from me.

I retreated back into the alcove and glowered at dead guy. “I’m going to wait here. Tell me when she falls asleep and I’ll Mark her.”

“You’re not going to confront her? I need her to know who’s doing this to her. That bitch ruined my life.”

I ground my teeth. “She ended your life. I’m here to get justice, not to let you go on a rant. If you want a medium, go find one.”

The suit opened his mouth.

“Just forget it. I’m not risking myself so you can go on a power trip. You’ll get your revenge. So go. Get the alarm code so I can get out of here later, and don’t come back till she’s asleep.”

The stairs were carpeted and the carpet was thick; my shoes only whispered on the pile and the stairs supported my weight uncomplainingly. At the top I swung around the nearest wall and leaned against it. All the doors up here were closed, as if the house had been shut up for a holiday.

The suit was standing outside the only one that was slightly ajar.

“She’s in there?” I mouthed.

He nodded resentfully.

“You’re sure she’s asleep?”

He nodded again.

I slipped into the room and found the middle-aged woman passed out on the bed. She was snoring and her eye-mask had slipped so that only one eye was covered. A bottle of pills lay on the nightstand next to her. I edged closer. By the look of what she’d taken I could start playing the trumpet and she’d sleep on.

One arm lay on top of the covers, fingers twitching in sleep. She snuffled as if she could sense me, but did not move.

A twinge of sympathy wormed in my chest as I held my hand above hers. She hadn’t gained much from her dark deed. But I’d been Marked and it was her or me. I pressed my hand to her palm as if we were holding hands. She mumbled again, pulled away and rolled over. Her eye-mask slipped all the way off and her blackened hand flopped over her face in its place.

“Sorry.” I couldn’t prevent the apology from slipping out.

The suit opened his mouth but I ignored him and slipped out of the room. He’d have his revenge and if she was as reclusive as he said, no one would even know.