Paralysis Paradox (Time Travel Through Past Lives Adventure Series Book 1) (14 page)

‘And if I tell you how I got drunk and why I’m here?’

‘Then I will punish only you.’

‘OK, I got drunk with some other girls and we were swapping ghost stories—’

‘Who? I want their names.’

‘I don’t know most of their names. Come on, Miss, you know that I can’t tell you that,’ I said, hoping to appeal to some trace of humanity. Surely, she couldn’t be all evil? I thought of the incident in the church, in my Charlie life, when I’d wanted to confess about Swanshurst Farm to the policeman. I yearned to be honest. It seemed simpler and I was willing to do that, but giving out names was simply, well, nasty!

‘One. One name, but I will be true to my word. Even though you will share her name, only you will be punished.’

I was being set up. Miss Harper hadn’t said what the punishment would be, and I imagined anything from having to go on cross-country runs every day (she was the games mistress), to perverse sex games (she
was
the games mistress...).

‘Lucy,’ I blurted. ‘Lucy Thwaite,’

‘That wasn’t so hard. Good. Now get on with it, girl.’

My hiccups had gone and my head was starting to throb. I wanted Andreas to arrive in his over-sized helicopter and blow Miss Harper’s doors down. Oh dear, that sounds like innuendo, but the fantasy wasn’t about sex—it was about violence. She had trapped me, but I had chosen this new route. This experiment with truth. Now the gates were open, I was curious where telling the truth would take me.

‘She told us some dumb story about a girl killing herself in the linen cupboard.’

‘Oh dear.’

‘You’ve heard it before?’

‘Oh yes, unfortunately it’s not just a story. Come, I’ll show you.’

I followed her, stepping carefully over my vodka vomit and across the paved courtyard and into the dormitory block. The linen cupboard was below our dorms, and she unlocked it and showed me the brightly lit room. I was surprised by how tall the ceiling was, with a large boiler attached to one wall, extending all the way up. It was all very white. Shelves either side, stacked taller than me with neatly folded linen, perfectly starched and pristine clean. As I looked around me, Miss Harper rested her hand on my shoulder. She probably felt me shudder.

‘You see there,’ she said, pointing down, ‘that brown spot? That is where Miss Brown died. Hardly a whole cupboard soaked in blood, as I’ve heard the story told, but apparently it simply won’t wash out. I guess everyone leaves a mark on the world and that is poor Miss Brown’s. The silly slut!’

I was momentarily relieved that the pressure of her hand on my shoulder eased, but then realised she must have darted for the door.

‘Enjoy the night, sweet dreams.’

The door closed and a second later the brilliant, bright white linen cupboard turned to utter blackness. This was my punishment. I hoped.

I didn’t scream, nor did I cry. It was surprising to me that the story was true, but that didn’t matter as I don’t believe in ghosts. I had wanted to be here and in the process of opening myself up to Miss Harper, I had experimented with being truthful and found it wanting. She
was
all evil though, that much was true. I felt around the shelves and took the softest sheets and towels to make my bed in the centre of the room. I took a few others and put them in a corner. They would be to pee on.

A sudden slithering sound made me jump. I felt my way to the door and sure enough, after a little groping I discovered a book had been put under the door. Much good a book would do me here. I felt the pages. There was something inside, a small square acting as a bookmark. As I felt around it, carefully sensing what it was, I also got a whiff of its sulphur. A book of matches.

Lighting one, I could see that the book was
The Castle
by Franz Kafka and the book of matches had something scribbled on the back.

Candles behind boiler.

Well, what else could that mean?

I spent most of the night reading
The Castle
by candlelight, before eventually falling asleep. Curiously it was, again, written in Spanish—
what’s all that about?
I wasn’t disturbed by any steaming blood, or slutty ghosts. The only frightening thing here was the story about a village that shrouded its people in ignorance, locking all their secrets in the castle. I suspected this was just one of the thousands of banned books.

