She came to warn him, she said. Warn him of what?
In the end he lay down, the drink taking its toll on him, and his mussed-up head tried to grapple with a plague of contradictory thoughts. As sleep drew its warm veil over his tortured mind he thought it would be rather swell to have a sister. And he smiled, in spite of himself.
When he awoke, the sky beyond the window was black. He rubbed sleep from his eyes, not fully realising how tired he’d been. The combination of tiredness and alcohol had all but floored him. He took a look at the time. 6.15pm. Visiting time at the hospital had started fifteen minutes ago. He splashed cool water on his face, grabbed the cardboard box full of jewellery, slipped his arms into his coat then headed for the hospital.
If anything the afternoon sleep had worked wonders. He woke up fresh and clear-headed, deciding he had to see Erica again. The prospect of a sister — his real family — filled him with something akin to excitement. It was as if a massive piece of the puzzle that had been missing in his life was finally being slotted into place. All the mysteries, the many questions, he might now find answers to them. He all but ran through the hospital doors, hoping he wouldn’t be too late.
He was taken aback to see that her bed was now occupied by an older woman.
‘Where is the young woman who was in this bed?’ he asked, managing to intercept a nurse. ‘Has she been moved?’
She was in a hurry and the flash of her eyes told him so. ‘She discharged herself, I believe. Are you a relative?’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m the one who nearly killed her.’ He saw a look of horror spread across her face, her mind racing to the nearest panic button. ‘I mean, I knocked her over in my car. I have something I’d like to return to her.’ They both looked at the carrier bag he had in his hand.
‘Well she obviously thought she was well enough to take herself off.’
‘I suppose you have no idea where she went?’
‘You suppose right,’ she said bluntly. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me…’ And she scurried away to attend to other duties, but couldn’t resist calling back, ‘And try not to hit anyone else; we’re rather busy!’
He stood there. No amount of staring at the bed with the woman in it transformed her into Erica. He came down from his elation as if he’d been on a drugged high and it didn’t feel at all comfortable. He shook his head resignedly and headed for the double doors at the head of the ward. As he lifted his hand to push through the doors a man standing there held up his hand and stopped him dead. He was middle-aged, near to forty maybe, smartly dressed in a charcoal-black woollen coat that finished just above his knees, the shoulders peppered with shimmering beads of melted snow; his trousers were dark, ending in a pair of wet but shiny black shoes; his hair was neatly trimmed, his face a little red from the heat.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, his accent either American or Canadian, Gareth couldn’t determine which. ‘I couldn’t help but overhear. You were asking about a young woman, the one who occupied that bed?’
‘Do you know where she is?’ Gareth asked hopefully.
‘I was hoping you’d be able to tell me, Mr…?’
Gareth ignored the name fishing. ‘How do you know her?’
‘A close friend,’ he said. ‘I’m trying to contact her. I got wind she was here, but like you it appears I arrived just a little too late.’
‘Yes, it appears so,’ he said. There was something about the man he took an instant dislike to. Something that made him feel decidedly uncomfortable. ‘Look, sorry, but I have to leave.’
‘And how is it she knows you? She never mentioned you.’
‘I sort of bumped into her, as you do,’ Gareth said. He tried to sidestep him but he mirrored his move and blocked the exit. ‘I really do have to leave,’ he insisted.
‘And I really do have to find her. It’s important. Perhaps I can buy you a drink?’ he offered, his face trying hard to hold onto a smile that revealed a nice set of teeth which must have set him back a small fortune over the years.
‘Another time maybe,’ Gareth said, nodding politely. ‘I’ve told you all I know.’
The man paid particular interest to the carrier bag. ‘Something of hers?’
‘That’s really none of your business,’ he said, pushing by him and opening the doors.
‘Sure, thanks for the help,’ the grin broadening. ‘Oh, and be careful; it’s deadly out there,’ he warned.
There was nothing for it but to head home, he thought, totally deflated, his mind full of questions. The roads were better now, and he had no reason to hang about the hospital; she wasn’t going to return. That didn’t stop him scanning the streets and the people as he headed out, searching for any sign of her.
It took a while for him to drive home in the dark, especially once he hit open country where the snow remained thick on the ground. He passed the odd-car sitting nose down in a ditch, or abandoned by the roadside under heaps of snow. As usual, signs of humanity thinned the closer he got to Deller’s End. When he approached the spot where he’d hit Erica he unconsciously slowed down, even checked the hedge from where she’d come sliding down, as if somehow she might do the same today, as if he could conjure her up just by thinking about it.
Eventually he pulled the Land Rover to a sliding halt on the snow covered grass verge by the gate to Deller’s End. A chill wind caused the branches of trees to hiss like waves breaking on shingle and great clumps of dislodged snow came thudding silently to the ground. A full moon blazed brightly in a crisp black sky, the stars standing out clear and sharp.
As he trudged down the path he noticed the cottage door was ajar and he cursed himself for forgetting to lock it in his haste to tend to Erica. A small drift of snow had accumulated just inside the room. He scooped the snow away and closed the door, not thinking anything of it till he glanced down at the remains of damp, muddy footprints on the carpet leading into the living room. He turned on the light. He’d clearly made one set of prints when he’d dashed in to phone for the emergency services and collect the duvet from upstairs. But there was another set of prints, on closer inspection, that evidently did not belong to him. They were larger than his for one thing, and the remains of the deep tread told him unequivocally they were made by a pair of boots and not by the soles of his light shoes.
He began to get worried that, as remote as this place was, he’d been burgled. He went immediately to his few pieces of furniture — drawers, a bureau — but there was no evidence that anything had been disturbed. It was only when he turned to check upstairs that he noticed the symbol painted on the wall. A circle, painted in black, a cross in the middle of it, a star in the centre of the whole.
‘What the blazes…?’ he said, going closer to it.
He noticed it wasn’t a straightforward circle; it was a serpent eating its own tail.
20
He supposed he’d better call the police to report a break-in and damage to the wall. He was told to leave the scrawl until the police had been to check it out. An officer eventually turned up four days later. Break-ins were apparently not a priority for a force having to endure savage cuts to frontline staff and the pressures of the recent bad weather.