Time's Legacy (48 page)

He found it easily and left his car in front of the house. There was no-one else there as far as he could see. The back garden was warm, ablaze with autumnal colour in the sunshine. He strode towards the far end of the lawn, looking about him with interest. So far he had felt nothing untoward.

Heading up the deliverance team which served part of David’s diocese, he had a wealth of experience in dealing with the paranormal. Before his ordination twelve years before he had been a practising psychologist for ten years, then he had quit to study parapsychology at Edinburgh. He had been psychic his whole life. Most of the stuff he had to deal with was low key; unhappy souls, restless spirits, egos trapped by the power of their refusal to let go. He had visited houses and public buildings, pubs, the scenes of fatal car crashes where the deceased hung around in confusion and misery, not sure what to do, even on one occasion a supermarket plagued by a poltergeist, but never yet a Roman ruin, nor yet an active church.

He found the ruined arch easily and sat down quietly on the wooden bench to pray.

Abi had climbed the Tor once more, inexorably drawn to it and its strange powerful energies. This time she had sat alone, staring out across the levels, her back to the other people up there, trying to imagine herself into the distant past. It hadn’t worked. The day was still and bright. The sound of voices carried round her, dragging her back to the present. On the flanks of the Tor the grazing cows were restless. She could hear them mooing disconsolately. On a road in the distance she saw the glitter of car windscreens. In the end she climbed to her feet and began to descend.

The first thing she saw when she reached the drive was the bright red car. She stared at it dubiously as she let herself into the house. There was no sign of Mat or Cal or the dogs. She was just going out into the garden when the phone rang.

‘Abi?’ It was Ben. ‘Have you met Greg yet?’

The church was empty. She went back outside and looked round the churchyard once more, walking slowly between the ancient graves, listening to the gentle sad song of the robin perched on a lichen-covered elder bush. The air was unnaturally still. And then she heard it. Far in the distance the sound of monks singing. She stopped in her tracks, listening hard. The sound was very faint. She looked back at the church, but the sound was not coming from there. It seemed to be shifting, now coming from the orchard below, now from the flat green fields of the levels with their straight watery rhynes. Slowly she made her way back towards the lych-gate, following the sound. She could feel the skin prickling slightly on her arms.

‘Greg?’ she called softly as she came back towards the orchard. The apple trees rustled in the breeze, the sound drowning out the voices of the monks, then it returned. She could hear the words:
Kyrie eleison.
‘Greg?’

The sound was louder now. She turned away from the house, towards the far side of the orchard, and finding a rotten gate dragged it open and made her way out onto the track. It led towards an old stone barn which stood starkly on the skyline some half a mile away. Surely the sound couldn’t be coming from there? Walking slowly, drawn irresistibly towards it, she followed the old cart ruts which led out onto the levels. She glanced up. A kestrel was hovering nearby, balancing its wings against some imperceptible thermal as it scanned the ground beneath. She could almost feel the fear of whatever tiny rodent was hiding there in the grass.

The sound was coming from the barn. Curious rather than afraid now, she pushed tentatively at the huge double doors. They didn’t move. Slowly she walked round the building and found another door. This one was unlocked. Pushing it open she peered inside. The sound was clear now, the gentle cadences rising into the high rafters. She looked up. Sunbeams filtered through spaces between the tiles, illuminating dust motes which danced between them.

‘Hello?’ she called. ‘Is anyone there?’

She took a step inside. Behind her the door swung slowly closed, cutting off the sunlight.

For a moment she stood where she was in the semi-darkness, looking round, then she heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. With a shock of fear she flung herself at the door. It wouldn’t budge.

‘Abi!’ The voice outside brought her up short. It was Kier. ‘I don’t want you to be afraid. You are not going to come to any harm. I have left food and water and blankets there for you. I knew sooner or later you would hear the music and follow it.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘It was sooner than I expected, I must admit. I want you to stay there for a few days. You will be quite safe.’

‘Kier!’ She rattled the door. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Let me out!’

‘Not now, Abi. There are things I must do. This is for your own good. Don’t be frightened. I have left a Bible for you. Pray. Pray as though your life depended on it, do you hear me?’

‘Kier!’ She was shouting now. ‘Kier, open this door now! What are you thinking of? Kier!’

