
# BORDERLINERS

Kirsten Arcadio

Copyright @2014 Kirsten Arcadio

Smashwords Edition

Kirsten Arcadio has asserted her rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

First published in 2014 by Kirsten Arcadio.

### Prologue

It was time.

I switched off the flickering TV screen, blinking as the house was plunged into darkness. Sticking to the plan, I went out to the hall and fetched my jacket from the cloakroom, glancing at the carriage clock in the corner: 9pm. She would be waiting for me.

Once outside, I swung into my Mercedes and drove through the country lanes until I reached the dead end she'd told me about. I knew it, of course. Not that I'd told her that. I parked in a small indent in front of a gate by the side of the road, before getting out to walk the rest of the way. When I reached the edge of the copse, I looked over at the barn for a second, catching my breath. There was no sign of Martha. I skirted around the edge of the clearing until I got to the trees on the other side. From the safety of the thicket, I stole a look, wondering at the building's pulsing, enticing magic. Meanwhile, branches swayed above, drawing my attention upwards as their shadows tried to swallow me up.

One tap and the light from my phone illuminated sodden leaves beneath my feet. The trees behind me appeared to hiss, ' _Stop now! And look_.' I caught my breath. The atmosphere had changed from still and claustrophobic to wild. Leaves swirled as trees were stripped naked, their boughs bent by invisible forces.

Changing direction again, I returned to the far side of the copse nearest to the barn, hugging myself as I went. 'Martha?' I called, my voice thin and ineffectual against the buffeting wind. There was no answer. Deciding to pull myself together, I paced over the grass in double-length strides, arriving at the entrance in seconds. The door was open, as she said it would be. Inside, sparkly dust seized my lungs, but I would not be deterred. I was here now, so I had to see it through.

I hesitated for a moment before moving further in, feeling my way through merchandise piled up in makeshift, shabby displays. I caught a glimpse of large, oak bookcases near the window at the back, and I made for them, keen to run my fingers along the edges of the wood which looked smooth and clean, quite at odds with the stench which lurked in stagnant pockets around me. I shut my mouth in an effort to keep it at bay.

Just then, my feet connected with something on the floor and I looked down. Golden script jumped out at me and as I sank to my knees to take a closer look, a prickling sensation down my back told me something wasn't right. I used the light from my phone to get a better look. The shiny lettering seemed to float about in front of my eyes. I blinked. Down here it felt warm and pungent and the air was thick. Putrid, I thought, stale and strong.

'Martha?'

By the book was a lumpen shape clad in a long black garment, its pale triangle of a face barely visible. As my eyes slid across it, time seemed to stop. Eventually I reached across, my throat tight. I'd half guessed it. God. Not here. Not me. Not now.

'Martha!'

Fumbling for my phone I tried to cast more light on her body, which was still and quiet. The lock code jammed. Damn. I lunged over to put two fingers against her neck. No pulse. Dialling 999 with one hand, I wrenched open her mouth and shoved my ear down to her face. Nothing.

I heard a voice on the other end of the line. 'Yes? I've got a medical emergency. A young woman. No pulse, no heartbeat. We're at the New Age shop out on the A445.'

I went onto autopilot and started CPR, but I knew. I could feel the darkness, the sludge of a life she'd had, just slipping away.

As a howl rose and ambushed my ears the world seemed to tip up. I felt sick.

A voice yelled, 'Paramedics! Where are you?!'

'Here,' I said, my voice faltering. 'Right here.'

I couldn't believe it had happened again.

## Part I  
The Death Card

### Chapter 1

The first of my patients, Gemma, had decided to die almost exactly a year ago in September 2008, just a few months after she arrived in the village full of energy, hopeful her new hairdressing salon would do well here. Only twenty-five when she died, her descent into addiction was hard to make sense of. Not long after that there was Clare, who'd been in her late fifties. I could still see her now, small and birdlike, grey and timid as she sat slumped over her dining room table at an odd angle. I'd seen her through her sitting room window as I'd passed by on the street. The greying yellow around her nose and mouth still hovered on the edge of my senses, as did the sight of her fish eyes, still open and staring through the crack in the door to her entrance hall as I'd entered the house with the emergency services. Worst of all, her death reminded me of my mother. Fiddling with the charm bracelet Mamma had given me not long before her own depression led her to perish, I stopped for a second. I'd inherited so much from her: my tall, willowy frame, straight blond hair and grey-green eyes which people found uncomfortable to look into. Like me, she'd had a habit of staring. I wondered if I would become even more like her as I aged and it was a sobering thought.

Was it guilt which tormented me? This thought was uppermost in my mind as I left work the evening of the day after Martha's death. As I strode out of the surgery which housed my psychotherapy practice, fighting the onset of a migraine which throbbed between my eyes, I picked over thoughts which had plagued me on and off throughout the day. Discordant chanting echoed round my head and I was bothered by a myriad of images: rafters split by the sun's rays which reached down to silhouette a tall, elegant shape by a distant window. A man, whose blue eyes within a time-ravaged face and outstretched arms seemed to be calling to me from another place, another time. Martha's lifeless body on the floor.

Zipping up my bottle-green Barbour jacket as I walked, my thoughts returned to Martha. I trawled my mind for clues, wondering if I could have missed something important. At several of her sessions, but especially the last few, she'd spoken of her sense of isolation in the village. I thought behavioural therapy might help her. No matter now, my efforts had been useless. I slung my handbag over my shoulder and locked up, deep in thought.

The grey mass of the village loomed as I walked up the hill towards my home on a leafy road away from the nefarious grey council houses and decrepit playgrounds in the valley. Not that anywhere in this dreary village in the old heartland was all that desirable. This was uppermost in my mind as I passed the village's tiny supermarket, complete with bored kids outside, and the adjacent pharmacy, newsagent and post office, small smatterings of green and red against the colourless street. Rain splattered the dirty paving stones: typical early autumn weather. I ignored it and carried on walking, despite the fact I'd be soaked by the time I got home. Several umbrellas passed me by.

I frowned, thinking about Martha. She'd been a classic case. Depression, self-harm and I wondered about anorexia too. But her last session had been different. For once, upright in her chair, her back no longer hunched into the leather backrest, her hair had been glossy for the first time in a while and she'd had a glint in her eye. From her appearance it seemed like she'd turned a corner. But it was what she'd said that nagged at me now: she'd told me she was ready to 'escape'.

In response to my questioning stare, a wary smile had travelled across her plain, pale features. 'You'll see, Dr Lewis' she'd said. 'The longer you stay in this village, the more likely you are to be sucked in to what goes on around here.'

I'd scribbled 'Paranoia? Investigate further?' in my notes and encouraged her to talk but the rest of our conversation seemed of no consequence. She'd said all she wanted to say.

After another five minutes' walking, I was home. I stopped for a second by my neighbours' house, standing in the shadows of its tall Victorian bulk. By day it was a hive of activity: people who came and went almost continuously, but after dark it felt cold and forbidding. It never usually bothered me, but today a strange feeling snuck in as I stood there letting the rain soak through my clothes. The couple who lived there, Julia and Iain Walsh, were the leaders of a group known as the 'Charismatic Community' which had been running for as long as they had been living in the village, probably more than twenty years. For a community group, it commanded unusual levels of respect from many of the villagers. They were religious, I thought, although something about their tight-knit cliquey nature didn't sit right. I found it intriguing that after more than a year of living and working here I was still discovering which villagers were members. It was the last thing anybody told me and yet it was something which bound so many of them together.

Once through my front door, I strode across to my dining room, the notebook I'd found beside Martha's body uppermost in my mind. I couldn't think why I hadn't told the police about the notebook, but now I'd taken it, I couldn't give it up. Given my mistrust of authority, my actions seemed reasonable in my view. Once in the possession of the police, Martha's journal of dreams would be put in an evidence bag and kept in a drawer somewhere until they decided to release it to the family. It was doubtful they would do much more than skim it, especially as her death was certain to be classified as suicide. My need was much greater, I reasoned, and I was qualified to look through the lines of scrawled text to the real message they carried. Experienced in the black art of the interpretation of dreams and symbols, I would be able to employ some unorthodox methods to interpret Martha's thoughts. Not that I intended to share my findings with anyone. Not yet, anyway.

I paused for a brief moment by the sideboard which waited in the shadows. I knew what I had to do but it wasn't easy. By now the sun had set and the corner of the room was enveloped in sparky darkness, the dust film on the furniture glinting in the moonlight as it peeked through the dancing trees outside. Making my way to the far end of the room, I stopped by the window to slide my hand along the sill and close the curtains before turning back into the room. I stayed there for a moment and took a deep breath in. It had been a long time.

With one swift movement I opened one of the sideboard drawers to reveal an old pack of cards, their sturdy mass as real as ever. As usual, memories of my grandmother flashed up straightaway. _' You're a traveller at heart, Elena my dear,_' I could hear her saying, _' descended from gypsies, just like me.'_ I shook myself. She'd been joking, of course, or half-joking. Sometimes it had been hard to tell. But then the other memory muscled in too, and my hand tightened around the pack. It had ended up being our secret, but she'd always dealt me the same reading, no matter what.

Before I had a chance to open up the pack and start laying them out, the doorbell interjected and I jumped. In the hall I opened the door to come face to face with my neighbour. 'Julia?' I wondered what she wanted. I hadn't been expecting her - Julia never came to my house.

She glanced at my left hand, which - I realised - still held the pack of Tarot cards. 'Good evening, Elena.'

She cut an imposing figure, dark and gaunt as she stared directly into my eyes. I was glad my height meant I could meet her gaze head on. I didn't like the opaque way in which she appraised me, always refusing to break eye contact. I looked down at her long, white fingers cradling a small, foil wrapped package which she held out to me. Neither of us smiled as she spoke.

'I made some biscuits for the community meeting earlier and I had some left over. I thought you might like them.' I shrugged, trying to smile but she appeared not to notice. 'And I wanted to ask, Elena, how your work was going these days? We heard about that awful suicide.'

'Yes, Martha Dawson. Drugs overdose. Just 25.'

'I wanted to talk to you about it. Do you mind if I come in?'

On my way through to the living room, I put the cards and her homemade biscuits down on the coffee table and gestured for her to sit on the sofa next to me. She eased herself down, back straight, looking around the room as she did so, her gaze slow and deliberate as her eyes rested on my bookshelf at the far end of the room. 'I'll cut to the chase,' she said. 'The girl who was found dead, Martha -' I noticed she had stopped panning and was now staring at the pack of cards in front of me on the table.

I nodded for her to continue.

'She was a member of our community, you see. Not very active, but a member, nonetheless. We were happy to have her in our midst.'

As she spoke, I noticed her eyes had a deadened look about them, almost as if there was nobody there. I held myself very still, hoping not to distract her from whatever it was she wanted to tell me, but it was tricky. I'd seen this look before, and it rarely spelt good news. Often I found it in cases of severe personality disorder, of the type I couldn't deal with using psychotherapy alone.

'We were happy, but we were concerned too. She wasn't always loyal to our...values. That was a worry for myself and Iain.'

I nodded my head, a small incline to keep the ball rolling.

Her eyes darkened a touch. 'Recently, as I'm sure you are aware, she had been frequenting a certain shop on the outskirts of town.' Her eyes darted from my cards to the bookshelf and I had the feeling she was looking for something. 'We discouraged people from going there, you know, it's the-'

I interrupted. 'Why? Why did you discourage people?'

She narrowed her eyes. 'Because they deal in the occult. We tell our members not to get involved with such things.'

I raised an eyebrow.

She stood up, crossing her hands over her chest. 'I can see I'm wasting my time here. I wanted to talk to you about that shop. I heard you found the body there, after dark. I came to warn you. Messing about with things you don't understand will come back to haunt you, and I can guarantee you don't understand what you are dealing with.

I'd heard enough. 'You don't need to worry on my behalf.'

She turned to go. As I followed her out to the hall she stopped again. 'Tell me, Elena, those cards. What kind of a pack is it? Is it Italian? I'm not familiar with the design.'

I shook my head. 'Not exactly, Julia. It's the Tarot. They belonged to my grandmother, on the Italian side of my family, but Tarot cards are universal.'

'Oh!' She twitched, a small jerking movement, quickly suppressed.

I saw her out and stayed by the door as she went, watching her walk back to her own house. Remaining in the doorway for a while after she'd disappeared, I stared at the foliage which crawled over the wooden fence between her property and mine. Just like her, the garden next door was impenetrable, the thickly tangled rose bushes, overgrown shrubs and un-pruned trees created an effective barrier between us.

I cocked my head to one side, brushing a strand of straight, mousy-blond hair from my shoulders. I knew I didn't fit in. In my late twenties, single, and evidently not from around here, I was an outsider. I was neither a daughter nor a wife, and had no local connections whatsoever. I was just some upstart who had taken work where I could find it to get my career started. That, I had achieved, but after a couple of years in the village, I was no closer to making it my home and it didn't look like I was going to receive an invite to join Julia and Iain's inner circle any time soon.

Martha had dabbled in the occult, or at least this was Julia's view. I closed the door with a bang, but Julia's voice crept back into my head. I shut my eyes but her words coursed through my mind. I didn't need this; furthermore I had to stay professional. But the temptation was great. I went back into the womb of my house, turned the light off and sat down. Like a self-harmer, I was really close to succumbing as the darkness of my sitting room closed in around me, the cloudy sky having blocked out the moon and the stars, and even, it seemed, the sounds of the outdoors. It was too quiet, the air hanging in thick patches around me. _What if, what if_ , I thought. What if Martha wasn't crazy at all, what if she had just fallen victim to darker forces? And what if those forces were operating somewhere nearby?

### Chapter 2

My treatment began when I was eight years old, a few months after the first visitations from my dead grandfather. He would appear in my dreams and whisper in my ear, in his thick Sicilian dialect, about returning the Rose to the Garden of Eden. I knew who he meant. People said I was imagining things, but I knew it was more than that. The night I saw my grandmother in my dream, lying on the floor surrounded by the cards and a glass full of the medication she'd failed to take, I tried to warn my parents. My mother lost it. _But she 's going to have a stroke_, I insisted, _you need to keep an eye on her_.

My parents were afraid and I was packed off to a child psychiatrist faster than anyone could say 'psychotic'. Of course, what I saw came to pass. It was exactly as I had forseen, to the very minute and down to the last detail. This only sent my mother into even greater turmoil, and rather than stopping my treatment, she intensified it.

My psychiatrist was a boring old woman, stiff and uncompromising. Mean. I hated her. Her answer to my issues was to dose me up and attempt to change my behaviour with various different mind control games. My parents bought into her theories about discipline and training of the mind, and so I was doomed to her so-called 'treatment' for several years. At least my chosen form of physical discipline - Kung Fu - was fun to learn, and I practised yoga and meditation every day. It helped me excel in sports and, to the disgust of my younger sister, seemed to boost my academic achievements. Despite everything they put me through, I refused to tell them the visions were a figment of my imagination. Anything but that.

My grandfather still visited me in my dreams, as real as ever. Nonna Rosa too, sometimes. If they were just figments of my imagination, then the real world didn't match up. As revenge for my treatment, I decided to study psychoanalysis at university. In the future, people like me would be treated by those of us who had a more open mind, who didn't believe the brain was a simple mechanism which had to be wired up either one way or another. There were so many permutations and varieties of normal, so many differences in the way people thought about things and their experiences of reality. I was determined to qualify as a psychotherapist so that I could treat people in a different way. I would be gentler and more careful with people's precious minds. I would try to help them, and I wouldn't tell them they had got it all wrong. Sometimes it seemed a tall order. Being so close to people who walked on reality's borderline kept me close to the edge too.

The gentle floating descent of something outside reflected on my computer screen as I waited for it to power up. It reminded me of snow until I saw the drifting items were large, wispy and flat, a reminder that the nights would draw in further and the trees lose all their leaves before winter was truly upon us. Born at the very beginning of January, I smiled at the thought that my favourite season was just around the corner. It was a shame my patients didn't feel the same way and it was with some trepidation that I scrolled through my schedule for the day, knowing I would get busier as winter approached.

I was glad I'd chosen not to look at my cards the previous night. Julia's hawk-eyed presence played on my mind so I'd decided to leave it for another day. What I'd found in the diary needed investigation - and not of the type any police officer could carry out - but I needed time to think before I started delving into card readings and all that it entailed. As desperate as I was to check my hunch, it could wait another few hours. I shivered, despite the heating in the surgery building, which had been turned up full in anticipation of bad weather. I didn't want to open up that can of worms again, but I was afraid I had no choice. Maybe I would read through the notebook again first. This time more slowly, so I could take in every word and consider its meaning.

My first patient shuffled in, eyes on the floor, hair unkempt and thinning with an inch of grey showing at the roots where she hadn't bothered to redo her normal rinse. I caught a hint of mental fragmentation, one I was beginning to notice more frequently.

I reached for my glasses as I gestured for her to take a seat. 'Good morning, Joan.'

She started talking as soon as she sat down, her voice low and her eyes on the door. 'It's as if I've been thrown out of the community. I've been a member for twenty years - since the beginning - and now I've been cast out. Like a demon, the ones she told us to beware of...' She looked around, her eyes darting this way and that until they came to a halt on a point somewhere beyond my window. 'I don't know what to do with myself. All my friends are active members, and I was too, with the prayer group in particular. As was my late husband.' She crossed herself twice, spindly fingers shaking as she did so.

I was taken aback by the change in her appearance, by the lost aura around her, which made her appear at odds with the bustling, busy Joan I'd seen around before.

'Nobody will speak to me anymore. I don't know what I've done. That's why I'm here, Dr Lewis. I don't know if I can cope.'

A tremor ran through me but I watched her, calm and still.

'I'm scared, Dr Lewis. I want you to help me. I don't understand what's happening. Julia came to my house to discuss our stall at the village fair which I help with every year - you know the one Dr Lewis?' There was a pause as she shifted in her chair.

'What do you think happened, Joan?'

'What do you mean?'

'With the community. What happened? When did it all change?'

'I think it was when I asked Julia about the Rapture.'

'The Rapture?'

'Yes, yes...,' she nodded. 'We - the Charismatic Community - believe it will happen in our lifetime.'

She looked through the windows at the sun, already low in the sky. 'This world of ours, Dr Lewis, its days are numbered. Our days are numbered. Or so we believe. Or so I believed, at least.'

I waited, and as I did so, Martha grew from the lengthening dark shadows of my consulting room, her eyes bright. My hands clenched as I closed my eyes to banish her.

'Dr Lewis?'

I shook my head. 'I'm sorry, keep going Joan.'

'Julia said...' She shifted in her chair again and continued. 'Well, now everything has changed. I had a note from Julia saying that Mary was going to take over the fair as they knew I was busy this year, but I'm not. If anything, I enjoy doing it. I'm all alone now Jim is dead and Lisa is away.'

'What did Julia say?'

'Oh. It doesn't matter really. It's just that I've been having doubts about the...the end times. I don't know if I believe it. You know, the idea that only the believers will be saved.' She paused. 'Well, you see, it's my daughter, too. She's become an atheist, but she's a good person. Heart of gold. I just can't accept the idea that I would be saved and she wouldn't.'

'Can you explain why?'

'She's a better person than me.'

I tried to smile my best, comforting smile. 'Don't you think you're a good person, Joan?'

'It's not that, dear. You're still young and you've not been here that long, but I've seen so many people come and go. Not everything is as it seems. You begin to doubt yourself, you know? I've been thinking a lot about them. About Julia and Iain. They've been here a fair few years now - I can still remember when they first arrived.'

'When was that?'

'About twenty years ago. They were quite young when they came. And they were different from the start. It wasn't long before they started the Charismatic Community up and started recruiting people. Julia can be very persuasive. So many joined. It was a way of life, it gave you a sense of belonging. I can't describe it. But then, over the years. All this.' She stopped, a red flush creeping up from the base of her neck to her chin like a nettle rash.

'This what?' I risked prompting her.

'All the compulsory donations and prayer groups. Over the years it seems to have got worse. We have to pay them so much now, it's getting ridiculous. Julia says they need it to prepare people for the Rapture.' The red patch on her neck grew angrier, but I prompted her again.

'Are you afraid?'

'No, no.' She paused and coughed. 'Well, maybe a little. I hadn't thought of it like that before.'

I let her talk for a bit longer, allowing the tension to fizzle out as she moved onto more mundane topics: her sleepless nights, bad eating habits and smaller niggles. She talked, I listened. That was what I was there for. But as I did so, shivers travelled down my back. When I tried to feel my way through hunches and half-formed ideas, it struck me that her words echoed those of Martha just before her death.

Back home that evening, my post was waiting for me on the mat along with a small envelope. After dropping most of the junk mail into the recycling, I turned my attention to the Basildon Bond envelope, its old-fashioned, creamy texture as affected as the writing scrawled across the middle. Inside was an invitation to a drinks party for 'Friends of Julia and Iain'. They made it sound like a charity. I tutted and dropped it onto the table whilst I rummaged in the fridge for the leftovers from the giant salad I'd made the previous day.

The TV sat, blank and mute in the opposite corner as I sat down in the living room and started to pick at my food. It was as tasteless as ever - food for one had never been my forte. As I forked through my dinner, a scent of heavy perfume caught my nostrils. I sniffed the air, trying to locate where it was coming from, but it came and went, as if eluding me on purpose. Looking round, my eyes fell on the bookshelf next to the fireplace on the back wall of the room. Propped up, in the very centre of shelves, sat Martha's little black notebook, its pages splayed open as if on display.

I slammed down my fork and cast my plate aside before grabbing it off the bookshelf and flicking my thumb across the pages, a cloud of dust hit my nostrils. I coughed, gulping back a rising sense of nausea as an odd scent sunk into my lungs. It was musky with something retro about it, like a perfume from another age. The brand Samsara came to mind, a heavy scent I remembered from my childhood. My stomach contracted, just as it had the previous night but I was like an addict. I knew what was in the diary, and I had to read it again. Just to be sure.

Turning to the beginning, I started to read.

### Chapter 3

While I was skimming through the diary I was interrupted by a knock at the door. If it was Julia again, I wasn't in the mood. But the shape on the other side was small and hunched: Mrs Dobson from next door. I hesitated for a second before opening the door to the old lady. Well over eighty, she and her husband were surprisingly independent, but every so often they needed help. Sometimes it was shopping, other times they needed assistance with household items which broke down. The boiler, a leaky tap, a drawer which had got stuck. Occasionally it was worse than that, but so far I'd never had to call an ambulance or drive them to a doctor. Most intriguing of all, they managed to get by in the village despite not belonging to the Charismatic Community.

Mrs Dobson had small dark eyes in a sharp little face which reminded me of a weasel's. She held a neat, cloth shopping bag in one hand and had a small, red handbag over the opposite shoulder. Explaining that the grocery delivery hadn't arrived she asked me if I had any fresh basil I could give her. I fetched some for her from the basil plant I kept on my kitchen windowsill.

'I noticed His Nibs by your back door yesterday,' she said as I handed her a handful of basil. I considered my response. 'His Nibs' was her nickname for Iain.

'Really?'

'Yes, bold as brass. I thought I'd better tell you. I'm sure you invited him over, didn't you dear?'

'No, but Julia came round later on in the day - there was something she wanted to ask me.'

'Of course. I just thought I'd mention it.' She held up the hand with the basil in it. 'Thanks for the basil, dear.' She stuffed it into her shopping bag, turned and made her way back up my driveway.

'Bye,' I called after her and shut the door.

Once back in the house, I sat down again to look through the black notebook, more slowly this time. It fell open on the first page.

Dream journal, September

All was silent except for the sound of a clock ticking. I hate the marking of time, and the sound made me uneasy. It was dark, murky, but gradually that lifted. I saw there were bookshelves right ahead of me, so I moved over to them, as if being pulled by a string. Bit by bit my surroundings revealed themselves: a turgid, black interior, dirty, oak shelves lined with crystals, ancient symbols and wooden carvings, statues of hands with lines chipped into their wooden palms. It was difficult to tread a clear path through all the junk heaped on the floor.

There were no voices or sounds of any kind. A relief, but a sign I was not in the real world.

I kept going. A glint caught my eye and I jumped at the sight of a woman propped up on the wall. She looked just like me - all long black hair and pale introspection, and blue eyes which didn't look right. She was flanked by turquoise crystals and fragmented light - an emerald hue of split spectrum behind her. My heart beat time now, the clock no longer prominent as I looked again. It was a reflection, some kind of mirror.

Then the scene changed. I was heading to the noticeboard again. I knew it then, knew I was trapped in the dream. I went over to it as I always do, but when I got there, it swam around in front of my eyes, refusing to reveal its secrets, no matter how hard I concentrated on its cork outline and hazy contents.

At this point the noticeboard never does.

I looked up from the diary, turning the page which was dirty and smudged in places. A sense of disquiet hovered as I cast my mind back a few years to my younger self. In my mind's eye I saw myself knocking on the heavy wooden door of an establishment in my student town, known for the sale of occult items. My primary interest at the time had been its large selection of astrology books and, reckless as I was then, I hadn't given much thought to the taxi driver's warnings on the trip over. Once inside, the shop owner - an unsmiling gangly man clad from head to toe in Gothic black - had pushed a large bolt across the inside of the door. When I'd asked him why, he'd said it was because locals kept attacking the place and they couldn't take any chances. That was when I'd seen the skulls and chains on the opposite wall.

I shook myself. I was a grown adult, no longer a vulnerable teenager, and one who needed to get on with the task in hand. On the next page I had to squint to decipher the next couple of entries which were partially obscured by the ghost of a ringed tea stain.

Dream journal, September

This time, I dropped through an open door into a dark pit. It felt like one of my episodes coming on, as unseeing and unfeeling, I fell as the world around sped up. Dreary colour blurred at my side before exploding into fireworks as my head hit the floor. When I got up, there was a cloaked figure floating through to the glistening gravel beyond me. I remembered the noticeboard and tried to hurry over to it. But my legs wouldn't move and the floor beneath dissipated.

No voices, no sound of any kind. The same signs, but worse. The same message, unseen.

There was a shop assistant this time, unaware of my presence. Like real life where people just don't see me.

I glimpsed a sneer, but I did not fear her. In fact, I just wafted past her through the shop, until I got to the bookshelves. I noted, once again, the small window, the dark corners, the crystals, the incense and the wooden carvings. I passed through the purple sequined throws, the chains and the skulls until I got to the noticeboard and its newspaper clippings. They swarmed into focus as I read:

'Dramatic collapse in village surgery...'

I jumped to see a woman by my side. She was tall and dark and she, too, was silent as she stared at the clippings, her presence contaminating the air with menace.

Her long fingers reached out to touch a third clipping, which was pinned further along the cork board. The fingers caressed it for a moment and I strained my eyes until they wouldn't stretch further from their sockets, but all I could see was:

'Disappearance of...'

'What are you doing here?' she said, and I felt my body faltering, as if the game was up.

Dream journal, October

The atmosphere was velvet and as my eyes got used to the darkness I saw that I was in an old farmhouse, or maybe a barn. There was a pile of hay in the corner and a scratching noise emanating from the rafters above. Another second and suddenly there was someone right behind me. I knew I had to run. I took to my feet and it felt like flying, more like gliding than running.

Again, there was a presence somewhere nearby. Faster now, I darted through a small door in the corner of the room and took to the stairs ahead of me. These were concrete, old and worn, twisting up through a narrow space. I was dimly aware that it was not wise to be travelling upwards, away from any possible exit, but instinct drove me. Panic drove my breath out of my lungs in short bursts as I turned to see a dark shape behind me on the stairs, a presence at once right behind and a few metres away. I saw a glimpse of dark eyes glinting; a sense of danger, a flash of metal and I felt my heart beating.

The air closed in on me, pulsating, thick. Where was the light? Arriving at the top of the stairs I did not dare turn around again. I could barely make out doors and a high-pitched roof above, indicating the end of the line. I had to go through one of these doors, and then what? A rush of air and just behind, a palpable sense of breathing and not breathing, tension and control. And then I began to run again.

A voice from above stopped me in my tracks:

'Watch out! She's behind you. We told you to keep away. Why didn't you heed our warning?'

A faint whispering pulsed through a kind of tangible silence which closed in around me. Dank menace permeated the air and what little flat light was there glowed sickly and weak beyond the rafters above my head.

A card flipped through the air and fell into my lap face up. It was the High Priestess. Then another, Death followed by The Fool. A crack followed and all three cards burst into sudden flames which licked up towards my face and consumed my body.

And I felt as if I would never wake up again.

