Black Cathedral

heartbeat.

For a long moment her mind became a void; a deep pool of blackness; bottomless and vast. She felt she was teetering on the edge of it and that at any moment she might pitch forward and fall. And then images crept into her mind, filling the void, making the darkness recede. Gemma and Amy playing in the garden; David’s face, softly candlelit, gazing at her lovingly across a restaurant table; her fingers tracing erotic patterns on Robert Carter’s smooth, well-muscled back; a helicopter slowly sinking, inch by inch, into the ground. She gasped but kept her eyes tightly closed and tried to steady her breathing.

As she settled herself again more images burned their way into her mind. Tiles dropping silently from a bathroom wall; a hand reaching down, fingers forcing their way into her mouth, gripping her tongue; damp and dirty sacks reeking of stale urine smothering her face, making it difficult to breathe.

She tried to push the images away, forcing her mind to concentrate on happier thoughts. The birth of Gemma; her first bath — soft fingers smoothing soap over even softer skin. The indescribable smell of baby. Gemma lying in her cot, staring up in blue-eyed wonder at the Winnie the Pooh mobile hanging from the ceiling above her head; bony white hands gripping her tiny arms and dragging her down through the mattress.

‘No!’ She was on her feet looking about the room wild-eyed. The others were staring at her in puzzlement. Jane stared down at her hands. She had broken the circle.

She took a breath and tried to gather herself, but the image of Gemma being dragged through the mattress was hard to shift.

‘Are you okay?’ Carter was at her side, his arm sliding around her shoulder.

She gulped and nodded. ‘Yes. I think so…I…I’m sorry I broke the…’

‘It’s okay.’ He stroked her back.

‘I saw…’ She was finding it hard to breathe.

‘Not now. Don’t say anything now.’ This wasn’t the time for reporting impressions; they needed to draw more out.

‘But…’ She had calmed now, the feel of Carter’s hand on her back soothing her, making her heart feel less like a roller coaster coming down the final track.

He put a finger to her lips. ‘Do you feel up to trying again?’

She nodded.

‘We can leave it until tomorrow,’ he said, but she could tell he didn’t want to postpone. Neither did she.

‘No.’ She sat down again. ‘Sitting recommencing at…’ She glanced across at the clock in the corner, and then looked back at Carter in confusion. ‘One minute past nine? But how? I don’t understand.’

‘You only had your eyes closed for a few seconds, Jane. I hadn’t even started the seance when you broke the circle.’

‘Impossible. It must have been longer than that! Must have been.’ She backed away from the table. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t do this.’ She walked out of the room.

John McKinley rose to follow her.

‘Leave her,’ Kirby said. ‘She needs to be on her own.’

‘How the hell do you know what she needs?’ McKinley said, anger flashing in his eyes.

‘I know Jane. She has things she needs to work out.’

‘Such as?’

‘Such as the fact that out of all us here to night she is the most powerful psychic.’

‘That’s rubbish,’ McKinley said. ‘Jane’s always insisted she’s not psychic. She says it’s what gives her objectivity.’

‘Kirby’s right,’ Carter said. ‘Jane’s powers are incredibly strong, but she’s been in denial for years and blocked them out. Self-delusion is a very cunning inhibitor. But she needs to learn to accept what she is and learn to use it to protect herself. If she doesn’t this place will rip her apart.’

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

‘Can I come in?’ Carter said from the doorway of Jane Talbot’s bedroom.

She was lying on the bed, her eyes wet with tears. She sniffed, rubbed a hand across her face and turned her head away from him.

‘I’ll take that as a yes then?’ He sat down on the bed next to her. ‘You can’t keep running from it, Jane.’

‘How long have you known?’ Was she the only one who didn’t know?

He shrugged. ‘Since I first met you.’

‘Why have you never said anything before?’

He reached out and stroked her hair. ‘It wasn’t my place to question you about it. I figured you had your reasons for blocking. I know better than anyone how hard it is to deal with a gift like this.’

She rounded on him. ‘It’s not a gift; it’s a curse! I’ve spent my life trying to force it out of my mind. Do you realize how difficult that is?’

‘I think I can appreciate it. What I don’t understand is why you felt you had to.’

She turned away from him again and lapsed into silence, her fingers picking at a loose thread on the counterpane.

He pulled out two cigarettes, lit them and handed one to her.

She sucked smoke greedily into her lungs. ‘Thanks.’

‘Look, Jane, you need to talk about this.’

She rolled over onto her back. ‘I never wanted it. Even when I was very small I realized that I was different from everyone else, and I hated it. I remember playing in the park with some friends. I couldn’t have been much more than ten. We were on the swings. There was another little girl there, Melissa. We never really liked her, but she used to hang around with us because no one else would play with her. She was on a swing; Freddie Carpenter was pushing her. I was on a seesaw with another girl bouncing up and down. All of a sudden I felt a piercing pain in my head and everything sort of shifted out of focus. But in my mind’s eye I could see Melissa reach the apex of her swing and let go of the chains. I saw her fly through the air and hit the ground, her arm twisted underneath her. Gradually the image cleared. I looked across and Melissa was still on the swing, squealing with delight as Freddie pushed her higher and higher. Then, suddenly, when she was almost level with the top of the swing she let go. I saw her fly through the air, heard her scream. And then she landed. I can still hear the snap of bone as her arm broke. It was horrible.’

‘Horrible, I agree, but not your fault.’

‘Wasn’t it? I didn’t like her, and I was angry that Freddie was paying her so much attention.’

‘So, you’re saying you made it happen?’

‘I don’t know. Not for certain. It may just have been a premonition. But it might have been something more. All I know is that I started to block out the feelings, the visions. And I was pretty successful…until I hit puberty. I was fourteen when my grandmother died. I killed her.’

Carter stiffened. ‘What do you mean?’

Jane rose from the bed, walked across to the wardrobe and stared at her reflection in the fu l l-length mirror. The room behind the reflection shrank away and she was looking at herself in her teens; small and slight; big, dark eyes enhanced by the ultra-short elfin haircut.

‘She’d been with us for a few weeks. My grandfather was in hospital and my mother suggested she come and stay with us. Gran didn’t drive so she was reliant on my mother to take her to and from the hospital for visiting. We’d never gotten on. She was like my mother in many ways, but more so. More dogmatic, more prudish, more unpleasant. She came home from the hospital one evening and just started in on me, criticizing my clothes, my hair, my schoolwork, my friends…She told me I’d never amount to anything, and that I would always be a disappointment to her.’ Jane laughed harshly. ‘My mother’s continued that theme ever since. Anyway, I started to answer back. As I said, I was fourteen and my hormones were in turmoil. She slapped me and I slapped her back. After that I was sent to my room. Christ, I was furious; furious with her and furious with my mother for taking her side. I sat there, seething, angrier than I could ever remember being before. My head was pounding, almost pulsating. I think I must have blacked out, because the next thing I remember I was lying facedown on the floor