Fallow Heart Page 12

  “All right,” Lori shot back through a grimace.

  It wasn’t her fault that Granddad had failed to pick them up. After an emergency taxi call, they’d just about made it to St Werburgh’s in time for the service to begin. The priest was already at his lectern, and Lori had barely settled in her seat before the words ‘Dearly Beloved’ were spouting from his lips. She straightened her black skirt, pulling it away from her tummy, and in the corner of her vision she could see her mother looking around. Her head was up like a meerkat’s, frizzy curls flying back and forth as she scanned the church several times. Lori kept her head down, swallowing hard. There was too much to think about. Too much to take in.

  “He’s not here,” Mum whispered.

  “Shush,” Lori replied.

  “Your Grandfather is missing, Lorelai,” Mum said, this time closer to Lori’s ear. “Where the Hell could he-”

  The priest gave a cough, the church falling silent. Lori’s cheeks burned from the moment she looked up, for the eyes of the patrons were back on her and her mother. She caught sight of her father, five rows down in the front-right pew, and her guts did a flip. They should have been early, sitting with him, holding his hand through all the pain. He smiled with thin lips and Lori tried to give her best smile back. Her mother had fallen silent at last, and the priest continued his introduction to Pauline’s final service.

  In all the times that Lori had complained about Pauline’s gruff attitude and the way that she encroached on Lori’s time with her father, she’d never once thought about what else the Irish woman might have had in her life. It turned out that Pauline had a lot going on. There was a huge family filling up the front six pews on either side of the church, surrounding Lori with their red-ringed eyes and ever-blowing noses. There was also a ladies’ football team that she’d belonged to at weekends, and some friends from a cookery club that she’d only recently joined. The priest gave a nod to all of these groups in his welcome, and with each one Lori sank heavier and heavier into her seat.

  You killed her.

  Lori’s throat gave a twitch. She coughed at the invisible blockage, looking away from the priest and his well-wishing words. She was a good woman, apparently. Friendly and faithful, though it was in her own brackish way, and many friends and loved ones were sad to see her go. Sad to know she’d been ripped in half. They didn’t even have a body to reconstruct. No head. No face. Just a sealed white coffin that gave Lori chills whenever she thought of what was inside it. Would they add the rest of her to it, if it was ever found?

  You killed her.

  She wanted to shout back at the voice in her head, to deny with the fiercest will she could what it was saying. But the article about Ruiz was fresh in her mind, how his sleepwalking and lack of memory added up to murder. There were things that she did at night, things she could never be sure of. She was burying objects in the darkness. What would she wake to uncover?

  The other half of Pauline.

  Lori clapped her hands to her ears, as if that would be any use. Her mother was looking straight ahead at the priest, but fluttered a tissue at Lori absently. She took it, tearing at it with her thumbs and forefingers. She looked up, above the organ console, where the Mysteries began. Here, the Joyful Mysteries started with the Annunciation. It was the part of the story where Mary is told that she’ll be giving birth to the son of God. Where her life was invaded and taken away from her, used for someone else’s purpose. Lori scrunched the tissue harder, pushing through. Her nails were digging into her palms, half-moons of pain coursing with the heat of her hands.

  There was a sudden noise from her left, and Lori glanced in time to see the confessional booth opening. Its ornate wooden doors were sliding open on both sides, one figure emerging from the nearest gap. Detective Constable Walker. He was dressed for the funeral, slipping into a nearby pew with a small smile of apology. Lori’s nerves shot up another gear, and she had to sit on her bleeding palms to stop herself doing any more damage. From the other confessional door, the tall, broad figure of Sister Agnes appeared. She had to duck to get out of the booth, and her sharp eyes found Lori watching as soon as her head was upright again. The nun sidled over, sliding into the pew on Lori’s other side, flanking her left exit. She put a hand on Lori’s knee and patted her once.

  “Brave girl,” Agnes said softly. “Calm yourself now. Be assured that the Lord has taken Pauline into his arms.”

  What’s left of her.

