“The captain spotted me standing alone in the crowd and pointed me out to a police officer. Everything seemed to slow down and I felt my knees begin to buckle beneath me. But before I fell down, an arm was snaking around my shoulders and holding me up,” Sam explained and his eyes had grown wide.
“Who was it, Sam?” I asked him.
“I looked sideways to find I was being supported by the hooded figure I had seen standing on the beach,” Sam breathed. “My eyelids felt heavy, and I had to fight to stop them closing. But the figure held me tight, then lent forward and whispered into my ear.”
“What did he say?” I asked, totally wrapped in Sam’s story.
“‘Everything is going to be okay. I promise.’ That’s what the figure said. ‘Who are you?’ I whispered back, unconsciousness nearly taking me. But I managed to tilt my head back just a fraction, in the hope I could see who it was beneath the hood. Then, the police officer came forward and took hold of me. He asked the stranger if they knew my name.
“‘Brooke. Sam Brooke,’ the stranger said, letting go of me.
“‘Do you know him?’ the police officer asked the stranger.
“‘Kinda,’ the stranger said, then stepped away. The police officer tried to support me with one arm as he fumbled for the radio attached to his belt. I slumped in the officer’s arms, and then fell to the ground. Rolling onto my back in the sand, I struggled to open my eyes. I needed to see who it was beneath that hoodie, Kayla.”
“What did you do?” I asked Sam.
“I called out as the stranger walked away up the beach,” Sam explained. “Turning, the figure looked back at me. Then, pulling back the hood, the stranger revealed their face to me. All I could do was stare in wonder — they were beautiful.”
“Who was it?” I gasped, almost ready to pee myself.
“It was you beneath that hood, Kayla,” Sam whispered. “You winked at me, then you pulled the hood back over your face and disappeared into the crowd. It was then that I slipped into unconsciousness and everything went black.”
“It wasn’t me,” I said, jumping up. “I’ve never seen you before and I’ve never been to a beach in Cornwall.”
“It was you, Kayla,” Sam insisted. “I couldn’t believe it the first day I saw you rummaging around in the Poor Box. It was like seeing a ghost. I didn’t want to…I
“This is getting really weird…” I started.
“Don’t you see, Kayla? You were there the day my parents died, and then you show up here…and your parents drowned, too.”
I wanted to tell Sam that my parents hadn’t drowned, that it was lie created by Potter, but I had to keep the pretence up. “Sam, I don’t know what you’re talking about…” I tried to convince him that he was mistaken, but he wasn’t listening to me.
Then, gripping me by the shoulders, and staring me straight in the eyes, he said, “Don’t you see, Kayla, you’ve been sent to help me again.”
“Help you?” I breathed in disbelief. “What are you talking about?”
“You must realise that you are different from everyone else here,” he said excitedly. “Don’t you remember what McCain did with your hands — how he burnt you? You didn’t feel a thing.” Then, grabbing my hands and staring down at them, he said, “See, there are no scars, Kayla — your hands have healed already — that’s impossible.”
“They weren’t as bad as they looked,” I stammered. “I used cream…”
“Cream!” Sam cried. “There is no cream in the world that could get rid of burns like you had. You’re different, Kayla — even McCain has sensed it. You’re here for a reason.”
“And what’s that?” I snapped, just wanting him to leave my room so I could contact Kiera and get out of Ravenwood.
“You’ve been sent to help me,” he said, tears standing in his eyes. “You’ve been sent to get me out of here.”
I pushed him away from me, not wanting to hear any more. “I’m sorry, Sam, but I haven’t been sent here to save you or
anyone else.”
“But you have, Kayla,” Sam said. “You just don’t see what you are.”
“What am I?” I almost screamed at him.
“You’re an angel, that’s what you are,” he breathed. “You’re an angel, Kayla — a dead angel!”
“Dead angel?” I mumbled, and if I’d had a heart it would have been racing. “I’m not dead!”
Then, reaching into his trouser pocket, Sam pulled out a folded piece of newspaper. “I came across this, Kayla, not long after I saw you on the beach that day,” he said, unfolding the paper.
“What is it?” I asked, my hands starting to tremble.
“It’s about you, Kayla,” he said, handing me the torn piece of newspaper.
I took it from him, desperately trying to steady my hands as I looked down at the headline:
I read the words underneath and it described how sixteen-year-old school girl Kayla Hunt’s naked and mutilated body had been found partially covered by snow on the side of a mountain. With tears of my own beginning to well in my eyes, I screwed up the piece of newspaper when I saw the picture of myself staring back at me and read the part which described how the killer had cut off my ears.
“That’s not me,” I said, sniffing back my tears. “You’re mistaken.”
“That’s you, Kayla,” Sam said softly, almost caring. “I know it’s you.”
“It can’t be me,” I said looking at him. I tried to smile, as if brushing away what he had just said as being nothing more than nonsense. But I was in danger of being discovered. I just wanted to run — get out of Ravenwood. I wanted to talk to Kiera. I wanted to be with her — she always knew what to do — she made me feel safe. Why hadn’t I listened to her when she had warned against me coming to Ravenwood? Kiera said it would be too dangerous for me to come here and she had been right. So, looking Sam straight in the eyes, and trying to be as confident as Kiera, I said, “You’re mistaken, Sam Brooke. That can’t be me in that newspaper article because I’m not dead.”
“You are dead, Kayla,” he said, tears running down his face. “You’re my dead angel. I just have to prove it to you.”
Then, reaching into his trouser pocket he pulled out a long bladed knife. “Please forgive me,” he cried as he thrust the knife into my chest.
I looked at him, then down at the knife which protruded from me. I felt a crushing feeling inside of me, as if I were shrinking in some way. I staggered away from him. I just wanted to lie down. My whole body felt weak, and as I curled my numb-feeling fingers around the hilt of the knife, I noticed that my skin had started to turn grey and crack just like those statues I had seen.
“Kiera,” I mumbled weakly, dropping to my knees and into a black pool of my own blood. “Kiera — I’m sorry I failed.”
Then, everything went black.
Chapter Thirty-Six
I just couldn’t rest until Isidor came back. Potter sat in a cloud of cigarette smoke in front of the fire and we didn’t speak, both of us were lost to our thoughts and concerns. But, if I were being honest with myself, I was more than concerned. I feared for Kayla’s safety.
