A Cry From Beyond (20 page)

“How is
the writing going anyway,” she asked presently.

I saw the
question as a chance to turn the conversation around to us and
said, “I’d make better progress if we were an item Michelle. Can’t
we at least talk?”

“Let’s
keep this on a business footing,” she said bluntly. I played ball
and told her about the songs I’d recently come up with, of which
there were just two. It’d been difficult with all the
distractions.

“Apply
yourself; John,” she advised when I finished making excuses for the
lack of progress. “You’re one of the most talented musicians in the
business. If only you didn’t let yourself down, you could be up
there with the best of them.”

I sensed
she was softening. “Thanks Michelle,” I said, “You saying that
means a lot.”

Just then
Des entered the room, unannounced.

“You
staying up here all night big boy?” he asked loudly. Behind him on
the landing Pixie and Dixie giggled like excitable school girls.
Clamping a hand firmly over the phone’s mouth piece I shooed him
away, whilst hoping Michelle hadn’t heard the two
bimbos.

“Who have
you got with you?” she asked suspiciously.

“Des,” I
said, (and a couple of hookers, I could have easily
added).

“What’s
he doing there?” She sounded contemptuous.

“I bumped
into him when I was in London for the sale of my flat.”

“You
don’t just bump into people like Des,” she said. “You have first to
lift the stone.”

“We met
up for a drink if you must know.”

“And now
he’s staying with you?”

“Just for
the weekend,” I said: “Why the keen interest?”

“It’s
purely professional,” she insisted. “People like Des take advantage
of people like you. This agency has a vested interest in you John.
If you mess up we stand to lose a lot of money and that is
avoidable, so long as you resist people like Des. Get
it?”

“I
understand,” I said feeling like Michelle’s subordinate. I had
never appreciated how assertive and focused she could be; traits I
found extremely attractive. Had I really been so out of it for so
long?

“Gotta
go,” she said.”Look after yourself John. Oh, I nearly forgot; a
reporter called Norris has been plaguing us with calls and e-mails.
He’s after an exclusive, says you’ve agreed in principle, but that
you told him to clear it with us.”

“That’s a
lie,” I said. “He broke and entered and then harassed me for an
interview. When I kicked him out, he wrote that nasty little piece
in the local rag.”

“You may
want to talk to him regardless,” Michelle said surprising
me.

“He’s
been digging around and told me to tell you he’s learned a couple
of things that may interest you.”

“I
somehow doubt it,” I said stubbornly.

“He
sounds like a sly little so and so,” Michelle said
confidentially.

“Stones
don’t just hide wayward musicians,” I said trying to
connect.

“Just
make sure you don’t end up there with them,” she
countered.

“Sounds
like you care.”

“I care
about my job, John. Oh, and by the way…”

“Yes
Michelle?”

“Make
sure you don’t end up paying for the groupies Des brought along
with him.”

“There
are no groupies,” I said, calling her bluff.

“I dare
say I’ll be speaking to you again John; Mike won’t allow me not
to.”

The line
went dead. I put the phone down feeling elated that we had spoken,
yet bitterly disappointed by the outcome of the conversation.
Thoughts of Michelle, who was presently out of my reach, were
replaced by those of Pixie and Dixie, who were fully available.
They were both very attractive, were aware of their sexuality, and
as Des so rightly said, were ready and willing, and they were in my
house! I was sorely tempted. Then I thought about Michelle again.
I’d been a fool and was in danger of paying the price, but as the
saying goes, all was not lost.

Hope
springs eternal I thought. I’d misbehaved in the past and Michelle
had forgiven me, so why not again, especially when there was
nothing for her to forgive regarding the woman, Melinda, as nothing
had happened. Nor could it have, for I was of the firm opinion that
she was as incorporeal as fresh air. I was of the growing belief
that she haunted High Bank and that I was inexplicably linked to
both her and to her young daughter. The cottage and I had something
in common it seemed.

We were
both haunted.

There was
a light rap at the door. I turned to see Pixie...or was it Dixie...
standing there. “Can I come in, hon,” she asked, smiling sweetly.
“Only Des is busy with Roxy and I’m lonely. How about we have a
little drink together?”

I made my
excuses: editing work to do. She looked hurt, but that didn’t stop
her sauntering over and perching herself on the arm of the chair I
occupied. As she did so the long silken gown she now wore parted,
revealing a smooth shapely thigh. She made no attempt to cover her
modesty, preferring instead to run her fingertips along the nape of
my neck.

“Why did
Des call you “big boy”,” she asked, leaning in.

“I have
no idea,” I said, clearing my throat.

The
fingers moved from my neck, across to my shoulder and then down my
arm.

“You know
what they say about all work and no play,” she whispered into my
ear. I could smell wine and peppermint on her breath; a combination
I found strangely alluring.

“Well,”
she said when I failed to answer. The fingers returned to my neck
and lightly massaged.

“Is that
nice?”

I cleared
my throat again. “If I’m to be honest, I find it a little bit
distracting,” I said, pretending to tune a guitar. My experienced
fingers suddenly fumbled for the right strings, causing them to
twang tunelessly against the fret board. I swore under my
breath.

She gave
a little giggle. The expert fingers kept working my neck, gently
pulling and pushing. The feeling was pleasant, more than that, it
was exciting. I felt my resolve begin to weaken.

Get a
grip, I told myself. For God’s sake get a grip! I simply could not
afford to give into temptation. To do so would ultimately ruin any
chance I might have of reconciliation with Michelle, who would
discover my indiscretion because that’s how things worked. I
concentrated on the guitar and just about managed to control my
emotions.