  But Lori was far from calm. Everywhere she looked there was suffering: sad faces and images of holy martyrs dying for their cause. Death and pain. Lori’s palms pushed against the hard, old wood of the pew beneath her. Sweat had pooled at the back of her neck, her ponytail slowly soaking and sticking to her skin. Her eyes were dry and itchy, begging to be blinked every other moment. She tried to swallow, but her tongue felt like a lump of worn leather. She was motionless save for the pressure in her palms, the anger she was forcing down beneath her.

  “I’d like to invite Ian, Pauline’s loving partner, to say a few words.”

  The priest was stepping down. Lori’s eyes followed her father as he took the holy man’s place. Her skin crawled to see how gaunt he was around the cheekbones. He was clean-shaven and had a fresh haircut, but it looked as though someone had slid him into a suit that was two sizes too big. Dad clung to a sheet of paper, crumpled and trembling in his grip. His eyes flickered over it, his tongue running over his shuddering lips. Lori saw the sheen across his eyes as her father looked up into the high ceiling of the church, taking in a deep breath. Could he even steel himself to speak?

  You did this.

  Lori bit her lip.

  You did this to him.

  She pushed harder on the seat, her bruised wrist singing with agony. Lori tried to channel herself into that feeling, blocking out the voice and the sound of tears falling all around her. But her father wouldn’t be silenced. His quivering wreck of a voice came loud and clear, echoing down the hallowed hall.

  “Pauline was… my everything,” he started. “I’m truly lost without her. She-”

  There was a deafening crack. Lori jolted, falling suddenly, like the jaws of Hell had finally opened beneath her. She landed a moment later with a crunch, and the echoes of the impact reverberated around the church’s stone walls. Her mother smashed into her right shoulder, and Agnes into her left as Lori struggled to be free. Her hands were stinging, still clasping the wood of the pew on either side of her. But beneath her, there was stone. The whole bench had snapped, right where she was pressing on it. Whispers and murmurs began all around, amplified by the chambers of stone.

  “Are they all right?”

  “It’s broken clean in half.”

  “Well I’m not surprised, with her weight.”

  Lori got to her feet, yanking herself up by the pew in front, which also gave a worrying lean whilst she held it. She glanced down at her mother. It looked like she’d twisted her knee when she suddenly slid towards her daughter on the broken bench. Lori offered her a hand, and Yvonne used her like a climbing frame, raging as she got to her feet.

  “What sort of shoddy old pews are these?” she shrieked. “We could have been hurt! That’s a compensation claim, that is.”

  Lori spared a glance for her poor father, who was clutching the lectern with white knuckles. He was mouthing a few words, but no sound travelled across the murmurings of the church. There was a hard hand on her forearm, and a moment later Agnes’s tall form was upright. She raised her hands to the crowd, voice carrying over the din.

  “A simple accident, ladies and gentlemen,” she called. “Please calm yourselves. We will resume the service in a few minutes once we have this area cleared. If you could vacate the left aisle of the church for a moment…”

  She slipped out of the remnants of the pew, hand waving for Lori to follow. But once Agnes was out of the way, Lori could see the true damage that she’d done. No denying anything this time. It was clear where her hands had been pressing, dig
ging palm-shapes into the wood, until it had cracked like dry earth in a quake. The pew was thick, perhaps eight inches, and Lori had splintered it until it cleaved in half. She stepped out through the wreckage and past Agnes’s waiting hands.

  “Did you get hurt, my dear?”

  Lori shook her head, half-ignoring the nun.

  “Need some air,” she said quickly, eyes already snapping to the closed doors of the church.

  From the moment she was past the church’s iron gates, Lori was cool and calm. The tingling in her skin had stopped and the chilly autumn air swept grateful over her face and through her hair. She picked at the splinters in the folds of her long black dress, looking at the bend in the road ahead. The street of red-brick buildings was empty at this time of the afternoon, but through the gates of the park on the corner, Lori saw life. A figure was jogging towards her, his shape tall and thin.

  Kasabian?