There was no answer.

Phone. She groped in her pocket for her mobile. No signal. With an exclamation of disgust she held it up in the air and waved it round slowly. Nothing. Oh God! she let out a groan of frustration. Now what was she going to do? How dare he do this to her!

She turned round furiously and surveyed her prison. There must be a way of getting out. The huge old double doors at the end of the barn appeared to have been nailed shut years before. She fingered the wooden bars across them, looking at the rusty nails in despair, then she walked on round the stone walls. To one side were a couple of doors. They led into what looked like small stalls or sties built against the wall. In one was a bucket and a roll of loo paper. She let out a groan. He had thought of everything.

She discovered her bed in the far corner of the main barn. A pillow, three blankets and a sleeping bag. On the sleeping bag, as he had promised, lay a copy of the Bible. There were two plastic water carriers, a box of food and there, playing softly, was the portable radio CD player. The CD had been bought at the abbey shop in Glastonbury. There was no torch, no lantern and no candles. Clearly he did not mean her to sit up reading once it got dark. Trying to curb her anger, she toured the barn again, searching every corner for a way out. There appeared to be none. The only external doors were the large ones and the smaller one she had entered by. How could she have been so stupid as to fall into his trap! She cursed softly and stared round yet again. Why had he done this? What was he going to do with her? She tried the phone again. Still no signal. Furiously she shouted again. She only stopped when she grew hoarse.

They would come and look for her the moment they discovered she was missing. The dogs would find her. All she had to do was wait. With another groan she flung herself down onto the sleeping bag and reached for a blanket. She was only wearing a light jacket over her T-shirt. As soon as the sun went down it was going to get very cold.

Pushing open the church door, Greg looked inside. The sun was going down now. He stepped in and looked round. The place was quiet. There was no sense of disturbance. He frowned. Earlier he thought he had heard the faint strains of plainsong drifting through the orchard. He had stood listening. For a moment it had spooked him, he had to admit that, but you could tell very easily when something was genuinely not from this world. This had been a recording. A good one. Beautiful. Perhaps Abi had taken a CD player out with her. He walked slowly towards the altar feeling carefully into the shadows. No, Ben had done a good job in cleansing the place of any unpleasantness. There was nothing to fear in here. He turned back to the door and stepped outside, closing it carefully behind him. The churchyard was growing shadowy now. The sun was slipping into the west. Somewhere he could hear a bird singing. He listened until it stopped and then slowly he turned back towards the gate. He must have missed her. He would go back to the house, choosing a different route and meet her there.

He was halfway across the orchard when he felt it. Suddenly the air was hot with pain. The shadows were screaming. Someone had died here. He groped in his pocket for the little cross he carried with him all the time, reeling back from the suddenness of it. He had been open, searching, listening. He had not protected himself and now he was suffocating under the overwhelming pall of fear and anger. He was seeing red. He could feel the blood, sticky and hot and thick, running over his hands and across his face. He couldn’t breathe. He reeled aside, and cannoned into the trunk of a tree. Clutching at the rough bark with desperate fingers he felt the rasp of lichen, he could smell the sharpness of sap mixed with the blood. He gasped, trying to find the right words. ‘In the name of Jesus!’ It was all round him. He could hear nothing but the thunder of blood in his ears. ‘In the name of Jesus Christ!’

And as suddenly as it had started it was over. The orchard was silent. He stood clutching the tree, his forehead against the trunk, his face pouring with sweat. He had lost his specs. For a long moment he didn’t move, then slowly he released the tree. His fingernails were broken and split; he had torn the knee of his jeans and he was shaking uncontrollably. He stared round, not daring to move his feet in case he stepped on his glasses, one hand now holding a branch as though his life depended on it. ‘Christ be with me, Christ within me, Christ behind me.’ He looked down at the grass and spotted the spectacles lying a few feet away from him. He reached for them frantically. They weren’t broken and he stuck them back on with relief. The orchard was growing dark. Somewhere an owl hooted. He took a deep breath, still clutching the cross. ‘Christ before me. Christ beside me. Christ beneath me, Christ above me.’ Somehow he had to get back to the house but before he left the orchard he had to pray for the soul in torment here. Someone had died in this place, violently. Someone had been murdered and their spirit was not at rest. Closing his eyes he clasped his hands together around the little cross. ‘Our Father, which art in heaven…’

‘Abi’s car is back so she must be here somewhere.’ Cal and Mat had searched the gardens with the dogs as soon as Greg had returned. It had still been light enough to see then, but even so Mat had taken a large torch with him. At the gate to the orchard they had hesitated, glancing at Greg, then all three had walked in under the trees, calling her. There was no sign.

