‘Tell me anyway.’ He had lit two more cigarettes.
She listed what she had seen in her mind’s eye.
‘Have you checked that Gemma’s all right?’ he said when she’d finished.
‘First thing I did when I came upstairs. I phoned my mother. Both the girls are fine.’
‘Good. The helicopter. You saw it sinking into the earth?’
She closed her eyes and recalled instantly what she had seen. ‘Bizarrely, yes.’
He rubbed at the stubble on his chin, thinking.
‘Do you think that’s significant?’ Jane asked.
‘I think so, yes. It was never found, the helicopter. No wreckage out at sea; no sign it crashed anywhere. To all intents and purposes it just disappeared, along with the pilot.’
‘You think it really happened then? It landed here, then just sunk through solid ground?’ She tried to keep the incredulity out of her voice.
Carter nodded. ‘It’s one scenario.’
‘An unlikely one.’
‘Unlikely, but not impossible. We have to consider everything that happens as possible, even if it can’t be real; not in the normal world anyway.’
Jane sucked on her cigarette and held on to the smoke in her lungs. Finally she exhaled. ‘Do you think it’s worth trying another séance?’
Carter shook his head. ‘No, I don’t think you’re up to it.’
She bridled slightly. ‘I’ll be more prepared next time.’
‘I don’t think any of us are prepared sufficiently to handle what’s happening here.’
‘Still, I’d like to try,’ she said.
‘Okay. It’s your call. Let’s compromise. After breakfast tomorrow?’
Jane smiled. ‘Fine. Can you let the others know?’
‘I’ll tell them.’ He kissed her on the cheek and left the room. She lay back on the bed, took another pull on the cigarette, then ground it out in the ashtray. She picked up her phone and punched in a number.
‘Hi, it’s me again.’ Her voice had changed from her conversation with Carter. She was more reserved now, holding back.
‘I’ve just put the girls to bed, Jane,’ her mother said tetchily.
‘I just wanted to wish them good night.’
‘Phone them in the morning and do it then.’
Jane smiled. Only her mother could conjure up such an absurdity. ‘Yes, okay. I’ll call tomorrow.’
‘Good night, Jane.’
The line went dead.
She dropped the phone on the bed beside her, then stood up and started to peel off her clothes. She felt desperately tired. She crawled under the covers and closed her eyes. Within seconds she was asleep. But it was a fitful sleep filled with nightmarish dreams of snatched children and sinking helicopters.
She awoke feeling wretched with the thought of another attempt at another séance sitting in her stomach like a lead weight. She showered quickly, skipped breakfast and went for a walk on the grounds to try to clear her head. By the time she got back to the Manse the others had already assembled in the library. She took her place at the table. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Let’s start.’
‘Are you sure, Jane?’ Carter said.
‘Let’s get it over with,’ she said. However she thought their relationship was developing she couldn’t have him question her in front of the others.
Carter nodded, but was watching her closely. ‘Okay. Everybody link hands.’
Jane joined hands again with Kirby and McKinley, worried they would feel the sweat on her palms.
‘Now,’ Carter said. ‘Everybody breathe deeply, close your eyes and try to relax.’
Jane took one, long, deep breath and shut her eyes.
At that point the doorbell rang.
John McKinley got to his feet. ‘Weren’t we supposed to be the only ones on this island?’ he said.
Jane looked puzzled. ‘So I was told.’
‘Well obviously we’re not,’ McKinley said and went to answer the door.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
McKinley came back to the library followed by a young man, fairly scruffy, looking like he could do with a shave and a good night’s sleep. Kirby’s first impression was that when he was cleaned up he might look a little like Brad Pitt in the movie Troy. Not bad at all.
‘This is Nick Bayliss,’ McKinley said to the others. His shrug indicated his bemusement at the casual entrance. They had all believed access to the island was strictly controlled while they were here.
Jane stood. ‘I was led to believe this island was deserted, Mr. Bayliss,’ she said, adopting her stern woman-in-charge persona. ‘How long have you been on Kulsay?’
Bayliss regarded her with a slightly sardonic smile on his face. ‘I could murder a coffee,’ he said. The Scottish accent was thick enough to cut with a knife. He dropped his rucksack on the floor.
Jane glanced around at Kirby.
Irritation flashed in Kirby’s eyes. She didn’t want to miss anything.
‘Please,’ Jane said, softening her tone. ‘We’ll fill you in on what ever you miss.’
With a theatrical sigh Kirby rose from her seat. ‘I suppose the rest of you want one as well?’ she said. As she walked past Bayliss he winked at her. Kirby tucked her chin into her chest and hurried on by. She couldn’t help smiling though.
‘You didn’t answer my question,’ Jane said. ‘How long have you been on the island?’
‘I came over yesterday evening,’ he said. ‘Do you mind if I sit down? I’ve been walking for an hour, and the terrain around here doesn’t really lend itself to a casual stroll. My feet are killing me.’ He flopped down in one of the armchairs by the fireplace and started to unlace his boots.
Jane tapped her foot impatiently. There was something about the self-confident Bayliss that she admired; he irritated and frustrated her, but he was clearly trying to take control of the situation.
Bayliss looked up from his unlacing at the others gathered around the table. ‘Sorry, have I interrupted?’
Jane’s eyes narrowed. ‘No, not at all.’ Borderline sarcasm, but kept in check by professional caution.
‘Only I thought you may be holding a séance or something. That is what the Department is all about, isn’t it? Ghoulies and ghosties, and things that go bump in the night?’
Carter leaned forward in his chair. ‘Would you mind telling us what the hell you think you’re doing here?’
Bayliss pulled off a boot and massaged his toes through the thick wool of his sock. He smiled across at Carter. ‘I’m here to help, Mr. Carter,’ he said. ‘And to answer some of the questions you’ve obviously been asking yourself.’
Martin Impey sat at his desk collating another ream of paperwork. Sometimes the sheer volume of material he was responsible for was overwhelming. If the public only knew how many paranormal events were occurring every day they’d be shocked and, most likely, terrified. And for every case reported there were ten times that many that went ignored, brushed under the convenient carpet of denial and self-delusion. On his desk at the moment were reports of poltergeist activity in a Birmingham suburb, a suspected demonic possession of a small boy in Surbiton, and half a dozen random sightings of ghosts, as well as reports from two other Department teams that needed to be processed.
Everything on his desk had to be logged onto the computer, cross-referenced and verified. He and his two secretaries faced the daily task of keeping this material under control, and of updating their computers from the many databases from around the world to which they had access. On top of this were the almost daily requests from Simon Crozier and others to provide background information on what ever cases they were working. He picked up a scrap of paper on which were scribbled the words, The Sorority. This was a good example.