A Death Displaced (8 page)

‘I know what it is. You’ve been different since that Friday. When you were late to work after that car chase,’ said Mora, acting like a light bulb had flicked on above her head. ‘You like the drama, don’t you? A bit of action! You young ones love it.’

She didn’t just laugh at her own conclusion; she was in stitches, as if it was the funniest thing she could have said. Her dead-looking yellowy-white complexion even turned red for a moment in her fits of laughter. Nick had been given an easy way out of the interrogation at least, and he took it.

‘You’ve caught me out,’ he said. ‘The car almost hit me. I’ve never felt a rush like that before.’

‘You’re one of them adrenaline junkies; next you’ll be skydiving.’ She calmed down and coughed away the last of her giggles.

Nick thought about it. The incident hadn’t affected him in that way because it felt like the second time he was seeing it. He’d known he had to act, and he supposed adrenaline must have coursed through his body to get him up the steps in time, but when he actually reached the top it all happened so quickly. Although he was proud of himself for saving the woman, there was no thrill in the action itself. The real excitement was in knowing that he’d had a vision.

If it had been a normal incident, with no vision involved, would he have come away from it feeling indifferent and numb inside?

Is that how empty my life was before the premonition?

‘Nicolas,’ Mora said, ‘more of our stock has gone missing this week. Have you noticed anything?’

‘No. Have you asked everyone else to keep an eye out too?’ Disbelief crept up inside of him. ‘
God
, it annoys me the way people think they can just steal.’ His shoulders tensed, aggravated. He was raised to respect other people and their belongings; the thought of thieving repelled his senses.

‘Yes, I’ve asked everyone to keep watch. You make me laugh, Nicolas, you always curse in God’s name!’ She gave a playful shake of her head.

It was true; he regularly used God’s name in vain. But if he was around other people and knew that it offended them, then he wouldn’t do it. He’d hate to upset someone. He wasn’t religious, but somewhere along the line he’d acquired the habit of misusing His name.

‘Sorry, it’s just a habit.’ He shrugged.

‘I don’t mind, not really. He’s not my god.’ She laughed.

Nick liked that Mora rarely mentioned her religious and spiritual beliefs. She wasn’t like Janet, who often slipped in praise to the Goddess mid-conversation or blabbed about the rituals and spells she performed. Mora seemed humble in her faith, and Nick admired that.

Narrowed back down to the more pressing matter, Nick asked, ‘So now everyone knows that stock is going missing then?’

‘Yes, and I trust all of you of course, but we have to be more careful when tagging valuable items.’ A drained smile came to her face.

‘What’s been stolen?’

‘Some of our jewellery this time. I’m sure of it.’

He tried to think whose week it was to check the security tags in the jewellery section. Mora assigned each staff an area of the store to tag-check every week, and then rotated turns. But because they all knew each other well, they swapped areas and helped out as they pleased.

‘Whose turn was it to tag-check that section?’ he asked.

‘Michael’s, I think.’

‘What about the other week, when the tarot cards were stolen?’

‘That was Alan’s section that week.’

‘Do you think it could be one of us stealing?’ He regretted asking already, but continued anyway. ‘De-tagging items on purpose for our friends to steal or something? Some of our items sell for a lot of money, don’t they? Like the geodes. Well, most of it’s expensive because of the tourist factor, and that makes it easy to sell too. If someone is stealing and selling it often enough, then that’s a nice bonus they are giving themselves.’

Mora shifted in her chair and squeezed her eyes into a frown. ‘No, no, no … Nicolas, it couldn’t be that. I’d never suspect any of you. We simply need to double-check our security tags. There are opportunists out there.’

‘Yeah.’ Nick nodded. ‘I only suggested it because I knew you would never think that of us. And anyway, people buy de-tagging equipment online these days.’

‘Bloody thieves.’ She giggled.

After picking up a newspaper from the unoccupied table next to her, Mora turned a few pages and then shook her head. ‘These poor parents; their kid went missing a couple of years ago and they are still looking for answers. Do you remember?’

‘What was the kid’s name?

‘Katie Baker.’