I put the book down. Puzzled, I went to get my laptop to check my personal notes on Martha's case, specifically on what she'd said about fortune telling cards and astrology. She had been anxious about it and it seemed her interest in such things was frowned upon by many in the village. I squinted at the notes. But Martha had never mentioned being a member of the Charismatic Community; in fact, her apparent lack of friends and acquaintances had been my biggest worry. Why hadn't she told me more about the people she had around her? She'd always been so vague. I'd assumed her woolly-headedness was a part of her depression.

Behind my eyes, a migraine had started to needle my sinuses and unable to read any more, I went upstairs to my bedroom and crawled under the covers where I lay for a long time, thinking. The image of Martha's lifeless body flashed up again and again as she lay, prone, next to the book. I shivered. Before the police arrived, I'd been gripped by a strange desire to pick up the black notebook from the floor and take it home with me.

I looked down at the diary, its pages splayed open on the quilt, and one paragraph in particular jumped out at me. '... _black interior, dirty, oak shelves lined with crystals, ancient symbols and wooden carvings, statues of hands with lines chipped into their wooden palms '._ Wasn't it the same place? The New Age shop I'd found Martha in? I thought of the shadowy barn nestling in that secluded clearing. On a previous visit I'd peered through the windows to glimpse wooden palm carvings and crystals, just like those described in the diary. My meeting with Martha there had been my second visit to the place. I didn't think it would be my last.

Rubbing my forehead, I fetched some Aspirin from the bathroom and swigged back a couple of tablets. I knew I needed to rest, but my head was full of conflicting thoughts, too many to make sense of. After finding Martha I'd been questioned by the police, talked to the paramedics, and met Martha's family when they'd arrived at the hospital. Everybody wanted to know what I'd been doing at the New Age shop at that time of night. Why didn't I use office hours to meet my patients? Didn't I think it was odd this was the second time I'd found a person's body, just minutes after they'd committed suicide? It came as no surprise the uniforms took notes with pursed lips and raised eyebrows, and I knew I would have to keep under their radar for a while.

But I understood the system, too. The hospital would do a postmortem. The cause of death would be a drugs overdose. I hoped it would all be fairly standard. There was no note, and that worried me. If the family wanted one, there might be an investigation. I turned the diary over and over in my hands, wondering if this was it, if the clues to her death were in here somewhere. I wondered if there was anyone else I could ask without arousing suspicion, but I wasn't really on those kinds of terms with anyone in the village. I had scant knowledge of people outside of my practice or my interests, which extended to the occasional village council meeting, the local gym and the theatre, which was located in the nearest big city. I kept my social life away from the place, preferring to meet up with old friends in my free time rather than make new ones there. I often left at weekends, only to return late on a Sunday night ready for a busy week ahead. I was dedicated to my profession. Some might say I was a workaholic: my week nights were often spent reading up on patient notes or researching new trends in psycho-analysis. It was no wonder I suffered from recurring headaches.

It was no wonder I was still an outsider in the village.

The migraine had started to bore its way into the nerve endings behind my eyes and I realised further reading was out of the question. Reluctantly, I pushed the diary across to the other side of the bed and stared at the open curtains framing my window. I couldn't be bothered to close them, so I just lay there and let my mind tick over.

As the moonless sky merged into the shadowy trees at the foot of my garden, I checked my phone for messages before I slept. I had a voicemail from a DI Brown who wanted to talk to me about Martha's death. The thought of going through it again provoked the same dizzy feeling I'd experienced when Julia had surprised me at the door. There was an email from one of the GPs at the surgery, Dr Sian Rushden. I grimaced. We had a silent understanding - she kept out of my way if I kept out of hers. A late night email from her, requesting a review of my services, wasn't a great omen.

Finally, I scanned an email from an address I didn't recognise. As I read and re-read it my heartbeat crept up until I jumped to my feet and started the quick routine I'd learnt to help keep my emotions under control as a youngster: four carefully controlled moves designed to get my breathing under control. Whilst I was doing them, I looked down at the phone screen, as if to stare it out and ward off the email. The subject header was blank, but the message contained within it was clear: _Another one of your patients dead? Who 's next? Physician, heal thyself_

### Chapter 4

There was something odd about my front door.

It had always been a little peculiar, the way the swirls of frosted glass stared back at me when I stood fumbling with my keys. Always so patient, yet so oblique. When I'd first rented the place, I'd wondered about asking the owner to change the door. Glass doors weren't my favourite, especially not in my current singleton predicament. Without housemates, a lover or even a dog to share my house with, I needed protection from prying eyes.

As it happened, I needn't have worried. The glass was quite useful, allowing me to see the shape, albeit slightly distorted, of my visitors as they stood blindly by, peering at its opaque blankness from the other side. Today, though, I didn't trust my powers of perception. I hadn't slept well, and I'd suffered a late running day. Consequently, it wasn't just the glass in my door: everything felt distorted. It looked as if the welcome mat had been moved and there were scratches around the lock I didn't think had been there before.

I shrugged my shoulders. There were lots of things I'd never noticed before. It was as if I was only just waking up now to my surroundings after a long sleep. Recently I'd started reflecting on why I'd even come here at all. Of course, I knew why. I'd chosen this village in the English heartland for a number of reasons. Firstly, it was far enough away from my childhood home to put a distance between myself and my remaining family. My younger sister, Amelia, and I had never been close. The distance also served to draw a line under the past and keep it well away from the present time. Secondly, getting a job had been easy. The market for psychotherapists was less competitive in the Midlands than in the South. Furthermore it seemed nobody wanted to work in a place like this. Other youngsters in my field were keen to cut their teeth in bigger towns and cities where they could enjoy life to the full. Finally, moving here was supposed to have provided me with a fresh start. I'd wanted to be in a place where nobody knew me. It didn't matter to me that the village felt worn and tattered around the edges, nor did I care that the locals behaved like creatures from another planet. Although my privately educated, home counties background had marked me out from the start, their behaviour hadn't fazed me. I'd told myself it would be a challenge.

I'd comforted myself with excuses. Without doubt, the local community had suffered. They bore a grudge against the ruling classes, and with good reason. I could just imagine what the place had been like in the eighties: miners' strikes and mass unemployment ripped people's livelihood out by the roots. Just like that. More than two decades on, it felt like the region had never made a full recovery. People turned up at the surgery to see my medical colleagues and their collective health was poor. Asthma, diabetes, lung cancer and heart problems were all far too common, probably more so than among the national populace. Although there was a tendency to put a brave face on it and joke with grim irony about how life had failed their community, there was a void beneath it all which I found alarming.

I thought about how some of the people I saw in the surgery would shout cheery abuse at me as they made slow progress with their walking sticks or sped along the pavement on their mobility scooters as I went for my runs through the village streets and the surrounding area. It appeared running wasn't something they saw every day. But I hadn't been hurled any cheery insults recently. I frowned for a second, realising that after a few of my hostile stares, some villagers might have given up on that. The braver ones had taken to sidling up to me at the butcher's or the supermarket to say 'I saw you running,' in a hushed undertone. I allowed myself a quick smile at the thought of how brave they would really need to be if they only knew what I was capable of.

As the kettle boiled I flexed my arms, stretching my body into a couple of Tai Chi moves I often used to wind down. Although I'd been forced to do it as a youngster, I found it useful to keep up with my martial arts training and practice. Mid-stretch I stopped and frowned again: it occurred to me that even if I wasn't running, people weren't keen to greet me in the street these days. Even though I'd lived here for longer and my face was known around the place - I stood out like a sore thumb, I supposed. Probably a couple of inches taller than the average woman, men, in particular, reacted oddly towards me. Still, at least I'd had some sort of reaction when I'd first moved to the village. The lack of contact with local people had become more marked the longer I'd been here. Recently it had felt as though I'd failed some kind of test: I wasn't one of them and never would be.

About half an hour after I'd crossed the threshold, the doorbell jangled. My head still full of thoughts about my status in the village, I set my mug of tea down on the kitchen worktop and looked at my watch. It was 6:30pm, now quite dark outside, and I wasn't expecting visitors.

As I turned to peer through the glass at my uninvited guest, I caught my breath. It was Vince, a colleague of mine from the village council: I could tell it was him from his stance, languid but tense at the same time, and the slightly hunched over appearance of his shoulders as he shoved his right hand into his jeans pocket. I noticed him lift his other hand up to flick a strand of his coarse, chin length hair from his eyes as he waited. He would start tapping one of his feet soon. Although cool on the surface, he was like a tightly wound coil: his impatience tangible but unvoiced. I hesitated for a second before I remembered I still had a council report on some new playground equipment for which we were trying to secure funding.

I opened the door with caution.

'Sorry, not a good time?'

I stifled a jump at the sight of my pale, wary reflection in the sharp green of his irises. 'I'm just in from work,' I said. 'What can I do for you?'

'I thought I'd drop in for that report.'

I breathed out as I turned to move further inside, motioning for him to follow. A bead of sweat made its way down my back as I heard him step into the hall and close the door behind him.

'Come through,' I said. 'I think I left it in here.'

His eyes followed me. 'In here.' I beckoned for him to come through. As he joined me at the doorway I flicked on the light switch and froze.

'Elena?'

The report I had left on the coffee table that morning had been displaced to the edge. Instead, spread across the centre of the table were my grandmother's Tarot cards, which should have been safely ensconced in the sideboard where I'd returned them the previous night. Vince's gaze followed my own, his eyes coming to rest on the card reading. For a few long seconds my mind jumped about as I tried to think what to do next. I tried to ignore the way Vince was staring at the cards, his body loose but his eyes immovable as he fixed them on the spectacle in front of us. If he turned his gaze onto me, I'd be at a loss. He was a difficult man to fool and his clear, shrewd stare often made me feel as if he could see straight through my adult facade to the confused and troubled child I'd left behind.

I stooped to pick up the report, trying to quieten the pounding sensation in my chest. My fingers shook and when I crossed the room to stand within his shadow, I couldn't look him in the eye. 'Sorry. Here it is. Did you want to discuss it?'

'No,' he replied and, taking the report to sling under his left arm, he made to turn on his heel.

'Oh, I nearly forgot.' He stopped in his tracks, his face a mask, half bathed by deepening shadow. 'I came to ask you something as well.'

I stood in silence, waiting.

'The girl who died - Martha, was it? I heard she was into black magic. That's what people are saying around the village.'

The hall contracted slightly. 'She was a troubled girl. Are they saying that round the village as well?'

'Well, they're saying lots of things, that's the problem. For example, people want to know what you were doing at that New Age shop when you found her? Also, wasn't it a bit late to be visiting a shop?'

'Vince, I went because she asked me to meet her. I thought she was in some kind of trouble.'

There was silence as his eyes met mine. I opened my mouth and then shut it again, unsure of whether I could trust him, or even if I wanted to. His lip curled slightly.

Eventually he spoke. 'Nothing else you want to share with me?'

I cocked my head onto one side, watching how he let out a long, drawn out breath before pulling his shoulders straight and shoving his free hand into his jeans pocket.

'I'm not sure I can. I mean, I don't know if the family would be comfortable if I divulged details of her life, of her issues.'

I took a step towards him, but he was shaking his head.

'I don't know why I bother sometimes,' he muttered. 'Lots of people round here think you're a nutter, worse than some of the people you counsel.'

I didn't like the nasty little smile which played around my lips as he said that, but I couldn't help it.

'Why would they think that?'

'One of your neighbours' friends Googled you a few months ago, and what came up was all round the village, or at least, round that lot. I get to hear their rumours sometimes - I have my sources.'

I felt sick. If I'd been Googled, then someone might have found that old article I'd written for my student newspaper about some of the more experimental research run in psychiatry over the last two hundred years. In the hands of others who read widely or studied the field, the piece might not have looked untoward, but the thought of my patients in the village getting hold of it made me feel dizzy. I slipped past him to open the front door.

'Oh, you probably mean that article from my student newspaper about Carl Jung and the experiments of the early twentieth century. They were odd times, but much of what they did was significant.'

'Yeah, well. You want to be careful around here with stuff like that.'

After I'd let Vince out, I paused for breath. The giddy feeling returned as I sat down to study what lay on my coffee table: five cards from my own Tarot deck laid out in a pointed formation. In the middle lay The Hanged Man beside which were The Hermit and Death. Below them sat The High Priestess and The Moon. I took a picture, watching as the image froze in the memory of my smartphone before sitting in silence. I needed to think.

In the Tarot The Hanged Man indicated a moral compass which was off kilter, and a time in which decisions would become clouded and truth unknown. I remembered this from my grandmother's explanations all those years ago. Adjacent to The Hanged Man was The Hermit, a version of The Fool I thought, although The Hermit was a seeker, someone who was eternally looking for answers. As a child at my grandmother's knee, I had liked to think of this character as the caterpillar in a chrysalis, the one who emerged resplendent after a period of hiding away.

Next on the formation was Death. I knew the card's true meaning was transformation and change, but it made me uncomfortable nonetheless. I couldn't imagine it was a good thing that someone had been into my house and placed the Death card on my coffee table.

The High Priestess and The Moon sat underneath the other cards on a separate line. I recalled what my grandmother had said about The High Priestess, that it signified the Tarot card reader herself. It showed you had choices but that you needed to trust your instincts and follow the signs in order to make the right decision. Finally, my eyes rested on a paragraph about The Moon, a card I didn't particularly like. It warned of illusions and a world in which genius and madness stood back to back, an existence in which the real and unreal would be confused making the path of truth harder to follow. I shivered and looked away.

Heavy silence felt like a cloak around my shoulders, or worse, like a kind of a noose, reminding me of when I sat alone in my childhood home, years ago. It felt particularly close, as if the cards had opened up a door between the past and the present. Although I had chalked up the experiences of those days on the mental blackboard I kept tucked away for futile thoughts and feelings, I couldn't shake this one. It was as if something in the village was at work outside of my ordinary powers of perception; as if something, somewhere was urging me to reawaken my other instincts.

I glanced out of my kitchen window at the double-fronted house which loomed beside mine. Today, as was the case every day, there was an assortment of cars parked outside and I supposed they belonged to members of their prayer groups, who were a regular fixture there. A ghostly version of myself looked back at me from my own desolate windows. I was as hollow and bleak as the window glass.

Outside, the trees in the garden grooved to an invisible beat as the wind outside whipped them up into a light, pulsating frenzy. My mind flickered. For a moment I thought about how I would love to rush outside and throw myself onto the dark expanse of lawn which stretched between the confines of my property and the next. But even that might attract a hidden audience. This home wasn't enough of a castle, I thought.

Instinct told me to flee, phone the police, report a break-in, change the locks but instead, I went to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of white wine. More than an hour must have passed as I sipped at it in the sitting room, just thinking. I couldn't ring the police, as they were suspicious of me already. They would take one look at this little lot and break-in or no break-in, I'd be on some kind of database by the next morning. Of that I was sure. No, I had to handle it some other way.

Once I'd drained my wine glass, I put it down and walked around the house looking for clues and checking doors, windows, locks. My throat felt dry and my feet heavy as I paced around searching for signs of forced entry I knew I wouldn't find, and an uncomfortable, all-too-familiar sensation of deja vu prowled around next to me as I went. I tried to quell a desire to punch through the doors and windows as I found one after another untouched and untainted. Once I'd been through the entire house I stood in my kitchen under the yellow glare of the spotlights, my mouth in a straight, grim line as I nodded and clenched my fists.

I had to concede there were no signs of breaking and entering.

### Chapter 5

The house was open, breathing out warmth, light and a gentle undercurrent of voices beyond. Despite its proximity, I could count the number of times I'd been across the threshold of Julia and Iain's home on one hand. It wasn't a doorway I stepped through lightly. The entrance hall was about as cold and uninviting as the open door had been appealing, and seeing no sign of my hosts, I moved forward and went into the sitting room. My arrival was noted by a shift in consciousness and I fixed a half smile to my face as I scanned the room for acquaintances.

There was a rustle and shift in the atmosphere directly behind me and I turned to see Julia, her long, brown hair now sporting caramel and honey highlights in addition to lazy curls. She was accompanied by a man in his mid-forties, possibly older, it was difficult to tell. His skin, red blotched and sallow by turns, looked ravaged by time. There were tiny creases at the corners of his eyes which were both sad and gentle although when he looked over in my direction the blueness of them caught my gaze briefly, cutting right through.

'Elena, I'm glad you decided to come,' said Julia, gesturing to the open door. 'Come in and meet some people.'

'Hi, I'm Tony,' said her companion.

I looked at him and smiled whilst Julia moved off. 'Hi Tony,' I replied. 'What brings you to our village?'

'I live about half an hour away from here,' said Tony, 'But I'm staying with Julia and Iain for a while to study their community. I'm doing a paper on belief systems for my Theology PhD.

I blinked, wondering if he included charlatans within the 'belief systems' he looked at.

He continued. 'I'm particularly interested in the nature of Purgatory.'

The non-sequitur took me by surprise. 'Do you mean purgatory with a lower case 'p', a sort of limbo-land?'

'No, I mean Purgatory - an actual place and time.'

He smelt of cigarette smoke, maybe something a bit stronger. As we crossed the threshold of the front room, the other guests there neither turned to watch us come in nor moved to greet us. I exhaled. On the one hand, I was keen to maintain professional distance between myself and the villagers but on the other, my involvement in local life still didn't go far enough to satisfy them. But for now, this strange, sad-looking man had captured my attention. There was something ethereal about him, as if he was operating on a different plain from the rest of us. And there was something familiar too. I couldn't put my finger on it. Having given up on the other people in the room who continued to show no interest in us, I decided to find out what I could about him.

I motioned that we should sit down. He had a can in his hand - I wondered if it was his first - and seemed reluctant to move from the doorway. I moved further into the room, but before I could get myself a drink he had started talking again.

'Do you play the piano?' he asked, contemplating a neat Yamaha in the far corner.

By the piano was a young couple dressed in smart, dark tailored clothes, who were resting their glasses on its smooth wooden surface. They were joined by another pair, dressed in almost identical clothes. A gale of laughter rose up like a badge to mark them out as confident, happy and superior. One of them half turned to look at me, almost as if my disdain had reached out to touch them across the expanse of this large, Victorian room.

I gave Tony a quick nod, but my mind was elsewhere. I had heard the unmistakable, ebullient tones of Emma, Vince's younger sister: she was the sort of person you heard coming long before you saw them.

I re-scanned the room to make sure, catching sight of her by a long trestle table laden with Julia's home-cooked food. 'You'd be surprised at how much I can put away!' she was telling a receptive group of men who looked amused at the sight of her overloaded plate. I wondered where Vince was. And as if she had read my thoughts, I heard her say to one of the men. 'The other half is watching the football and Vince won't be over until later. So I'm all alone at the moment!'

Her easy, friendly air was at odds with her brother's guarded disposition, and that wasn't the only difference between them. Vince was as lean as Emma was rotund. On the surface of it they were close and his edges seemed to fall away when he was in her company. This didn't surprise me: I expected all family members would be relaxed within their collective strength. The Hewitt family was well known for its tight-knit clan-like value system, feared and respected by many as one of the old cornerstone families in the village. I had crossed them early on by renting a house Vince had earmarked for his sister, something I thought nothing of at the time but repented at leisure afterwards. The rules of the game were quite different from what I had been used to in the anonymous city suburb which had been my home prior to my move. Outbidding an established villager on their dream home just wasn't done. Had the house been handled by one of the local estate agencies - Vince's included - it would never have been let to me. In a way I'd been lucky the landlord had fallen out with the local agents and put the property up on an independent website but I'd failed to anticipate the ramifications. In another life we could have been friends but our opportunity for friendship in this one had been hampered from the start. This thought hung in the atmosphere for a second.

Emma turned as if in response to the feeling of my eyes upon her. Unlike many others who tended to return my stares with open hostility, she waved and grinned openly. Thinking of her friendship with Louise and Lucy, the two catty receptionists at the doctor's surgery, I found the gesture surprising, but twitched a tight-lipped smile back at her before turning my attention to Tony once more. He was waving a roll-up at me.

'Do you mind if I smoke this?'

'Does Julia mind?' I was a little alarmed.

'Ah well I thought I could stand by those French doors.' He motioned towards the back of the room. Remembering my off-duty mode, and, more importantly, my isolation in a room now full of Emma and her entourage, I nodded before leading the way towards the doors, stopping to pour myself a glass of white wine on the way.

'Nowhere to drive to afterwards?' enquired Tony not stopping to listen to my answer. 'I'm very interested in comparative religion,' he continued, flicking a dead zippo lighter until I took it out of his hand and snapped it on, reaching its blue flame towards his bent, grey-flecked head. He took a long drag on what was clearly a little more than mere tobacco. I took a step backwards and turned the zippo over in my hand as Tony continued to puff on his roll-up in contemplative silence.

A slight break in the atmosphere made me look up, and glancing at the door we had been standing in a few minutes ago, I realised Vince was watching us. Emma had also acknowledged her brother's presence by waving a full beer can at him from her position next to the trestle tables. Snapping his head back round he moved towards his sister and friends without any further ado.

'I went through a phase of socialising with Mormons,' Tony was saying and I wondered why he was telling me this, grateful at the same time, that he was. 'Do you know anything about them?' he asked.

'No, not really,' I said, although this wasn't strictly true.

'I was a youth worker at the time, working with kids suffering from depression...' he snickered. 'Ironic, really. Sort of reverse psychology - I think that was the idea. Anyway, I became obsessed with the idea of the Mormons, of their unorthodox family set ups and their smart suits and earnest mannerisms.'

I nodded quickly. I was keen to hear the rest of the story: both my medical and metaphysical instincts were on alert. I stood up a little straighter, although I already had a good idea of what the next line would be.

'Well, the kids at my school thought it was hilarious, but my employer decided they didn't need that kind of entertainment. A great shame, really, as it cheered a lot of them up no end.' At this last, he chuckled and despite myself, I joined him.

My mind was racing as I considered a number of questions I wanted to put to him, but instead I said, 'Well, we all make mistakes. I did all sorts when I was younger.'

He took another drag. 'Like what?'

'Oh, this and that. I went through a phase where I tried everything from Buddhist meditation to astrology and palm reading. I was really interested in certain avenues of research followed by Jung and Freud, but particularly the former. Carl Jung is my hero. But of course, we're not supposed to say that these days.'

He raised an eyebrow. 'You know,' he said. 'I read a lot of his research too. I was interested in the inner reaches of the mind. Those were the days when I was desperate for a cure, of course. Now I just accept my mind the way it is. We're all different, eh?'

I noticed he held my gaze for a minute then, as if trying to assess my intentions. 'You realise I'm a psychotherapist?' I said, but he just smiled and the dreamy expression returned to his eyes.

'Then you'll be aware that we know next to nothing about the brain and its potential. I read somewhere there are people who can see across time. It seems in some people the usual constraints are not there. Theoretically, the only reason most of us can't see into the future, or back into the past, is because we don't believe we can.'

The mood of the room ebbed and flowed around me as I thought about my student days. In my second year I'd had a row with a young tutor in the pub after our end of year exams about my views on psycho-analysis. I could still remember the look of disgust on his face as he'd told me I'd have no future in my chosen career if I insisted on dabbling in 'hokem'. The thought of it reminded me of Vince's expression as he'd stood at my door on the night of the Tarot card break-in at my house. As if I was a supernatural object myself, he'd looked at me, his green eyes both understanding and distrustful in the same instant. And as I thought of him, a familiar prickling sensation began to crawl down my back.

I was reminded of when I was a child, of the look my father would sometimes give me when I described my dreams, especially the ones which involved my Italian grandparents. After my Nonna Rosa died, my father had flown into a rage. My mother, instead, had understood. I don't know why I never questioned that. But after that day my father distanced himself from me.

The prickling persisted. I looked round to see that Vince was watching us again. From his vantage by the window, he appeared casual enough. He was wearing a checked shirt with one hand thrust into his jeans pocket which he didn't remove, even when a straggly bit of hair fell forwards into his eyes. I noticed he was able to keep an eye on us, lowering his gaze occasionally to dip in and out of the conversation around him, his wits quick as he threw comments into the mix to draw gales of laughter from his thicket of male companions. His eyes flickered back over to us and he nodded my way, beer in hand, un-fazed by being caught in the act of looking over.

Meanwhile the atmosphere in the room had thickened as more and more people piled in. Julia and Iain's popularity was really something, I thought, trying to keep my face from deteriorating into a sour pout. My mind wandered as I let my gaze travel around the room. There were little thickets of people of all ages. Many of the women were wearing the same silver trinket around their necks. Vaguely Gothic in appearance, there was something about it which made me uneasy, but I couldn't get close enough to any of the women to study it properly.

My thoughts were interrupted as a crash and the sound of a woman crying out alerted me to a commotion on the other side of the room. Vince, crouched down, was at its centre. A gathering crowd fidgeted awkwardly at the side-lines whilst Emma had disappeared altogether. I rushed across the room to see what was happening. Pushing my way past a few stubborn backs to the edges of the circle I saw my patient, Joan, lying on floor. The inner circle tightened around me as I knelt on the floor next to Vince.

I turned quickly to Vince. 'What happened?'

'She fell. Think she might have fainted.' He was cradling her head.

Joan's eyes flickered open and I put my hand on the woman's forehead. 'Joan, are you all right?' I asked.

'Oh. Dr Lewis,' replied Joan, her voice vague and uncertain. It was clear she was disoriented.

'Did she hit her head?' I asked the waiting crowd, which had thickened. Onlookers were obviously more comfortable with watching more closely now that there was someone with more authority on the scene.

A few people answered. 'No, Vince caught her before she hit the floor.'

'Can someone get a drink of water for her, please,' I commanded, although there was no need. I could hear Emma's confident voice ordering people to move aside. A hand holding a cup of water reached downwards towards Vince and with my free hand, I took the cup from him.

'Joan, sip some of this water and then we'll help you up, OK?' I said, performing a quick visual check of the woman's condition as I did so.

'Do you feel any better?' I asked, concluding there was probably nothing seriously wrong with her. I turned to Vince. 'Can you help her up into a sitting position?'

I saw that Emma, who had passed the water down to Vince, was now accompanied by Julia, who was offering people more drinks as she got closer. The crowd started to disperse and I straightened up as Joan answered my question.

'I feel all right now Dr Lewis, thank you. If anything, I feel a bit silly.'

She looked up and I caught her flinch as her gaze fell on Emma and Julia. Keen to lighten the atmosphere, I cleared my throat. 'Well, I'm glad you're feeling a bit better. I think you'll be fine but just take it easy now, won't you?' I turned to a small group of women of a similar age to Joan, who were still hanging around in a little cluster. 'Ladies, can you keep an eye on her for me?'

Nobody answered as the group of ladies took it in turns to look around them until a couple of them replied that they would before pressing inwards to bustle around Joan. Julia, on the other hand, made no effort to come any closer. Still in first-aider mode, I caught her eye and made a T sign with a questioning look. But instead of retreating to her kitchen to make tea, she closed her eyes and raised her arms to the sky. I was astounded as the women, including the ones who had been helping Joan get into a sitting position, stopped what they were doing to link hands around Julia.

'Whosoever believes should not be lost, but have everlasting life!' chanted Julia.

Ignoring the prayer circle, I turned to Joan. 'I'm just getting you a cup of tea,' I said before removing myself from the crowd. Vince stepped back at the same time and I found myself face to face with him, Emma by his side. In a low voice with half an eye on Julia, I asked them what had happened.

'She was looking at that book shelf,' Emma said. Vince glared at her and made a sharp head movement towards the circle. She shrugged her shoulders. 'Look, shall I get that tea?'

'OK, thanks Emma,' I replied and turned to walk over to the book shelf.

A voice stopped me. 'What are you doing?'

I coughed, recognising the rancid breath immediately. 'Just having a quick look at this book shelf, Iain. It's fascinating.' Without waiting for an answer, I turned my back on him and moved closer to the wooden shelves which sat at the very back of the room where Joan had fallen. I ran my eyes along the volumes there, not knowing what I was looking for until my gaze fell on a small picture frame on the top shelf. It contained a photo of a group of women with a handwritten quote underneath. I strained to make it out.

'Whoever is not with me is against me' (Matthew 12:30)

The spidery writing again.

'Ah, that would be my women's prayer group. Maybe you recognise it?' said a soft voice at my side, causing me to jump.

I felt my head spin. The world seemed to slow down as if her arrival had displaced the normal passage of time. Now alongside her husband, Julia stood watching me, her eyes flashing. For a few moments nobody moved until, finally, Tony appeared on the other side of me, apparently unaware. His eyes were clouded and indistinct and his hands a little shakier than they had been an hour before as he interrupted, not rudely but randomly, his voice slurred.

'Elena, I'm off upstairs for a rest, but it was nice to meet you.'

'Yes, and you.'

