‘He was angry at first, but gradually, as more and more things happened, he started to get freaked out by it. It was when he started getting messages flashing up on his computer screen — rather bizarre messages, mostly of a pornographic nature — that he turned on me. I could understand that the poltergeist activity was affecting him, but he was also freaked out by me, or rather by my abilities, and had been for a while. He couldn’t really deal with the fact that I was psychic; couldn’t get his head around it at all. He thought I had the power to read his mind and tell what he was thinking, and that bothered him a lot.’
‘And could you? Tell what he was thinking, I mean.’
‘Of course I could. But there was nothing paranormal about it. He’s a man, for Christ’s sake. And Malcolm was not the most complex of the species; not by any stretch of the imagination.’
Jane laughed.
‘Anyway, I sorted out the poltergeist thing, but shortly after that he packed his bags and left. He just couldn’t handle it…me…anymore.’ She put the dryer down on the bed. ‘I guess what I’m trying to say is that these powers we possess, what ever they are, set us apart from the rest of them; the normal ones. We can’t help it and, I suppose, neither can they.’
‘I’m not sure I’d go that far,’ Jane said.
‘Think about it. Of the five of us here, who has a stable relationship? None of us. John — single for as long as I’ve known him. Raj — his partner, Neena, walked out on him three years ago and there’s been no significant other since. Me; I’ve just told you. Since Malcolm there’s been no one else, and in all honesty I’m in no hurry to put myself through the wringer again. Now you.’
‘John has been alone since his wife died.’
‘Christ, I didn’t know that,’ Kirby said, her hand fluttering at her lips.
‘That’s okay and anyway you forgot Robert.’
‘Well, you know him better than I do, but from what I’ve heard my theory applies to him as well.’
Jane wondered what she was implying, but let it slide. She didn’t really want to delve deeper on the subject of Robert Carter’s love life. ‘You’re forgetting something. I’m not a psychic.’
Kirby’s eyes narrowed slightly. ‘Are you sure?’
‘I think I’d know.’
‘Well that’s not what I’m getting from you. I’ve always thought it. Takes one to know one, as they say.’
‘No, I’m sorry, Kirby. You’ve got your wires crossed. I have no psychic ability whatsoever.’
Kirby shrugged. ‘If you say so.’ In her experience this wasn’t something about which a person could be persuaded. It was far too personal.
Outside thunderheads were gathering ominously again, rolling in from the sea; black nimbus clouds, bunching in the sky, heavy with rain. They let loose a flicker of lightning then, a few seconds later, growled ominously.
‘Sounds like we’re in for a rough night,’ Kirby said. ‘Let’s hope it blows itself out by the morning. I don’t fancy a boat trip to the island in a full-blown storm.’
‘Couldn’t agree more,’ Jane said and got up from the bed, crossing to the window to peer out at the night. As she reached the window the hotel grounds were lit up by lightning and, for a split second, the silver flash illuminated the fountain. As was the prone figure lying at its base. ‘What the hell…’
‘What is it?’
Jane pressed her nose to the glass, peering out into the murky, rain-swept night, the rain-chilled window misting with her breath. Impatiently she rubbed the condensation away with the sleeve of her shirt. The lightning flashed again. She saw the fountain again but the figure had gone.
‘Jane?’ Kirby could tell something was bothering Jane.
She turned away from the window. ‘Nothing,’ she said. ‘I thought I saw something, but I must have imagined it.’
‘I think we’re all a little jazzed at the moment,’ Kirby said. ‘After reading the report on the island and knowing we’re going to be living there for a while, I don’t suppose that’s very surprising.’
‘I suppose not,’ Jane said, but she was distracted now. She was certain there had been someone lying at the base of the fountain. And she was pretty certain she knew who it was.
The grass tasted sweet. Fat raindrops the size of pennies spattered on his back but Carter made no effort to move; he was just relieved to be away from the circular chamber. He felt exhausted and a large bump was swelling on the back of his head where it had cracked against the wall. The experience had drained him. He rolled over onto his back, letting the rain hit his face. A flash of lightning split the sky and a few beats later a peal of thunder rumbled through the night. The intensity of the rain increased.
Gradually his strength returned and he pushed himself into a sitting position. Standing, his legs were weak, threatening to give out from under him. He took a few tentative steps; so far, so good. The hotel seemed miles away but he put one foot in front of the other and by the time the lightning crackled again he’d reached the entrance.
The reception desk was empty, the dining room in darkness. He took the stairs one at a time, using the handrail to haul himself up. He couldn’t believe how weak he felt; it was as if he’d left all his strength behind him in the chamber. After what seemed ages he reached his room and unlocked the door. The room was in darkness. He closed the door behind him and stood for a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the gloom. Raj was sleeping. He could hear the steady, rhythmic rise and fall of his breathing.
Creeping across to his own bed he stripped off his sodden clothes and lay down on the soft mattress. He closed his eyes but sleep was hours away. Instead his mind played reruns of his experience in the chamber. He couldn’t rid himself of the image of Sian’s ruined eyes — the dark empty sockets still managed to look at him accusingly. Lying there in the darkened room he tried to convince himself that what he’d seen was just an illusion, the images planted in his thoughts, but a small, hectoring voice lurked at the back of his mind whispering, it wasn’t an illusion. It was real. The bump on his head certainly was, and it was aching abominably.
There was something else that evidenced that what had happened was real. Clenched in his left hand were a small gold cross and a broken chain. Sian’s.
He suddenly felt very cold. He pulled the duvet up to his chin. It was going to be a long night.
Fiona Whyte watched from the darkened office at the back of the reception desk as a soaking wet Robert Carter entered the hotel and went up to his room. He looked disoriented, unsteady on his feet. Earlier one of the dining room staff overheard a conversation Carter’s group was having over their meal. They were departing for Kulsay Island in the morning. Yet another investigation. Fiona had been on duty when the team from the Ministry of Defense had stayed here earlier in the year and they had been downright weird; evasive to the point of rudeness. She knew full well what they were investigating, despite their efforts to keep it secret, and she was pretty sure that this group was doing much the same.
Well, good luck to them. She shuddered at the thought of the island. There was nothing on earth that would induce her to set foot on Kulsay. She’d heard the rumors and stories over the years, and preferred to keep her feet firmly on the mainland. But she knew there would be someone who would be intrigued by this latest twist. She picked up the phone and dialed a local number.
The phone was answered on the second ring. ‘Bayliss,’ a voice said. Whisky and cigarettes gave the voice a sandpaper timbre.
‘Hi, Nick. It’s Fiona, from Cleeves.’
‘Fiona! How’re you keeping?’ The slurring of the words was barely noticeable.