‘Yeah, I remember hearing about it.’ In fact, there’d been a similar case on Lansin Island about ten years ago. A young boy had disappeared. Nick remembered that one because it was a couple of years before his mum vanished. ‘So she hasn’t been found yet?’

‘No. You’d think that with all the supposed psychics on this island, at least
someone
would be able to find
something
out! It’s not exactly a massive island.’

‘She could have been taken off the island, or who knows what?’ He didn’t want to think about it.

‘You know, Nicolas, there have been a few cases of children disappearing on this island. I’m almost fifty now, but I remember at least three or four cases. Maybe the island is really a giant beast that eats people up?’ She laughed, but unfortunately this was one of the very few times she didn’t think before she spoke.

Nick tried to laugh back, but it came out miserable. His manager must have realised the parallels between the story of the missing child and the disappearance of Nick’s mum. ‘Oh … Nicolas,’ she said, ‘I’m sorry, I didn’t think.’

‘It’s okay, Mora. I don’t think my mum’s dead anyway. I think she just wanted a different life. She took out a few thousand pounds before she disappeared. It’s pretty obvious she just wanted to get away from my dad … and my brothers and I.’ He hadn’t spoken to anyone but Caroline about it for a few years now; it was one of them subjects he just didn’t bring up unless someone directly asked about it.

‘Well, I hope you don’t mind me saying … but she’s missing out. If you were my son, I wouldn’t ever think of up-and-leaving like that.’

Emotion started to bubble up inside of Nick, but he let himself feel good instead of turning all sentimental. Mora didn’t have a partner or children, so Creaky Crystals and the staff were probably all the family she had. ‘Thanks. That’s a nice thing to say.’

Mora smiled at him. They had time for another cup of tea each before they returned to work. Though, Nick opted for hot chocolate this time.

Unable to stop thinking of Katie Baker’s parents, Nick felt a lot of empathy for them. He knew what it was like to be left in the dark, wondering if someone you cared about was alive or not. But what he couldn’t know was how it felt for a parent to lose their child.

When he returned home, he eagerly checked his
Facebook
messages. Fin had replied:

Alright buddy? I’m great man.

I’m so sorry mate but I’m mega busy at the moment. I’ve got a new contract in London. I’ll be travelling there a lot over the next few weeks.

I’m earning some proper money now! If I’ve got time I’ll pop into that crystal place you work at and see you or something?

Anyway, I thought you had my number. Text me next time.

See you when I see you mate.

At the bottom of the message, Fin had provided his mobile number in case Nick had lost it (which he had, along with his previous mobile phone when he’d placed it on a shop counter then forgot to pick it up when he left).

Fintan’s reply wasn’t what he’d hoped for. He didn’t blame his friend; he was happy for him. Maybe a tad jealous too, but all he wanted was to tell someone about the premonition. Someone he could trust.

Oh, well.

Before retiring to bed, he decided to do something he’d never done before: say a prayer. Not knowing who he prayed to or how to start, he sat up in bed, modestly, and then said a prayer for Mr and Mrs Baker, wishing them happiness. For their missing girl, he asked for her safe return, even though it’d been two years now since she had vanished.

Then he was cold and in pain.

*

Grit pressed into his face. Spit hocked out of his mouth, sudden pain hitting his back repeatedly. He curled up and covered his head to protect it from the blows.

With a look down at his stomach, he saw a foot kick into it. He made a puking sound and groaned in agony.

‘Stop!’ a woman screamed.

The kicks went on, and he tried desperately to squeeze into a ball shape to defend himself. Hard shoes connected with his shins, back, and arms. He dared not look up to see the attackers; they would only kick his face if he did.

He writhed on the bitter ground and closed his eyes, wishing it would stop. He went to shout something.

*

‘Help!’ His body convulsed, he sat up in bed.

Opening his eyes, he looked down at his hands still in a prayer pose.
Oh, crap.
He shook his head, got up, and hurried to the kitchen. The floor was like ice on his bare feet, so he shuffled in an attempt to warm them. He ran water from the tap into a glass and gulped down the liquid.

Why would anyone want to beat me up? It was so vivid. Another vision?
He brought up a hand to rest his forehead against the palm, his fingers tangled in his fringe.