'It would be great to meet up again sometime. I've enjoyed our chats today.'

I nodded. 'Let's meet again soon.'

Julia stared at me for a moment, before taking her leave to see to other guests. I watched her glide off, calm and collected as if nothing had happened, and it made me wonder if the woman was a good liar, merely self-delusional, or somehow both. I looked over at where Joan had been in the middle of the prayer circle and saw, to my relief, that she was drinking tea flanked by both Emma and Vince and an atmosphere of normality. The women around them had reverted to the usual bustle and chatter, behaving, like Julia was, as if nothing had happened. Iain bared his teeth in a smile which was part hostility, part mania, before following his wife back into the thick of the house party.

Watching Tony go, I was thoughtful. It was clear he was unable to stay in a room full of people for very long. On reflection I conceded I wasn't cut out for crowds either, and decided to take my leave.

### Chapter 6

**Tony**

**15 September**

It often seems to me that the voices of people from my past echo forwards through time. When the mood takes me, I tune into conversations which interest me, voices with something relevant to say. The ones who threaten me, well, I can only say I'm glad to see the back of them.

And I am well attuned to my new surroundings. Such a welcome break from my otherwise parsimonious existence, from the vicious alternation between the pain of absolute solitude and the demands of my ageing mother. My hosts are about my age, but they are wiser than most. Their devotion is impressive and it leads me to wonder what brings about such faith in the unseen. Moreover, their hospitality fascinates me. Only yesterday they hosted a dinner for some people from their community. In other organisations I would imagine they would be a council of some kind, an organising body, but Julia called them something else. She called them her 'inner circle'.

I watched the proceedings with caution as I've never been good at parties, but I needn't have worried. Julia drew me into the conversation and stuffed me with canapes, too many to choose from. 'This mini sweetcorn is all the rage,' she told me. 'Take one, they're delicious.' At one point she disappeared for five minutes and returned with piping hot food which called the assembled party to the table. 'I did them in my new microwave.' She stood back to assess the reaction of her guests who didn't disappoint with their surprise and admiration.

'Are those things safe? Do they work?' said an older woman who was standing nearby. I recognised her from the surgery, but didn't acknowledge her as such. I noticed the others were also key figures from the community: the proprietor of the largest farm, the village's only lawyer, the pharmacy owner, most of the doctors and a few others who were introduced as local business owners of some sort or another. Most of them were much older than Julia and Iain, but this did not faze them. Julia's tall willowy presence put them under a kind of spell.

I was introduced to everybody, to so many people. After an hour or so my head was buzzing with the words: 'This is Tony, my cousin. He's staying with us for a few weeks and he's hoping to make headway on his PhD. He's a Theology scholar, you know.' People reacted in a variety of ways. Some nodded and smiled but said nothing. Some fixed me with a questioning stare, and others just looked at Julia, as if they were waiting for her permission to ask me something.

Afterwards Julia pushed me towards the bathroom. 'You'll enjoy a nice bath now, won't you?' she said, but I didn't need a bath. I could just imagine myself sitting in the tub surrounded by bubbles, each one reflecting my ragged face, which looks crumpled and broken, older than my forty-five years. Suffice to say, she insisted and I'm learning she's not to used to being questioned. So I did as I was told, listening all the while to the clatter of plates and cutlery, to the bustle of helpers from their community - or whatever it is they run here - I hope to find out soon. Bustle rustle, they busied themselves downstairs as I sat, listening to the water fill up. The bath is an old-fashioned wrought iron tub which suits its surroundings: cold and Victorian, deep and unfathomable. I do not like to bathe. Normally I do it when it suits me, at the same time each week. Routine helps me to organise the others, to keep them where I can intuit their intentions, but it seems Julia has other plans for me. New clothes, too, to replace my jogging bottoms and my old jeans. Not that I'm complaining, but I was quite fond of the old ones.

Maybe I'll look them out when the coast's clear.

### Chapter 7

My grandmother appraised me from the small framed photograph I kept of her in my kitchen. I liked to have it there so that I could talk to her as I prepared my coffee each morning and put the world to rights. If something was bothering me, I would stare over at her as the thick dark mass of espresso spit up through the lid of my Italian caffettiera. Whilst I waited for my coffee, I complained to her about Julia's house party and the diary, which had plagued my thoughts all night. As usual, Nonna Rosa seemed to advise fresh air, just as she had done when I was a little girl. It made perfect sense. With one shot of coffee inside me I pulled on my tracksuit, scraped up my hair and went outside to warm up on my drive.

Mid-stretch, I spied Julia nip out of her front door with her cordless phone against her ear. Darting into my back garden, I tried to listen to what she was saying from behind the fence. Her voice was soft and deliberate as she spoke into her handset. 'We've got to deal with that woman...She collapsed in my house...She's a liability. It's because she can't accept what we're telling her.' There was a pause. 'I have her in mind as one of my candidates for the ceremony...She needs to understand.' I heard footsteps as she paced nearer to where I was hiding. 'She's been going to that therapist. I'm sure. I've had her followed.'

I wanted to cough but as I stifled it Julia moved further away and I couldn't hear much more of the conversation before she ended it. A few more minutes passed before I heard the click of her front door. After waiting another while longer to be sure the coast was clear, I slipped back to my driveway to start my run, easing myself into the early morning silence, iPod clamped to my arm. I scrolled to my favourite running music and set off, gathering pace towards the woods on the outskirts of the village.

Running through the trees usually helped me relax, but today it seemed to whip my mind up into even more of a frenzy. The threat of frost clung to the air as I ran, and I pounded on, pushing myself faster to heat up my hands and feet, cursing my lack of gloves and a hat. As I dodged a myriad of sticks and leaves on the ground I thought about the Tarot again: the card combination my intruder had pulled out was like a ticking time bomb, waiting to drop into this strange and unsettled life of mine.

After an hour or so I found myself back where I had started but my mind, rather than being relaxed post-run, was racing as if to keep pace with my heart.

'You're up early,' said a voice on the path ahead. His fluffy sheepdog bounded up to me playfully until he gave it a curt order to stay down.

I stopped in my tracks, aware of the sweat which was dripping from my armpits and clinging to my back; of my naked face and wild hair, purposefully left unwashed until after my exercise.

'I like to run sometimes to clear my head.' This, by way of explanation. It was funny how I always felt like I had to explain my actions to this man.

'Going to the festival later?' Vince continued.

He was in an amiable mood for once, I thought. 'Probably,' I answered.

'Well, I won't keep you.' And with that, he closed the conversation and moved off down the road, leaving me standing on the path behind him. I observed the lithe movement of his relaxed stride which the little dog had to trot to keep up with and as I did so, I felt a little shiver of something flutter down my spine. Curious to see if he would turn around to see if I was still watching him, I was a little disappointed that he didn't.

Back home I turned on the shower in my little en-suite bathroom, allowing the windows to steam up as I gave free rein to my thoughts. At last year's farm festival, Julia's entourage had been out in force, giving out leaflets, dragging passers-by onto their stall, expounding the virtues of their belief system via a series of megaphoned monologues. Although friendly enough, their sales patter had been edged with gritty persuasion and there had been something about their technique which reminded me of cold callers.

The phone rang.

'Hey love, how are you?' It was my friend Dan. His voice was deep and warm, and its resonance down the phone line was comforting. We'd been friends since college and were still close but I hadn't heard from him in a while. I could just picture him on the other end of the telephone line. Large and bear-like, he was a good doctor with an easy manner and great at putting his patients at ease. Still quite young, not yet thirty, he was already a partner in a GP practice. His canny way with people extended to an acute sense of how to run a business, too.

'Dan, hi. I'm fine. Still in this damned village.'

'Well that was your choice, love.'

We chatted for a few minutes, and he chuckled as I told him about the party next door, and the apparent hostility of those around me. 'You've never been great at making friends, Elena,' he said. 'It takes you a while. Accept it. '

I sighed, changing tack. 'Actually Dan, I might need your help with something.'

He cleared his throat. 'What trouble have you got yourself into this time?'

'Oh, nothing like that med school incident, Dan.' He always sought to remind me of the past mishaps and adventures we had shared at university. 'No, just a bit of bother I might be in.'

'A bit of bother?' I could hear the amusement in his voice, and another slightly smoky chuckle. I relaxed a bit. The darkness shrank away with the sound of his voice.

'It's good to talk to you, Dan,' I said. 'But you know so many things you shouldn't! Seriously though, there is something bothering me and I thought you wouldn't mind...'

'...If you bore me with it. Go on then.'

I told him about Martha's death, the Tarot cards and the so-called Charismatic Community. He'd been to visit me in the village before, of course, but I'd merely told him my neighbours ran a prayer group which was popular with the villagers.

'So you think this neighbour of yours, Julia, has got something to do with it?' He didn't sound too convinced. 'Whatever it is?'

We were verging into student territory. He knew the drill from those days. I'd knock on his door and spout the most recent activity I was into and he'd tell me what was wrong with it.

And right on cue, he did. 'Not all this New Age nonsense again, love?'

I sighed. 'Not any more Dan, you know that.' He still wasn't taking it seriously. 'Look, a patient of mine decided to end her own life and you think it's funny?'

'No. No no no. I'm just wondering why you continue to attract all these crazies to your doorstep.' There was a pause and I could just imagine him lighting up one of his cigarettes, so at odds with his profession as a surgeon and yet so endearing.

'I'm a psychotherapist, remember?'

'Yes, but this seems beyond the usual remit of a psychotherapist, don't you think?' He was serious now. I had been correct about the cigarettes, as I heard him take a thoughtful drag, an almost imperceptible hiss followed by a pregnant gap. I could hear his thoughts ticking over.

'The Tarot cards, Dan. I can't think who would have left them.'

'Well, some nutter, maybe? You sure people there don't know anything about your past? It's not the place to advertise it, you know.' Another hiss and a pause. He didn't approve of my decision to move to the village from Bristol, where I had completed my training, but he hadn't understood the opportunity. I closed my eyes, thinking again of the position I'd seen advertised by the Royal College of Psychiatry. It seemed few people wanted to set up on their own in a small village in the middle of nowhere and the position had been easier to secure than I'd imagined. When I played Monopoly I was the one who always got the 'Get out of jail free' card, and this had seemed another such opportunity. I wondered about that now.

'Look, I think you should go to the police and report the card incident a break in.'

'I can't, Dan. I need to stay under the radar. The police are already suspicious that I found Martha. Especially after what happened last year with those other patients of mine. I've had them on the phone about Martha a few times already. Asking if I had any evidence of her state of mind. No note, you see.'

'No note?'

'Erm, yes.' I realised I hadn't told Dan this before. 'Look Dan, I have to go in a minute, but I had something else to ask you?'

'Oh yes?' His tone lightened.

'Yes, an event I wanted you to come to with me,' I said thinking of the village ball later that autumn. 'I'll email over details? Let me know what you think. I'd love it if you could join me.'

'All right love, but think about going to the police in the meantime.'

'OK. Bye, take care.' I put the phone down.

As a village council member, I was expected to attend the local farm festival. Although the village itself had a strong mining tradition, the surrounding area was filled with rolling farm land, something the locals were proud of, and as I drove to the festival through narrow country lanes that morning, I reflected on how they contained a strange juxtaposition of rich farmers in Land Rovers and people in battered old second-hand Renaults. It was a tetchy combination and something which was reflected in local society, too. There was an uncomfortable pyramid of power with farmers at the top and the rest of us at the bottom. The area wasn't well connected, not even to the nearest big cities, and the variety of work city dwellers took for granted was simply not available. Some people made their own luck, but there were many workless households and a feeling of emptiness abounded. It was as if the heart of the English heartland had been ripped clean out, leaving a great chasm into which people could fall. So there were many festivals and celebrations of the local countryside and sometimes I wondered what else they had been left with.

After ten minutes of driving I reached the field in which the festival was being held, my heart sinking as I manoeuvred my newly washed car through the sludge. There were already lots of other vehicles gleaming silently in the makeshift car park. A cursory scan revealed a few I recognised from the village. People of all ages milled around in wellingtons and raincoats in anticipation of forecast rain, and I looked down at my own footwear, a pair of mid-heeled court shoes, tutting at my lack of foresight. Smoke curled up gently from the corner of the next door field.

I wandered across the grass, milling through intermittent crowds as I went. Familiar faces jumped out but I let them wash over me. Not many of them smiled as I moved from stall to stall, studying all the craft items, the Women's Institute jams and the Scout group's carvings, avoiding the children's fairground rides as I went, allowing my mind to wander as I milled around.

A tug on my coat sleeve took me by surprise. I swung round to see a short middle-aged woman behind me. She had sharp, squat features which gave her the appearance of being both wary and nosy at the same time.

'Dr Lewis?'

'Yes,' I was a little perturbed.

'Have you heard about our prayer groups?'

I considered this for a minute before nodding in answer.

'Would you also be interested in joining us for our Sunday meeting?' she continued, not missing a beat.

She was standing in front of a white tent. There were two display boards just outside and a table just inside the tent opening with two empty chairs. On the table was a clipboard and some sheets of paper, leaflets and a pen and directly above that was a sign pinned to the top of the tent which read 'JOIN THE CHARISMATIC COMMUNITY!' I wrinkled my brow, looking for a way out.

Just then a figure wafted past, vague and indistinct like a character from my dreams.

'Tony!' I called, but he didn't hear me.

I turned back to the woman on the stall. 'Thanks for the invite,' I replied, half looking to see where Tony was headed so that I would be able to catch up with him later.

'Shall I put you down on the list, then?' Hostility crept into the older woman's voice.

'Well, no. I'll come at some stage, but don't bother putting me on a list, OK?'

I moved off, noticing that the other woman was scowling at me. Jiggling my shoulders and flicking my hair back as if to shake off the unpleasant sensation her continued stare was beginning to evoke, I scanned the field again for Tony. Spotting a blue figure a few tents down, I ploughed on in earnest. Moments later, I caught up and waved a hand in front of his face to catch his attention. Looking puzzled, he turned to face me.

'Tony, hi.' I wondered if I had imagined the anxiety which passed across his face. Smiling to lighten the atmosphere, I drew level with him.

'You remember me don't you? We met at Julia and Iain's party last weekend.'

There was a long pause before he nodded.

I stole a backward glance at the Charismatic Community tent. The woman I'd been talking to had been joined by another, taller woman: Julia. As I turned to look at them, they stared over at me as if we were all joined by an invisible thread. Hoping that if I looked away, they would also, I shifted my gaze to one side before dropping my head. Squinting against a low autumn sun which peeked out from under some dark clouds, I stole another glance, only to see that the older woman was now pointing straight at me whilst Julia nodded, a grave frown plastered to her face.

I stared over at the pair before shaking my head and turning my attention back to Tony. At that moment the sun retreated and the sky above twisted itself open, freeing the horizon to close in on us and I felt a jabbing pain inside my ears, which suddenly felt bitterly cold.

'Tony,' I said leaning in closer to him. 'I think it's about to rain.'

'Oh really?' Tony replied, fiddling about what looked like a set of Rizla papers.

'Yes. We need to get undercover. Come on.'

Putting my head down, I strode towards the food and drink tent, indicating with a swipe of my arm that he should follow. A few metres from the tent, my feet crumpled under me, and I went sprawling. Embarrassed, I looked up, but nobody seemed to have noticed, apart from a black figure who was standing right above me. She had synthetic dark hair, matching make-up and a long, black dress. In addition there was a faintly stale odour clinging to the air around us.

'Martha?'

I jumped up to find myself completely alone. Both the dark haired woman and Tony had disappeared completely. The refreshments tent was only a few feet away so I walked the remaining distance in the downpour, dodging people who were scurrying around, clutching hats, hoods or bags to their heads to protect themselves from the onslaught. I saw a black figure pick its way straight across the bows of others and I screwed my eyes up to see if I could identify her as she drifted over to the edge of the field. But the rain intensified and hid her from my view.

When I caught sight of her again, she was right over on the far edge of the field. Another figure had materialised next to her and she appeared to hold up her hand as the other, a man, detained her. I squinted through the gloom, but could hardly see anything as the rain intensified. A few seconds more, and they seemed to have gone.

I dived back into the tent, surprised to find Tony already sitting at one of the plastic white tables to the right of the entrance. I felt both sad and fearful as I watched him light up his roll-up, looking distinctly fragile, his grey wavy hair matted and wild by turns and his clothes grimy and ill-fitting. He looked as if he hadn't washed in a while.

I leaned over to get his attention, and indicating that I would get us drinks I went over to the makeshift bar to order beer for him and orange juice for myself before sitting down again. I listened to him talk for a bit, allowing his words to wash over me as he turned the subject around to his PhD. 'This Charismatic movement here is fascinating, you know,' he said. 'Quite illuminating, actually.'

I gaped at him, but let him continue.

'It's a mission based community rather than an apostolic one. Their sole purpose is to lead lost souls to salvation rather than practice discipleship per se.'

I nodded.

'Take Julia and Iain, for example,' he continued. 'They have really taken on board the need to recruit lost souls. You know in other organisations, you don't see that so much.'

A shift in the atmosphere caused me to look up: Julia was weaving her way through the tables towards us. Oblivious to the stony expression on her face, Tony waved the hand in which he was holding his roll-up, and smiled gently. Julia's eyes flickered but she kept her eyes fixed on me.

'It was a little discourteous of you to just leave whilst my friend was talking to you about our community earlier,' she said, ignoring Tony.

'Sorry, I-'

She cut me off. 'Save it, Elena. It's a waste of time dealing with people like you. I've seen plenty of your type come and go and it's always the same.' She turned on her heel.

Tony got up and made to follow Julia out of the tent. I made no attempt to move. Sipping my drink, I stared into space for a few minutes, attempting to still my anger. Instinct told me Tony was one of those people who lived at the edges of society, on the borderline. I knew it. And it was a truth I cared little for. I thought about how all people were on the edges of existence to a greater or lesser extent, victims of life, of contradiction, of the constant struggle to balance the need for flexibility with the desire to stand firm and constant against the world.

But there were some who were closer than others to the intersections of time and space: sometimes I felt that the left field was never far away: it was only there that anyone had the chance to understand the true nature of the world. I also knew that some people in society were drawn to the fragile minds of others, instinctively understanding how to manipulate and exploit them.

Such people were dangerous.

I'd almost finished my drink when a different kind of shadow darkened my table accompanied by a light, musky scent which hit my nostrils before I glanced up.

'Elena, we were looking for you earlier.' His expression was impassive.

'Hi Vince.' I motioned for him to sit down.

He pulled out the spare chair and sat down, leaning on his elbows. I shifted slightly.

'Did you catch up with Emma?'

'No, I got side tracked. How is she getting on?'

'OK until it started raining.' He jerked his head in the direction of the tent opening. 'Look,' he went quite still, 'I've been meaning to ask you about that girl who died. There's been some more odd talk around the village.'

'So I gathered. But you didn't expand on that the last time this came up.' I held his gaze, my expression sour.

'Well, I wanted to listen around a bit more to be sure. Apparently, Martha worked at that New Age shop sometimes and she was into some weird stuff. There's talk that you're involved with that place too.'

'Why would I be involved with the New Age shop people?'

'I never thought you were.' But even as he said it, I noticed his expression was wary.

'There's also some other talk going round about you. That you're making trouble for the Charismatics in some way.'

'That's not true,' I said. 'But even if it was, I don't see what that has to do with the death of that poor girl.'

'Well, she was known for her opposition to the Charismatics as well, wasn't she?'

I didn't miss a beat. 'Was she? That would explain a lot.'

'What does that mean?'

'Oh. Something and nothing.' Julia's visit came to mind immediately and I thought of the odd things Martha had said in therapy. And of the diary. I shivered.

Outside the rain had abated. The tent started to empty out again as people reopened stalls. The oppressive darkness lifted. Vince leaned in to me a bit further, close enough for me to catch another hint of his aftershave. I watched his lips move.

'Just while we're on the subject, there are other things we need to talk about, but not here. After the next council meeting.'

He got up and nodded a curt goodbye as he left whilst I tried to guess what he needed to discuss with me. I watched him swagger off, lithe and easy, but he kept his head down and was less open to greeting people than I would have expected. Gripped by a sudden tightness in my throat, I got up and made my own way across the field, driven by a question about Martha which had not presented itself in my mind before. Vince's words rang in my head - _she was known for her opposition to the Charismatics_.

I rushed over to the parking field, climbed into my car and drove straight home.

I'd left the last entry in the diary unread. Somehow I felt that if I read no more, I'd remain untouched by the author's fate, but now I wondered. I was already in too deep. I'd known Martha was an outsider, but Julia seemed to be telling me she was a member of their community. Had she fallen out of favour, like Joan, or was it something more extreme? I wondered when she'd left the community, if it coincided with her treatment dates. And it occurred to me then, that she might not be the only person who opposed the Charismatics.

I felt as if I was almost out of time.

### Chapter 8

**Tony**

**25 September**

Excitement and a chill wash over me at the same time in waves, a unique feeling to replace the usual. I'm so glad Julia asked me to come here and study her community. It coincided well with my new treatment and provided the new impetus I needed, as my PhD had been stalling somewhat...But now I have a new focus, an interesting element to add.

Today we talked about the traditions of the early Christians and about Julia and Iain's community, otherwise known as the 'Charismatic Community'. I'd been wondering when I could bring it up when the moment came. We were having tea in their sitting room, my tinnitus calm for once. Julia asked me how things were going. Somehow the conversation turned to a discussion of their prayer group. Until today I've had no opportunity to talk about it with them in more depth. I'm glad we did. This is why I am here, after all.

Julia said, 'Tony, would you like to come to our prayer group on Sunday? I know you've been looking at our beliefs and we've given you some of our books to help, but there's nothing like the real thing, you know, nothing which replaces that direct contact with the divine which comes when you are in a group of believers.'

There was an odd pause. A disconnect.

I wonder if she had expected me to answer straight away, but I had to think. Eventually, I nodded my agreement but Julia was already on her way out to get more tea and biscuits. After a few minutes in which I contemplated the idea, Iain fixed his beady eyes on me. They are opaque, somehow blank, and it disconcerts me that I cannot read my soul in their reflection, in fact, I can read very little there. We sat like that, in silence, until Julia returned, unperturbed by the peculiar atmosphere in the room. She placed the tray on the table at the centre of the room and poured me a cup of tea. Iain, I noticed, did not have one.

'We're having another one of our "open house" parties in a couple of weeks' time,' Julia said. Yet her eyes didn't match the rest of her body language. They were cold, so cold, and when she turned to look at me I felt icy fingers of dread rooting around inside my head, as if she was looking for something she was sure to find.

'What kind of a party is that?' I asked, all of a sudden desperate for a roll-up. Julia's gaze locked me in and prevented me from getting up to fetch my Rizla papers.

'Just a little cocktail party with some nibbles. You know, a kind of drop in type of an affair.'

It struck me then, that she uses words like an affectation to mask her Scottish roots - she doesn't quite add up. But then, maybe nobody does.

Later on in the day Iain agreed to let me interview him. It will be useful in case I use the Charismatic Community as a case study in my PhD.

Intellectually, I struggle with what he told me, and yet... A word comes to mind, whispered from the beyond. Whispered. Right into my ear. This man is crazy, it tells me but none are crazier than I and who am I to question what is best left a mystery?

I asked him, 'Tell me more about the Charismatic Community? What do you believe in? What exactly is your doctrine?'

'We don't _exactly_ have one,' he replied. His tone was not altogether kind and I could smell his breath, rancid and sour, from where I was sitting. Normally my nostrils are filled with the lingering scent of my own roll-ups and the smell of another was unwelcome. It brought to mind my late father, who had often reeked of alcohol. His hitherto blank eyes sharpened with something I could only recognise as hatred, although hatred of what? That's the question (Ha! Thus spake Hamlet in my ear). It's one of the questions, anyway - hatred that is. What's the point of it? I find it everywhere in my studies.

He was talking again, so I broke off my inner dialogue to listen.

'Our Charismatic movement is not bound to dogma as other movements are.'

I raised my eyebrows. I could hear my own father saying 'What a load of codswallop!' Instead, I said, 'What do you mean?' and pretended to write notes. Realistically, I don't need to do that. My memory is good enough. After all, I have a first from Oxford although I suspect this would be lost on Iain.

At this point I asked him if he minded if I smoked. He said he did, which disconcerted me. Smoking helps me to concentrate better, sometimes.

'In my organisation we don't approve of vices,' he said. 'Julia and I don't drink or smoke. Well, we might have the occasional drink, but that's it.'

I wondered why he said 'organisation' rather than 'community' but just nodded, keen for him to return to our previous topic of conversation. He was boring me. When he didn't speak, I prompted.

'So, tell me how your 'brand' of religion, your philosophy-' I chuckled but he did not reciprocate, '-compares to that of other organisations or movements?'

He cleared his throat and began talking in that strange monotone of his, 'Well, take the Rapture for example. It's close now, really close.'

I nodded. There was a lot of this about. Again, I could hear my father laughing. A bit louder, if anything. I wanted to laugh along with him, but managed to stop myself just in time. Iain didn't seem to notice, and continued talking, as if I was lapping up every word.

'Religious leaders, you know. They just can't see it. It's going to hit them like a bus, but they just don't see it. We see it, because we have the gift of prophecy - that's one of the gifts Charismatics have. But they don't. They give us no choice.'

I was thoughtful afterwards. I do not think him particularly intelligent and his lack of biblical references intrigues me. In my experience, people of his standing and profession normally quote regularly from whichever holy text they adhere to. An irritating but strangely comforting trait that Iain does not possess. He is devoid of comforting traits.

'It's another thing we have to drum into people here,' he continued, as if this were the most normal thing to say in the world. 'We have to deal with a lot of people who have lost their way.'

And I thought, _deal with, deal with..._The words echoed about in my head. They rattled and shook. Julia was nowhere to be seen throughout the conversation. Even now, as I write three hours later, I cannot place the whereabouts of Julia.

### Chapter 9

Thoughts of Martha and Tony plagued me in the days which followed. Where, only a few weeks ago, I'd been working to make a difference to my patients, making slow progress in my relations with the other villagers, now I was hurtling towards something else. Someone was trying to scare me and that wasn't all. I was worried about Joan, her otherworldly air too reminiscent of the one which had settled around Martha in the months leading up to her death. Isolation in a small place like this was alienating, I knew this better than anybody, but there was something else. Both Joan and Martha before her were afraid.

Alone in my consulting room, I flicked back through the diary. Something about its yellowed pages, which emanated a peculiar mix of perfume and cigarette smoke, brought to mind my childhood. I screwed up my eyes trying to remember the brand of perfume my mother had used. As ever, when I thought of her, I blinked back a tear or two. My younger self hadn't often been given the chance to snuggle up and breathe her in. Nevertheless, there was something familiar about this scent. I racked my brains for clues, fighting an uncomfortable feeling the answer was lying just out of reach.

Flicking to the back, I read through the last couple of entries.

Dream journal, October

Again, the same dream.

I entered the occult shop, pushing on the door with renewed vigour and force. The glass was cold on my fingertips and my refracted expression, nestling within its depths, was intense and clear. It slid away as I moved onwards, leaving the door to close softly behind me.

A phone rang and the sound reverberated around, cutting through that murky air which lurked around, clinging to the bookshelves and the indistinct piles on the floor. I moved towards the sound over the obstacle course which lay between the door and the till where the phone was situated. The ringing became shriller as I got closer. It was almost unbearable, and I covered my ears as I drew level with the till.

Then, I stretched out my hand and picked up the receiver, which was black and covered in a thick film of dust. As the dust slid off it I noticed the floor was covered in ash. The light changed and I was standing in the middle of the clearing with the receiver in my hand, the shop having fallen away to leave nothing but burning ashes and a till with a phone resting on it. I was exposed to the woods.

In the distance I saw a group of men and women in ball gowns and tuxedos advance towards me through the trees. Tentatively, I put the phone to my ear as if it were providing me with a lifeline or escape, hearing instead, a deep, lilting voice.

'The Hanged Man, The High Priestess, The Hermit, The Moon and Death. Let them be a warning to you.'

I looked up to see that it was too late. The moon above came out from the cloud covering to stare down at me, directing the stares of the silent and waiting crowd. So I ran. I ran on gravel, as fast as I could through the trees, so fast I was almost floating above the turgid mud and mass of dark, matted leaves below. The deserted car park was completely black making the burning light behind the barn windows brighter. I got closer and closer but then I found I was running in slow motion, unable to get right up to the windows to see inside.

Above, the moon was bright and full, mottled grey cloud moving swiftly past it, failing to eclipse its hypnotic brightness. A desire to float towards it instead pushed me right up to the window, face against the glass, up close to unseeing figures, now inside. A falling sensation threatened, but I held on as I caught sight of a tall brunette in the centre.

