Witch (12 page)

Sit
ting up and folding my coat about me, I took a deep breath and said, “Do you remember I told you I’d had a nightmare about falling into a well?”

“I think so,” he said thoughtfully. “Why?”

“It’s just that I had another nightmare about the same well,” I said, looking at him. “But this time there was a girl in the well. She was crying. She told me she had been pushed...”

“It was just a nightmare,” he said with a gentle laugh, as if trying to ease my mind.

“I’m not so sure...” I whispered, now looking away from him, scared I might make myself look like a fool. With my eyes fixed on the opposite barn wall and the tools and rope which hung from it, I added, “I think she died in that well...the well on this farm.”

Michael didn’t say anything. He didn’t try and laugh my idea away like he’d done just moments before. Slowly, I turned my head to face him again. Michael was now sitting up and staring back at me. I couldn’t be sure if it was the light inside the barn, but his face appeared to have drained of all colour.

“What’s wrong, Michael?” I breathed.

“There was a girl who died in that well,” he said, standing and brushing straw from the seat of his trousers.

Hearing this, my heart started to beat faster. “Who was she?”

“She was one of those people my father called the ‘witches,’” he said, the sparkle in his eyes now gone.

Hearing this I leapt up, the sudden realisation that both the girl and the old man were connected, felt like a blow to my stomach. “What was her name?” I asked, drawing breath.

“Molly Smith, I think it was,” he said, averting my stare. I got the sudden feeling that he was keeping something from me.

“What aren’t you telling me, Michael?” I said, going to him.

“There’s really nothing to tell,” he said.

“So how did she end up in that well?” I pushed, my police instincts coming back. I didn’t want to make him feel like he was under some kind of interrogation.

“It was an accident,” he said, now looking at me, meeting my stare. “She fell in. Look, those people were always coming onto our land, breaking things and taking anything which wasn’t nailed down. She shouldn’t have even been on our land. If she hadn’t had been trespassing
that night, then she would have never fallen into the well in the first place.”

“What night?” I asked him.

“I can’t remember exactly what night,” he said. “It was about ten years ago.”

“Before or after you left for the Army?” I quizzed him.

“What is this?” he said, sounding confused and hurt. “I know you’re a copper, but there is no need to treat me like a criminal. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Seeing the hurt in his eyes, I looked away and said, “I’m sorry. I’m a bit freaked out, that’s all. I mean, how come I’m dreaming about a girl who died in a well ten years ago, and whose father I killed a few days ago?”

“You’re a cop, right?” Michael said, taking my hand in his again. “Perhaps you heard someone mention it at work or something, and it’s played on your mind. You’re gonna be stressed out because of the accident the other day. Your brain is just putting two and two together and coming up with five.”

I remembered how I’d
heard of the girl dying in the bottom of the well from Vincent last night. So maybe Michael was right, it had stuck in my subconscious somewhere and crept back out again while I slept. Maybe it was nothing more than that. “I’m just spooking myself, aren’t I?” I said, looking at him. I wondered if I said that to convince Michael more than myself.

“Look, why don’t I take you home,” he said, wrapping one of his muscular arms about me. “Have a nice warm bath, relax, and get a good night’s sleep? You’ll feel so much better for it. I could stay with you if you like.”

“I thought I was meant to be getting some sleep?” I half joked.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Michael said. “I’ll stay with you, keep you company – keep you safe from the nightmares.”

Looking at him, I gently stroked the side of his face with my hand and said, “Thanks, Michael, but this is something I need to sort through myself.”

“Okay,” he smiled, taking my hand and kissing it gently. “Whatever you think is best.”

Michael led me from the barn and towards the farmhouse. It had grown dark outside, and I could see the warm orange glow of lights burning from inside. There was an old 4X4 parked out front, its thick tyres clogged with mud. Michael went to the driver’s side. As I passed in front of the vehicle, I noticed a large dent to the front offside and scratches where paint was missing.

“Had an accident?” I asked, climbing into the passenger seat.

“My father had a knock the other day. Hit a wall of something,” Michael said as he started the engine and drove the vehicle away from the farm.

The 4X4 lurched and bounced onto the narrow roads. I remembered taking the same road as I raced away from the farm in my patrol car just
a few days before. As we passed the field surrounding the farm, I glanced up at the hill were the well stood, hidden by the crop of trees. The girl said she had been pushed, but Michael said she had fallen. I pictured the well and the waist-high wall which surrounded it. How would anyone trip over that and fall into the well? I wondered. What of the bottle and the folded piece of paper? That had been in my dream, too, but Vincent hadn’t mentioned that.

Pulling my coat around me, I settled back into my seat and tried not to think about it. Michael steered the vehicle along the stretch of road where I had driven into the horse and cart and its passengers. The headlights lit up the road, and in their glare, I could see the tyre marks running diagonally across the tarmac, but that was all that was left. There was no horse and cart, and there were no more dead people. Apart from the tyre marks I had left behind, no one would have never known what had happened there. My father had done a good job at clearing it all away. As Michael drove past the scene of the accident, I closed my eyes and remembered hearing the sound of my father’s patrol car approaching from the distance. I was looking through the cracked windscreen of my upturned car, the word ECILOP across the bonnet, looking wrinkled through the web of cracks.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked me.

I opened my eyes. He was glancing sideways at me, that look of concern in his eyes again.

“I’m fine,” I lied, turning and looking back at my own reflection in the car door window.

We drove the rest of the way back to my apartment in silence. Michael brought the vehicle to a stop just outside. He left the engine rumbling and purring like a giant lion. He looked at me and said, “Are you sure you don’t want some company?”

