Black Cairn Point (19 page)

We start with the lawyer. He reads from a typed sheet in front of him, which I soon realise is a report on my case so far. Judge McDowell nods in several places, so either he’s already read the report or he was the judge on my initial hearing; the man who signed me over to the care of Dr Petersen. I hope it is the former. I squirm in my seat as the lawyer reads out the details of my initial testimony to Dr Petersen. Every detail, every word. My cheeks grow hot. If it was not me being discussed, I would say the person who claimed this was insane, no question. Throughout the statement, Dougie listens intently, a slight frown creasing his forehead. There are a few occasions where his eyebrows twitch, like they are about to lift in surprise, but I can’t read why. There is no way to ask.

At last, it’s over.

‘So we are here today to hear the testimony of Douglas Fletcher, is that right?’

‘That’s correct, Your Honour.’

‘And remind me why we haven’t heard from Mr Fletcher before now.’

‘He suffered a head injury which left him in a coma, Your Honour,’ the lawyer says.

‘For a year?’

‘Yes, Your Honour.’

‘That’s a bit inconvenient.’

I am tempted to laugh so I bite down on my tongue hard enough to make my eyes water. The judge is smirking at his own wit, but my urge to laugh is encroaching on hysteria. ‘A bit inconvenient’ is not how I would describe Dougie’s injury and its impact on my life for the past twelve months. A living nightmare would be closer to the mark.

‘Your Honour, if I might interrupt?’ Dr Petersen leans forward and smiles ingratiatingly. My stomach clenches. I now regret every snide, belligerent thing I ever said to him. I even regret trying to stab him. Because he has the power to keep me locked away, and I have handed him the desire. I wait, breath bated, to hear him pour honey into the judge’s ear. He doesn’t get a chance, however. The judge frowns him into silence.

‘I want to hear from Mr Fletcher first, Dr Petersen, then you can have your say.’ He turns to Dougie. ‘This is a formal hearing, Mr Fletcher, but I’d like to make it as informal as I can for you. May I call you Douglas?’

‘It’s Dougie.’ His voice is quieter than I remember and I wonder if that is because of the year he spent asleep – my throat feels like sandpaper after just a few days – or whether he’s as nervous as I am. I smile at him, but he isn’t looking at me.

Judge McDowell gives him a look before continuing. ‘Douglas, I am going to ask you questions about your trip to Black Cairn Point last year. I want you to answer as fully as you can. I need you to bear in mind that I am a judge and this is a court hearing; you must tell the truth at all times. Do you understand?’

Dougie pales, but nods again.

‘Let’s start at the beginning, then. Run me through the trip as you remember it.’

Dougie starts with the car journey, talks Judge McDowell through the camping, the drinking, the tension between Martin and Darren. It’s weird, hearing his version of events. Like watching the world through coloured glass. He explains Martin’s disappearance, Darren vanishing, Emma’s strange behaviour. I close my eyes when he gets to the final, dramatic scene on the beach, but that doesn’t stop his words from piercing my imagination. I resist the urge to stick my fingers in my ears so I can’t hear, don’t have to relive it, aware of how that would seem. I must not look like a crazy person today.

Dougie’s story finishes a little earlier than mine. He describes how he was jerked backwards, how he felt himself flying through the air. How the world went black for the length of a year. When he finishes there is a brief moment of quiet. Someone coughs. I open my eyes to see it is my dad. Our eyes lock for the briefest second, then I look away.

Dougie’s story, bar one or two small details, matches with mine. One or two small details, and one major one. He has not mentioned a wraith, a being. He has not explained how Martin, Darren and Emma disappeared. Just that they did. There is a big gaping hole in the middle of Dougie’s story, and I know that Dr Petersen is waiting to jump right in.

‘Douglas, my name is Dr Petersen,’ he begins. Dougie nods and then his eyes flicker to me. A look passes between us and I realise that Dougie understands: Dr Petersen is my gaoler, but more than that, he is a snake in the grass. I watch Dougie steel himself; he knows what’s coming. ‘I would like to ask you one or two questions, if I may?’