A young woman knelt before her, blindfolded with her hands outstretched, pleading.

Without warning the light inside the barn turned to burning flame, high and bright, back-lighting the silent faces inside. The tall woman turned, and her eyes were upon me as the flames licked higher, engulfing and swallowing the ring around. She raised her hands to the sky, which opened up above my head, and threw burning cards into the air shouting:

'Beware, the occult!'

Dream diary, October

I sat in charred remains. There were others with me, and there were cinders smoking all around us, rising up slowly to taper into the blue sky above our heads, and I could just make out the bottom of the bonfire, in which the heat of the fire remnants worked away at a pile of golden binders, peeling away at their pages, layer by layer. A pair of dark eyes regarded me from across the way, remaining on my face as their owner spoke, her hair cascading around hollow cheek bones.

'You are important to the community. We have a plan for you...,' the cheekbones said, 'You sit between worlds, between this world and the next, between heaven and hell-'

'Between...?' I interjected, but the eyes just looked over at me, unmoved.

The bones continued. 'I was put here to help lead the flock, to identify the lonely and the lost. I even counted you among those - I thought I could help you. But no. Just look at you.'

The eyes changed and their darkness merged into deep purple, the colour of death. I could feel their vice-like grip on my soul and feel their pull, their calling to my loneliness. I felt the darkness encircle me and the smoke from the fire thicken as it snaked its way over to where I was sitting, its edges tainted by the burnished gold of burning books between us.

At that point the diary just seemed to tail off. There were no more entries. What had happened to the owner of the diary after this point? I flicked back and forth pondering the New Age shop and its contents. I sat back in the chair and thought for a moment. The books described bore an uncanny resemblance to the volume I'd found next to Martha's body on the night of her death. I cast my mind back to the reading which had been left on my coffee table and I didn't like it. Rummaging about in my bag, I fished out my phone and brought up the photo stream to browse through the images I'd snapped of the cards that night. I remember Nonna Rosa telling me how the Death card had more to do with change than death itself. She had taught me not to fear change and I'd taken her advice all my life, although some might say, I embraced too much of it. I was accustomed to that sinking feeling brought about by making a big change in life. I knew how it felt to leave people and places behind and move on. The feeling of dread was so acute I could taste it on my lips and feel it in the shiver of remembered anticipation which shuddered through my body. That feeling of an unknown quantity, of a path without a clear ending. I reflected on how, for many months, my world had been closing in on me. It was an ever-decreasing circle, a trap maybe? I felt as if I had been walking a corridor that lead to nowhere, one which presented me with an array of tightly shut doors. Had the owner of the diary felt this way too? And had the person who had left the card reading wanted to warn me of a change, maybe a catastrophic one? Or was their purpose more sinister?

I wandered out into the staff kitchen with my mug, still deep in thought. A couple of the practice nurses, Jenny and Marie, were chatting in the far corner by the kettle. They looked up from their conversation and smiled.

'Did you know that change is like dying?' I said to them, taking the kettle from its stand to fill it with water. The two older women's smiles became more polite and tight-lipped, but I continued. 'That's why the Death card in the Tarot signifies change and transformation'.

The more amiable of the two nurses, Jenny, stopped smiling abruptly and frowned. Pouring boiling water onto my tea bag, I took my leave of them and strolled back into my office, humming as I went.

Sipping my tea, I reflected that change was like death and rebirth. I had waded many times through that deathly no man's land between one phase of life and the next. My maudlin mood sank me further into old memories. I wanted to remember those moments again: a last day at work, or in a community before moving on. It was always the same: goodbyes, messages, celebrations, sadness, revelation and surprise. It was as if the newly opened door ahead provided some illumination, throwing a few choice shadows on the old life before it slammed shut again. But in this village there were no open doors, just a long corridor full of tightly closed ones. For once I had no idea which door to open next.

As if someone had read my thoughts, the door of my consulting room banged open.

'Dr Lewis, you need to come out here now. Please! I can't find any of the doctors!' It was Lucy, the younger of the receptionists, her neat blond hair slightly dishevelled, mascara smudged on one side, her face wiped clean of its usual, slightly disagreeable smirk.

I got up without a word and followed Lucy's scurrying form down the corridor towards the front desk and waiting room. As I moved forwards, a strangled, screaming whine reached my eardrums. I broke into a run, almost tripping over my high heels. Cursing, I entered the waiting room and, drawing level with the source of the screaming, sank to my knees. The ringing in my ears filled up the space around me before time slowed down.

In the waiting room a bunch of people were crowded around the large, wide window at the front. The small crowd ebbed and flowed around the source of drama breaking up and regrouping in a continuous circle of controlled panic. I moved to the middle of the group and leaned over a thrashing body, moving quickly and calmly, masking anxiety I couldn't reveal. Back-up was coming through the surrounding corridors in the form of an older, bearded man and a smart, grey haired woman. They joined me in a futile struggle before death overcame the room, blanketing all the inhabitants but claiming only one.

A woman's lifeless, outstretched hand uncurled to drop a piece of paper which floated to the ground, almost unnoticed.

Hours later, I sat at my desk, dishevelled and exhausted, my clothes crumpled as if still cradling the dead woman's head in the folds of their material. Joan had been pronounced dead at 6pm after half an hour of resuscitation. The hospital paramedics had arrived to help us out but to no avail. Then the police had been called. Joan's daughter had been distraught and the police clearly worried. There was no suicide note and no previous history of drug overdoses. The police had questioned those of us who had attempted to resuscitate Joan. Just to make things harder. Or easier. I wasn't sure.

With a sinking feeling, I tabbed through my computerised notes, searching for clues which might have pointed to more than just a mild depression, but could find none. At least that corroborated with the information I had given the police. But my most recent meeting with Joan played on my mind. I wondered if I should tell the police exactly what Joan had told me at that session.

Much later that night I returned home to find a note under my front door. Impatient with junk mail and door drops I crumpled it with one hand and was about to throw it straight in the paper bin when a sixth sense made me stop and unfold it. I reached into my pocket for an identical piece of crumpled paper, which I had retrieved from the floor next to Joan's body with the intention of passing it on to her family. Uncurling both balls of paper I smoothed them out on the table and studied them carefully, a sense of the unreal enveloping me as I did so. Joan's paper contained two scribbled lines above and below a photocopied image. It would have been bad enough if it had just contained the handwritten lines, which were written in the same scrawly hand as the message on my own piece of paper:

'Who is not with me is against me.'

An unpleasant, tingling sensation took hold as I bent to scrutinise it further. Like a crab, the crumpled paper tried to screw itself up again, as if to protect its contents. Opening it up further, I jumped when I saw the image on the page: it was a photocopy of the Death card. Whether it was from my Tarot pack was another matter. I could not tell and I studied the image for a while noting that it did, indeed, look exactly like the Death card from my own pack. Underneath were scrawled the words:

'You will be punished'.

Cheeks burning, I crossed the hallway to my little kitchen and flicked on a gas ring into which I dipped the piece of paper. In the darkness I watched detachedly as it burned slowly, at first, with a blue light which was quickly overcome by a burning orange flame. Taking the paper by the remaining tip I held it over the sink and waited until it burned right up to my fingertips. Then I dropped it into the deep porcelain bowl beneath.

As the smoke from the smouldering ash crept upwards, I bent over the sink, deep in thought. Nobody else would be punished. I would see to it personally.

## PART II  
The Fool

### Chapter 10

I'd been a member of the village council for about nine months after one of the doctors at the surgery had suggested I join - to get more integrated into village life. The group, made up of a small selection of influential villagers, met once a month in a tatty old miners' pub on the outskirts of town. Today, as usual, the pub's front entrance was wedged open to allow a heavy scent of sawdust to escape its crumbling walls. On the pavement outside stood the landlady, a middle-aged woman with spiky black hair and tattooed arms with an Alsatian by her side. The dirty brown of her hair was the same colour as the deep and hostile furrows in her brow. She was taking long drags on her cigarette, her bare arms brazening the plummeting temperatures as she stared at nothing in particular. I edged past her.

'Sorry,' I mumbled but she didn't acknowledge me. The Alsatian wagged its tail a little.

Edging further through the dark entrance, I threw a glance at the bar where some of the council members had already congregated, no doubt to discuss their common love of football or fast cars. I felt my hackles go up, bristling against the bravado and banter which hung in the air. It was a barrier which was adept at both attracting and repelling, carefully calculated to ensure self-protection whichever side of it you fell. This evening - as on all other occasions - a sea of testosterone washed over me from their direction. Ignoring the usual loud joshing, I noticed someone was offering me a drink, which I accepted whilst making a pretence of looking through my notes and non-existent text messages on my phone. As I took my place at the meeting table, I caught sight of familiar green eyes on the other side.

The meeting began as normal. Turgid, detailed, claustrophobic. There was only one other woman, Val, on the council with me. She was the village busybody and a woman everybody viewed as a necessary evil, such was the effort she put into keeping various projects running - the donkey work, I thought wryly. I was glad of her. As the meeting was opened and discussions begun, my mind returned often to my new acquaintance, Tony. Thoughts of him gave rise to a vague sense of anxiety and as I stared at the agenda in front of me, I fancied I could see his face floating around beneath my papers. I could just about make out opaque features beneath an ebony surface, blue eyes which became detached from his face and embedded within a lake of darkness. Mournful, the eyes were fixed on me but they were impassive so that I couldn't make out their implicit message. This image repeated itself in my thoughts, but as I grasped for a meaning, it remained out of reach. I was acutely aware of a sense of entrapment; of a feeling of being engulfed in a half-life between death and dreams.

I didn't know how long I'd been drifting for, when I was brought back from my thoughts by a familiar feeling which crept over me. Looking straight over at Vince, I met his stare with a questioning look. For once, his expression was not unfriendly, although a strand of his chin length hair obscured one of his eyes, making it harder to tell. Although I was accustomed to dealing with intimidation, there was something about his gaze which gave me the feeling he was one step ahead.

'What do you think, Elena?' Paul was saying from across the table.

'She's half asleep. Morning!' a fake-bored voice said from the far side of the room.

'Sorry. Late duty at the surgery,' I muttered. I tried to smile around at the assembled council members, but only Vince and Paul were still looking my way. Paul shook his head amiably and looked down at his agenda whilst Vince held my gaze steady for a couple more seconds without signalling anything. I looked away, tired of these games.

'Now that everyone's here, I just wanted to say - and I think I echo how everyone is feeling - how sorry I am about the death of Joan,' said Val, from the head of the table. Heads nodded in unison and I sighed. The news had obviously broken and found its way round the village.

'Elena, I believe it happened down at the surgery and that you and your colleagues did all you could to save her.'

I nodded, feeling like I didn't have the strength to comment. Catching a glimpse of my pallid reflection in the screen of my phone, I wondered if I would ever be able to cope with working in such a small community. After a brief discussion about when the funeral was expected to be held, a respectful silence ensued. Then a rustling of paper shivered around the room indicating it was time to move on with the meeting at hand.

The main point on the agenda was the up and coming village ball, which was an annual fundraiser for various local regeneration projects. I hadn't ever been to this event before, but I planned to this year. Val explained there was still lot to do in the final run up to the event, 'like every year', and many of the council members laughed. I got the feeling our workload was about to increase exponentially. Why hadn't I seen this coming? It was my first year on the council and clearly I was still a bit wet behind the ears. Sitting forward to listen more carefully to the proceedings I noted Paul's rueful jokes about how much it was going to cost him in terms of his wife's dress, shoes and accessories. I couldn't help thinking it was a shame such a nice guy had ended up with a wife like that.

The date of 31 October had been set a long time ago and now it was only three weeks away, the council was brittle and tense as it discussed the list of outstanding tasks. I couldn't remember the reasoning for coinciding a ball with Halloween - October was so far away from the usual summer party season and the idea of it made me uncomfortable. I'd heard somewhere the date was the same every year and the Charismatics always attended in large numbers. For some reason, the thought of this crept softly down my spine. Looking around the table I stole a wary glance at the people I thought were members. There were only a couple of them but it occurred to me they were the ones I felt most uneasy around. I kicked myself for not paying more attention to them earlier, for not having made this connection until now. Had I been walking around in a dream for the first twelve months of my residence in the village?

Voices droned and my mind began to wander again as I thought about the party, of the photo with its biblical slogan, used as a warning or a weapon. And I pondered how easy it was to use a quote from the Bible to convey the opposite of its original meaning. A cunning individual could twist the words of others round to any purpose they wanted. To influence and impose their will. I had always hoped people in positions of leadership were those best placed to be there, but of course I knew this was rarely the case. Sometimes it was worse than that. Sometimes there were self-appointed leaders whose canny ability to wield power over others was like an addiction they had to feed. And like all addictions, it grew over time into a great beast which required feeding ever more often.

Three suicides before Joan and still I'd sat quietly, my hands in my lap, my notebook by my side, with a neutral smile, just waiting for her to come up with her own answers, to see if she could find the strength and answers within to break free of the bounds of depression. The bomb had been ticking all along, loud and clear. I'd even been warned, not once but twice. But it seemed a card prediction and a dream diary weren't enough. That the warnings hidden on photos and talismans, whispered between the villagers with their lowered glances and unspoken understandings, weren't yet clear enough for me to take action. What was I thinking? I'd waited for Joan to die, like a dummy. I'd just watched and waited, knowing she was falling, hoping she'd pick herself up again, when really I should have saved her.

After the formal part of the meeting had finished, I sat at the bar with Val, Paul and Bob, who pulled up a stool to join us as we were being served our drinks. At the sight of him, my heart sank a little. He was an uninteresting individual who was known for being difficult to shake off and tonight his prey was clearly me.

'So Elena, tell us more about what happened to Joan,' he began. 'I don't understand how you can be all happy and jolly and skipping about one minute, and dead the next.'

I said nothing, waiting for Bob to continue.

'I mean, what did she die of? I heard it was suicide.'

'I can't comment I'm afraid.' I remarked, 'Patient confidentiality forbids it.'

'Dead patient confidentiality?' replied Bob with a dour expression, looking round for support from the others.

'And the family is a consideration. She hasn't even been buried yet, has she?' I snapped. My headache had started hammering behind my temples again and I paused to massage my forehead before looking up.

Vince, who was standing just behind me, cut in. 'Leave the poor girl alone.'

I didn't turn my head to look at him but sat very still, bristling slightly.

'She's a poor girl now is she?' Bob sneered, an unpleasant smirk on his face.

I could feel the weight of Vince's disapproval just behind my shoulders. The others started shifting on their stools.

'OK, I get it. Why don't you get off your high horse once in a while?' Bob said, turning to the bar to demand where his drink had got to. Glad of the diversion, Paul offered Vince a beer and he drew up a stool.

'Thanks Vince,' I muttered.

He leaned over his beer to take a sip, appearing not to hear me. Bob continued to sit at the other side of the circle, propping himself up by the elbows at the bar. Stale odours of beer and sweat assailed my nostrils as I sat listening to the group. The usual banter started flowing around me again and my own silence elongated as I drank. Eventually I finished my drink but my grip on the glass proved helpful. It gave me something to hold on to, to prevent me from fiddling with my hands and revealing my anxiety. Images haunted me: I remembered running, the large waiting room window, the small crowd, the faces outside. Memories came to me in stills and I couldn't join them up into something more fluid. When I tried, the pressing headache jabbed even harder into my temples and the front of my skull.

My pager buzzed and I took leave of the group to check it, wondering which of my patients was so critical I needed alerting at this time of the evening. I flicked my left hand over to check my watch. It was already 9:30pm. The pager directed me to check the voicemail on my phone. The first two messages were innocuous. One was from my landlord about some repairs he needed to do, and the second was from Dan. As the third voicemail kicked in, a cold sensation spread itself across me in fine, icy tendrils. I hugged myself as I tapped #1 on the touchscreen to listen again.

A voice, made alien by a crude voice changer of the kind which came with kid's Halloween masks, spoke into my handset.

'Whoever is not for us, is against us...' it rasped. 'Just remember that-' It cut off there. I tapped #1 again, squinting as I listened for any recognisable features in the voice. It seemed to slow down. 'Just. Remember. That.'

I clutched the handset, desperate to hit #3 to delete the message. I closed my eyes, desperate to erase the last twelve months of my life too. Unclenching my white knuckles from around the phone, I saved the message before dropping the phone back into my bag. I would have to have a word with my service provider about the types of voicemail which triggered pager alerts.

When I re-joined the group, I noticed Bob and his sidekicks had left and the conversation had taken a sudden turn to the subject of the ball. The air was close and doubly stale and there was something about the hunched backs of the men sitting round on their bar stools which didn't seem quite normal. One of them, an older man called Giles, was talking whilst all the others listened, an oddity in this world of male banter and light-hearted joking about. I slid back onto my stool.

'Bob and the others have gone but what about Terry?' he asked

'He's gone as well,' replied Vince, alert.

'Now, we all know about the reputation the ball used to have, years ago,' continued Giles in a hushed tone, his head bent inwards towards the rest of the group. Their nodding heads compounded my confusion and aroused my curiosity. There was no use in trying to appear uninterested within such a select group of people.

'Well we need to keep an eye out for any odd behaviour. We don't want the event to be jeopardised by a bunch of crackpots,' Giles was saying.

My reappearance had changed the dynamic, no matter how hard I tried to make myself appear insignificant. I cursed my profession, gender and class, which conspired to make me stand out more than I could bear. There was a pause, but I gestured that they should continue.

'Don't mind me,' I said. 'I'd like to hear this, anyway.'

A few pairs of eyes swivelled round to rest on me. The pause lengthened as Giles appeared to consider this for a moment, before he continued. 'Elena, you're new to this, but you should know something important. However, what we're about to tell you stays between these four walls.'

'OK,' I shrugged, realising I appeared non-committal. 'OK,' I repeated more firmly, nodding my head.

What followed was not quite what I had been expecting. Giles ran through the background: there had been several unexplained and untoward events at past balls. There were several accounts of unsettling noises in the woods which people had reported hearing from the gardens of the stately home where the ball was held. There were tales of groups of people disappearing from their tables, only to reappear much later on, dishevelled and confused.

'Maybe they'd had a bit too much to drink?' I asked.

It was Vince who answered, 'Don't think so, no. We've noticed a pattern: it's usually the same core of people with new hangers-on who they recruit to join them every year.' In answer to my questioning look, he continued. 'The core group contains those neighbours of yours and their inner circle.'

There was a silence, which I cut into, 'So these occurrences you are worried about. They happen every year either during or after the ball and you think the main people involved are in the inner circle of the Charismatic Community?'

Vince nodded but Val, who had just joined the circle to stand behind him, continued, 'The problem, Dr Lewis, is that we haven't been able to prove anything. Basically nobody will come forward. There aren't any children involved so we can't really get the social interested. Also, they cover their tracks. Where people have gone missing, we've not been able to link them back to the Charismatics or to the ball. In 2001 a young girl of about 20 went missing, but she wasn't a guest at the ball. However, several people said they had seen her in the vicinity of Harlesden Hall on that night. Then, in 2003, a young man of a similar age also went missing - he's still missing. He was at the ball but went home half way through the evening. He was last seen by his mother at home. What doesn't make sense in his case, is that there are a few people who were sure they saw him in the Hall's gardens later on that night. What both of those young people had in common was that they had recently joined the Charismatics - they were very close to their inner circle at the time of their disappearance.'

The room contracted.

'In the early nineties, two people from the Community committed suicide the week after the ball,' said Vince. 'Unexplained. Then there was a gap of a few years before it started up again: disappearances, suspicious deaths, usually around this time of year and always people connected to the Community.'

I coughed into my drink, fighting the desire to draw any conclusions about Julia and Iain. I had the uncanny feeling that I'd sat in this chair, in this pub, with these people, a hundred times over, that we were all locked into an endlessly repeating cycle of events.

I cleared my throat. 'Always this time of year?'

I could feel Vince's eyes on me. 'Yes,' he said. 'With a gap between the mid-nineties and 2001. I was only a lad back in the nineties, but it was around then that Julia and Iain went on some kind of long missionary tour overseas. When they returned, a lot of people had forgotten about the deaths and all the fuss there had been.'

'Well,' I said. 'If we can't prove anything about what happened in the past, we will just have to watch out that it doesn't happen in the future. We don't want history to repeat itself.'

A loud bang at the entrance of the pub attracted the attention of the dog, who roused himself to investigate. A few seconds later he returned and sat back down again in his usual position by the bar where the landlady was still serving beers to council members. Behind the dog shuffled a pair of slippered feet and legs clad in grimy jogging bottoms.

I got up to move towards the door.

Vince's voice made me jump. 'Leaving us already? Looks like we'll have to continue this discussion another time.'

'Just a minute, Vince.'

I made towards the entrance. Someone whispered that they thought we were supposed to be having a lock-in tonight.

'No, not yet,' another said.

'What's up with her?' said another. I didn't hear the answer.

'Tony, hello!' I said, in as bright and breezy a tone as I could. The stale odour around him was more pungent than ever, his greying hair greasy and his chin grimy and covered in thick black stubble. At the sound of my voice, he looked up and the expression on his face was both empty and desperately sad. I knew this look all too well and threw a questioning glance at the landlady, whose eyes were boring into us from behind the bar. I just needed to buy us a bit of time. I could tell she wanted to chuck him out of her pub, and who could blame her?

Hands shaking, he fetched Rizlas and a tin of tobacco from his pocket. I shuddered, but tonight wasn't the night to raise any objection, despite the exaggerated cough at the bar and a low gale of hostile laughter I refused to turn and acknowledge. Who cared what they thought, anyway? Turning my attention back to Tony, I gestured for him to sit down with me, but as we did so, the landlord came downstairs carrying a bunch of keys, winking at Paul who yelled, 'Lock-in! Who's for another beer then?'

'What's going on?'

'A lock-in, Tony.'

'I don't want them to lock me in. Tell them they can't lock me in.'

'Nobody can hurt you in here Tony, it's just a pub and it's just us here. It's just so that they can keep drinking after the pub has shut for business.'

'They will find a way in and then I won't be able to get out.'

I didn't question who 'they' were. I didn't think it would help. For a few moments we sat there in silence. I was well aware of a curious audience behind me but for once I really didn't care. Blocking them out, I stretched my hand towards him but he shrank back. He was shaking, and he looked both cold and sweaty at the same time.

'Look, Tony. Do you want me to walk you back home?'

He shot me a look of intense panic. 'They are waiting for me at home, I can't go there.'

I frowned and looked up. Contrary to what I'd thought, nobody was looking my way and the group at the bar only seemed concerned with getting stuck into their beer. I got up and lead him to a more secluded table in the corner, looking round for Val in case I needed to call on anyone for help. The stale and acrid smell of tobacco intensified as Tony smoked another roll up, his fingers continuing to shake as they clung to the Rizla paper, his mouth slack and voice slurred.

'I've been praying a lot...Well, meditating, but I'm worried.'

I regarded him in silence.

'Things have been happening.' He looked through me. 'Did I tell you I study comparative religion and philosophy?' He didn't wait for an answer. 'Well I've included a section on New Age and pagan philosophies, and, well...' he tailed off and looked down at his fingers. His roll-up sat on an ash tray in by his right hand and I noticed his fingertips were yellow and his nails long. I suppressed a shudder at the sight of them.

'What does Julia think about that?'

He flashed me a more coherent look. 'You're right, of course. But she's been so kind. I was a little taken aback by her reaction. I mean, what's the harm in it? As part of my studies I am required to look at belief systems across the board.' There was a small pause as he took another drag.

'Tell me something, Elena. Are you interested in the Tarot?'

I almost dropped the glass I'd been holding, and juice spilt over the edge of it onto my hand as I set it down on the table. 'I used to be. Why?'

'Oh, something and nothing, maybe. I heard Julia and Iain talking about it.'

I threw him a look. 'About what? About me? Or the Tarot?'

'I'm not sure.' There was a pause. 'I'm sorry, maybe I was confusing them with something else. I daydream a lot, it could have been that, but I thought I heard Julia tell Iain their neighbour was one of those people who dabbled in fortune telling, specifically Tarot cards but other things too.'

I drew a breath. 'That's rubbish I'm afraid, Tony. Maybe you didn't hear that right.'

His hands wobbled as he took his next drag.

There was a short pause before I spoke again, this time my voice low. 'Look, why are you here tonight? Are you in some kind of trouble?'

'I heard from somewhere that you were a therapist. You know, for people like me,' he replied, pausing to look at me, his eyes mournful. 'I know I'm not well, and I'm feeling bad again. Sometimes I cope. Sometime I don't.'

I nodded, smiling as I paused to think. His anxiety troubled me. Even though I was well aware he could be having an off day, there was something about it which didn't resonate.

'Is there anything else, Tony?'

He answered with a long silence. He stared into the middle distance and his hand fell back, the roll-up smoking uselessly by his side with ash building up at its tip and falling to the floor.

'Tony?'

He looked at me. 'Will you come to a Charismatic meeting with me?'

'Tony, I don't think I can.' I said. 'It isn't really my thing. But if you want to come to me for therapy, I can arrange something.'

His eyes flashed, their gentle demeanour replaced with disappointment, and I realised I hadn't handled him well, after all. I stretched out my hand to him but he was already standing up. I stood up too, haste causing my seat to clatter backwards on the floor behind me. Vince and Paul, who had been chatting quietly, stopped what they were doing to stare at me and I noticed that Vince was holding himself so still that his eyes seemed to take on a life of their own. Paul looked both faintly amused and alarmed at the same time, the amusement, I fancied, hidden as best possible beneath a veneer of concern.

I looked back to see Tony stagger to the outer door of the pub and disappear through the doorway.

'Everything alright Elena?' asked Paul, now closer, his head cocked to one side, his brown eyes sharp for once.

Vince continued to watch from the bar, his stance closed but casual. I couldn't tell if he was interested in the proceedings or not and as facades went, Vince's was good. Paul, on the other hand, wasn't accomplished in this area at all.

'I think I need to go,' I said.

Paul cocked his head again. 'Oh?'

'Look, don't worry about it, OK?'

'You sure you're alright?'

I jabbed my fingers into my forehead where the sharp pain had reappeared, pausing mid-massage to look back at the table where we'd been sitting.

'I was just talking to...' I frowned at the door, but there was no sign of him.

'Look. Whatever.' A faint smile appeared on his face, hastily suppressed. 'Sure you don't want another drink?'

I got up. 'No thanks, and in fact I need to go home now. I've got a lot on tomorrow.'

I walked to the door in Tony's footsteps. Looking around for the landlord I saw that I needn't have bothered. Someone had already sent him over to open up for me. A little harassed, he produced a bunch of keys from his apron and unlocked the door with a swift and impatient hand movement. I escaped into the night air which hit my lungs, cold and turgid and stinking of coal smoke. I walked quickly to the end of the road and round the corner, padding softly through the deserted village streets until I got to my road. Turning into my street it occurred to me that the village was sleeping, indicating a later hour than I'd imagined. Looking at each window as I passed, I felt as if they were looking back at me, although many were opaque and unseeing. Thick curtains lined some windows and blinds others but others were nude and empty, revealing lifeless and unloved rooms beyond. I looked at my watch again: 11:30pm. That late? I shook my head, trying to reconcile the hour with the sense of time passing. It didn't add up.

I was almost level with my house when I noticed a light glowing in a side window of the Victorian house just beyond. The window glass glowed the colour of burnished gold, its brightness providing stark contrast to a large, wooden cross pressed up against the glass. Facing my house, its wooden form seemed thrust aggressively against the window pane as if to ward me off. I got halfway down my driveway before I stopped to level with it. Time seemed to stop as I traced the outline of the wood with my eyes. Maybe Julia had underestimated me after all. Thinking of the chunky musky quality of the cross, I thought of my own secret weapon, which I kept hidden under the floorboards in my bedroom. It would take more than a wooden cross to scare me: I wondered if my neighbours didn't know that much about me after all.

As I stood there on my driveway, I heard the sound of muffled voices carrying over in the night air: Tony's voice remonstrating with a sharper tone.

'Did I not tell you to beware?'

'I just went to the pub.'

'But look at you. You should be at home in bed where we can help you if you need it. I can't protect you if you throw yourself in the path of danger, in the path of the outsiders. You should leave it to me to handle them - I am stronger.'

I slipped further down the driveway into the shadow of my house. Then, the sound of a door slamming and another, lower, growling voice took over.

'Who did you see?' I thought I heard it say, but the answer was oddly confident.

'Just a friend.'

I didn't hear anything else for a few moments and, letting down my guard, I sank against my front door, against its shadow. For once I was glad the landlord hadn't yet fixed the porch light which would have revealed my statue-like stance to the curtain-twitchers on the other side of the street.

