'It will only get worse for you,' she had told him. 'Unless you fulfil his wish—no, his command— if you don't, you'll never be free of him. It'll become unbearable, you'll suffer…'
But he refused to listen any more as he hobbled away, moving as fast as his bad leg would allow. The medium had not provided any answer, she had just given him a dire warning, filling him with fear for the future.
That was a year ago and the medium had been right: the hauntings had become worse, worse than when he had been a boy even. Pyke had begun to be afraid for his sanity again, for the ghost of Augustus Cribben now came so close to him that he could smell the putridity of its inner core over the noxious fumes that accompanied its presence. The atmosphere would become so cold that his body, which was in paralysis, felt like ice, a frozen vessel in which his mind was trapped. He was afraid to sleep, night or day, because the dreams had found fresh vigour and were as clear as reality, and they came to him at any time. He was exhausted and nervous, and he knew he could not go on like this, that the hauntings and nightmares would break him as they had before, only this time he would not recover, this time he would be broken for good.
Then, just five months ago, depleted and desperate, he did something he should have done long, long ago, for it gave him the answer for which he had been searching, the way of resolution.
He used the microfiche reader facility in the same library where he had once been employed and he sourced the front pages of national and local daily newspapers for October 1943.
With these he had travelled back to the past.
•
Now it was October again. Late October. But it was the present. Not quite the same day as when the Devil's Cleave had become a huge conduit for the wind as well as a giant gutter for the swollen river and rainwater from the moors, but close enough.
Gordon Pyke sheltered from the storm in the metal cocoon of his car, reliving his life and anticipating the final closure from the years of torment.
Enough of memories, he mentally snapped at himself. Time to deal with the present. It was as if all the years since leaving Crickley Hall as a twelve-year-old boy had been leading up to this point, as if he had been directed—driven—back to this ugly old house. Tonight was perfect. It wasn't quite the same date, the day and the week were different, but that was okay, it didn't matter because everything else was right. Tonight he would free himself.
Fierce rain assaulted his face and shoulders when he pushed open the Mondeo's door. He climbed out awkwardly, gritting his teeth as he cricked his knee. The wind nearly tore the hat from his head, but he clamped a big hand down on it in time to save it. With both hands he gripped the narrow brim and secured the hat firmly. Reaching back into the car he drew out his sturdy hardwood walking stick, then pulled open the rear door and dragged out a huge worn leather suitcase. It was heavy, but he was a large man and still strong.
He straightened, paused for a moment to look across the foaming river at Crickley Hall, then made his way to the bridge.
65: THE DRIVE BACK
Wind-driven rain lashed at the Range Rover's windows and bodywork, and Gabe took the bend in the road cautiously. The roadway was so narrow that another skid might take him into a ditch on one side, or into the trees on the other, despite the vehicle's stability control. Nothing was foreseeable on such a vile night.
It was just as well he had slowed down because the road dipped just beyond the curve and rainwater had created a mini-lake across its surface. Even the ditch on the left was not enough to carry the water away. Normally, he would have changed down to a low gear and driven steadily through the flood, confident that the 4x4 had the height and power to pass through it, but his headlights lit up another vehicle ahead which had become immobilized in the middle of the road.
Two heads turned round to look at him through the other car's rear window, their anxious faces lit up by the Range Rover's strong lights, and he saw it was a young man and girl trapped in their Ford Fiesta. They looked too young to be married, nothing more than teenagers. Maybe this was their first date, Gabe thought, and the guy had made a jerk of himself trying to take the flood too fast or too slow, the Fiesta in the wrong gear.
Gabe thumped the steering wheel with the heel of his hand. All he wanted to do was to get back to Eve and the girls, to be there with them in their mutual grief. He didn't need this.
The driver's door of the Fiesta opened and the young man stepped out into the water, which came almost up to his knees. He splashed towards Gabe, desperation on his face. Gabe pressed a button and his side window slid down. Ignoring the rain that battered his face, he stuck his head out, an elbow resting on the sill. Despite the weather, the kid approaching him wore only a Kaiser Chiefs T-shirt over baggy trousers. Tree branches were waving with the force of the wind and ripples coursed across the newly made lake that concealed the roadway; the Range Rover shuddered with each fresh gust.
We got stuck!' the other driver, who was, as he had thought, no more than a teenager, shouted out pointlessly when he got as far as the Range Rover's bonnet.
'Yeah, looks like you did,' Gabe called back. He was impatient to get on his way.
The drenched kid came up to the side window and Gabe couldn't help but feel sorry for him. The teenager's long hair was now plastered to his scalp and the soggy T-shirt stuck to his skinny chest.
'The car just stopped halfway through,' he bellowed mournfully into Gabe's ear. 'We didn't realize the puddle was so deep.'
Puddle? The way ahead was concealed by a mini-lake.
'Can you help us?' the kid pleaded hopefully.
'I can get you out of it,' Gabe shouted back, 'but I don't know how well your engine's taken it. You may not get it started till it's dried out again. You've probably sucked up water through the exhaust.'
The drenched kid looked forlorn, rainwater dripping off his nose. 'We need to get to the next village. My girlfriend lives there.'
'How far?'
''Bout five miles.'
Good, Gabe thought. He wouldn't have to go out of his way if he gave the couple a lift. 'Look, I haven't got a tow rope, but if you put your car in neutral, I can push it out from behind. When we're out of the flood, steer towards the side of the road. You can leave it there and I'll take you to your friend's place, then you can get a garage to collect your car. Doubt you'll get anyone out tonight, though, not in this weather.'
They both jumped when they heard a sharp crack from across the road. A stout branch of a nearby tree snapped off and dangled by sinews over the road.
'Let's get to it,' shouted Gabe.
'Thanks, man. I owe you.'
The young guy splashed back to his own car and through its rear window Gabe could see him explaining the situation to his girlfriend. Still lit up by the Range Rover's headlights, the girl turned and waved back a thank-you.
Gabe engaged first gear. 'Okay, let's see what we can do,' he murmured to himself and set the 4x4 in motion.
66: GHOST-HUNTER
The wind blew the front door wide open and rain flew in with it when Eve answered the croaky doorbell.
The tall figure of a man stood on the doorstep, a walking stick in one hand, a very big suitcase set on the ground by his right leg. Lightning flared behind him so that his face and body were momentarily in silhouette. The boom of thunder quickly followed and Eve almost recoiled from the sound.