Ben arrived as they filed back into the house. He glanced at Greg with a grimace. ‘I’m sorry. I had no idea things were this bad.’

‘I suspect I stirred it up.’ Greg threw himself down on one of the chairs by the fire, shaking his head. ‘Idiot! Rushing in without proper preparation. I should know better after all these years. The church was so peaceful. I let down my guard.’ He broke off as the phone rang.

Cal picked it up, listened for a second and passed it over to Ben. ‘It’s Janet.’

Ben took the phone and listened, his face growing grave as his wife spoke. ‘I’m on my way,’ he said at last and slammed the phone down on the table. ‘Kieran Scott is there. He is claiming he has kidnapped Abi. Dear God!’ Ben looked at Greg. ‘Can I ask you to come with me? He’s a bit intimidating, this guy. Mat, can you two wait by the phone?’

‘So what has he done with her?’ Cal whispered.

Ben shrugged. ‘We’ll see if we can make him tell us. He wants me to speak to the bishop for him, apparently.’

‘Sounds as though he’s lost it,’ Greg said succinctly. He hesitated. ‘Can I suggest that you both stay away from the orchard for the time being?’ he said hesitantly to Mat and Cal. ‘I’m aware that this is very much your patch, but I think I may have awoken some problematic influences. My fault and I should deal with them.’

Mat nodded. ‘I for one am certainly not going to go looking for trouble.’ He sighed. ‘Phone us as soon as you know anything, Ben.’

When he had closed the front door behind them he came back to the kitchen to find Cal standing in front of the fire. ‘Has it occurred to you it might not have been Greg who stirred things up? It might have been Kier. Or even Abi,’ she said.

Mat nodded. ‘What are we going to do?’

‘We are going to take the dogs out again to look for her.’

He gave a wan smile. ‘They are getting used to hunting for missing people!’

‘We don’t have to go near the orchard,’ she added doubtfully. ‘What could he have done with her?’ She shivered.

‘She could be anywhere, Cal, if he persuaded her to get into his car with him.’

She shook her head. ‘She wouldn’t have.’

‘Perhaps he drugged her or something.’

‘Surely not.’ She looked down at the floor. ‘Is he deranged, Mat?’

Mat shrugged. ‘Ring Justin, Cal.’

She raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you sure?’

He nodded. ‘We need his help. That chap Greg didn’t inspire me with confidence, to be honest. If he is the expert on the paranormal that Ben said, why is he making elementary mistakes? And Just might be able to locate Abi somehow.’

She glanced at him quizzically. ‘With his super magic powers?’

‘Something like that, yes.’ Mat didn’t smile.

Cal went to the phone. She did not have to look up the number, Mat noted. When she put the phone down she looked at him uncertainly as though she had read his mind. ‘He’s on his way,’ she said.

Mat nodded. ‘I’ll take the dogs out again.’

‘No. Wait. I’ll go with you.’

‘I’m not going near the orchard.’ Mat smiled at her. ‘That’s my brother’s job! No, I’ll just wander round a bit with the torch and see if these two little blighters can get a sense of where she went. ‘Abi, dogs! We really need you to find her.’

Pym and Thiz sat up. Neither seemed very enthusiastic. Cal frowned. ‘That’s not like them.’

Mat shrugged. He walked over to the door and reached for his jacket. At that the dogs leaped up, tails wagging. ‘Don’t leave this room, Cal. There has to be someone near the phone at all times.’

She nodded. ‘Have you got your mobile?’

He checked his pockets, held it up then headed for the door. Then he stopped. ‘Isn’t that Abi’s bag?’ He had spotted it on the counter half-hidden behind a pile of books.

Cal went over to it and after a second’s hesitation, picked it up. ‘She wouldn’t have gone anywhere without her bag,’ she said quietly. ‘Not voluntarily.’