'Elena...' hissed a voice close by.

I sprang round. 'Vince, what on earth are you doing? You scared the shit out of me!'

'Now, now, that's not very ladylike,' he said, but his eyes had a wicked gleam in them. 'I followed you out of the pub to see if you were OK. You didn't look great when you left. And your behaviour beforehand was odd to say the least.'

'Oh, ta. Thanks. Maybe it was because that guy who's staying with them,' I jerked my head towards Julia and Iain's house, 'turned up in his slippers. It was pretty surreal.'

I didn't like the way he was looking at me.

'Oh, he's harmless,' I was babbling now as he took a step closer. I kept talking, as if to widen the physical distance between us. 'But, you know, he's not well - hence the slippers, so when he left, I followed him home, then I heard him talking to _her_ inside. Did you catch any of that?'

'Any of what?'

'Of what Julia was saying to him just now. I could hear them - they must have an open window somewhere.'

He was still regarding me with the same suspicious gleam in his eye. I shivered.

'Back track there a sec,' he said, scratching behind his right ear. 'You were talking to some guy in the pub then you followed him home?'

I nodded. 'Well, sort of.'

There was a pause. Vince opened his mouth to say something but shut it again. After a minute or so, he spoke, but I guessed it wasn't what he really wanted to say.

'I didn't see who you were talking to in the pub, but when you left you looked pretty distracted. Paul thought someone should come after you.' Taking a step forward, he stretched out his arm to stroke a piece of renegade hair out of my eyes. 'Your hair is falling out of its hairdo here' he said. 'You're beginning to look like your patients. And behave like them now too.'

Another step closer, but this time it was too dark for me to read anything in his eyes.

'Joking aside, Elena, you need to be more careful,' he said, his voice low. 'That conversation we were having in the pub. It's all true, the disappearances and suicides. People don't talk about it. Sometimes it takes an outsider to resurrect the battle. But outsiders have tried in the past, and failed.'

I took a step back into the shrubs which crept up the garden wall adjacent to my front door and my ankle crumpled. Vince caught me and yanked me up, so that we were eye to eye.

'Look,' I said, twisting away from his gaze. 'We need to talk.'

A heavy click on the other side of the wall interrupted my thoughts and I froze as a voice rasped into the darkness. 'That bitch,' it said.

Vince froze. 'Don't move,' he hissed.

'Just what we needed,' continued the voice. 'Little bitch, interfering with my guests, with my followers. Nosing into the women's prayer group, asking patients about us.'

It sounded like he'd been drinking, this holier than thou neighbour of mine. Vince and I stood in silence for another few moments, until a second click told us he had returned to his house.

'Where were we?' said Vince, but at that moment, his phone buzzed and he stepped away, releasing me to the cold air and damp bushes. Something like disappointment washed over me, but I banished it quickly, keen to stay in control.

'Yes,' he said into his phone and turned away. After a few seconds he shoved the phone into his pocket. 'I have to go. Let yourself into the house and bolt the door behind you. I'll ring you later.'

I wanted to tell him I didn't need to bolt the door, but I didn't know if he'd appreciate the reasons, so I simply nodded and smiled, waiting for him to leave.

He jerked his head towards the door, hands now thrust into his pockets. 'Go!'

Shrugging my shoulders, I stepped over to my front door and put the key in the lock, noticing for the first time that I was soaking wet and covered in green foliage. As I opened the door and turned to wave goodbye to Vince, I saw that he had already gone.

### Chapter 11

**Tony**

**1 October**

Julia awoke me this morning. No, not deliberately. Her voice. It came to me from outside, not from inside my head, and it rose above the voices I had been dreaming of. She was nearby, near enough to hear me breathing, or to hear the voices. But not close enough for me to work out exactly where she was. Both near and far. I held my breath.

I heard her say, 'I don't like her, Iain. Can we do something?'

I didn't hear his reply, which came like a low hum from somewhere else in the house. She said, louder this time. 'Did you hear? We should do something...Yes, I know. I've tried that. It didn't work. She doesn't seem bothered.'

Again the hum. Iain's low voice, droning on.

'Yes I know. The other doctors are behind us. But I'm worried. It only takes one, Iain. This is what we learnt from our mentors. We need to be cautious.'

Iain spoke again and I strained to listen. His voice, as usual, was low and guttural. He always sounds as if he is hiding a wild animal somewhere inside.

Hum hum hum. It started to get louder. I felt like there was a swarm of bees in the house and tried to keep listening over the racket. I glanced around, fearful my medication had worn off, for in the place of a bed, there was a wooden, slatted contraption with some kind of giant, flat cushion rolled up on the top of it. My eyes itched at the sight and I rubbed them. The walls seemed a different colour. I blinked them away, trying to focus on the conversation outside once more.

'Well, OK Iain, I know she's snooping around. Let me deal with it. I know we have the ceremony to think of. And of course, we have our project to complete so that we can be sure our finances are ready for the next stage.'

Another pause filled with the low hum I imagined to be Iain.

I lit up a cigarette as I couldn't find my roll-ups, took a drag and continued listening but they had stopped talking. I thought I heard Julia coughing outside my door before footsteps retreated down the stairs. I heard a 'shh' sound, but then again, it could have been the wind. In the meantime, my bed reappeared in the corner of the room. I breathed a sigh of relief and closed my eyes for a moment.

I must have drifted off into my thoughts as I was surprised to see Julia in my doorway, the door open wide like her eyes. She was bare foot and her was hair wild. I jumped and stubbed out my roll-up.

'You know, Iain and I don't smoke. And neither should you,' she said, still framed by the doorway. 'And if you wish to become a Charismatic, you must not have vices. It is forbidden.' She enunciated this, her thin, red lips puckered around the 'b' and opened to bare teeth at me as she pronounced the 'd'. I couldn't remember saying I wanted to join their organisation, and yet here she was, talking at me as if I had begged her.

'I was just,' I started, keen to change the subject, 'going to ask you. That woman next door. Is she a member of your community?'

Silence descended as Julia shut her mouth and stared over at me. In two decisive steps she was by my side at the desk by the window. She grabbed my pill bottle and wrenched it open, emptying the contents all over the book I had open in front of me.

'It appears you are not taking your medication,' she said, her voice laced with an undertone which filled me with dread. 'I promised your mother.'

I looked up at her and nodded, reaching over to take three tablets which I stuffed into my mouth all at once. Then there was a pause which I fell into. Images of people rose up and stood by her, chanting prayers, poems, rites. They crowded my vision. In the middle of them all Julia raised her hands slowly and chanted something too, her lips moving slowly and deliberately. But I couldn't hear what she was saying. After a long moment in which I felt myself drowning in the noise, Julia's eyes flew open and those who had been standing around her faded from view. Then she thrust a glass of water into my hand and ordered me to swallow the tablets - which were still resting in my mouth, half-chewed - down in one.

I sat in my chair for a very long time afterwards, just thinking. My mind turned to thoughts of that woman I've seen next door. She seems different from the rest. I made a note of it, as it seemed worth committing to memory. She has such an odd demeanour, one of a true loner. Not unlike me. She reminds me of Camus' "Outsider": so detached from the rest. Julia and Iain have what I can only describe as 'followers'. They are not friends, nor are they what I understand to be congregation. No, they are more reminiscent of fans, almost like those a pop star or sports personality might have.

I watched her yesterday from the window of my new residence. Sad and elusive, she has straight hair which looks a bit like the rest of her - somewhat long, thin, pale and wan, like a ghost. Her poise frightens people off, I'm sure of it. Such confidence. It seems a rarity in these parts. Most of the villagers depend on Julia for affirmation. They require membership of her community to feel a part of life here. The neighbour, however, does not need this. In fact, she appears to reject it. And this puzzles me. At their gathering the other day she seemed to float around, quite separate from everyone else. Julia often says, 'This is a small village and everybody knows everybody. Most people are very friendly.' But when I asked her about the neighbours a look passed, like a shadow, between her and Iain.

Moreover, I don't think the neighbour is a member of Julia's community. It's an oddity in this otherwise close knit village world. Yet again, Julia invited me to join, as I thought she would. 'I'm sorry you didn't make it last Sunday. We don't just meet on Sundays, of course, we meet to pray on other days of the week too. If you ever fancy going and you can't find us, we're usually there - in the community in a hall on the other side of the village,' Julia told me, after the strange end to my questions about the neighbour. 'When you're ready, we would love it if you joined us for our Sunday meeting - it's the highlight of our week!' There was a pause as she fixed me with an enquiring look. When I didn't reply, she continued. 'Well, all in good time. Maybe we could start you off at our daily prayer group instead. In the meantime, help yourself to anything from our library.' She pressed a few books onto me, insisting I took them up to my bedroom to read. I looked down at the books which sat cradled in arms which felt disconnected from my body. They would give me enough to go on for a while, words to delve into, words to contemplate.

So I went with her for my first session at 'Daily Moments', Julia's prayer/meditation group. Whilst I was sitting in contemplation with her group, a strange sensation came over me. As if someone was watching over me. It was a wonderful feeling of peace, one I haven't experienced for a long time. Not since long before my problems began.

I must have been sitting there for at least an hour, just letting the proceedings wash over me, just listening to Julia's voice chanting in a low, soothing tone somewhere in the distance as I drifted in and out of this world. Eventually one of the group - an older man, hitherto silent - began to talk. He said, 'Imagine that love is the sun. You can't look directly at it but it is there, all around us. Indeed, without it, we are nothing. We would wither up and die. Maybe you can't feel the warmth of the sun right now, but try taking off your coat or your jumper, and bare your skin to the warmth of the sun's rays. There, you see. You couldn't feel the warmth of the sun before, but now that you have peeled off your layers, you can. It is the same with your heart. Maybe you can't feel love because your heart is cold. Open your heart to love...'

I considered this, hoping one day I would be able to lower my defences, allow others to get closer. I've been isolated for so long, not wanting to inflict my problems on others. But maybe it's the time for me to open up now. I watched the woman next door from my window: so tall, pale, brittle and watchful. As she sat on her garden chair I noticed her look around several times, glancing my way a few times although I knew she couldn't see me concealed in the shadow of my room. Wary suspicion was etched into her face and the stiffness of her posture gave her the appearance of someone older than her years. On the garden table in front of her was a pack of cards which she placed to one side of a curious little flat typewriter with no paper. I've never seen such a thing before.

So many things about this woman are curious, like the village itself which is friendly and yet not friendly. Neither rich nor poor, old nor young. There is no reality here, just shades of grey.

### Chapter 12

Silent fountains and Japanese water gardens greeted me as I stepped across the decking which led to the entrance of a large, luxurious villa. It housed the health club I was a member of - one of my few guilty pleasures in life. The days had turned to dusky, pithy cold and the decking had been gritted in anticipation of bad weather overnight. As I stepped over it, it seemed to me that the chill of autumn was plummeting along with my mood. I cast a glance towards the wide expanse of polished glass which lay between the decking and the right hand wing of the building, noticing that several people were eating an evening meal in the spa's restaurant. I checked my phone: 8pm. It was getting late, but I needed to unwind and think things over, away from the cards and Martha's diary.

On first impressions, the place seemed deserted, which was how I liked it. I started off in the gym. Picking up the kettle bells in the far corner of the room, I got stuck in, working through my training regime slowly and thoroughly before moving to the mats to do the moves I'd been taught through the long programme of martial arts training I'd followed as a youngster. My routine drew a few curious looks but I just smiled and got on with it. Once finished I made my way to the changing room to get ready for a swim.

It took me a minute to change. On my way through to the pool, I caught my reflection in the windows. There hung an echo of what others saw: a tall, willowy frame; long, wispily blond hair pinned up, and unusual eyes - I tried not to look at my eyes - pale and wary in the yellow glare of the overhead lights. The floor-to-ceiling glass of the pool windows sucked the night in from outside and distorted my ghostly white body, its long limbs all athletic, but all too thin with it. This wasn't a body people felt at ease around. My tattoo winked at me from the base of my spine. I found it comforting. Its position meant I didn't often catch sight of it and sometimes I forgot it was there at all. I stopped for a second, half turning my hips to get a better look.

The quincunx had been my symbol of choice for as long as I could remember. Four connected diamonds within a fifth, it contained meanings in many ancient traditions and religions. In alchemy it represented the theory that the whole amounted to more than the sum of its parts. My favourite was the idea of passing through the four levels of the physical world to reach the fifth, a god-like state or enlightenment. The idea of using discipline of both my mind and my body to rise above the physical world to achieve enlightenment was important to me. It was one of the reasons I lived alone and valued my independence and solitude. Sometimes it was my lifeline.

Lowering myself into the water, I began the first of several sets of lengths. First crawl, then backstroke. After I'd done a few lengths, an uneasy sensation began to gnaw away at my stomach forcing me to stop. Someone in the Jacuzzi was watching me. It was difficult to make out exactly who it was but her body language was uncomfortably familiar. Shaking off her stare, I swam a length of front crawl before lifting my goggles to take a better look.

Up closer I found there was only a late middle aged couple gazing at one another like love-struck teenagers. I quelled a rising sense of hostility to the pair, and got out of the pool to walk towards the Jacuzzi. There really was nobody else there aside from the couple. I perched on a sun lounger at the side of the pool area, a disturbing image in my head: a mixture of the diary and a pair of eyes, as black as night, which rose up to read it with me.

I thought about the mind of the diary's owner. Scenes of destruction were dominant. Many of the dreams featured burning embers, cinders and charred remains, images so powerful I could feel the author's terror as I recalled it. And the eyes described in the diary had begun to haunt me, too. As I lay on the lounger, I could almost see the woman from the dreams in front of me, her curtain of dark hair, hollow cheek bones and dark eyes merged into deep purple, the colour of death, as they exacted a vice-like grip on my soul. I shivered, just thinking about it, and I decided I would do well to go somewhere warmer.

The sauna lay empty behind its thick glass door. I grabbed a towel and pushed my way into the heat. The decked wood inside sat bereft. Lying down, I stretched the full length of my body across a bench, only a couple of inches from the hot coals. The heat stung, but I didn't care, wanting only to be submerged in the thick, scalding air, to submit to it and blot out my thoughts.

Images from my life danced about in the heat as I lay, thinking about all the people I'd come across in the short time I'd been living in the village. I considered their distance, and the thought of it made me tremble, despite the heat on my back and the undersides of my legs. Thankfully, after a few minutes the woody darkness of the sauna closed in. Gradually, I relaxed and extracted the negative images from my mind.

When I opened my eyes again I became aware of a flash of white just outside the glass of the door. I got up and paced over to take a look. I was enjoying my solitude and would need to escape if anyone else wanted to use the sauna. Peering through the hot semi-darkness, I saw a group of women just outside each with their health-club towels pulled in tight to their busty chests: soft, white towelling tucked into three sets of rosy Anglo-Saxon skin which bulged slightly at the edges. They moved off around the corner and I slipped through the sauna door towards the lockers in the hope of evading notice.

One of the three was Emma, Vince's younger sister. I could recognise her anywhere, just from her wide smile and loud confidence. I wasn't sure, but I thought the other two were probably her friends Louise and Lucy. I wasn't too keen on meeting them, particularly given their attitude to me in the surgery. I changed direction and went back towards the changing rooms reasoning that if I got under the shower they would be well and truly gone by the time I emerged.

My heart sank as voices increased in volume on the other side of the changing rooms. I busied myself with my shower gel and towel as I listened, catching Emma's voice which stood out above the others, clear and confident. 'That was Julia back there. I've not seen her in here before, have you?

I didn't hear the reply. The voices, muffled and low, rumbled on for a bit until I heard Lucy. 'Did you hear that Martha Dawson was into all that New Age nonsense? You know, all that weird palmistry-astrology stuff.'

'Yes and _I heard_ it was suicide. And she'd been hanging around that New Age shop a lot too.'

Emma spoke again. 'Vince mentioned something about that.'

I fumbled with the faucet, trying to get it on before anyone noticed I was in there.

After a few minutes spent standing under running water, I heard voices again. This time they seemed to be coming from the alcove just outside. Julia's low, lilting tones were unmistakable although I couldn't work out who the second woman was. Pulling my towel tight across my breastbone, I slipped out of the cubicle and around the corner to get a look at them.

Julia was standing alone near the lockers. My smile was small and tight as I padded over to join her and the smile she returned was more controlled...no, more controlling than mine. A real pro, I thought.

'Hi Julia.'

'Elena,' said Julia. 'I didn't know you were a member here?'

'Oh, I have been for a while.'

It wasn't often I came across another woman who was as tall as I was, but this time I chose not to meet her level gaze, looking down, instead at her spindly fingers, which were cradling a small wash bag.

She smiled. 'You know, Elena, it's nice to bump into you here. I sometimes get the impression you work too hard.'

'I do, especially now,' I said. 'There are a lot of troubled people in this village.'

She stared. 'Not the people of my community.'

As she spoke, a shadow passed across her face, a darkness so intense I could feel it. Cold crept over my body as we stood, my hair wet and dripping, my feet bare and my stomach hollow. And as we stood, the look on Vince's face flashed in and out of my memory once again, his incisive stare cutting a hole in my heart, through my integrity. Making me doubt myself.

There was no sign of the other person Julia had been talking to moments before, although in the distance I could hear loud gales of laughter coming from inside the steam room into which Emma, Louise and Lucy had just disappeared.

'Look,' I said, remembering something I could use. 'I've been thinking, Julia, about your invite.'

'Invite?' Her eyes narrowed.

'You remember? A few months ago you invited me to that women's prayer group of yours. I've never been. I could do with it at a time like this.'

We both knew this wasn't true.

After a small silence, Julia answered, 'Of course. New people are always welcome. In fact, why don't you join us next time? We're meeting again on Sunday night at 7pm in our community hall.'

I nodded. 'I'd like that. If you could call for me on the way, I'd appreciate it.'

She nodded too, and with a quick grimace, I said goodbye and moved towards the changing rooms. After another moment's hesitation Julia went towards the pool.

Back in the changing room my locker door swung backwards to reveal my clothes and bag and the mirrored reflection of a young woman sitting behind me in silence. Caught off guard, I grabbed and dropped my wash bag, stumbling on its contents which had spilled out onto the floor. The girl seemed startled out of her stupor and stammered an apology.

Seeing that she was one of my patients, I stopped and composed myself. Her stance worried me: she sat very still, almost too still, as if she didn't trust herself to move and her eyes belied an emptiness I didn't care for. Sitting in her wet towel, with her short, neat hair still damp around her dull, pinched face, she seemed far older than her years. From what I remembered of this girl, she could be about twenty at the most. Even though I was only a few years older myself, somehow it felt like there were decades between us.

'Hi Linda. Clumsy me, eh?' I said bending down to push my belongings back into my handbag. 'I really must clear this bag out.'

Linda seemed to jump back into the land of the living. She stood up and started to get changed into a tracksuit. Puzzled, I followed suit and when I was ready to go, I turned back to the girl, my gaze more deliberate. 'See you soon,' I said to her. 'And take care.'

I strained to catch her words as they disappeared into the background echoing noise of the pool. 'Is Julia still here?' she said.

'She's in the swimming pool.'

'Right. Well, I'll see you soon then.'

With this she shuffled out of the changing room, head bent and eyes forward. As the door swung behind her, I threw on my coat and ran towards the gap she'd left behind, catching the back-swing a split second before it closed. She must have moved swiftly as I could see no sign of her in the health club foyer beyond. Instead my eyes rested on water features and immaculate staff in regulation tracksuits. Driven by a sixth sense, I ran through the reception area leaving a trail of wary glances in my wake.

Outside I paused to look up at a cloudless sky. The health club was in the middle of nowhere and the lack of street light and neighbouring properties made the darkness all the more pressing. It seemed like we were wrapped in a charcoal blanket studded only by the lights of the car park and neatly manicured grounds. The village lay several miles beyond, cut off from where I now stood.

A rush of something to my right caught my attention and I called 'Linda!?' without thinking. The movement stopped and as I looked round, Linda appeared from behind a small, midnight blue car on the other side of the car park. I walked over to her.

'Yes?' She had one eye on the spa entrance behind me.

'What did you mean about Julia back there?'

'Nothing. I just wondered if she was still there, like I said.' Her pupils had narrowed to tiny dots.

'Well yes, but Linda, what's wrong? Do you want me to drive home behind you? Forgive me if I'm speaking out of turn, but if you're feeling anxious I can help.'

'Nothing's wrong,' she replied, but the other-worldly expression I'd glimpsed before had crept back and her voice was faint.

'Well, any time you want to come back to our sessions, you can.'

Her face blanched, and a gust created by the reception door opening and closing behind us hit the back of my neck.

I sensed a third person emerge from the building into the shadows behind me. Linda wrung her hands together and I spun round to find myself almost nose to nose with Julia. I tried to combat the intensity of her stare with some cold hostility of my own, but she seemed to envelope all three of us in darkness. It felt almost like drowning, as we were plunged into the pitch black around.

After a pause, I found my voice to say the first thing I could think of. 'Did you want a lift?'  
Julia shook her head, slowly. 'Thank you, Elena, but no. And if you'll excuse us, there's something I forgot to say to Linda earlier.'

I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Turning, I saw that Linda was nodding fervently, knuckles white against the blood red of her gym bag. She was nothing like Martha and yet it was Martha who sprang to mind, the whites of her knuckles on my consulting chair as she told me of her fears, the red of her lipstick against the pallor of her face as she told me she thought her life was in danger.

### Chapter 13

**Tony**

**10 October**

When Julia talks to people I feel a strange current pass from one to the other. I cannot identify it but it troubles me and sends my mind into a spin. At the same time, she has been so kind, so hospitable. I have been attending the community's activities with her, and I am glad of this.

I accompanied Julia on her grocery shop today. We had to drive to the nearest large town as there is only a small corner shop in the village. She explained she often had to entertain and needed to bulk buy. It's an alien concept for me. Furthermore, the money spent on luxuries surprised me. What a lot of money Julia and Iain have. She explained it was from 'pooled resources' the community keeps.

On the way home Julia decided to pay a visit to a young girl, Helen Taylor, who lives with her father on the outskirts of the village in a large, rambling farmhouse. I couldn't discern the details but it seemed her mother had met an untimely end some months ago. _Best thing for her_ , Julia seemed to mutter as she stared straight ahead at the winding road leading up to Helen's home. I wanted to ask what she had died of but something about the silence which hung between us put me off. In the meantime, the road had narrowed and I noticed it was overgrown on both sides. Julia explained this was the fault of Helen's father who had fallen into a deep depression after the death of his wife and stopped maintaining his property properly. I thought it looked as it should. Nature is supposed to be wild and untameable, rather like the human mind.

Just before we turned off up a narrow dirt track which led to the Taylor's farm, I noticed a large, dark building through the trees. And again I was struck by the feeling that Julia could reach into my mind to pluck my thoughts out.

'You don't want to be going anywhere near that place,' she said, one hand on the steering wheel as she thrust the other right across my bows to point in the direction of the dark building we were veering away from. I jumped back and shrugged, but she kept on. In a lowered voice, she muttered, 'Work of the devil...' I remained silent but when I didn't respond, she straightened up and flicked her wavy locks my way. 'Don't be tempted to go there, Tony. You'll be sure to regret it.'

I saw that we had reached the farmhouse, so I merely nodded and made to get out of the car. As I turned I noticed the glint in her eye. I wished I could forget about it, but later, as we sat at the Taylor's large oak table which spanned the breadth of their sprawling farmhouse kitchen, I was aware of her eyes still on me, still glinting. I didn't know what it was I'd done wrong, but I was afraid. It seemed Helen and her father - particularly her father - could not see it, as they seemed so taken with her. And who wouldn't be? As we stepped across their threshold, she took Helen's hands in hers and whispered a comforting verse or two from the Bible whilst fixing the girl's father with her most charming smile, and the whole place was immediately filled with her confidence.

When we got back she had something to ask me.

'It's something important,' she said. 'In order to protect you from the evils of your...illness, the best thing would be for you to join our community, become an official member, perhaps.'

I didn't reply and she took this as an invitation to elaborate. 'I've noticed how preoccupied you are with death and purgatory. I'm sure you'll agree this isn't healthy, especially not for someone with your condition. No, you need something else, something which might enable you to get closer to the true nature of eternal life.'

I thought: maybe this will help me escape the alienation of my studies. The endless analysis and comparisons are so dry, so dead where what I really crave is contact. I hoped she would leave me to think about it, to ponder the idea and take my own sweet time to decide.

But she wasn't finished. 'We will need some money from you,' she said. 'To keep the community going, you understand. Not many people have enough money to help, but you have your father's inheritance and he would have wanted it.'

I wasn't so sure. 'I think it would be best if I discussed that with my mother.'

She frowned and the intensity of her stare made me take a step back. 'Now, Tony,' she began, her voice so low I could barely hear her. 'You know as well as I do that your mother would be happy for you to live at home all your life, but that's hardly going to help you get better. No. What you need is connections, people who will stand with you shoulder to shoulder, who will show you the way. Our community can do that for you. We can give you a new lease of life, a new start.'

Since the onset of my illness so many years ago, a fresh start has been my holy grail. I remember it so clearly that sometimes I experience it again, in one of my waking dreams: the lecture theatre at Oxford, the sheen of student heads bobbing up and down in the cascading rows below, the hush as our professor walked in, his pointer raised to signal the silence he required. As I sat there wondering why the notes of my fellow students seemed to jump out from their splayed notebooks on the next bench down it seemed their handwritten letters started to speak. It was a chorus, at first melodic and comprising voices of many different tenors which caressed my ears, but which soon turned into a cacophony which rose not only from the notebooks but seeped from the walls

I thought of my father, his intransigence and stiff upper lip evaporating in the face of my plight. Of all people, he was the one who helped me the most, the one who marched me to the doctor and then to all the experts after that. So many long waits, heavily sedated. I remember it as a blur, a kind of living purgatory. Now, the thought of taking my father's money to give me a new lease of life seems apt. But somehow I wonder if he would approve. Doubt nags at me.

Still, Julia is difficult to argue with. She is charming and icy, all at once, sending out slivers of something indefinable which threaten to cut me up into little pieces. I am afraid to cross her. I am afraid of my old life. I can still hear those voices, but they are melodious and kind to me, only switching back when I don't do as she says. If I cross her, they will come back. I know they will.

She is right, now is my time to move on, to take a leap of faith.

### Chapter 14

A knock at the door reminded me of my appointment with Julia's prayer group. The light was already failing outside as I shut my laptop with a snap and went to the hall, sensing a dark shape behind the glass of the front door. The shadow cast into my entrance hall seemed to me to be tall, elegant and aware. It both fascinated and repelled me as I stood watching it for a minute. Through the toughened glass, I could make out a hooded poncho, intense purple in colour and flowing around its owner's tall, graceful frame. I could just imagine the material hanging down into luxurious dark folds and the hood, so deep and wide it would be large enough to completely hide the face of its owner.

The image entranced me until I'd waited so long, I knew I couldn't go through with it. Going to a Charismatic prayer group was going one step too far, no matter how good the reason. I decided to take a different course of action.

After a long pause I heard footsteps tap away from the threshold, giving me my cue to slip out through the back. I shoved on a pair of trainers in order to follow her without being heard and after short pause, sneaked out. Seeing the tail of her poncho floating around the corner of our road, I jogged along the side of the pavement nearest the houses, noting how the neighbourhood was covered by falling dusk and the onset of yet more rain, which glinted in the dim light of the miserable afternoon. Silver threads were visible against the roadside lampposts and houses beyond.

The prayer group met in a high-ceilinged room at the back of a local hall which used to belong to the Methodists. I watched from a safe distance as people flowed into the building, and when I was sure nobody else was coming, I slipped in through the entrance and stood in the shadows of the hall for a minute. A few steps opposite was an interior door to the meeting room behind which I could hear the scraping of chairs. Once the noise had died down, I tip-toed to the door and peered in through the gap by its hinges.

Women of all ages were seated around a large oval table with Julia at the centre, directly beneath the apex of the pitched roof. A few early slithers of moonlight strained through the windows to caress the waiting group as they focused on her dark, straight backed form. Obediently, they waited as she looked from one woman to another inviting them to summarise their week: their actions, what they were grateful for and how they had prayed. After one of them described her fight with breast cancer, Julia was the first to speak, stating her intention to lead a prayer of thanksgiving. Face up and eyes closed she linked hands with the women on either side, chanting slowly in her deep, lilting voice which lulled the room into a hypnotic and electric sense of otherworldliness. Their world was governed by gestures, glances, lowered eyelashes and folded or outstretched arms which belied the thoughts of their owners.