  The shape was too shaded by trees to make out, but the half-demon drifter had promised he would see her today. She’d given him the name of the church, and there was so much to discuss. Her newfound strength, for one thing. How was she meant to control that? Would she end up like Michaela at the centre, killing people without meaning to? In her sleep was one thing, at least if that was true she couldn’t control it, but broad daylight would be a different story. Lori squinted hard as the jogger came into a patch of daylight.

  Not Kasabian. But another figure that she knew.

  “Granddad?” she called. “Slow down! You’ll have a heart attack.”

  He paused at the road that separated the park from the church, letting a few cars pass. Lori watched as his thin frame bent double, hands on his knees as his arched back heaved. When the road was clear, Granddad moved swiftly across it. He wasn’t dressed for the funeral, but wearing a t-shirt that Lori knew he often slept in. And its right shoulder was stained with large spots of blood.

  “What happened to you?” she said, helping him up onto the curb.

  Granddad wheezed, clambering to the railings. He held fast to them, shaking his head.

  “Not me,” he stammered. “Huw.”

  Dead.

  Lori shook her head. She took hold of Granddad’s shoulder as carefully as she could.

  “Is he ok?”

  “Hospital,” Granddad barked, starting to cough. “Intensive. Care.”

  Not dead. Lori’s heart climbed down out of her throat.

  “What happened?” she asked.

  The old man took one huge breath, letting it out with a slow whistle. He shut his eyes, leaving Lori to wait a long, agonising moment. She opened her mouth but he raised a hand, and left it there until he opened his eyes again.

  “I found him early this morning, hammering on the door,” Granddad explained. “He could hardly speak…” He sucked in another breath, hand clasping his chest. “Covered in blood. Slashed everywhere, all these different gashes of different sizes. Like he’d been knifed.”

  Or antlered.

  Lori couldn’t help but make the connection. The early hours of the morning, like every other incident. Someone she knew. Someone she’d been angry with. But with one fundamental difference: Huw was alive. He would be able to tell everyone who, or what, had attacked him.

  “Did he say who it was that slashed him?” Lori asked.

  Granddad’s eyes locked on Lori’s suddenly. It shocked her, how centred he’d become after so much exhaustion and upset. He held her gaze for a few seconds, then glanced at the church.

  “Agnes,” he breathed. “I need to see Agnes.”

  Lori watched as he heaved his way through the gates, stumbling to the doors with a sudden ‘oof’. There was a brief word of apology, and as Granddad vanished into the church, Detective Walker emerged in his place. He craned his head around the stone archway in the direction of the park, and Lori made sure she wasn’t looking at him, should his gaze swing back the other way. After a moment, the block-headed shadow approached, rounding on her. He squeezed himself between her and the edge of the pavement, blocking her light.

  “Do you they have you on steroids to treat this infection of yours?” he asked.

  Lori looked past the curious curve of his lips, over his shoulder to the red brick row of houses behind him.

  “My illness is none of your business,” she replied.

  Walker gave a little tut. He tilted his head up, gaze trained on the church spire, and Lori sneaked a glance. He was in funeral-wear, and she had to wonder whether Dad had invited him, or whether he’d come along all the same.

  “I’m used to understanding things, Miss Blake,” he mused, not looking back at her. “I’m a detective, that’s what we do. For what it’s worth, I don’t see you as a harmful person.”

  A shudder ran through her. Lori clenched her fists.

  He’s next.

  “No,” she said.

  Walker glanced back at her, steely eyes shining. Lori looked down at the pavement, biting her lip a moment.

  “I mean,” she began with a stutter. “I’m not… harmful.”

  “No,” Walker answered, “but this whole fiasco does seem to be revolving around you. I don’t understand why. That bothers me.”

  He’ll have to go.

  Lori sidestepped the officer, taking a slow draw of air into her lungs. She thought long and hard about what to say next.

  “Well Detective, if you do find out why I’m stuck in the middle of all this, I’d like to be the first to know.”

  He laughed. It surprised her, such a casual little chuckle. She didn’t want to think about Walker any more, lest that terrible voice said anything else. Lori’s eyes travelled over the brick buildings again, following the perfect lines of red rectangles up through every floor, trying hard to focus on them instead of him.