The Stranger, 1911

I had been off work for two days following my injury, but had been in the last two days, organising filing. My father had given me two days’ wages and then moaned when I said on Friday night that I was off down to the pub. Ma was still defending me as I slipped out through the back door. So I sat in the corner with my mates, positioned so I could watch the door. If their row got really bad, my father would be coming in to have a few ales himself and might want to try and give me a hiding. Pa was harsh, but not violent. If the hiding came, it would be verbal, not physical. Still, I’d rather see it coming.

I was rubbing my back carefully so as not to mess up the bandages, when Walter came back from the bar with his round.

‘I know you wouldn’t tell the old doc, but how did you actually do that, Charlie? Did something happen at the...you know?’ He couldn’t dare say the farm. None of us could. Bobbies and Tommies had invaded King’s Heath, and there were even a few in the pub this evening.

‘If I did, I don’t remember it.’ I gulped down some ale.

‘Where’s George tonight?’ asked Arthur.

‘And Evan, I thought you would invite him?’ I asked, knowing that Arthur wouldn’t.

‘Not seen him for days. Think he’s scared,’ said Mac.

‘Yeah, sounds like Evan.’

‘Last time I saw George, he was talking to that copper in the church.’

Walter and Arthur frowned. ‘You think they found his knife, was he asking about that?’ asked Walter.

‘No, he was likely asking why Arthur had just punched me. In a church too!’

There was an uncomfortable silence—I already knew that Arthur had told Walter I was out of line and was going to snitch to the policeman, but it was more complicated than that. What happened at the farm was so confusing and so terrible, that I firstly wanted to understand what had happened and why. And secondly, I think I sought to confess. To confess would be to unburden myself of the guilt of what we did.

‘Not everything we do is about you, Charlie,’ challenged Arthur.

Walter was soon patting him on the back, calming him down as Mac went and bought another round. We had been in there long enough to be quite drunk, certainly long enough for me to have bought two more rounds. My inebriated antics had got me in trouble in my Vicky life. So much so, that there I was currently sleeping in a linen cupboard. I’d resolved to leave after I’d finished my pint, but then Evan and the stranger we met at the farm arrived. They’d been down the road at The Duke and acted like they’d had a few bevvies themselves. Well, it
was
Friday night. Mac insisted that they join us, and we all squashed up round the tiny table, as if we were all some cosy family.

‘This is Frederick,’ Evan introduced him, ‘and you’ll all be glad to know that he has a proper home again.’

Mac laughed. ‘Ha—shall we all pop round later and set your new place alight?’

So this was Frederick. He looked a few years older than us, fair haired and tall. I could see why Catherine might find him attractive, but I was shocked to find out that this stranger who we had found sleeping rough at the farm, could be the same suitor that the doctor was telling me about on the night he died. Or maybe he wasn’t. There must be plenty of Fredericks around.

‘Do you know Catherine?’

‘Of course, our families have been friends for many years,’ started Frederick. I noticed a Germanic accent, something that had passed me by at the farmhouse. ‘In fact, it is because of her that I was at the farm that night...’

Walter leaned in conspiratorially. ‘Best to whisper it, mate, this place is still crawling with coppers and soldiers.’

‘Yes, Catherine’s father mentioned you,’ I said.

‘Ya, ya, she is very beautiful, no?’ He smiled, raising his glass. ‘And big— ’

‘Blue eyes!’ Mac finished his sentence for him.

We all bashed our glasses together.

‘She’s a bit plain for my tastes, headstrong too—better you than me, mate,’ said Arthur, after which followed another uncomfortable silence. Was this a pointed comment, designed to assure me that at least he, had no designs on her? We all knew how rude Arthur could be, there was little point in taking offence. Frederick glugged down his pint and smacked it firmly on the table.

‘So what did her father say about me then?’

‘You tell me first how you got to be at the...at the you know where.’