A hush surrounded the proceedings, amplifying Julia's voice so that it touched and joined those who listened.

'We pray for those who lose their way, that their souls may be saved,' Julia chanted.

I narrowed my eyes, trying not to breath as the room fell silent. I noticed a few of the women crying. Others seemed quiet and tense whilst others still seemed completely mesmerised by the figure of Julia at the centre. A dangerous atmosphere of communal disclosure followed, and I was gripped by the feeling that I would rather not be there.

Julia's eyes flickered and she held up her arms once more, interrupting a middle aged woman who was telling the group about a time when she had been abused as a child. 'Let those who do not follow us be dealt with!' she cried, opening her eyes to look straight at the door, behind which I was hiding. I flinched but did not move.

For a little while longer women took it in turns to speak up about negative experiences. Then the atmosphere in the room shifted until one by one, everybody fell silent. Julia stood up again, clearly enjoying the new electricity in the air. Taking the hands of those on either side of her she began a chain reaction which saw every woman in the room link to her neighbour on either side.

'Now ladies,' she said. 'It is time for us to start preparing ourselves for our special event.'

My ears pricked up and I peered through the crack at the women's faces. Most people had re-opened their eyes and were staring intently at their leader. Some appeared apprehensive, even worried, whereas others looked excited. My skin prickled and I felt hot, even though it was a cool evening, and I, too, fixed my eyes on Julia, who continued.

'We all need to look into our hearts to ensure we have not been indulging in forbidden activities.'

A sharp intake of breath hissed around the room.

'I shouldn't need to explain what these are. As part of our special community you all know your responsibilities...'

A woman on the other side of the table put up her hand and spoke. 'Will the usual be happening? The _cleansing?_ '

Julia cut in, flashing a warning look at the other woman before shutting her eyes and sitting in silence for few moments until the collective rustling, which had accompanied the last question, settled down. Then, drawing a breath to speak, she stood up and declared, 'For those of you who don't know, we are now going to end our meeting by speaking in tongues. Those of us who are blessed and pure can just let the Spirit run through our bodies.'

I stared as the room filled with incomprehensible babbling. This continued for some minutes before Julia said a closing prayer. Then she stood up, transformed back into her everyday persona, to offer everyone tea, coffee and biscuits.

Sensing I was about to be discovered, I rushed back to the exit. On my way out I noticed a small wicker basket by the front entrance I hadn't noticed before. Decked in tiny fake flowers, its outer appearance was friendlier than the small taffeta bags inside it which reminded me of dark furry gremlins. I reached into the basket and took one, ignoring a handwritten notice requesting a donation. As I left the building with one of the little bags in my pocket, a rush of air grasped my face and hands, mimicking the cold feeling which squeezed at my insides. Unease sat just below the surface as I considered the power Julia had over the assembled women inside the hall.

Once home, I fished the talisman out of my pocket and turned it over in my hand. It was a small silver sword on a fine chain. Skeletal hands on either side of the sword linked it to the chain. In the bottom of the taffeta bag was a small, folded note in the spidery hand I had encountered before. I unfolded it on my kitchen table and scanned it quickly.

Remember the end is almost upon us. Fight with the sword of our eternal soul and die for us.

I'd not been sitting down long when the phone rang. Still holding the note, I cradled the phone against my ear.

It was the police. 'Dr Lewis, would you be able to go over your statement again?'

I talked them through the events of the evening of Joan's death. When I finished there was a brief silence before the officer on the other end of the phone said, 'Thank you Ma'am. Now do you have another five minutes to spare? DI Brown would like a quick word.'

I agreed, and they put the Detective Inspector on. 'Good afternoon, Dr Lewis.' His voice was gruff with a sharp, streetwise undertone. 'I just wanted to talk to you about your statement, if that's ok?'

'That's fine.'

'You say the deceased had been on your consulting list. Can you divulge any more about why she was seeing you?'

'Nothing much more than what I've already told your colleagues,' I replied. 'She was suffering from mild depression and had been referred to me for some talking therapy, but she wasn't a suicide risk. That's why this turn of events took me by surprise. Having said that, this can happen sometimes. People can take a turn for the worse. Something may have changed in a personal relationship, or she may have been suffering from stress - something she hadn't divulged to me, that kind of thing. I can only make a diagnosis based on what my patients tell me. I am a psychotherapist, not a mind reader.'

'But in your professional estimation, you didn't have reason to believe she was likely to commit suicide?' DI Brown pressed.

'No, she wasn't.'

There was a cagey silence.

'You want to know more about Joan?' I asked.

'So you definitely think it was suicide?'

'Yes, that's right. She had taken an overdose of sleeping pills prior to coming into the surgery. You know all of this: I was sitting in my consulting room when one of the practice nurses called me over to reception to deal with an emergency. It was Joan, who was going into arrest, as you know. We - myself and the GPs - tried to resuscitate her but we got there too late.'

'Do you think it's odd that there have been several similar events of this nature in a short period of time?' DI Brown asked.

'Well, in theory, no,' I heard myself mimicking Dan's sensible viewpoint. 'Suicides happen all the time and the incidence of suicide and attempted suicide goes up at this time of year. It's a well-known fact within the medical profession. It's sad but it happens.'

I stared through the window into my garden where the first birds of the winter season had started to appear intermittently on the grass, flitting above the fallen leaves and against the grey sky which stretched between the bare branches of the trees which lined the end of the lawn some fifty metres away.

DI Brown made an odd snorting noise, but said nothing more. The silence elongated.

'Look,' I said finally. 'I do have several concerns about things which are going on in this village, Inspector.'

'I'm all ears.'

'Like you, Inspector, I'm concerned about the circumstances in which my patients have died. They all looked like suicides, but I'm not convinced.' There was a pause before I continued. 'I'm concerned that there may be a link between the vulnerable people in the area and the Charismatic Community.'

DI Brown let out a deep sigh. 'You know you can't just make woolly allegations like this. Got any hard evidence?'

'Well, not exactly.' I felt like an idiot. 'But Joan, for example, seemed afraid of the people who run the community.'

'Those would be your neighbours?'

'Yes, that's right.'

'We can't get involved in neighbourly feuds, you know.'

I flushed as a swift dose of anger and humiliation coursed through my veins. 'OK. There's other stuff, too.'

'Go on.'

'I've been threatened in a roundabout way.'

'Threatened? So you want to make a complaint?'

'I don't know who is threatening me.'

'But you have your suspicions, don't you?'

I shifted in my chair and put my elbows on the table as I described the notes and warnings.

DI Brown gave me the answer I'd expected. 'I'd like to help you, but I can't do anything about any of this without hard evidence, Dr Lewis. You're an intelligent woman, you must be able to see that. Unless a crime is committed, there's very little I can do except remind you to be vigilant.'

I bid him goodnight and sat back in my chair, turning the note over in my hands. I read it again. _Remember the end is almost upon us_. _Fight with the sword of our eternal soul and die for us._ I shuddered. Die for us? For whom? And why? A long time ago I'd learnt how to use a sword as part of my martial arts training. One thing I knew? Fighting with swords was a serious business, dying likewise. Whatever these people were about, I was sure it wasn't eternal souls. It was about death. And it was about power.

### Chapter 15

**Tony**

**13 October**

I lay awake for a long period last night contemplating my medication, concluding nothing. Finally I fell asleep. I dreamt of people, too many people. Lost in time, maybe, but I'm sure time is an illusion. Then I dreamt of the other things again and I noted them down, hopeful I will be able to make sense of it all soon. All the while my tinnitus sound-shifted through my sleep, changing shape many times as it did so.

I woke to find that my grandfather's ring, which I keep on my left index finger, was playing tricks on me. It fell off as I dreamt and I awoke, heart beating loudly, drowning in the droning, throbbing panic inside me. I found myself grasping my hand for the ring, which should never be taken off, never. On finding the ring was still there, if a little loose, I calmed.

Often, as I wake, I find the past, present and future of my existence hovering about like strands. They are loose strings in my brain or perhaps somewhere beyond it, floating outside the bonds of the physical. Sometimes I even see them as lines, or strings of a guitar, which have escaped their binding. It normally takes but a split second for me to understand I am back in the real world before the time strands are snapped back into a linear format. I consider the time line, remember where I am, and then I wake up.

Sometimes, like tonight, I get up and write. My host has heard me, but I don't think she'll dare come in as I sit and write. I will tell her I am not feeling well and that should send her off again. Contrary to appearances, she is not forthcoming with any help where my illness is concerned.

Today Julia and Iain sat me down again, to talk about membership of their community. The sun was low in the sky and penetrated the netted curtain against the expanse of glass in their large front window. I don't like to sit right next to people on sofas, so I chose the old wooden rocking chair in the corner, leaving Julia and Iain diagonally opposite me on their plush new sofa. There are so many new items in this house which they say they've bought to help them welcome their community members to their home, to provide them with a place they can drop into at any time of the day or night. 'I am always available for my community,' said Iain, in that expressionless manner of his.

After a pause in which I shifted about in the rocking chair, fighting with Julia's hand-sewn tartan cushions, Julia spoke. 'We thought it might help if Iain laid his hands on you.'

There was a silence in which I stared over at them, at Iain's small black form, at his pale face with its tiny, light blue eyes and his slightly curled lip which never completely hooks up into a complete smile. I wanted to tell Julia I would have preferred her to do it, but something in her expression made me think twice.

'Is it safe?' I don't know why I said that.

Julia got up in one fluid movement. 'I'll make us a nice hot cup of tea whilst you think about it. All of our members allow Iain to lay his hands on them. It's a very spiritual experience.'

She disappeared in the direction of the kitchen, the hem of her long skirt swishing around the doorway last, leaving a lingering hint of perfume in the room with us. Iain still had his eyes fixed on me as I fidgeted in my seat once more, unsettled by the suggestion.

'Tell me,' I said to break the silence. 'What happens when you lay your hands on people.'

He didn't reply straight away. In another part of the house I could hear a kettle whistling and the dog barking. Finally, he opened his mouth to speak. 'I couldn't say what happens as it differs from person to person. But I will connect with the Spirit. The one who resides inside of us.'

I thought, what harm can it do? As Julia returned with three steaming hot cups on a tray and a plate of chocolate digestives, I leaned forward, suddenly hungry. She stopped me. 'We'll have these afterwards,' she said, suddenly cold.

'Is that a yes, then?' asked Iain.

His hands were cold and clammy on my shoulders. I shut my eyes as instructed, trying to ignore his heavy breathing and concentrate, instead, on Julia's deep, soft voice as she chanted something from her corner of the room. At first I thought it was Latin, but then I realised it was like no language on earth. In a strange way this helped, as the voices were unable to join in with her unknown language. It made conversation impossible and one by one they stopped. In the end I was even able to ignore the pressure of Iain's hands as they dug into my shoulder blades, the pressure of his palms just a little too hard.

When it was over I sipped my tea and reflected. 'So you'll join us?' Julia asked, her eyes slightly darker than before.

So I said yes. I decided to join their Charismatic Community. I tell myself it's the only way I can get immersed, which is what I need to do to understand this organisation properly. I tell myself I want to live it and I want to meet with the divine, as I've been promised. I tell myself and the voices tell me also. The voices of the people who are lost in time.

### Chapter 16

My research took me through pages of websites and testimonials from people who had escaped from cults, and what they reported back rang loud warning bells: the prevalence of fear rather than love, the indoctrination and punishments for attempting to believe anything outside of the cult's own worldviews. It sounded all too familiar. Fear was the main emotion I came across in this village. It was everywhere.

I tabbed through articles by former FBI agents and psychologists. Many talked about the twisted loyalty demanded of cult members by their leaders. Once hooked by their charm, people would overlook all manner of alarming facts about the organisations they'd joined. Sometimes followers would succumb to a range of psychological ill effects, including mental breakdown. The most susceptible were those who were already vulnerable, people whose grip on reality was tenuous. I was reminded of the views of Max Weber, a German sociologist and philosopher I'd read about during my studies. He was best known for a thesis which combined economic sociology and the sociology of religion. Thinking back, I was reminded of Weber's definition of _charismatic authority._ The term itself caused a bolt of alarm to shoot down my back. I Googled it, bringing up a definition of charismatic authority: _The external or internal rule over man made possible by the faith of the ruled in this supernatural power of the leader._

The words seemed to jump out at me from the screen. I swallowed as my throat went dry and flexed my hands, which felt clammy. I felt light headed and stopped reading for a moment. Why hadn't I thought of this before? Julia and Iain were hiding in plain sight and nobody dared ask them why so many members of their community had fallen ill. In fact, nobody wanted to confront them about anything at all.

Scanning through a few more articles, I read about the traits associated with charismatic leadership. Sitting back, I hugged myself as I considered them: self-confidence and self-assurance combined with the need for power was common, as were strong rhetorical skills and assertive, dynamic, outgoing, and forceful personalities. Followers of such people were often encouraged to think of their leaders as prophets or saints who would provide them with a route to salvation.

In need of a break from my laptop I stood up, my joints stiff, and looked out of the window. I nearly shrieked. Julia was standing in her garden, staring over at my house. Emotionless eyes stared out from her gaunt face which was framed by uncharacteristically lank hair. Ducking down quickly, I reviewed the image, inside out, in my mind's eye: a black and empty face framed by white hair, reminiscent of the Grim Reaper. Wondering if Julia had seen me by the window, I stayed in a crouching position until my breathing steadied. Then I backed slowly away from the window to a part of the room which was not visible from outside. There, I uncurled myself and stood thinking for another few moments, before padding back to the window to check Julia's garden. As I suspected, she was gone.

The phone rang and I ran to pick it up, my head still spinning. As a familiar voice came on the line, I felt like I was talking into the receiver from the bottom of a lake.

'Vince?'

'Yes, that's me.' The usual ironic tone.

There was a silence. Aside from one text message to check I was safely inside a locked house on the night in which he'd followed me home, five days ago, I'd had no communication from him.

'Are you still there? There's something we need help with for the ball. Val's going to do the flowers, but we still need someone to type up the menus and the auction prizes so that we can get everything printed in time.'

'Oh yes, I forgot, men don't do typing,' I said. I couldn't help myself. Nevertheless, I agreed.

'Thanks for this,' said Vince. There was another pause. 'One more thing...I wanted to talk to you about the other night.'

'Don't worry about it Vince, there's nothing to sort out. No big deal.'

'No, not that Elena. It's the ball. When you drop the menus in, there's more to tell you.'

'Oh.' I felt like an idiot.

A couple of hours later, having done my household chores, I found myself at a restless loose end. Peering out of my kitchen window at the next door property, I saw Julia and Iain's old Peugeot reverse out of the driveway. For a few moments, I paced about, moving from room to room before making a decision. With a flick of my too-straight hair, barely captured by the hall mirror, I swept outside, grabbing my keys as I went. Slamming the door behind me, I scuffed my feet into a pair of ballet flats before padding over to the next front door along.

Tony opened the door, his eyes alert.

'Elena, I was just thinking about you,' he said, ushering me in, looking more self-possessed than normal.

'Hi Tony' I said. 'You know I said...that we should meet more often? Well, I thought I'd pop round. You don't mind, do you?'

'No, not at all.'

I kicked off my shoes by the door. 'How are you, anyway?'

'Very good, thank you. But there's something I want to show you,' he said.

I followed him to the kitchen at the back of the house. There was a comfortable silence between us.

'No dog?' I asked.

'Nope. They've just gone out - taken him for a walk in the woods.'

I breathed out. The woods were a good half an hour's drive away, somewhere people went for long walks on the weekend. They could be gone a while. Tea was thrust into my hand a little inexpertly. It was overly milky but this didn't bother me. I looked directly at Tony over the tea cup, holding his gaze.

'Mind if I smoke?'

I wrinkled my nose. 'If you have to.'

As the tobacco rose from Tony's roll-up, its over-sweet perfume enticed my nostrils with the promise of its other contents. I tried to block it out. He smoked at a leisurely pace, continuing to stare over at me. I finished my tea and set the cup down on the worktop with a small bang. Tony looked more relaxed than usual, but I was keyed up. If he had something to show me, then I wanted to see it. Flexing the hand I'd been holding the cup with, I stood up.

'You said you had something to show me?'

Tony stubbed out his cigarette and took in a deep breath. 'Come with me,' he said and turned to leave the kitchen, without answering my question. I followed him as he creaked up the stairs to a door off the first floor landing. It swung open and I hesitated before following him into the dark room beyond.

'Is there a light in here?' I coughed, my throat irritated.

Tony flicked on a desk lamp at the other end of the room, and I noticed how his aquiline nose and hair formed black waves against the sudden, yellow light. I saw that he already had hold of a large, black lever-arch file.

'Come over here and look at this.'

For a moment, I remained at the far corner of the room, eyebrows arched and mouth open before striding across to where Tony was standing at the other side of the small study, framed by a wall crammed with black lever-arch files labelled 'Sermons'. I counted about ten of them before I paused to look down at the tiny desk on which a file sat there, splayed open, its contents awaiting me. Newspaper print flew out from its pages and I blinked. _What in God 's name was all this?_

I focussed on the print, which read: _' 31 October, 1986. Death in the village.'_

Tony flicked the page over to reveal another plastic file pocket and more newspaper words. _' 31 October 1994. Villagers missing after infamous Walpurgis night ceremony.'_

'Ever read _"The Master and Margarita"_?' Tony asked, eyes intent. 'I read it in the original.'

'The original?' I didn't understand what he was getting at.

'Yes, it's Russian, by Mikhail Bulgakov.' He paused, a frown passing across his forehead. 'Ah, so you don't get the reference.'

'No.'

'Walpurgis. Sometimes known as _" the other Halloween"_.'

'Oh,' I exhaled softly, shivers tracing the length of my spine.

'In northern Europe they celebrate it in the spring, sort of the other end of the year from Halloween. They light bonfires intended to scare away evil spirits.' He continued, 'Well, legend has it that witches stir up trouble before spring reawakens the land. Are you familiar with Goethe's Faust?'

'Not really,' I answered.

'In that story, Mephistopheles brings Faust to Brocken - the highest peak in the German Harz mountain range - to consort with a coven of witches.' He paused again briefly. 'Anyway, to cut a long story short there's a similar scene in the Russian work _"The Master and Margarita"_ , in which a ball is hosted by Satan on this night, the last one of the winter, known as Walpurgis night. From what I can gather - and I've been doing a bit of digging through Julia's stuff here - the Charismatic Community hold a ceremony after the main ball event has finished. Its nickname is Walpurgis.'

'Satan's ball?' I said, eyes wide.

'Sort of,' he repeated. 'They begin the winter season by punishing those who won't walk their path, to cast them out.'

I stared at Tony 'Cast them out? How?'

Even as I said the words I dreaded the answer. My mind sprang back a step to the last village council meeting and the doctors' staff meeting.

'Keep looking through the file,' Tony said. '31 October is the day of the dead, a good day to purge. As the clock chimes midnight and the 1 November brings the day of the saints, the Charismatic Community must be clean. Anyone who has strayed cannot pass through to that day.'

'Symbolically speaking, I hope,' I said, my eyebrow arched and my voice sharp.

Unwelcome thoughts sped through my mind: the idea of Tony making this up was very appealing. I went back to browsing the clippings file and turned a few more pages. After a few minutes, I felt I had seen enough, so I shut the file and picked it up, standing to go.

'Tony, what else do you know about this?' I was afraid that the walls in this room had ears.

'Not as much as I would like,' he said. 'But I'd like to confide something else. Do you mind?'

'Of course not,' I replied, watching him carefully. I was quite near the narrow window which looked out onto the back of the house and I could make out my trees and the edge of my garden next door. The view was better than I'd imagined.

'I'm studying comparative religion, but in any case, theology and philosophy are my hobby. I came here to look at how Julia and Iain's community fits into the wider landscape. You know, of belief systems. I suppose I thought I was going to find similarities with the evangelical movement.'

He smiled, as if sharing a private joke with me. But I didn't get it.

'You're not religious?'

I shook my head, keen for him to continue.

'No. I'm not one to make assumptions. As David Hume said, " _A wise man proportions his belief to the evidence. "'_

'Well, I'm not. Simply not.'

Tony's mouth twisted into a half smile. 'I understand. But much of the bad press religion gets is borne of ignorance. And propaganda. I can understand why so many people turn away. Many truths are hidden.'

I screwed up my eyes and merely nodded.

'There's a lot of corruption in some of our bigger churches - you know which ones I mean. And people are fed up with it. This is why smaller organisations take hold. You often find they are started by people who have broken ranks with traditional religious institutions.'

'You also find some real crazies amongst those groups. I end up treating some of the people they come into contact with.'

I regretted the comment but it was too late. I could not unsay it. But in any case, it didn't seem to matter as he was still talking.

'Something unexpected happened to me here. I got emotionally connected. I thought, maybe _you_ could identify with this. I don't wish to be presumptuous Elena, but you seem fairly isolated yourself.'

'Possibly,' I muttered. 'But these things are always dependent on your perception. Some of us quite like our own company, thanks very much.'

'Some of us would dearly love to enjoy our own company,' he replied, lighting up another roll-up. 'It's not a luxury which has been afforded to me.'

I looked over at him and caught sight of his rueful smile. Was I being insensitive? I wasn't sure.

'Is that what you wanted to confide in me?' I caught sight of a clock in the hallway. There were clocks everywhere in this house, marking time, whispering warnings and reminders that time was not on my side.

'No, not quite,' he smiled, taking another thoughtful drag on his roll-up. 'I just wanted to tell you more. You see, some things are so clear to me and yet others, not at all.'

He was talking in riddles and my patience was fraying around the edges, burning down like his roll-up. I sighed.

'You know, I decided to join the Charismatics. It was an odd decision.'

I coughed.

'I'm not always like this. I can't always rationalise. I need other people, like you do, like everybody does. What I've been searching for, it's this. It's this contact with a community unified by something more, something unseen.'

'I sense a 'but' in here somewhere.' The clocks were oppressing me.

Tony finished his roll-up and stubbed it out on the desk before brushing the ash into his hand. He continued talking with a pile of ash sitting loosely in his palm. 'Elena, you're right.' His tone was different. 'I'm not sure now. There's something not right. I don't think it's the voices.'

I considered this. 'Tony, you don't have to stay here and you don't have to join the Charismatic Community. You're an adult. If it's not right, you have choices.'

He looked panicked. 'I can't leave,' he said, his voice low.

I tutted. 'Yes you can. Where do you want to go? Where is home, I'll drive you.'

'Home isn't home. If I go home, I can't be sure I'll be well. I don't know if I'm going to make it. The voices, they aren't so bad here. You don't understand.'

'Tony,' I said, 'You know what I do for a living. I'm not going to pretend to understand you. That's not what I do, anyway. But I appreciate what you're saying. It sounds like you need to manage your situation - that's what you're telling me, I think. However, if you will permit me, I don't think this community can help you. It may appear that they can, but I would be very cautious.'

Tony looked in the direction of the window for a few long seconds before speaking again. 'Please, read through the file. Read through all of it.'

I looked down at the folder which felt like hot coals on my lap, weighty and full of dark promise. 'OK, I'll take it away to read.' I said as the room closed in on me even further. 'But Tony?' I caught his eye and held it for a heartbeat. 'Please, heed my advice and get out of here.'

I wedged the file under my arm and tip-toed out of the room down the stairs to the waiting front door. Tony followed me down but made no effort to come any further as I hurried back to my house. Thoughts of devils in ballgowns swirled about in my head but I tried not to panic. _Reserve judgement, be rational,_ I thought. Once my front door was safely shut behind me, I sat down in my living room and started to read.

### Chapter 17

Bells in the distance reminded me it was Sunday, the day of so-called worship, and my least favourite day of the week. It was the one in which I was at my lowest ebb. Today was worse. I was light headed from lack of sleep, having sat up most of the night reading through the file. The clippings dated back to the late eighties. One of them talked about Julia and Iain's arrival in the village in 1984. Then there followed thirty or more clippings to do with villager disappearances or deaths, each of them around the same time of year - this time of year.

I sat up in bed and shoved the file under my bed. Weak sunlight reached through to touch me through my bedroom curtains which were open just a crack, and the smell of coal smoke seeped through my open window. In the winter it was difficult to forget the deep rooted mining origins of the village. I could tell the older people on the street had already lit the coal fires which powered their heating and water system in the winter. Was it winter yet, I pondered? Not quite, but the weather was turning.

Slipping on my dressing gown, I skipped down the stairs, two at a time, turning left at the bottom to go into the kitchen, which faced the front of the street. Opening the blinds I saw that the ubiquitous dog walkers were already out in force, clad in thicker coats than yesterday. As steam erupted from my _caffettiera_ , I turned the diary over in my mind. For a few moments I had co-existed in two worlds: the dream world and the real one.

A shrill noise cut through my thoughts, causing me to spill coffee on my hand. I ran into the hall and stopped short. There was nobody on the other side of the front door, and when I opened it wide, my driveway lay empty. It was deathly silent and the neighbouring houses were sleepy and quiet. Nevertheless, my eyes were yanked downwards to a package waiting on my doorstep, which must have been left there just moments before. Galvanized into action, I stepped over the package to stride to the end of the drive. A quick scan of the street showed no sign of anybody. I shook my head. Given there were no cars or people around, it should have been possible to see who had left the package.

Taking careful, slow steps, I retreated, pausing at the front door to bend down to pick up the package. Clicking the door shut behind me, I lugged it into the hallway. It was so heavy, my arms hurt. Once in the living room, I dumped it down on the coffee table, tearing it open slightly as I did so. A slither of burnished gold glinted beneath the torn wrappings and, taking a deep breath, I ripped the brown paper right off to reveal a book inside: _' Man Myth and Magic'_. _Volume four_. I noticed there was a piece of paper sticking out of the top and I opened the book at the marked page without a second thought, jumping backwards as a folded piece of paper with the same mature, forward slanting hand fell out into my lap. I opened it up, and read:

The High Priestess

Within two pillars, a turning point

Twixt old and new, to her head anoint

With promise of secret paths aligned

A price too high and much maligned

Split crescent moon, a world disjoint

Leaving sword, chalice, pentacle and staff

Confused and naive, I heard her laugh

With a smile which didn't reach her eyes

A knowing glance both sinister and wise

Hinting at truths on her behalf

Scrolls opened to burn up at her feet

So she bathed and wallowed in the heat

Of wisdom and their heady choice

Decision posed, an inner voice

But danger beckoned, to chaos wreak

I unscrewed my facial muscles and took a deep breath. It looked like it had been penned by Tony, but I couldn't understand why he had left it on my doorstep within the pages of this tome. He must have taken it from the New Age Shop, and yet I didn't realise he even had an interest in the place. I wondered if he had been there looking for something to do with his PhD. Even so, it was a bit left field. Why hadn't he given it to me with the file?

I closed my eyes. My thoughts flitted around, contemplating Tony's condition and his studies. I had a covert interest in such matters too, as desolation and spiritual isolation within modern society was something I saw growing all around me, something I saw rising up like a tidal wave in the communal subconscious of my patients. The narrowness of the old world sat uncomfortably with new scientific discovery and I often wondered if people were being forced into making choices which no longer made sense. Either or. Science or religion. Where life no longer made sense in terms of one or the other was where you found the borderline. People on the edge. Tortured souls, neither here nor there, subject to rifts in their world which weren't supposed to be there. Man-made cracks and gateways to nowhere. Maybe purgatory was this; not a place beyond the grave but a real man-made gap into which poured the deadliest corruption.

I thought about Tony and his state of mind. And I thought about Julia and Iain. For a few weeks now, the only connection between us had been the juxtaposition of our bricks and mortar. It was if they were aware of my suspicions and had closed ranks. Some people now appeared not to recognise me outside of the surgery. It wasn't that people looked away when they saw me coming, or that they were hostile, it was much worse than that. They didn't see me at all.

Just as I was about to close the book and stash it away, some more bits of paper fluttered out from within the pages. I jumped down and scrabbled about on the floor to pick them up. The bits of paper were fragile, yellowing pieces of newspaper. Like the clippings from the file they looked a few years old, in fact they were even older than those from the clippings file. I squinted at the small print. The first was dated 15 February 1985 and the other three were from late 1987.

A small voice in my head told me to look closer and a crawling sensation of dread crept up my spine as I read through.

In 1984 a newly married couple, Julia and Iain Walsh, had started a small community in a village in the Scottish Highlands. It was quasi-religious, the article said. Quasi-religious? I wrinkled my nose and read on. After a few months a young girl who'd belonged to the community had died. The coroner had pronounced the death suicide but the girl's family had contested this, pointing the finger at Iain Walsh. It seemed they thought he'd persuaded her to take an overdose. There had been a police investigation but they hadn't found anything which could prove the family's allegations and in the end Iain's name had been cleared. Then, in 1986, Julia and Iain had reappeared in another village, this time in Yorkshire.