  “Are you sure there isn’t anything you can tell me?” Walker asked.

  Lori’s gaze had made it to the attic windows, with their sweet little triangular gables.

  “Nothing,” she lied. “I’m sorry.”

  There were weather vanes too, high on the rooftops, casting shadows against the sky. Lori inspected each one in turn.

  “This isn’t on-record, Lorelai,” Walker added. “I can keep a secret if I have to, for the sake of the case.”

  “I-”

  Lori’s words died on her lips. On the last weather vane, there was a lump about the size of a football. Spiked on the eastern arrow, a prominent iron E sticking out of its ear. A head. A head spiked on the weather vane.

  “All right,” said Walker, sounding miles away now. “I know I shouldn’t push. It’s not professional.”

  A head? What the Hell?

  Lori squinted, looking at the dark, matted hair over the pale face. She knew that hair, she’d had a handful of it when she’d last been allowed to attend college.

  “Ryan Wade.”

  “What about him?” Walker asked.

  Lori’s gazed snapped back to the detective. Her trembling lips had let the words loose, and now the quiver of tears watered her eyes. She didn’t want to look back up to the rooftops, but there was still a sliver of hope that what she’d seen could not be real. A single glance. Ryan’s decapitation was all too clear. Walker was watching her, reaching out for her shoulder as the tears came flowing.

  “Did… you find his body yet?” she asked.

  “Why?” Walker asked. He squeezed her shoulder. He was blurry through the veil of her tears. “Do you know where it is?”

  “Carl!”

  A voice called from the church doorway, and Walker and Lori both sought it out. It was Agnes, holding onto the stone doorframe and leaning out.

  “Can you come in please?” she asked. “It’s Tim, I can’t make head nor tail of what he’s telling me.”

  The hand fell away from Lori’s shoulder, and she watched the detective disappear. If he’d looked. If he’d been facing the houses instead of her. Her chest shuddered as she coughed away the tears, rubbing furiously at her eyes. They stung when she
next looked up at the head. Could she get it down? Hide it perhaps, until she knew what was going on? She looked down at herself in the maxi dress, skirts fluttering in the wind. She wasn’t equipped for scaling a house.

  “You look pretty,” a voice behind her said. “Very dramatic.”

  “Kasabian!” she exclaimed, turning to the sound.

  He was walking up through the narrow car-park alongside the church. She watched the expression in his eyes change as he locked on her face, and he pulled her straight to his chest without warning. Kasabian smelled like fresh air and dirt. Lori let her arms fall about his waist, her chest heaving with sobs again.

  “I stayed back whilst the policeman was here.” His low voice reverberated against her hair. “Did he upset you? What did he say?”

  “It’s not that,” Lori mumbled into his shirt.

  She pulled away, feeling her cheeks burn, but Kasabian fished out her hand and held it firmly. She looked into his almost-black eyes, and he gave her palm a squeeze. He didn’t feel cold, like everyone else did when they touched her nowadays. With her free hand, Lori pointed up to the weather vane.

  “It’s Ryan,” she said. “I’m sure it is.”

  “The kid from your college,” Kasabian said, nodding.

  “Did I do that to him?”

  The question hung in the air. A few cars sped by on the bend, and the giggle of children echoed towards Lori from the park on the corner. Kasabian squeezed her hand again.

  “I’m not going to lie to you,” he said. She heard him swallow hard. “It’s possible that you did. But not certain. There’s a Cervinae roaming these streets too, after all. The one that attacked you.”

  “So it’s me or the monster?” Lori asked.

  “Pretty much,” the drifter answered.

  She was frozen to the spot, locked in a hold with Kasabian. Unable to tear her eyes now from what might have been her handiwork. She was certainly getting strong enough to climb a building like that. Perhaps even strong enough to take a head off a body with her bare hands. She thought of Walker, and the terrible thoughts she’d had when he was speaking. Was he really next? Did she have any control over the matter?