“Des
reckons we’re going to hold a séance later on,” she said softly.
“Are you going to join in?”

“Maybe,”
I replied, although the idea was growing less appealing by the
minute.

“Can’t
wait,” she said excitedly. And then: “What exactly is a
séance?”

I glanced
at her in mild amazement.

“It’s
when the living attempt to contact the departed,” I said wondering
if I was the butt of a joke.

“Scary,”
she responded with a sexy little shudder. “Will you protect me if
things get out of hand John?”

“Of
course,” I said with an air of nonchalance I didn’t feel. I put
down the guitar. Concentration was impossible. My determination to
remain celibate over the weekend was now faltering to the point
where Pixie, (I’d decided Roxy was Dixie), would almost certainly
be victorious.

Her
fingers left the nape of my neck and found the curve of my jaw. I
felt the weight of her breast against my shoulder. Her lips found
the top of my head.

And
then...

My mobile
phone rang out, mercifully breaking the spell.

It was
Michelle again.

“One
moment,” I uttered into the phone’s mouthpiece and scurried from
the room before Pixie had chance to spoil things. I bounded down
the stairs and left the house, ending up in the driveway, shivering
from the bitter cold.

Having
apologized for disturbing me again Michelle said, “That reporter I
mentioned earlier. He’s driving us crazy. He says to tell you that
he doesn’t know why you denied visiting High Bank in the past and
couldn’t help wondering if it’s because you have something to hide.
What does he mean John?”

I turned
my back against the icy breeze, whilst trying to fathom what the
hell Norris thought he could gain from his wild accusations. Was he
simply trying to provoke me or was there more to it than that? Had
he really uncovered evidence that I’d visited High Bank before and
if it were true, why in God’s name was I unable to
remember?

“Did he
say anything else?” I asked.

“He keeps
demanding an exclusive,” Michelle said. “What do you want me to
say?”

“Leave
him to me,” I said, remembering I still had his card. I ended the
call and happened to glance up at the attic room window. Pixie
stood behind the glass observing me. At least I thought it was
Pixie. But it couldn’t have been Pixie, because only moments later
I found her sitting in the lounge quietly reading.

I did a
double take, (a kind of “how the hell did you get down here so
fast” double take). It must have been Dixie I’d seen. I raced back
upstairs into the attic room to find it deserted.

Only that
wasn’t true, I soon realised.

Something
was moving, crawling around beneath the synthesiser. At first I
thought it must be some kind of animal, but its movement was all
wrong. I looked more closely and was suddenly hit by the horrifying
realisation that it was the strange doll like creature belonging to
Kayla. Not a doll, I reminded myself. Something dead and rotten, a
cadaver no less: human remains as I thought of it on the night of
the Halloween party.

I watched
incredulously as it slipped away behind a removal box, leaving a
thin trail of what looked alarmingly like blood in its wake. When
it failed to reappear after a second or so I kicked the box away,
prepared to destroy it, but it was gone. It had simply ceased to
exist.

For what
seemed like a long time, I was unable to move. It was the shock I
guess. The spell was finally broken by the sound of birds cawing
furiously. I gazed through the window just in time to observe a
lone figure hurrying off in the direction of Manor Farm, pursued by
those riotous birds.

It was
Melinda out there, I was sure; mother to Kayla and to that which
I’d witnessed crawling around blindly and without purpose, moments
before. I slammed a frustrated fist against the windowsill. Clues,
I was being given clues, but was too damn stupid to interpret
them.

I somehow
dragged myself back to the present and my thoughts returned to my
other problem, namely the reporter, Norris. What the hell was he up
to, hounding me as if I were a common criminal? I had to get to the
bottom of it, find out what his game was. I started rifling through
the desk drawers for his business card, eventually finding it
tucked away beneath a pile of sheet music. I got his mobile phone
number and dialled. He answered on the third ring.

“I
thought that would get your interest,” he said when I confronted
him on the subject of whether or not I’d lied about visiting High
Bank previously.

“When can
we talk?” he asked coming straight to the point.

“How
about right now, on the phone,” I said.

He gave a
disappointed sigh and said, “I admire your style Mr O’Shea. I do
all the donkey work and you reap the benefit. It doesn’t quite work
that way, I’m afraid.” He fell silent.

“Then
tell me how it does work?” I said, irritated by his supercilious
manner.

“Invite
me over,” he said. “We can talk like civilised human beings. You
give me the exclusive I’ve asked for on your comeback and I’ll
respond in kind, by enlightening you on your forgotten past.” He
paused briefly, before adding, “That is of course if you’re telling
the truth about suffering amnesia with regard to your association
with Ashley and more importantly, High Bank Cottage.”

I found
his comments infuriating. At the same time I realised I’d have to
give in to his demands in order to discover what he meant. But for
the meeting to happen, I’d first have to rid myself of Des and his
two bimbos.

“I’m away
on an assignment during the early part of the week,” Norris said,
unintentionally helping me out, “How about Thursday? It’ll give me
a chance to get a photographer lined up.”

“Why do
you need a photographer?”

“To take
photograph’s of course.”

Ordinarily I’d have told him to take a running jump, but he
had me bamboozled, so I grudgingly agreed to the
arrangement.

The
conversation ended and I sat wondering what on earth was happening
to my life. It seemed I’d landed slap bang in the midst of some
great supernatural mystery, in which I experienced psychic events,
was visited upon by spirits and bore witness to people mysteriously
disappearing into the vast unknown. And then of course, there was
the gypsy clairvoyant and the outlying haunted
buildings.