When he was younger, he’d gotten into occasional scraps. Most boys scuffled with other kids at some point during school, but Nick had never brawled with anyone as an adult. So why did he see himself being kicked repeatedly?

When he returned to bed, he struggled to relax.
So that’s what I get for praying: a vision of me getting beaten up? Or maybe even killed, if they continued …
He closed his eyes, decided never to pray again, and waited for sleep.

Chapter 6

Juliet woke on Wednesday. She inhaled deeply and thought,
No nonsense today,
then jumped out of bed and sped about her morning routine.

With scarcely any customers due to Halloween approaching and everyone celebrating in Amiton, Chanton Hillview was quiet. It allowed freedom for Juliet to move furniture around and visualise the intended new décor.

She’d considered a feature wall with striking wallpaper, and in her mind it had looked good, but when she stood and gazed about her café now, she just couldn’t picture it anymore.

The café already had its feature: an entire glass wall displaying the view of the hills. It was the whole selling point; it was
in
the name. But something had to change.
This décor was a mistake
, thought Juliet
, like the previous design had been too
.

An idea struck her. She would strip the place down. Make it as minimal as possible to let nothing unnecessarily distract from the view. The wall art, the ornaments, and even the patterned furniture all conflicted too much.

How had she not realised it before? It was like going to the cinema with a date, trying to appreciate the film but becoming distracted by how attractive your date was and how much you wanted to hold their hand: one of the views had to suffer and in turn lessen the overall experience. You’d end up leaving the cinema unable to even recall the plot of the film.

From now on she didn’t want anyone coming to Chanton Hillview and being anything less than mesmerized by the view. Simple but stylish furniture, modest colours, contemporary and unobtrusive wall art (if any), and minimum ornaments. Sometimes less was better.

In her office, she finalised the plans and called Roy in to speak with her. Roy, smartly groomed as always, appeared in the doorway. ‘Yes, Juliet?’

‘The café will be closed on Monday. It’s Halloween. Everyone will be in Amiton, so it’s not worth staying open.’

‘Okay.’

‘But I’d like you to come in anyway. I’ll give you money for materials, and if you can I’d like you to start decorating the café,’ she said with a sly smile.

Excitedly, he asked, ‘We are redecorating again?’

‘Yes. I’m bored of it, it’s tacky. I want to modernise it. Make it simple, sleek, and stylish. I want the view of the hills to truly be the focal point that it should be.’

‘I like that idea.’ He nodded.

‘I’ve picked the furniture I want; I just need you to purchase it. If anybody wants what we have now, take it. It will only go to the skip otherwise. All wall art is to go, everything is to go. Ashleigh and Sandra can take whatever they want, and they can come in to help you, too. In fact, we’ll close for the entire week and anything you feel uncomfortable doing, just call a handy man or whatever. I’m leaving you in charge, Roy. Here’s how I want it to look.’

She went over her ideas with him, showing sketches of a new layout. When she was satisfied he had the correct picture in his mind, she smiled, and enjoyed a sense of relief.

‘What is the budget?’ asked Roy.

‘Don’t worry about that. I’ll leave you with enough to buy the materials, any extras, and to pay labourers if you need them.’ Chanton Hillview was her hobby, her passion; she didn’t care about the money.

Roy smiled and rubbed his hands together, making Juliet laugh in amusement. He was a big man, round faced, and had a massive smile. Originally from Zimbabwe, his surname was Dube, but Juliet had a feeling his first name might not have been Roy. Maybe it was, but she didn’t know enough about Zimbabwean names to pass judgement.

His accent was strong but he spoke English fluently. He’d lived in London for ten years before moving to Chanton. He was an excellent cook and had learnt a lot from his wife. He’d told Juliet that in Zimbabwe most women learned how to cook from a young age (though maybe not all to Gordon Ramsay’s standards) and it was usual for the women to cook for the men. But when Roy moved to England with his wife, he asked her to teach him, and discovered he had a real passion for it.

While enrolled on a cookery course, he found a job as a chef in London. After ten years of it, though, he wanted a slower pace of work. Cooking non-stop had become tedious and he desired more interaction with customers. Chanton Hillview turned out to be the perfect balance.