I want to jump in between them, shield Dougie from Dr Petersen’s sly, manipulative ways, but I am glued to the chair by the occasion and I have already given as much of a warning as I can.

‘Sure,’ Dougie croaks.

‘You say that Darren Gibson, and your friend – Martin Robertson? –’ Dr Petersen turns his name into a question as he quickly checks it against his notes – ‘disappeared. Can you explain to me what happened to them?’

‘I told you. Martin walked off alone, and Darren vanished from the cove when he and Emma were collecting firewood. Heather was with me. Both times.’ Dougie’s expression is set, defensive. I shoot him a grateful look but he doesn’t see.

Dr Petersen smiles. ‘It is noble of you to defend your friend, Douglas. But you are here to explain to us what happened, not to give Heather an alibi.’

‘It’s the truth,’ Dougie says bullishly.

‘Were you with Heather when Emma Collins disappeared, Douglas?’

Horrible silence. It goes on and on. My eyes are on Dougie, but on the edge of my vision I see Judge McDowell frowning.

‘Douglas?’

‘We were all on the beach.’

‘Together?’

Another awkward pause.

‘No,’ Dougie finally says.

‘So you didn’t see what happened to Emma Collins?’

No. That’s the truthful answer, but I can see that Dougie doesn’t want to give it.

‘They were only a hundred metres away. I could see the torch. Heather was only gone for a few minutes.’

But a few minutes would be enough. That’s the thought I can see on Dr Petersen’s face, the lawyer’s. I scrutinise Judge McDowell, but his thoughts are unreadable.

‘You were ill during the trip, were you not?’ the lawyer asks. Dougie twists his head to look at him, confused by the change of direction. ‘I’m sorry, Douglas. I am Mr Thompson, I work for the Procurator Fiscal. Can you tell me, were you ill during the trip?’

‘I had a bit of a cold,’ Dougie hedges.

‘Just a cold? It says in your medical records that you were admitted to hospital with a fever. You had a dangerously high temperature as well as your head trauma. The doctor at the time commented that you would likely have been suffering dizziness, nausea, possible vomiting. Do you remember having any of those symptoms, Douglas?’

‘So what if I did?’ Dougie asks. ‘What are you trying to say?’

The lawyer smiles, accepting the yes hidden in his words.

‘What I’m suggesting, Douglas, is that you may have been so ill that your memory is lying to you. Taking that into account along with the trauma to your head, you –’

‘I’m not lying,’ Dougie interjects.

The lawyer smiles wider. ‘I’m not suggesting you are,’ he assures Dougie – and the judge. ‘But you might be remembering things differently to how they actually happened. Because of your illness. I understand, you want to help your friend, but it is important that you don’t bend the truth, or fill in gaps, even the tiniest bit, Douglas. Being absolutely honest about what you remember, that is the best way for you to help Heather.’

‘I’m telling you what happened,’ Dougie spits through his teeth. ‘I felt a bit unwell, but I didn’t imagine anything. I hurt my ankle as well. Are you going to tell me I imagined things because of that, too? Or that it was Heather who broke the branch, trying to kill me?’

‘Douglas.’ Judge McDowell steps in, a half-raised hand acknowledging the rising tension. ‘Take a breath. We are all here to try to help Heather.’

This time I do snort a laugh, but it’s so quiet I don’t think anybody hears it. I have only one friend in this room, and I am terrified that he is not going to survive the interrogation tag team of Dr Petersen and the lawyer, Thompson.

‘Douglas,’ Dr Petersen leans forward again and Dougie shifts position in his wheelchair so he can face him. ‘You need to understand that Heather is ill.’ I lock my face down so that no one will see how mortified I am to be discussed as if I’m not here. ‘She believes an evil spirit is responsible for the deaths of your friends. A dark shadow who swooped down and stole them away.’

I catch my breath, aware that this is a very dicey moment. Petersen has just laid a trap for Dougie, a very clever trap. Agree with me and he’s as delusional as I am; maybe we were in it together. Disagree, and I’m a lunatic. Lunatics do crazy things … like killing people. Disagree, and Dougie sends me back into Petersen’s clutches.

He doesn’t do either. He laughs.