“I’m sure,” I smiled weakly and reached for the door handle.

Michael gently took hold of my arm. “When you’re feeling a bit better about things, how about you and
me go someplace – you know, somewhere nice – away from here?”

“I’d like that,” I said back.

“Okay then, that’s a date” he smiled. Leaning out of his seat, he kissed me softly on the lips.

Without saying another word, I climbed from the 4X4 and heade
d towards my front door. Michael pulled away from the curb. I glanced back and watched the rear lights disappear into the distance. Alone again, I turned towards my front door and stopped. The door was open and I could hear movement from inside.

With my torch held against my shoulder as if it were my police baton, I pushed open the door and crept inside. There was a light coming from beneath the living room door. I could hear the sound of voices talking. One was male, the other female. And although I recognised them, I couldn’t place who those voices belonged to. With my knuckles glowing white as I gripped the end of the torch, I inched my way silently towards the living room door. Taking a deep breath, and with my heart thumping, I pushed the door open with the tip of my boot and stepped inside. Vincent looked up from the armchair in front of the T.V. and smiled.

“Hey, Sydney,” he said with a smile.

At first I was too lost for words to reply as I stood and stared at him in disbelief. He sat with his feet propped on the coffee table, legs crossed at the ankles. There was a cup of tea and a half-eaten cheese and pickle sandwich on the table next to his feet. He had taken off his police jacket, which was now hanging over the back of the chair. The voices I had heard from outside was that of Dana Scully and Fox Mulder as Vincent sat watching an episode of the X-Files on the Sci-Fi channel. That’s where I knew those voices from.

Lowering my torch, I strode over to the T.V. and turned it off.

“Oh, Sydney, c’mon,” Vincent groaned. “What did you go and do that for? I haven’t seen that episode before.”

Ignoring him, I wheeled round and hissed, “How did you get in here?”

“The front door was ajar,” he said, dark eyes looking at me innocently. “I came by, found the door was open, wondered if you were okay, and so thought it best if I checked to make sure there wasn’t a problem. You could have been burgled for all I knew.”

“I never left my front door open,” I snapped at him. Had I?

“You musta done,” he said.

“Even if I had, what gives you the right to help yourself to my food, tea, and T.V?” I barked, slapping his feet from off the coffee table.

“I was starving hungry,” Vincent said. “I hadn’t eaten all day so I thought...”

“Food isn’t the only thing you’ve helped yourself to, is it?” I snapped at him, yanking my iPod from my coat pocket.

He looked at the iPod with a guilty expression.

“Did you download The Police to my iPod?” I shouted.

“Oh that,” he grimaced. “Sorry, but it was a long walk from the police station over to here yesterday and I felt like listening to some music, and...”

“So you thought you would just go and download some tunes to listen to?” I gasped at his nerve. “You do know that costs money, don’t you?”

“Oh, sure,” Vincent said, standing up and rummaging through his work trouser pockets. “I’ve got a fiver here somewhere.”

“Stick your fiver where the sun don’t shine,” I snapped at him. “You’ve got a bloody cheek coming in here and helping yourself to my food and...”

“How about I make you a nice cup of tea?” he cut over me with a beaming smile. “You look really stressed.”

“Yes, I am stressed thanks to you!” I snapped at him.

“Because of me?” he said, looking dumbfounded. “What have I done?”

“I thought I’d been freaking burgled!” I roared, half of me just wanting to leap across the room and throttle him.

“But I’m not a burglar,” he frowned.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” I cried.

Vincent looked at
me, a blank expression pulled down over his rugged face, then said, “How many sugars?”

“I give up,” I sighed, dropping my iPod into the armchair and heading for the bathroom.

“Where you going?” he called after me.

“To the toilet,” I hissed, when all I wanted to do was scream in frustration.

I slammed the bathroom door shut, pulled down my trousers and panties, and sat on the toilet.
What a freaking nerve!
I thought. How dare he just come into my flat and make himself at home. I didn’t even know him. If it wasn’t for the fact he was a copper, I would’ve kicked his arse out of here by now. And the iTunes thing! How dare he download...

Suddenly, I heard the sound of music coming from the living room and it was loud – very loud.
Boom! Boom! Boom
! Came a deep, heavy bass. The very walls of my flat began to vibrate and tremble.

“What the fu...!” I started, jumping up from off the toilet and struggling to pull up my clothes.

I yanked open the bathroom door and raced into the living room. At the door, I stopped and looked in sheer bewilderment. Vincent was dancing – if you could call it that – in the middle of my living room to
The Time
by
The Black Eyed Peas
.  I looked incredulously as Vincent danced with an imaginary microphone pressed to his lips and sang along to the music.

“I had the time of my life...And I never felt this way before...And I swear this is true...And I owe it all to you...Dirty bit...”

The music started to pound all around me as Vincent started to sway his arms in the air and jiggle his butt as he danced along to the thumping music.

“All these girls they like my swagger...” Vincent wailed over the music, his butt sticking out and swaying from side to side. “...They callin’ me Mick Jagger...I
be rollin’ like a stone...jet setter...jet lagger...”

Fastening my jeans, I raced across the living room and switched off my iPod which Vincent had dropped into the dock.

“’Cause I’m havin’ a good time with you...” Vincent continued to wail, his eyes shut, invisible microphone in his hand. “I’m tellin’ you...” he suddenly trailed off suddenly realising the music had come to an abrupt end. Slowly, Vincent opened his eyes and looked at me.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” I roared at him. “You’re gonna piss the neighbours off!”