The articles from 1987 all cited the same incident. Three deaths following a secret ceremony on 31 October. All three victims had committed suicide, all had been members of a community a certain Pippa and John French had set up in the village a few months before. In addition, the victims had paid money into the couple's bank account shortly before they had died. There were accusations that the couple had used mind control techniques and threats on the people who had joined their community. Investigations were ongoing, the articles said. I held the last clipping between my finger and thumb, afraid of it, almost as if it might burst into flames at any moment. It had to be them. Clearly, Julia and Iain had been through a few villages before they'd perfected their techniques. People had died, just as people were dying here. Nothing had been proved.

Someone cared enough to keep a memento of what had gone before. They had all but buried it and these hidden newspaper articles were all that remained. I didn't need to ask myself why. It was a common enough phenomenon among sociopaths, but this fact alone sent alarm pulsing through my body. These people were far more dangerous than I'd first thought.

As I stared at the encroaching dusk which pressed on my window, I thought about my friends and family who were far away from this place. As far as Dan was concerned, I lived in a mundane village just like any other with all the most typical idiosyncrasies. He didn't set much store by my experiences with the Charismatics, my reports of the villagers' mental ill health, or by the general hostility I encountered. But if ever there was a time when I needed some friendly company, it was now. The temperature of the air around me seemed to plummet as I considered the old newspaper articles and their implications.

Turning my attention back to the golden binder, I flicked through it, inhaling a musty smell as I did so. The book was full of information about various different legends, superstitions and the various traditions different peoples had followed throughout the ages. There was a fair bit about the supernatural. I shivered slightly as I leafed through the pages. The book functioned as a kind of dictionary of mystic and supernatural beliefs and practises. The volume I was holding was number four, one of the volumes which had gone missing from the shop. Just as I registered this, the pages fell open at a different location to reveal a second, small piece of paper which fluttered out of the gilt-edged pages. In the same slanting italics, someone had written: _' Hide this away from the Queen Bee.'_

With a sinking feeling I remembered Tony had asked me to go to his welcome prayers that evening. I couldn't understand why he was joining the Community, nor why he had ignored my advice to steer clear, but I owed it to him go. In the light of what I'd seen that afternoon, I owned it to the whole community to go. Julia and Iain needed watching, and not by their own community members but I also knew that in order to get the police involved I would need more evidence. My mouth set in a hard line, I went back upstairs, put my hair up into a top knot - to give me even more height - pulled on a pair of leggings, a fleece, a bomber jacket and a pair of long boots before grabbing my bag and keys and leaving the house.

I found a parking space on the road outside the Charismatics' meeting hall. With no front patio or garden the building bordered the side of this residential street in an unusual manner. The distant bells had stopped, giving way to an unnatural silence which, even the birds, who had been circling just minutes before, didn't dare break. Even the sound of my heels tapping on the pavement bounced off the terraced houses opposite. I hesitated, suffering a moment of doubt, before crossing the road and trying a large, blue door on the front of the building. It was resolutely shut.

There was a voice on the pavement behind me. 'You need to go right round to the back, dear.'

It was an older lady, cane in hand, eyes dancing. I wondered how I had neither heard or noticed her coming, but nodded in thanks as I made for a passageway which led to the back of the building. My pavement companion, dressed in a light violet-coloured brushed coat and matching beret observed me for a moment from behind sharp, crinkly eyes, before turning away to concentrate on shuffling onwards.

By now the congregation inside had fallen silent again, its unison of singing voices, now separated into individuals sitting on bare, wooden chairs. I observed them for a minute as I stood, framed in the doorway at the back of the hall, feeling a change of energy develop in the air around me as I did so. Holding my breath, I nevertheless attracted backward glances, some curious, some indifferent, none friendly. I caught sight of Iain at the front, who was staring at me from the lectern, and Julia who was in the front row with Tony by her side.

Fixing a smile to my face, I moved forward from the doorway to sit in an empty back row, my heels clattering loudly on the cold tiled floor to draw yet more backward glances. Iain did not start speaking until I was safely seated and even then I felt my breathing itself was too loud.

'So!' Iain was saying from his position at the top, mousy head inclined towards his congregation who had fallen silent. Even families with children were silent, nobody coughed, fidgeted or cleared their throat.

'These days you just have to look around you and you'll see so many lost souls in this modern and individualistic world of ours: people who think they have it all, a nice house, a great car, a comfortable job. But what does all this mean? That's right, absolutely nothing, for as it says in the Bible, 'it is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than it is for a rich man to enter the gates of Heaven'.

Iain paused, his eyes flickering over the congregation coming briefly to rest on me before he moved on. 'One of our jobs as Charismatics is to fund the cause so that more of us will be able to help others in the future. This is why, when you join us, we ask you to give up your excess money.' There was a pregnant pause and a cluster of rustling and movement broke out in the room. 'And with this, I'm happy to welcome our new followers, and especially someone who has given more generously than most.' He took in a breath. 'Welcome to you all. We are happy to have you here!'

He strode down from the lectern to the front row, his arms open wide as he did so. At the same time, an unpleasant sensation rose up in my throat - a physical reaction to my aloneness at the back, which felt more acute as the congregation surged forwards in dribs and drabs to greet a group of people at the front, Tony among them. They took it in turns to shake hands and whisper words of encouragement. After most people had returned to their seats, Iain stepped up and opened his arms once again towards the congregation.

'As you know, some of our flock have been unwell.'

Muttering flowed around the room as I tried to ignore a nasty lurch in the pit of my stomach. I glanced at Tony's head in the front row, aware that I was frowning, unable to plaster the pleasant smile back on to my face.

'But they will be cured by our community!'

Nodding rippled across the mass of heads ahead of me, and, I noticed, some people were even crying, shoulders hunched and shaking. Here there was no clock to mark time and it felt eternal. At once I saw the identities of several people in the congregation, their outlines jumping out at me in brilliant colour and definition as I recognised their more familiar body language. This outpouring of emotion had unleashed a peculiar combination of gesture and movement which I had seen a thousand times before, albeit behind the closed doors of my consulting room. And indeed, some of my own patients were here: Linda and others. As I looked around the room, I saw raw emotion, pure terror and a tell-tale willingness to let go and let someone else take charge.

'Sponsors, please come to the front with our new candidates!' Iain announced, and the group in the front row stood up and stood in a circle around him.

'Are you ready to begin your journey?' he asked as his audience twitched, emotion bubbling back up to the surface.

'Everyone, please welcome our new Charismatics!'

Clapping broke out amongst the congregation but I didn't join in. I was glad people could not see me unless they turned around, as I was sure my face looked thunderous. I couldn't understand why this ceremony was so basic, so lacking in substance. Like Iain himself, somehow.

After the ceremony, I got up to leave but found myself thwarted as two figures drew level with the end of my aisle. Tony looked hunched and unkempt, his eyes bereft of their usual sad twinkle. Julia, on the other hand, looked triumphant and more arrogant than ever. I rose up and stumbled through the narrow space between my row and the one in front in order to join them.

'To what do we owe the pleasure?' It was an innocent enquiry, but Julia's raised eyebrow belied a hostility she hid with the rest of her body language.

'If you remember, my friend asked me to come here today.' I stated flatly, my eyes resting on Tony.

'And your friend did well to ask you. New people are always welcome here,' Julia replied.

'I found it most interesting, actually.' I met Julia's eyes, holding her gaze until she looked away. 'But I need to go now, I have work to do.'

'On a Sunday?' exclaimed Julia. 'Then you won't be able to join us for coffee?'

Keen to escape, I opened my mouth to reply when I caught sight of Iain laying his hands on the heads of Linda and another young woman. My mouth remained open until I remembered to shut it again. Iain's eyes were closed and he was babbling, clutching the women's hair as he did so, causing them to sway with him. He stopped abruptly and the women fell to the floor, blubbing and begging Iain to continue. After a few seconds he held up his arms.

'You're not familiar with the traditions of Charismatics?' Julia was saying, eyeing me carefully.

'What?' My face was antagonistic as I digested what I had seen.

'You've not seen people speak in tongues before?' Julia sounded as if we were talking about the weather. 'Iain has that gift - it's a great honour.'

I snorted and turned on my heel to leave without looking back at where Julia was still standing, glaring at my retreating back. Tony had disappeared. And it was then that I knew. I would not be at peace until I got to the bottom of this. I needed to catch Julia red-handed.

### Chapter 18

**Tony**

**17 October**

I'm so tired. I can identify with Blake, where he says, _' Some are born to sweet delight, Some are born to endless night'._

Evil has appeared from nowhere.

I hear voices everywhere.

They are calling to me and it is more insistent by the day.

They are only quiet when Julia chants, soothed by the ethereal melody her voice creates. But something is wrong.

This afternoon I went for a long walk, hours and hours. Walking through the lanes outside the village, it was like being in a different world, one where there were no others, only me and nature all around. Pure silence. What a dream come true that would be.

After I'd been walking for an hour or so I came across a narrow lane which veered off from the main road. Following it through a wooded area to a small clearing, I was surprised by a large barn which stood in the centre. There was a front entrance at one end marked by a heavy wooden door. The clearing it sat at the centre of was completely circular and the trees seemed to bow to it. I felt its presence speak to me: its power beckoned, so I continued to walk until I was at the door. A broken sensation of neglect surrounded the place. Despite the sun, the walls of the barn were dark and damp to the touch as I edged round to the door at the front. When I reached it, I was surprised to hear voices carrying over from the depths of the barn to where I was standing. I peeked in, picking up the outline of shelves in the foreground. Green refracted light twinkled from somewhere further in. A musty smell reached out to touch me and I felt intoxicated by its odour.

I froze as a voice leapt out, sharper than the murmur I had picked up before.

'I was wondering if you could show us more respect.' Julia, I thought. It continued. 'Our organisation...We see the future, we are open to the messages of the Spirit. It's known as having the Charismatic gift.'

Somebody answered but I could neither see nor hear who they were. A crash cut into the conversation before I heard Julia's voice again, this time raised. 'Let this be a warning to you - your evil will not go unpunished!'

I hid behind a bush, afraid of meeting Julia head on.

She came rushing from the barn, hair swinging like a glossy chestnut curtain behind her. As she emerged into daylight she stopped suddenly, her batwing jumper falling down on one shoulder, her chest heaving - a rare sight given her usual iron control. In the doorway she sniffed the air.

'Dirty bastards,' she muttered, before moving off towards the lane. I stayed where I was for a further five minutes until I heard a car's engine in the distance.

I contemplated Blake and Kafka for a while, juxtaposing them in my head, until my mind quietened enough for me to listen out for any further sign of my host on the country road behind me. Unable to discern any, I came out from the bushes and walked into the barn. Inside, I saw that the bookshelves held crystals and wooden carvings with prices on, whilst incense sticks burned silently in alcoves, and the whole space was bathed in green half-light. Old hard-back books lined some of the higher shelves. A woman I could not age, dressed in a long, shapeless black dress, emerged from the gloom at the back of the barn, uncertain as she regarded me, but all I wanted was to look at the books and just sit for a while. She disappeared, happy enough to let me do that.

The books engrossed me for an inordinate length of time. There was a set of periodicals bound in burnished golden colours called _' Man Myth and Magic'_ and my heart jumped in recognition as I came across them. I'd collected the same series of magazines in my teens, looking forward to each new golden binder which would appear in the post once I'd amassed a volume's worth of periodicals. My mother, of course, had thrown them out a few years ago, concerned for my state of mind. Meddling but well intentioned.

I opened a volume up and traced my finger along the lined drawings of horned beasts. I flicked through passages, marked in alphabetical order, which spanned anything from Grimm's fairy tales through to far more sinister superstitions. The minutes passed and lengthened into hours. When I could read no more, I put the last book down and shuffled over to the assistant, my leg leaden from crouching in one position for so long.

'Those are not for sale,' she said, the smoke from her roll-up reaching my nostrils.

'Mind if I have a drag?' I asked, but she stubbed it out and got up.

'It's closing time.'

I thought about her afterwards. Of her conversation with my host. Of her business there. I discovered it was a so-called 'New Age' shop but it felt like more like a brush with the occult. And it wasn't until I got home that I realised my own dark spirits had been completely silent for hours.

### Chapter 19

Once home from the community prayer meeting, I sprang out of my car and slammed the door, pausing for a minute to take stock of my surroundings. The street was grey and silent, as ever, like an eternal no-man's land. It was as if the village wanted to echo my state of mind, to show me the extent of my own emptiness inside. I bit the top of my thumbnail off as I considered this, ripping a sliver of skin out from under it. I sighed. Although it was nearly lunchtime I wasn't hungry. It was a long time since I'd felt much like eating anything for pleasure.

I opened up the house and wandered through to my sitting room to sit down, pulling out the Tarot pack from beneath the coffee table where I had left them. Shuffling them as I had liked to as a child, I noted how they felt sharp between my fingertips, almost as if they were from a much newer pack. They were thicker and slightly larger than normal cards. From an adult's perspective I thought it odd my grandmother had such a pack of cards in her possession and I now wondered where she had got them from. I berated myself for never having asked her.

Closing my eyes I picked out five cards at random to lie out on the table. When I opened them again to review what had come out, I caught my breath. A woman sat in a high throne between two columns, next to her a tramp or a traveller, a man hanging from a tree by his foot, a stylised moon and a skeleton holding a scythe. I let out a long, low whistle and sat, staring down at the cards for a while, trying to still my mind which was jumping about in panic.

An image floated around in my mind's eye: Tony, his eyes dull and his face drawn and pale. I looked down at the cards remembering, once again, how it wasn't supposed to be a good omen to draw Death and The Moon together. But just as this thought meandered about in my mind, a revving noise outside signalled I had company. I looked at my watch: 1pm exactly.

Through the glass of my door I glimpsed a flash of red Alfa Romeo and realised immediately who had come to visit. Opening the door, I smiled. The way Dan strode towards the front door reminded me of how unflustered he always was. I'd had numerous crises at university and he had always been the calm and collected one who listened and then put in a few, well-chosen words to soften my angst or put things in perspective. He was cultured without being snobby, although I wondered if he would ever cope in a village such as this.

'Dan!' I threw my arms round him and gave him an affectionate hug before closing the door.

There was no need for pleasantries with Dan. 'Elena, what's up then? I thought I'd come and check on you. You don't mind, do you?'

I didn't mind at all, but as I sat down with him at the breakfast bar I asked, 'Is it that obvious?'

He nodded.

'Well, things have been a bit difficult at work recently. There seems to be more mental ill health around than ever.'

He sucked his cheeks in. 'Well, we've seen something similar in our area too, Elena. Happens, doesn't it? And this is a bad time of year for it.'

'Yes, I know.'

'I sense a 'but' in there somewhere.'

As we talked the kitchen window revealed details of a typical Sunday afternoon in the village. People came and went, mostly with dogs, making the most of the sun, which was out for once, straining to dry the sodden pavements and lift the turgid grey from the sky above. I rifled around in the larder for a packet of biscuits and arranged them on a plate in front of us.

I sat down again and continued. 'I'm worried that I'm not treating people properly. I guess I wanted to take a wait and see approach.' My eyes met Dan's no nonsense stare.

'Yes, but as you know full well, Elena, at least one in four of us will suffer depressive illness at some point in our lives.'

Of course, I knew this, as it was my business to. Nonetheless, I felt uncomfortable. I knew I would have to come clean with him as my worries appeared unfounded in the cold light of day. Without another word, I went to my bag and got out my smartphone. He munched on the biscuits, frowning slightly. In silence, I flicked the phone case open and scrolled to the photo gallery.

Opening it up, I expanded one image in particular and turned the phone round to face him. 'Look, I wanted to show you this.'

He wrinkled his brow. In front of us sat a series of images which he blinked at in bemusement. Five hand-drawn figures: a woman sitting between too pillars; an old man with a beard; a grim reaper; a jester hanging upside down tied by his foot to a tree; and finally, a large and resplendent moon.

He came straight out with it. 'You're not back into all that weird astrology stuff again, have you?'

'No, this is The Tarot.'

'And?'

'You might not be able to see from this photo, but they were laid out on the coffee table in my sitting room.'

'Whose are they?'

'They're mine, but Dan, I didn't put them there.'

'What do you mean?'

'I mean,' I glanced out of the window. 'I came home one evening to find them there.'

He digested this information. 'Did you call the police?'

'No.'

'Let me get this straight,' he said, backtracking. 'Somebody broke into your house, found these cards and laid them out?'

'Yep, don't you think it's odd?'

'I don't quite get where you're going with this, Elena. You're finding the going a bit tough at the moment, I've got that, but what's it got to do with this? Someone broke into your house and you didn't call the police?'

I got up and refilled the kettle. 'The police round here wouldn't understand. They'd think I was a witch or something.'

'And you're not?' He winked.

'No, they really would Dan. You don't know what it's like round here. Worse still, they're already suspicious of me. I was the one who found those patients of mine dead, remember.'

'Look. The key thing here is that someone got into your house.' He paused for effect.

'I couldn't find any signs of breaking and entering and the police wouldn't have been able to either.'

'So someone has the key?'

'Maybe. Don't worry, I've changed the locks since.' I hadn't.

He sat back in his chair. He didn't look too impressed. The air in the room prowled around us. He took a deep breath. 'I still don't get it. What has this got to do with anything?'

I got up. 'I want you to come somewhere with me. Somewhere I haven't been able to go on my own. You'll need your coat.'

He exhaled and put his boots and coat back on before following me out onto the front driveway where we both got into my Mercedes. I reversed out and we set off at speed. The assortment of terraced houses which lined the village High Street gave way to rolling fields and farmhouses which blurred as my foot hit the accelerator.

The barn revealed itself late as we turned the corner into the clearing. We expected it to be closed on a Sunday but, as I strode up to the dank wooden door at the front, which open easily. I motioned to Dan to follow me. Seeing a shop assistant dressed in black at the back of the shop stacking shelves, I waved and continued until I came to a stop opposite a bookshelf containing some golden binders. They were entitled ' _Man, Myth and Magic '_. Fixing my eyes on the row of volumes, I gasped.

'What is it?' asked Dan, a little jumpier than normal.

'Hold on, I need to ask that shop assistant something,' I replied, turning quickly to make my way to the back of the shop. When I reached the assistant, who was up a ladder stacking books, she didn't acknowledge me.

'Excuse me?' I tried, when the assistant showed no interest in coming down from the ladder. 'Do you mind if I ask you a question?'

The assistant peered down at me. 'What kind of question? You know we've had the police in here every other day since that woman was found dead in here, don't you? They think we had something to do with it, with her. You're not another one of those campaigners who thinks we're into devil worship, are you?'

'No, of course not,' I replied. 'No, I just want to ask you about some books I was hoping to find here.'

There was a pause and the assistant came slowly back down the ladder, her dyed black hair swinging like a curtain around her pale face as she did so. 'What books?' she asked.

'I'll show you, come this way,' I said, already marching back towards the bookshelf where Dan was still waiting, staring at the books within it. He looked like he didn't trust himself to touch anything.

'These books here,' I said, gesturing at the _' Man, Myth and Magic'_ series as we drew level with them. 'There's four here but if you look, you can see that there should be seven. I can see numbers one, two, five and seven. Where are the others? Do you know?'

'Oh,' said the assistant, noncommittal. 'The police had them for a while, but I thought they'd been returned. Maybe they've been sold?'

'Do you mind me asking to whom? It's just that I had decided to buy them all as collector's items. It's quite a rare series.'

'No,' said the assistant a little too quickly. 'No, I don't know.'

I raised my eyebrows, thinking it unlikely the assistant couldn't remember. Looking around me, it didn't look like they turned over a great deal of stock. Most of the merchandise was covered in a layer of thick dust. Wouldn't she recall a sale of that nature?

I shook my head at the assistant. 'Never mind.'

The assistant shuffled back off to her ladder leaving us standing by the bookshelves. Dan made to speak but I held up my hand. Looking intently at the shelf, I ran my finger along the bottom of each binder, counting a total of five.

'There are definitely three missing,' I whispered to myself. Gasping for the second time since we had entered the shop, I let my hand rest in the gap where the missing books should have been.

'Love, what is it now?' said Dan.

I closed my hand around a small piece of paper which lay in the empty space and pulled it out. I fancied I knew what was on it without having to look.

'Beware of Queen Bee.'

'This here, Dan, It looks like the hand writing of someone I know.'

He rolled his eyes and shook his head.

'That guy staying with my neighbours. He left me a note a bit like this one a few days ago. At least I think it was him. _'_

'Like that?' started Dan, looking at the small piece of paper.

'Exactly.'

'You hang out with some odd people, Elena.'

'Well, I'm not exactly hanging out with him. He's just someone I know, but I think he's in some kind of trouble.'

'Well, he's in trouble all right. Looks like he requires some medical help.'

'No, not that kind of trouble, although I agree with you there. I'm more concerned about his involvement in the community, the one my neighbours run.'

There was a silence as Dan gave me that look, the one which he reserved for when I wasn't well. Eventually he spoke. 'I don't really get it, Elena. And I need a cigarette.'

We stared at each other.

'Can we go now?' He pulled out a packet of Benson and Hedges.

I nodded. Pocketing the piece of paper, I turned to walk back to the exit. On the way out, I noticed a cork noticeboard set back a little way from the entrance. I stopped.

'Hold on a minute,' I said, but he was already lighting up, pushing the door open as he went.

'Look, I'll wait for you outside, OK?' He allowed the door to swing forcefully behind him.

Captivated, I went over to the noticeboard. Close up, I saw there were a couple of newspaper articles pinned to it and the similarity to the notice board in the dream journal gripped me with a feeling of dread.

I blinked and scanned the articles, finding information about deaths in the village.

Deaths?

Reading faster, I looked at the dates. The articles were old, from several years back. One article from November 1992 read: ' _Two suspicious deaths in as many weeks._ '

Then there was one further article beneath which detailed the death of an older woman and the disappearance of a middle-aged man. The man was - I caught my breath - around forty-five years old and had been staying with the local community leader and his wife. A rude question mark formed in my mind. I blinked again, coughing slightly. Puzzled, I called back to the shop assistant.

'Excuse me?!'

There was no answer, so I hurried to the back of the shop. The ladder stood propped against the ageing bookshelf surrounded by volumes left half-stacked in piles around its base. I looked about me quickly for the assistant, but every corner I scanned was dark and empty. All I was left with was a tangible feeling of fear.

'Excuse me?' I shouted again, but the shop assistant had vanished.

I glanced back at the noticeboard and the articles pinned against its cork, my eyes resting on a headline: ' _Death and serious illness in the village. Is village life bad for your mental health? '_

Breathing hard, I looked away and marched towards the back of the barn. Heading for the till, I called again for the shop assistant. Silence greeted me and time seemed to slow down. A cloak of sickly air closed in on me as I realised I could no longer see through to the other side of the shop. Panic clawed at my chest and I blinked several times in a vain attempt to make my surroundings reappear. Hyperventilating, I tried to control my breathing, but each intake of breath became more elusive than the last until finally, I felt something hard hit my head.

Voices swam around, jostling for attention. One of them was calling my name, whilst the other mumbled something incoherent. Opening my eyes, I wondered if the world had turned round a notch, as the faces of both Dan and the shop assistant peered at me from the other end of a narrow tunnel above my head. Bit by bit the black walls of the tunnel dispersed.

I was lying on the floor.

'Elena!' Dan was looking me over, his face giving little away. Turning to the shop assistant he said 'Yeah, she's all right. Just fainted, but thanks. I'll get her home now, I think.'

The shop assistant moved off, her black hair emanating that vaguely stale odour which reminded me of Martha. I got up and moved back towards the notice board with Dan at my heels. My mind was a slippery customer, I thought, as I stared blankly at the empty cork surface.

'Where's that article gone?' I said.

He sighed. 'Article? There's nothing on here, Elena.'

Back in the car, he looked over at me from the passenger seat, his own professional mask clearly showing despite the friendship.

'Elena, you're tired out,' he began. 'When was the last time you had a holiday?'

We drove home in silence, his awareness closing in on me as I navigated the lanes back to the village. If anybody would guess what was wrong with me, it was him. But I didn't want him to see how I really felt. I was desperate for my life to be in control.

I slowed down to turn into my driveway, aware of Dan's bear-like stance next to me, of his hand on my left arm as I pulled up the handbrake and put the car into neutral. Turning to look him in the eye, I knew what was coming. We'd been here before.

'Elena, love, you remember what we discussed?'

I tried to smile. 'Of course. But I wasn't so well then. I'm fine now.'

He took his hand off my arm and sighed. 'Maybe. Maybe not.' Then, he pulled me over to his chest and I found I was unable to resist. A tear ran down my cheek as I rested my head there for a few seconds, breathing in his warmth, allowing his broad shoulders to take some of the strain. I let my sadness ebb and flow, my eyes closed until I felt it abate. Finally, I raised my head. 'I'm just tired, Dan. That's all. You were right about that.'

He nodded, watching me for a few more seconds as I eased myself out of the car. I wiped my cheeks and took a deep breath as I stood by the car door, waiting for him. He walked with me to the front door before turning to face me, his face serious. 'I need to get off now. Promise me you'll go and get some rest.'

I simply smiled and blew his retreating back a kiss as he returned to his car. Afterwards, as I looked into the empty space where his car had been, I thought I saw a figure saunter past, hands in pockets. I squinted into the dusk, shaking my head, wondering why he didn't stop to greet me.

I stayed where I was for another few minutes, staring into space. The sound of Dan's engine had long since sunk into the distant hum of the village and the air was growing cold around me. Eventually, I went back inside my house, not to rest as Dan had advised, but to think and work out a plan.

## Part III  
The Hanged Man

### Chapter 20

**Tony**

**23 October**

My host is not all that she seems. Buried in the best hiding place of all, her community, wielding power and darkness in the name of something else, she escapes the notice of those who might poke and prod. I cannot quite work out who she really is. She seems to tread a fine line but that's life: fine lines, ambiguity and grey areas.

Today I paid up. I went to the bank with Julia as agreed. The three of us drove through the village to the nearest town five miles away. Julia parked up and got out, leaving Iain in the car. Then, she strode down the high street so briskly it was hard for me to keep up with her. Her black leather boots enhanced her authority and she kept her head down, greeting no-one along the way. I noticed several people had to either stop in their tracks or jerk out of her way as she marched along. It occurred to me then, that she never speaks favourably about the neighbouring towns. It seems she prefers to keep her life enclosed within the village boundaries.

We entered the bank and were shown into a cubicle almost straight away. It was only then that Julia took down her hood. The bank manager appeared nervous, his eyes darting uncertainly from Julia to me as he fired up his computer. When I was ready, he handed me the transfer documents. Julia was pleased. I watched her hands tremble as I signed them. In a few more minutes the deed was done, the money transferred from my father's inheritance to Julia and Iain's bank account.

Julia smiled but the bank manager merely eyed her. 'This is the third person to transfer money to you this month,' he said, handing me a final document to sign. I looked up in surprise, but Julia just ignored him, turning instead to push the remaining paperwork into my hands.

'Thank you for doing this,' she whispered, her Scottish lilt more pronounced than usual, the beauty in her singsong tone mesmerising. The official picked up the phone to a colleague and she took this as a cue to lean further in to me. 'We'll cement this on the night of the 31st as per tradition.' I felt cold and clammy as it occurred to me the 31st October is also All Hallows Eve. I told myself this didn't matter, that I had nothing to fear. After all, I trusted my new community, didn't I?

We returned to the car, where Iain was waiting for us in the back seat, cutting a shadowy and silent figure as usual. As we drove back home, Julia explained I would need to smarten up for the ceremony. I dislike smart clothes and convention, but she was in no mood for argument.

'I will take some money from our fund - the one you've kindly contributed to - and buy you a fine tuxedo. You'll brush up very nicely, I don't doubt it.'

'Oh, but I don't really do ceremonies,' I said.

There was a silence before Iain spoke from his vantage in the back. 'I think you'll do this one.'

'Why?'

I received no answer from either of my hosts. Instead, Julia started to tap the car interior next to the gear stick with her long nails, which were the colour of dark, congealed blood. All of a sudden I could see blood everywhere. Oozing from the hinges of the car doors, from the seams of the seats, the dashboard and dripping slowly down the glass of the windscreen. I covered my eyes.

'You'll need more medication when we get home,' remarked Julia from somewhere far away, but I didn't dare open my eyes in case the blood reappeared. When the car came to a halt, I removed my hands from my face but before I could muster up the courage to open my eyes, a sharp gust of air hit me and an arm pulled me out of the car.

