‘That doesn’t matter now,’ she said breathlessly. ‘Eddie, I don’t want to die.’
‘Die? What are you talking about?’
‘I want to show you something,’ she said, and grabbed his hand, tugging him across the room.
‘What?’ he said, wanting her back in his arms, wanting to feel her soft breasts pressing against his chest.
She didn’t let go of his hand; instead her fingers closed more tightly around his, making him wince. They reached the window. He could hear her breathing heavily, but still could not make out her features in the gloom. He sensed rather than saw her hand reach out and pull open the drapes. Twilight nudged its way into the room. He peered out through the window at the Manse’s sprawling grounds.
‘I can’t see anything.’ It was too dark outside to see anything clearly.
‘Not out there. Here!’ Her voice was insistent, almost impatient.
He turned to her and saw her face for the first time.
The scream bubbled in his throat but refused to leave his lips.
Maggots. Hundreds, thousands of them, covering Jo Madley’s face. The nose had gone, eaten away. Fat white bodies dropped from lips that bare seconds ago had been pressed against his. They writhed over and under her skin making it ripple and pulse. They moved under her eyelids, dropping from her eyes like white tears.
‘Pretty, eh?’ The words sounded thick, and they triggered the scream.
The scream brought the others running.
Farrant spun round as the door was flung open and Bennett, Sheila and Casey ran into the room.
‘Eddie, what’s wrong?’ Bennett shouted.
‘That!’ Farrant shouted back and turned back to face Jo Madley, but she’d gone.
‘What?’ Sheila said.
‘She was there…right there,’ Eddie Farrant said. ‘Horrible. Maggots.’
Bennett turned to the women. ‘Have you any idea what he’s talking about?’
Sheila shrugged, went across to Farrant and put an arm around his shoulders. ‘It’s all right, Eddie. Come back to the bar and have a drink. A stiff brandy will help.’
‘She was here in the room with me, Sheil. Jo. Her face was alive with maggots.’ He clutched his stomach and convulsed, vomiting on the floor.
‘Charming,’ Bennett said quietly to Casey. ‘How many has he had anyway?’
Farrant wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘I know what I saw. And no, I’m not drunk. Jo was here, in this room.’
‘Well she’s not now,’ Bennett said, his voice more terse than he intended, but fear was getting the upper hand now and he was no longer as controlled as he would have liked. ‘Back to the bar. We need to talk this through and make some decisions.’
When they were all seated in the bar with more drinks Bennett began, ‘Casey thinks she might be able to work the radio in the boat. We could then call for help.’
‘And you’re going to send her out there alone?’ Eddie Farrant said; his face was still white and he was visibly shaking.
‘Of course not. One of us will go with her.’
‘I’m not going anywhere,’ Casey said. She was sitting on one of the seats, her knees pulled up to her chin, her arms wrapped protectively around her legs. ‘I’m sorry, Mike. I’ve thought about it and I’m not going out there.’
‘Can’t say I blame you,’ Johnson said.
‘Shut up, Andrew,’ Bennett said. ‘Casey, you’ve got to. You could be our only hope.’
Casey shook her head as tears pressed out from her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Shit!’ Bennett pushed himself to his feet, went across to the bar and poured himself a large glass of Coca- Cola, swallowing in one long gulp. He slammed the glass down on the bar. ‘Well that’s it,’ he said. ‘I’m sick of you people. We’ve got a really serious situation here, and you just fall to pieces. I can’t shoulder the responsibility for all this on my own.’
‘That’s not fair, Mike,’ Sheila said. ‘And no one’s asking you to take responsibility.’
‘No, but as the senior member of staff…’
‘We’re not at work now, Bennett,’ Farrant said. He’d recovered himself sufficiently for some of his old asperity to reassert itself. ‘You can’t tell us what to do, and you can’t force Casey to go out there if she doesn’t want to.’
‘Well, what would you suggest, Eddie?’ Bennett said, pouring himself another Coke. ‘Come on, let’s hear your brilliant plan to get us out of this bloody mess.’
Farrant’s eyes narrowed. ‘You sail, don’t you? I’ve heard you spouting off about it to anyone who would listen after one of your weekends out on the ocean.’
‘Kilvington Reservoir is hardly the ocean,’ Bennett said. He knew he’d exaggerated the part he played on his weekend sailing trips.
‘You still have experience of boats. Which is more than I can say for the rest of us. You could take the launch back to the mainland and get help.’ Farrant knew he was laying down a challenge.
‘He could also pilot the boat and take us all off the island,’ Sheila said. Desperation echoed in her voice. She was as scared as any of them.
‘Piss off, Sheila,’ Andrew Johnson said. ‘You’re mad if you think I’d put my life in
Bennett was silent for a moment. He stared down into the bottom of his glass and saw all the old familiar demons lurking there. For Coke substitute whisky, bottles of it. He tipped the remainder of the drink down the sink. ‘Andrew’s right…for once,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure that I can handle the launch. Having you all along for the ride would only put me on edge. Best I try this alone, then I’ve only got my own neck to worry about.’
‘Or to save,’ Farrant said. There was a thin edge of insult in his tone.
Bennett glared at him.
‘Shut up, Eddie,’ Sheila said. ‘I agree with you, Mike. Better that the rest of us stay here together. Nothing can happen to us if we’re all watching out for each other.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
It was barely nine in the morning when Robert Carter lit his fifth cigarette, threw the cold remnants of his coffee onto the grass and sat back in his canvas garden chair. The inevitable suspension from duties that followed his assault on Crozier had given him three days at home so far and the days seemed destined to merge into weeks. Crozier was not a man for forgiveness; certainly not where Carter was concerned. Carter smiled; it had been worth it though. The satisfaction from the actual blow was one thing, but the look of surprise on the man’s face was priceless.
The weather had been kind and Carter had spent most of his enforced rest in the garden. The view down to the lake was spectacular, and there were hardly any tourists yet in this part of the Lake District so distractions were few.
He had worried over and over in his mind about the events that had led to Sian’s disappearance but couldn’t reach a conclusion. There seemed no explanation, logical or paranormal, to comfortably fit her complete loss from the world. The results from the car interior didn’t even reveal any DNA traces from her. It was as if she hadn’t existed. Only Carter knew she did exist, was a living, breathing, warm and loving girl, and it was his fault she was gone.
His fault and therefore his task to find her.
He picked up the laptop from the small glass-topped table and checked that he was still online. Wireless Internet was great but reception was not always as reliable as he would have chosen. The page he had been reading was still displayed.
Carter had always been taught that Alfred Watkins, a Herefordshire businessman, had discovered the concept of ley lines, or Leys, in 1921, and published his findings in his book