‘Ah, I had been lodging in a room on Alcester Road, with Catherine’s uncle, only he came in and caught us together. He lost his temper, escorted her home, and threw me out.’ He chuckled. ‘Until you boys arrived I was very cold.’

‘So caught as in, you were kissing?’ enquired Mac.

‘Kissing, ya, and naked and “making love”, I think you call it?’ He gestured with his hands, as if he was squeezing. ‘Great boobies!’

I could not believe what I was hearing. Why would her father ever want her to marry such an oaf? If Frederick had been out with any of the other lads, apart from Evan, I could imagine that they might put him up to this. They had teased me before about her, always making snide remarks. But he’d been out with Evan and as far as I could tell, this was as much news to them as it was to me. The fact that it could be true was upsetting, but showing off about it was like a red rag to a bull.

I downed the rest of my pint and placed the empty glass carefully back on the table. I knew that any moment now, I was about to lose it. I wished, yet again, that I knew how to fight. I needed to correct this and soon. Perhaps Adwoliu could teach me a few moves. Unarmed fighting should be the same, whatever the era.

Frederick was across the other side of our tiny table and I needed to get to him, so I forced my palms under the rim of our small table and yanked it over to the side. Beer flew into the air and glasses smashed as the lads jumped up and away, crying out. I cried out too as the weight of the table twisted my lower back, sending a sharp pain through my spine. Despite this I leapt on to him, pushing him backwards off his stool. I laid two punches on his jaw, before he got his hands round my throat. Struggling for breath, I pulled at his arms, but they were locked on me like a vice. Mac yanked one arm, Walter the other, and they heaved me back as Arthur got his foot on Frederick’s chest, keeping him pinned down as my friends pulled me away.

I heard shouts from the bar. The landlord stood with some black piping in his hand and even a couple of the soldiers were rolling their sleeves up, readying to get into the fray, just for the fun of it.

Stoic Arthur held his hands up, palms facing outward. ‘Stay calm, we’re all leaving,’ he shouted, then reached down and helped Frederick up.

I think I tried to pull myself free, but it was hard to focus after so much beer and the red mist that had set in. Ultimately I was forcibly dragged out. Frederick was ‘helped’ in much the same way, by Arthur. I knew we wouldn’t be welcome in that pub for a while and cursed myself, as my father would surely come to hear of it. Evan disappeared with Frederick into the night and I walked for a bit with Mac, Arthur, and Walter.

‘It could have been him you know,’ I said.

‘What d’you mean?’ asked Arthur.

‘Well, he could have killed the doctor. Maybe he confronted him after hearing what happened with Catherine.’ I stroked my neck, still sore from Frederick’s grip.

‘From what I heard the doc seemed pretty keen on that Frederick chap,’ Walter replied. ‘It was Mac and Evan he was moanin’ ’bout to you.’

‘Well yes, and I think he was warning me off too!’

‘Undoubtedly.’ Walter belched loudly.

Mac stayed quiet, despite what he had heard. I supposed he was quite used to fathers moaning about him when it came to their daughters.

‘If that Freddy is ruthless enough to kill a man over something like this, wouldn’t he do away with the uncle?’ Arthur reasoned.

‘Good point,’ said Walter.

Mac broke his silence. ‘Only if it was premeditated. He could have a mean temper on him for all we know.’

‘If that’s the case, you better watch out, Charlie—you might be next mate!’ Arthur laughed.

I stopped by the roadside to throw up. First last night as Vicky and now this, my very next night as Charlie. With all my years, I should be more sensible than this. The stars looked like they were spinning and I felt myself stumble. I think my pals walked off shouting something, but I just dozed, kneeling, with my head in my hands.

Sometime later the pungent odour of aniseed and rotten eggs brought me round. The smell reminded me of the unseen soldier who had stabbed me in the back in my Richard life and it was unnerving enough to rouse me. I looked all around, but the street seemed empty. All the same I headed on towards home, rubbing my sore back and longing for the warmth of my bed.