Bedlam (26 page)

Chapter Forty-One

Did I really expect anything else?

Joe loves Kit. He has always loved Kit and I have always known it.

He could never be mine, for he belongs to her, and she will not give him up. Her sweetness is deceptive, her strength far greater than mine. I am, as I have always been, the afterthought, the also ran, the shadow. My mind debates gently, for I no longer have the will for combat and can no longer trust my own beleaguered judgment.
He loves me, he loves me not.
Propelled by hope and sunk by reality, my sweet dreams have soured, my heart is broken, and I have finally accepted the end.

I am betrayed.

Not by Jacob, the man who took the child and moulded a monster in his image. He stole my life but he promised me freedom, and I will have that soon. It gives me a small measure of satisfaction that I, not Jacob, am master of my own finale. The stage is set, the curtain all but closed, and Jacob has taken his final bow.

Not by Kit, who stole my reason for living, my one true love, though I confess I covet that sweetness and gentle beauty that has allowed her to enthral him, to blind him to the truth, to what was meant to be.

I am wrong, I know this, and I have always known this. I am an aberration, the blank page amongst vibrant colour, the single note in a rhapsody of sound, but so is Joe, and in his heart he knows this, too. We were meant to be. We are meant to be. He is mine but sadly I will never be his.

I am betrayed - by Joe.

The blade hangs heavy from my hand, swinging gently back and forth as I walk. Blood, hot and slick leaves a chilling trail on the snowy ground. I smile at the irony. Finally my monochrome life is stained with colour. I am Gretel on my final journey to the ginger bread house. There is no one to save me - no Hansel, no woodcutter, just the inevitable encounter. I have taken control of my own destiny and I do not fear the outcome. Freedom must be savoured. After all, I have sought it time and time again, only to have it pulled out of my grasp. I survive, regardless, and I continue. This time I shall not.

The snow is cold beneath my feet, between my toes. I feel its chill creep up my legs but I do not hurry. I am already numb, frozen from the inside out. Through the dormant winter orchard happy voices taunt me as I weave silently between the sleeping trees.

Nell and JoJo

Sitting in a tree

Along came Kit

And then there were three

My smile betrays my conflict. My hand tightens on the blade. The blood flows faster.

I know the secret paths that meander at will through knee-high scrub, through the secret copse of silver birch and hornbeam - all naked, skeletal, winter wood that reflect the moonlight and illuminate my way. Had it been the pitch black dead of night, I would still have found the path unerringly, for I have followed it every night in my dreams. I know every step, every stone on the ground, every depression in the soft earth. I have trodden it in springtime, when primroses perfume my way, in summer, guided by the flit of butterflies, and in autumn, with the crunch of fallen leaves beneath my feet. But this is the first time my path has been carpeted in snow and I decide it is fitting.

And now I am here at the end, at the edge of the final abyss. This time I do not choose the dizzying height to launch myself into Bedlam’s open maw, I do not balance precariously at the edge of nowhere. Instead, I seek the silent oblivion of cold black water. It has waited, as I have, and now we are ready to be re-acquainted. Wet reeds guard the outer bailey of this enchanted castle of my dreams, clinging to my bare legs as they try to slow my progress. I cross with light foot and heavy heart. Frozen grasses sway and rustle with alarm, their noise soft in my ears, loud in my head. Roosting birds take to the air and the forgotten, slumbering weed-choked lake is suddenly alive with apprehension and warning. I calm the rushes with a gentle hand and step through a thin film of ice into the water.

I am back to the beginning.

Chapter Forty-Two

“Joey! Joey! Come on, lad, open your eyes.”

Dennis’ urgent demand and rough hand at his shoulder dragged McNeil back, and he came awake with a jolt, adrenalin pumping, ready to strike. But with no discernible target, he pulled back his fist, and remembered.

He’d been offered a choice.

Nell had made it for him.

The distress of the boy he once was swelled inside until his whole body was wracked with regret and shook with remorse.

“What the bloody hell has happened here?” continued Dennis. McNeil accepted his help and struggled to his feet, swaying, leaning heavily. His head spun as he narrowed his eyes and scanned the scene.

The room was full, but this time there were no spectres, no images created from dark imaginings. This time the horror was very real. Police and paramedics jostled for space. Jacob lay slumped on the floor, the whine of a charging defibrillator alerting McNeil to the fact that his nemesis might yet survive despite Nell’s intervention. His head was flung back and a paramedic fought to insert a tube for ventilation, while another clamped a gloved hand firmly at his gaping throat. Blood soaked his chest and pooled around him.

“Kit …” He scanned the room desperately, relief stripping him of his last layers when he spotted her through the mêlée, held safely in George’s desperate embrace. The man caught his eye. The slight nod, the cheeks wet with tears, said it all, but he voiced it anyway.

“Thank you,” he mouthed, and McNeil dropped his gaze. He didn’t deserve thanks. Jacob was right:
this was all his fault
.

His eyes grew heavy, nausea crept over him, pain bullied and chided. He should be elated. He had succeeded. He had found Kit, the love of his life. But his elation was defused by the echo of a whispered kiss, a hand on his chest and a tear on his cheek.

“Where’s Nell?” he murmured.

“Buggered if I know,” replied Dennis. “I told you she was crazy. I’ve got men out searching. She’ll not get far.”

“No, you don’t understand. Have you not checked your messages?”

“
Messages?
You think I’ve had time to check ruddy messages? If it wasn’t for an old man and his dog, we’d never have found you at all. Don’t worry, we’ll catch her, and this time she’ll be under lock and key for good.”