I stare at him, not understanding, but Dougie looks confident not wrong-footed.

‘That was a story,’ he says. ‘A ghost story I told us to try and freak everyone out. It wasn’t real.’

‘It’s real for Heather,’ Dr Petersen says quietly.

Under the table I grip the arms of my chair with both hands, ignoring the searing pain in my right. This is not at all going the way I want it to. I want to speak, but I know no one will listen. I am the crazy person, after all.

‘Is it?’ Dougie asks, somehow cool and calm. I suppose it’s not his head on the block. He continues before Petersen can confirm his words. ‘There was no wraith, no monster.’ Dougie pauses, looks at me, takes in my horrified face and smiles grimly. ‘But there was a man.’

A man? I blink at Dougie but he doesn’t wait to see my expression. He turns and levels a look at the judge.

‘I saw a man. Several times. At first I thought he was a dog walker, up high on the hill, but I never saw a dog with him. Not that first time, or the next day, when he came back. He was there, high up, watching us, just an hour before Martin disappeared.’

‘A man?’ the judge says slowly.

Dougie nods at the same time as Thompson barks out, ‘What did he look like?’

Doubt is written across the lawyer’s face. Dougie doesn’t react to the derision in his eyes but shrugs his shoulders at the question.

‘Don’t know, I couldn’t see. He stayed too far away. All I could see was his outline. He wore dark clothes, I know that.’

‘And you saw this man the day Martin disappeared?’

‘Yeah.’ Dougie jerks his head in a short, sharp nod.

‘Did you see him after that? Did you see him the day you say Darren went missing?’

Dougie makes a face.

‘I’m not sure. Heather and I hiked up to the road and I thought I saw a van, parked far off, but by the time we’d walked higher it was gone.’

‘Can you remember any details about the van, Douglas?’ the judge asks.

‘It was far away,’ Dougie reminds him.

‘Colour?’ The judge pushes gently. ‘Size?’

Dougie opens his mouth but Dr Petersen jumps in before he can answer.

‘Heather has never mentioned a man. Not once, in all our sessions together.’

And everyone looks at me.

My parents: expressions carefully blank. The judge: curious. I can’t read the lawyer and Petersen is wearing his typical look of disdain. I focus on Dougie, my port in a storm. He is looking at me expectantly. Waiting for something.

I don’t know what.

I do the only thing I can think of: I burst into tears.

They’re impressive. Loud and wet, my breath hiccupping. It takes no effort: I am so strung out I’ve been fighting tears anyway.

‘I w-was scared,’ I babble, swiping at my nose which has already started to run. ‘M-Martin and Darren and Emma were gone and then Dougie –’ I break off, choke on a sob. ‘He was hurt and the fire was out and I couldn’t see what had happened to him. I … I tried to light it again but I was shaking and the lighter fluid got all over me and when I struck the match –’

My body’s shaking so hard that it’s tough to lift my hand, but I do. I hold it up and see the judge’s eyes take in the deformed claw, the hideously scarred skin. He winces.

‘Heather.’ Petersen tries to command my attention but it’s easy to ignore him, crying louder, huddling into myself. Now that I’ve started weeping I can’t seem to stop. ‘Heather, you’ve never talked about this man. You told me about the wraith, remember? The spirit at the cairn.’

‘I – I –’ Thoughts whirl around my head. Sudden inspiration hits. ‘I thought he’d come after me too!’

I dare to glance up and see that one corner of Dougie’s mouth is hitched up in the smallest semblance of a smile.

If the tables had been turned and I’d been the one to fall, the one to slip into a coma, and Dougie had been left to save us, I know for a fact that he would not have been as foolish as me, that he would have been waiting for me to come round, free and living his life. He would have done what I was too slow to understand: made it a story, made it a lie. Left a hole and trusted the police to fill it with a monster they could understand. A serial killer, a local madman. If I had not screamed quite so loudly about things that no one in their right mind would believe in, who would have suspected me?

But I am a year too late for my epiphany. All I can hope is that my situation is salvageable. Finally, I tear my gaze away from Dougie’s face and look to Judge McDowell.

He’s the one who will decide my fate.