McNeil’s gut
tightened, and deep inside, down amongst the black things, the boy howled his despair.

No …
noooo.

Find her.

Save her.

Hurry.

McNeil stepped past Dennis and pushed his way through the crowd of emergency personnel. He reached for Kit’s hand and took a slow breath before speaking. The feel of her hand, her fingers threaded between his, was almost his undoing.

“I love you, Kit. I always have, and you know I always will, but I’m not good enough for you. I never was. I doubt I ever will be. So, for now, you need to stay with your father." He focused on George. “Look after her, George.”

He turned away and George stopped him with a hand on his arm. “I was wrong about you, Joseph. So wrong,” his voice quivered with emotion. “You believed when everyone else did not. Don’t leave. Keep the faith. What could be so important that you’d give up now?”

“Yes, where the hell do think you’re going?” interrupted Dennis.

“I have to find Nell.”

“Nell?” George and Dennis responded in unison, but it was to George he directed his reply.

“She’s alive, George, little Elizabeth, the child you thought lost. She’s out there somewhere, alone. I have to find her. She saved me. I have to save her.”

George’s knees gave way, and the big man would have toppled were it not for Dennis and Kit. “You found her?” he
gasped. “You found our baby? It’s been twenty-five years. I let go of her hand …”

“And I took it,” McNeil replied sadly. “George, if it weren’t for me, you’d never have lost either of them.”

Dennis swung his gaze from one to the other in confusion. “What on earth are you talking about?”

McNeil shrugged. “I don’t have time, Dennis. Listen to your messages.” He reached out a hand and gently cupped Kit’s cheek. She leaned into him with a soft smile and pressed a kiss in his palm.

“Go and find her, JoJo. I’ll wait for you, just like you waited for me, no matter how long it takes.” Her gentle whisper soothed his sorrow.

This would not end well. He knew that deep inside.

“Joey, you’re not going anywhere,” Dennis muscled in, sweeping aside the emotionally-charged atmosphere.

“I have to, Dennis. She’s in danger.”

“In danger from whom? She’s a knife wielding maniac!”

McNeil pushed past.
“From herself. I need to save her from herself.”

“Joey, just look at the state you’re in.”

McNeil dropped his gaze. His shirt was soaked in blood. “It’s nothing,” he muttered, suddenly aware of the pain from a wound wrenched apart. It was nowhere near as bad as the pain in his heart. “Look after Kit.”

The boy was with him as he took the wide stairs two at a time. He gripped his hand tightly as they ran the length of the darkened corridor and stumbled together down the rickety basement stairs …

Step eight, don’t be late

Step seven, hell or heaven

Step four, evermore

Step one, almost gone

…
and out into the cold night.
This way
, whispered the boy, and they ran together, McNeil’s feet seeking out her prints in the snow, the boy following so closely that gradually they became one.

Hurry.

Find her.

Save her.

He pushed desperately through the overgrown orchard and squeezed through the gap in the fence that led to the wasteland beyond. His ribs hurt. He heaved in frantic gulps of frigid air. His blood began to flow, dripping, mingling with the drops in the snow that guided his way.

Wet reeds skittered beneath his feet, sharp icy fronds caught at his limbs as he battled his way through them.

I hear you.

Cold black water beckoned. She was there in the moonlight, waiting for him, drifting like a nymph in the weeds, violet eyes, inviting smile.

He stepped into the water and stretched out his hand.

He felt her hand on his chest, her breath on his skin, her tears on his cheek, and his heart jolted one last time. She drifted away, hair swirling, weeds entangling, pulling her down beneath the surface.

Nooooo!
He and the boy howled in unison and, together, they followed her into the depths of the lake.

Cold black water closed over their heads. Soft black silt cushioned their feet. Velvet silence wrapped all around.

I hear you.

He grasped her hand and pulled her close, arms wrapped tight in a final, sad embrace. His eyes closed. Her eyes closed.

And the boy inside finally fell silent.

Then, splashing and shouting, and the winter lake drew back with a gasp. They were not forgotten, not forlorn. They were not damned. The weeds released their tangle and the water its icy hold.

Together they floated to the surface, guided to the shore by unseen currents. Strong hands hauled desperately at his collar, dragging him back. His hand clasped hers tightly, fingers entwined as she, too, was pulled from the inky blackness.

His breath within her.

Her breath within him.

Once dead and now alive.

Again.

Chapter Forty-Three

The sun shines on the righteous. McNeil wasn’t sure about that but the sun had certainly blessed the small community of Eden with its presence. It glinted on Kit’s golden hair as she strolled ahead of him and McNeil watched and counted his good fortune. He caught her hand and fell into step beside her as she wandered between the stalls. The picnic was a success. Audrey and George had both their daughters back. All was right with the world.

A child ran past squealing with laughter and McNeil tightened his hold on Kit’s hand. He watched, transfixed, as a string slipped between the child’s chubby fingers and a red balloon bobbed free. Caught by the playful breeze, it skipped ahead, teasing, past the merry-go-round where smiling children rode shiny motorcycles and airplanes, dancing above the carousel, where painted horses pranced, floating free as a bird above the church yard and onward toward the rectory.

McNeil followed its progress with a fascinated gaze until the trailing string snagged on a climbing rose and the balloon bounced gently at the attic window.

Nell stood by the glass, looking out. Violet eyes met grey and held them fast. A soft smile brushed her pale lips.

He felt her hand on his heart, her breath within him and her soft tears on his cheek.

I hear you.

I love you.

Always.

For Peter