'Time for your treatment,' said a rasping undertone.

I opened my eyes to see the front door rise up ahead of me, Julia's dark willowy shape framed in the doorway as she unlocked and pushed it open. The hand grasping my arm belonged to Iain, and as I turned to look at him he gave me one final shove through the doorway. I landed on the wooden floor in the entrance hall.

'Oh, did you trip?' he said, in a monotone.

Julia appeared by my side with a bottle of tablets. 'I think you need some of these.' She unscrewed the lid, her blood-red fingernails ripping the bottle top open with one violent twist and flick. My eyes tracked downwards to the label.

'But those are for when I'm unwell,' I protested, as I caught sight of the name of the drug. I didn't want to be sedated.

A sigh preceded another flick of the wrist as Julia emptied out two or three of the tablets into her other hand. Iain grasped me with both arms, pinning my hands behind my back and pulling my head back and my mouth open.

'Sleep well, my friend,' he breathed, somewhere behind me.

I am both a channel to the otherworldly and a fine line. I am a borderline, like life itself, like the community and its people. I tread the dividing line between both heaven and hell. My studies have drawn me into another world. I feel as though I'm being pursued by invisible forces and I'm not strong enough to resist them. Who knows how long I'll last? Or how long I'll be able to continue this branch of my studies? My mind tracks backwards and forwards through the past, present and future aimlessly and I can't control it. The tinnitus doesn't help. When I want to think clearly, it just rages at me and I'm no good at stilling it these days.

### Chapter 21

My first appointment of the day didn't turn up. As I sat in my consulting room staring at the notes on my screen, I reflected that in recent weeks Linda's attendance had been intermittent at best. Casting my mind back to our encounter at the health club, I decided this was no coincidence. I'd seen her outside Julia and Iain's place on a couple of occasions, her small frame hunched and furtive as she padded, pigeon-toed, past my house to get to theirs. Always alone. The last time I'd looked twice at her, she was dressed in ill-fitting clothes and her hair was dirty and stuck up at the back as if she hadn't bothered to brush it after getting out of bed. It seemed she was getting worse rather than better and I couldn't let a missed appointment slip.

I decided to chase it up, and balancing the receiver between my ear and my shoulder, I dialled her number. 'Linda?'

'No, this is her sister, Kate.'

'Hello Kate, this is Dr Lewis, your sister's therapist. She's missed her appointment today. Is she there?'

'She's not up. But I'll try and wake her.' She sounded like she would rather not, but I waited. 'Hold on whilst I just go and look.'

After a couple of minutes the phone clicked and a thin, rasping voice came on the line.

Linda's sporadic attendance of her treatment had been bothering me ever since I'd run into her in the health club. She'd appeared in my mind's eye on several occasions since, deathly pale, always wearing the same glacial expression as her eyes stared out from dark sockets. Every time, her skin appeared slack and rancid as it sat, translucent, against the bones of her face. It was like looking at a person who was already beyond the grave.

She had slid rather than drifted into the state she was in now. It hadn't taken long. Only a year ago, she had still been attending her sixth form college. I remember seeing her around, a laughing, jolly girl dressed in clothes from her favourite second hand shop. But she had changed dramatically in a short time into the washed out waif who came to me for treatment.

I went through to the main reception area of the surgery to slot in an alternative appointment for Linda and was greeted by the usual ambivalent atmosphere. Neither Lucy nor Louise returned my greetings and Dr Gostik was standing by the receptionists' computers with a frown on his face. 'Dr Lewis, can you come in here a minute?'

'Yes?' I noted that Lucy and Louise were already smirking from behind the reception glass.

'You know of our security checks?' His thick, white eyebrows beetled disconcertingly above his beady brown eyes.

'Yes, why?'

'Ah ok, that's alright then. You see we found the door to your consulting room unlocked and ajar over the weekend. That's a bit of security risk, you know,' he continued, his self-righteous tone ringing out across reception.

I stopped and put a hand to my mouth. My first thought was that I must have left the fire door open. But it was odd, I really thought I'd locked it behind me. I always did.

'Who found my door open?' I was curious to know. 'I'd like to thank them. Looks like I had a bit of a "blond moment",' I joked, unable to make the smile reach my eyes as I caught sight of Louise's impudent grin.

'Oh, we have Mrs Smith's eagle eyes to thank for that!' answered Dr Gostik, slapping Louise appreciatively on the back. 'Don't we, my dear?'

Louise smiled sweetly at Dr Gostik whilst I glowered at her from the doorway. 'I make it my business to check everything is secure,' she beamed and I wondered if she made it her business to go nosing around in my consulting room after hours.

At lunchtime, as the rest of the world ate, slept or otherwise continued its business, the surgery shut. For once, nobody was on a patient round, on call or at the local hospital. The GPs were all in one place for their monthly team meeting, which I'd asked to join. Although I rented a room in their building, we weren't really connected, and I was surprised they had agreed for me to go.

Chairs clattered and scraped as we filed into their little staff room. Louise and Lucy had tidied up the long wooden table in the centre of the room, and put a plate of shortbread in the middle of it. On a side table they had prepared a coffee urn and some cups. Much as I disliked them, I was heartened by this. Having once again forgotten to bring any lunch, I attacked the biscuits straight away as I sat down, munching on them as I stared over at the GPs coming in. They were all older than me by quite some margin. Dr Vaizey, at forty-five, was the next youngest, although his thick, dark beard gave him the appearance of an older man. He raised his eyebrows briefly at me before sitting down across the table from me. He was followed to the table by Dr Gostik, who was counting the days to retirement, often making it clear he was tired of practising medicine. Curly, white hair framed his face and contrasted his dark, eccentric eyes, which were never still as they darted about furtively under the white of his messy fringe. I sometimes wondered what patients made of him. Lastly, Dr Rushden came in, a grey-haired woman in her early fifties whose dancing brown eyes were at odds with the rest of her. She appeared disarmingly friendly and naive to the extent that most people were completely unaware of her scheming nature. I suspected that, contrary to appearances, Dr Rushden had low opinion of almost everybody outside of her small circle of family and friends. To make matters worse, she exerted an unnaturally strong influence over the antics of Lucy and Louise.

'Where are the practice nurses?' Dr Gostik said to nobody in particular, as everyone sat down.

'Oh, they aren't coming Terry,' answered Dr Rushden, her voice crisp. 'Someone has to hold the fort, just in case.' Her eyes twinkled but warned off any argument. 'I'm not sure they need to be involved in this discussion, anyway.'

I stared over at her.

'Shall we get going?'

'Yes Sian,' answered Dr Gostik. 'Let's start.'

Dr Rushden rustled through her papers before peering over the tops of them at me.

'Elena, my dear, I understand you wanted to discuss with us the death of Joan Munford, which occurred here in the surgery. It's a most puzzling case - don't you think?'

'Well, I'll cut to the chase,' I said. 'I was treating Joan for mild depression. With talking therapy.' I paused, wondering if I should just come out with what was worrying me, or dress it up a bit. I pressed on. 'She was becoming increasingly anxious and I felt she was vulnerable. Although this isn't your concern as doctors, my analysis of what she told me brought me to the conclusion that -'

'Yes indeed, Elena,' cut in Dr Gostik. 'We treat the symptoms, but often we can't do anything about the cause.' The others nodded their agreement.

'I'm not sure I agree.'

The other three doctors looked up at me.

'I do think Joan's death could have been avoided. As I was saying, what she told me led me to believe she was being bullied and intimidated, maybe even threatened, by her community.'

'Hang on, wasn't she with the Charismatics?' asked Dr Vaizey.

'Yes, that's right, James,' I nodded.

There was a silence. I glanced around the table.

'Look Elena,' said Dr Gostik finally. 'You've done very well to get to the position you're in, you're well qualified, well respected and so on, but you're still very young, my dear. Although I'm not religious and I don't approve of some of the activities that go on in this village, I've seen a lot of cases like this in my time. People can sometimes fall out of favour in small communities and they can make themselves quite ill over it. But we're doctors, that's all. We are here to treat the symptoms. Whatever is wrong in society, it's not our place to try and change it.'

'Well, if you really must, then you can do that with your off-duty hat on,' laughed Dr Vaizey in agreement.

Dr Rushden remained silent.

'I was wondering if there was a case for talking to social services,' I said, seeing an opportunity. 'I'm treating others who I'm worried about, too. For example, I know of one other person who has mental ill health which appears to be very much exacerbated by membership of that community.'

'Yes, Elena, but people get up to all kinds of things we wouldn't approve of, and we then have no choice but to treat their ill health. Are there children involved?'

I met Dr Rushden's level gaze. 'No, no children that I know of.

'What about anyone whose responsibility is diminished by their ill health - anyone under public guardianship, that kind of thing?'

'I don't think so.'

'Well, concerning though it is, I'm not sure what we can do.'

'We can keep an eye on it?' suggested Dr Vaizey. 'I also have a few patients I'm concerned about, and although I hadn't checked the link with that community as thoroughly as Elena has, now that I come to think of it, there might well be one.'

'Do you mean that we should be ready to intervene sooner?' asked Dr Gostik, his brow furrowed.

'Well, something like that,' said Dr Vaizey.

'There's something else, as well,' I said. 'I've heard things on the grapevine about an annual ceremony in which people who have displeased the community leaders are 'cleansed of their sins'. In other words, punished in some way. This ceremony apparently takes place on the night of the village ball. As you know, this year's event is happening in two weeks' time, and we're all attending. In the last couple of weeks I've certainly noticed higher anxiety levels in the people I'm worried about and I wondered if there might be a connection. I wanted to ask: have there been problems around this time of year in the past? Have you noticed increased levels of ill health amongst vulnerable people in the village?'

There was another silence.

'Well, yes,' Dr Vaizy said finally. 'Everybody knows about _that_ annual ceremony.'

Dr Rushden glared at him. 'About what, Dr Vaizey?'

'It's the anxiety of my patients which worries me,' I said.

Dr Rushden sighed. 'I'm not sure what we can do. Look, what I want to get to here is this - we certainly don't want anyone else swallowing tablets and turning up in the middle of our surgery in the way that Joan Mumford did. That was extremely unfortunate. We thought Elena might know something which might shed light on her suicide. She doesn't. But she has her suspicions. We need to be cautious, too, and it won't do any harm to keep our eyes open.'

'So we just keep an eye on people? Nothing more?' I said.

'Yes. Everyone agreed?' With this, Dr Rushden closed the item and moved on.

On the way out of the meeting, she stopped me, motioning that I should follow her to her consulting room. Taking my leave of the other doctors with a nod, I left the room behind Dr Rushden, noting how she bustled down the corridor in her neat, grey skirt suit. Her consulting room was tidy. There was a small bookshelf above her desk which displayed medical reference books filed by author in alphabetical order. The standard sink, scales, bed and trolley were in all the usual places, but there wasn't a speck of dust on them nor a piece of equipment out of place. Even the antibacterial soap dispenser was full to the brim with no droplets oozing down onto the sink.

We sat down, Dr Rushden behind her desk and me on the seat opposite where the patient would normally sit, feeling like a naughty schoolgirl. I waited whilst the older woman fired up her computer and found the file she wanted to show me.

'So I suppose you know what I wanted to talk to you about?' she said, still tabbing through her folders. Without waiting for a reply, she tapped her forefinger on the enter key. 'Ah! Here it is. Now.' She turned the screen round to face me. 'Four suicides in twelve months, all patients of yours. Is this normal in your view?'

I took a deep breath in. 'Well, I'd expect a couple. Four seems a little anomalous but it's not completely outside of the norm.'

Dr Rushden raised her eyebrows. 'Not completely, no, but very much approaching abnormal. You see, we used to have a problem with suicides in this village, especially in the eighties and nineties when the miners lost their jobs and there was no work to replace it. But in the last few years we've managed to get on top of things. And with no need of a resident psychotherapist.'

I drew myself up so that I was sitting really straight and fixed her with a level gaze. 'Dr Rushden. I can't deny it's a little odd. But, as I said in the meeting, I don't believe things are right in this village. Why were all the people who took their own lives all members of the Charismatic Community?'

'Well, half the village are members, Elena. It makes sense.'

'Supposing it does,' I conceded. 'Why were all the suicide victims people who had recently fallen out of favour with the community?'

'Very difficult to prove.' I noticed how Dr Rushden's lips had hardened into a straight, thin line. She took another breath. 'You see, you're delving into matters which are none of your business and none of mine either. As our colleagues said just now, our duty is to treat our patients' symptoms. If you think something untoward is going on, that's a matter to be brought to the attention of the police. We can keep an eye on things, but without proof we need to be very careful.' There was another pause as she scrolled down the page with her mouse. 'At the moment, Elena, it looks as if you are the link between these people. You found them all dead, you were treating them. If you make a fuss, it may backfire.'

I folded my arms across my chest. 'As they say "If you always do what you've always done, you'll get what you've always got",' I quoted.

'Hmmm. Have you thought that maybe this isn't the ideal practice for you? Wouldn't you be better off in a bigger town?'

'I'm not a quitter.'

Dr Rushden tapped another key and her screen saver flashed up.

I got up. 'I can't give up on this, Sian.'

She nodded. 'Well, I'll be monitoring you. If you need to talk, my door is always open.'

I turned and left the room, rubbing my nose. Retaining my poise, I strode back down the corridor to my consulting room, trying to banish the red glow I could feel burning my cheeks. If Dr Rushden wasn't on my side, she might be on theirs. I stopped in my tracks, my eyes wide as the realisation hit me that this had been the whole point of the notes. 'Whoever is not for me is against me'? If I wasn't on their side, I was the enemy, and the enemy would be dealt with. I wondered what this might entail, and in a sudden flash of empathy, I felt as I imagined my patients had. I put my head down and frowned. Maybe this time my dear neighbours had bitten off more than they could chew. I wasn't one of the patients and I wasn't vulnerable. In fact, quite the opposite: I was trained to stand up for those in need and more than willing to do so. I paced the remaining distance to my room, more determined than ever to continue my investigation into Julia and Iain's community. Still, it took a few minutes for me to still the beating of my heart.

Later on Linda came in, as requested, but the appointment was peculiar and wrong-footed from the start. Her sister, Kate, came in with her. She was quite a bit older but smaller than Linda, and a little plumper. She had the same mousy hair and critical expression, although I felt she was more accepting of the curve balls life might throw at her. She was also cagey, although I had become accustomed to seeing this type of behaviour when people knew bad news was imminent.

I gestured for the two women to come in and apologised for the wait.

'Hello Linda.' I turned to her sister. 'So you must be Kate?'

'Yep.'

'I'm glad you came actually,' I said. 'I wanted to talk to you both a bit more about Linda's recent medical check-up, and Linda, about why you need to keep coming to me for treatment.'

'I've been worried about Linda for some time,' Kate interjected, whilst rummaging around in her bag for what looked like a children's craft box with some sheets of paper inside. 'Before we talk, I think you should have a read of this,' she continued as she extracted some paper from the box. 'I sent it to a mental health charity a few months ago, before Linda....' She tailed off, glancing at her sister for a moment as she handed me the sheets.

As she did so, I glanced back over at Linda, by her sister's side. Her eyes had an empty and hopeless quality. Panning down to take in a slightly unkempt air, I was drawn to a pendant Linda was wearing around her neck on a black on a leather shoelace. A tiny sword encased by two skeletal hands, it glinted in the light. I swallowed.

Shaking my head to rid myself of the image, I looked at the sheets of paper Kate had given me. They contained an email Kate had sent to a charity some months ago. I caught sight of tears, well hidden with an inclination of the head, a hand and a quick smile. A prickling sensation crawled over me as I read it. Kate had included details, not only of her sister's ill health, but of her connection with a certain 'Charismatic' group. I noticed she didn't use the word 'community'.

After a quick scan, I looked up from the letter. I knew most of Linda's patient history, but her connection to the Charismatics concerned me. I had to bring this girl back into treatment, an easy enough job, but I couldn't reconcile the cold practicalities of this case with the feelings of unease which were slinking through my veins, causing my head to lighten and my stomach to turn. I noticed my hands were shaking slightly.

'Linda, can you tell me how you're feeling?' I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.

The clock on the opposite wall beat time to a lengthening silence, cars came and went outside the surgery, and practice nurses laughed outside in the corridor. The stillness in the room elongated and enveloped us as I looked from Kate to Linda, and back to Kate again. Linda was wringing her hands and blinking fast. Although I fixed her with my kindest and most professional expression, I was unable to get anything back from her. As gently as I could, I explained to Linda that I thought it might be more helpful if I referred her to the hospital mental health unit.

Kate listened, lip curled and eyes glittering. 'That's what the charity said might happen.'

I addressed Linda directly. 'I'm going to give you a letter and I want you to take it with you to the specialist at this address.' I paused to print off the name of address of the hospital I referred people to under these circumstances. I also fired a quick email off to her GP, to let him know what was happening.

Linda cleared her throat. 'I'm so afraid,' she said, her voice barely rising above a whisper before falling into a mute silence again.

I waited for her continue but when she went back to staring blankly ahead, Kate got up.

'Come on then, Linda,' she said. 'We've wasted enough of Dr Lewis's time today. You can't sit here staring into space forever.' She pulled Linda up by the arm.

'It doesn't matter if you're not ready to talk yet,' I interjected. 'But you must come back soon, if only to let me know how your appointment at the hospital went.'

The pair left the door open, leaving me to stare through the gap at their retreating backs. Just as the two women were about to turn the corner at the end of the corridor, Linda broke away and ran back towards me, fumbling in her jacket pocket as she did so. Breathless, she threw a folded piece of paper down on my desk. 'I'm so afraid, I'm so afraid,' she mumbled, terror replacing the former emptiness in her eyes. 'Don't tell Kate!'

Seeing that Kate was striding back down the corridor towards us, I took the folded paper without a word and put it in my top drawer, nodding wordlessly to Linda as I did so. Then I got up and accompanied Linda back to the door, patting her on the shoulders.

'Try to take deep breaths. That will help with the anxiety. And come back and see me any time. The door is always open here for you.'

Kate reached the doorway and grabbed Linda by the arm. She looked flustered so I walked both women back to reception before giving them a sympathetic smile and bidding them goodbye a second time. When I returned to my consulting room I picked up the phone to ask Lucy to hold the next patient for a couple more minutes whilst I wrote up the appointment. She sounded irritated, as usual, but I was used to that and put the phone down before she could protest.

Sitting down at my desk, I unfolded Linda's semi-crumpled page. The crackling of the paper under my fingertips gave it a fantastical quality of its own, almost as if it contained electricity between its folds. But when I saw what was printed there I dropped the page. I felt as if I had been stung.

It was a message which read in a scrawling hand:

'You will be expected at the next outdoor gathering.'

I put down the paper, lost in thought, ignoring the insistent buzzing of the internal telephone which I knew would be Lucy badgering me to hurry up. Gathering myself together, I called up Linda's notes on my computer and trawled through them. Unable to find anything untoward, I Googled Linda's name. Reading down the results my eyes came to rest on an entry from the Charismatic Community newsletter, which was about a year old. I sat back and considered what I found, squinting at it warily.

_' Welcoming a new member to the flock!'_ screamed the headline with a picture of Linda underneath flanked by Julia and Iain in front of their house. I scanned through it quickly, remembering that Linda had been welcomed into the Charismatic Community the year before. Now that I came to think of it, I remembered there had been a lot of activity around Julia and Iain's house that summer and someone in the village council had mentioned the rapid expansion of their organisation's membership. Caught up with a boyfriend in another town and a whole heap of other distractions, I'd thought nothing of it. As I pondered it now, it occurred to me that there had been some untoward gossip at the village council. Some of my colleagues there had been less than impressed with the large numbers of villagers flocking to the Charismatic Community that summer. There had been speculation about unconventional practises and some of the council members viewed the community's activities with suspicion. If I remembered rightly, one of the most disparaging had been Vince. I made a mental note to ask him about it at the next opportunity.

I shuffled closer to the computer. Although the doctors had taken the time to consider my concerns I felt alone among them. Dr Rushden was sceptical and the others were paying me lip service at best. I didn't think they would be much help. Tapping on the keys I brought up my saved searches on links between cults and mental ill health. When my bookmarked page came up, I tabbed through, brooding over the various pieces of information I'd pulled up. It wasn't enough yet, I needed more.

I tried a different tack, deciding to check out some more of the women in Julia's prayer group. Previously I'd spent some time matching up some of the patients on my list with the people I'd seen in the community - at the party, the festival, the prayer group and other places. There weren't any obvious connections, although Julia fit the bill of a charismatic leader. Such a person could be good or bad, so that in itself wasn't what bothered me. But often charismatic leaders were found to head up cults and terrorist organisations. They could be great politicians or powerful criminals.

I shook myself. Suspicions were forming in my mind which I was unable to ignore but I had nothing conclusive, something I needed to change. I had to press on and find something quickly which I could use to expose Julia. Tony was falling off my radar, patients were deteriorating rather than responding to therapy, and the sense of time running out had never been more acute. I couldn't shake the sensation that the sands in this egg timer were down to their last few grains.

### Chapter 22

**Tony**

**30 October**

I no longer have a penny to my name. Julia has promised to give me money once a month. She says that's how it works. Everybody in the community uses this system. No exceptions. She says absolute loyalty is paramount. Without it, the community can't operate and they can't do their work as instruments of the Spirit.

She stood over me as I took my medication, forcing me to take other tablets too, ones I hadn't been prescribed. 'These will help you prepare for tomorrow,' she said.

After breakfast I went out for another walk to the New Age shop. It's become a habit these last few days. It helps me clear my head, take stock of what I've done. It helps me think. I was alarmed by the sight which greeted me. The assistant was bedraggled, her clothes unkempt, her nose and eyes red, her cheeks stained by dirty tear tracks. A stench arose from her armpits, as if she hadn't washed for a while and her oily-looking hair smelled sour. She sat in her usual corner of the barn, smoke rising from her roll-up which had burned right down to her yellow fingertips and her eyes deadened behind the fug.

I went to the _' Man, Myth and Magic'_ bookshelf and leafed through a couple of periodicals. Just as I was looking at illustrations of Tarot cards, complete with explanations of their meanings, a voice cut through my reverie. 'You want me to do a reading for you?' said the voice, and I turned to see the shop assistant by my side. I didn't know what to say so I merely nodded, turning to follow her back to the darkest corner of the shop, where a pack of cards sat, waiting, by the till on the side. 'Close your eyes,' she said. Then she dealt. First The Hermit, then The Moon then The High Priestess. Silence followed as she leaned back in her chair. It lasted so long I thought she might be sleeping until finally she spoke again.

'You are in danger,' she said. Then she dropped her voice and chanted. 'A staff and lantern he did hold, to show the way, to shelter from cold. Travelling secret corners of the earth, their mysteries revealed despite his mirth.' She opened her eyes to stare directly at me. ' _I lost him, he did not grow old. '_

'What?' I said.

If you listen, you will discern the meaning of the cards. Just listen...'And she continued. 'He walked a lonely path, eternal autumn, an aftermath. Of a life not yet begun, he was a hero, for me unsung. _My way and his, our joy and wrath. '_ A feeling of dread crept over me as the voices started chanting in unison with her. 'The darkness illuminated by his light, with him my life did feel alright. His gentle, understated love, a hidden sign, of peace, a dove. _Extinguished in the night. '_

The shop assistant dropped to the floor, convulsing, knocking the card formation into chaos, cards slipping and sliding under her. I crouched down and grabbed her, reciting a simple prayer, shouting over the voices which were on loop, repeating the phase over and over, _' Extinguished in the night.'_

I tried to pick up the cards from around the shop assistant's writhing body. 'Are you all right?' I started, but it was useless. I dropped more cards than I managed to hold, eventually giving up to sit on the floor until the woman next to me calmed. It was difficult to breathe and the air in the barn thickened and became soup-like as it snaked into my lungs. I felt as if I would suffocate.

Pulling out one of my own roll-ups, I lit up to calm my nerves. I took in a long, deep drag, relieved as it reached into my lungs and I started to breathe normally again. The smoke curled upwards to my nostrils and around my face, its tendrils making swirly patterns before dissipating into the atmosphere above my head. I blew out a mouthful in the shop assistant's direction, and she appeared to awake from her trance, her eyes fixed on my roll-up as I took a few more drags from it.

'Mind if I take a drag too?' she asked.

I nodded, handing it over to her without a word. 'What happened just then?' I asked as she heaved herself into a sitting position to take the roll-up from me.

'I'm sorry,' she said. 'That community of yours says I've been possessed by the devil. But it's rubbish. I'm epileptic and stress can bring on a fit sometimes. I forgot to take my medication this morning. Stupid, I know.'

'That community of mine?'

'Yeah, I know who you're staying with. Her Majesty there.' She paused to watch the smoke rise towards the centre of the barn's pitched roof. 'She doesn't like me. Or my shop. You must have guessed that by now.'

'Well,' I began. 'I can imagine.'

'She wants me closed down.' She laughed, a short and mirthless sound. 'As for the cards, sorry I scared you just then. You can read what you want into them. I have no control over what comes out. Sometimes, if I have a fit whilst doing a card reading, it can get pretty hairy.' She fixed me with a long stare, my roll-up still between her left fore-finger and thumb. After a minute or so, she spoke again. 'Cards aside, I'd still say you were in danger. They're not nice people, those community nutters.'

'Nutters?'

'I'd steer clear, if I were you.'

She reached over to collect the strewn cards from the floor. She put them back into their box one by one, shaking each card before she returned it to the pack. It took several minutes and a few more puffs for her to put the whole pack back together. As she took a final drag on my roll-up, one card remained on the floor and I craned my neck to look at it. From my upside-down vantage I could see it was The High Priestess but its appearance had changed. The figure had been transformed from a creature with long blond locks to a brunette with dark wavy hair which hung down over her breasts to reach almost past her waist. Her eyes were almost black and they appeared to flash as I looked into them. From nowhere, whispered words came into my head, 'Prepare yourself, now, for the ceremony.'

I looked at the shop assistant. 'Did you hear that?'

She shook her head. 'I can't hear anything apart from you.' With one hand she passed back the roll-up and bent down to put the final card back in the pack. 'You know, I've been thinking maybe I should get rid of these after all. It's an old pack and the same readings keep coming out. It's not good practice to keep using an old pack, readings don't work properly anymore.'

'If they work at all?' I felt as if The High Priestess' eyes were still boring into me from within the pack.

'Well, the last time I did a reading for someone, I pulled out the Death card but they're not dead. Yet.' She paused, looking thoughtful. 'Although the Death card isn't that bad an omen, really. It's true meaning is one of change rather than death. The High Priestess, on the other hand, is a dangerous card to pull out. I'd watch your back, if I were you.'

A split second passed before something inside me snapped. Escape was uppermost in my mind. Why had I come here? Julia was right, I had to stay out of trouble, I had to take my medication and leave my vices behind. Without saying goodbye, I turned and ran through the shop, leaving the shop assistant still sitting in the centre. The crystals winked at me through their green and purple hues and the carved hand seemed to reach out in an attempt to grab me. I could hear Julia's voice telling me to beware, telling me I was on dangerous ground, but I couldn't remember when she had told me this. I was sure we had never visited the shop together and yet I could see her in my mind's eye, smashing the crystals on the ground and throwing the hands into a burning pile of rubble, the flames licking the walls as they climbed higher and higher.

At the front entrance, I pushed the dank heavy door open and threw myself into the fresh air beyond. In reality, there was nowhere to run. Everything was playing tricks with me: the shop and its secrets, the villagers, my hosts, even my own mind. There was nowhere to run, I knew that, but I had to go somewhere. So I darted out into the copse and skirted around the tree circle beyond it until I got to the dirt track which led out to the main road. Half limping, I scampered as fast as I could along the lane, my heart pounding and the taste of blood in the back of my throat. I ran until I had left the cards and the barn far behind.

### Chapter 23

Living alone suited me just fine. It meant I could eat when I wanted, or - as was becoming more of a habit of late - not at all. I could get up and read in the middle of the night, come and go as I pleased and, most importantly, I could keep up with my yoga and meditation and my exercises. Without them I'd be lost. Finally, I never had to pander to anyone. People were fascinating, but I liked to examine them from afar. When they got close they were a distraction.

In some ways it was fortunate my appearance held people at arm's length. With this thought in mind I tore a brush through unwashed hair, regarding myself fleetingly in the bathroom mirror as I did so. Green-grey eyes ringed with dark circles jumped back at me and my straw-coloured hair caressed chiselled cheeks as it flowed down beyond my shoulders. The effect was intimidating but I laughed, noting how the laughter didn't reach my eyes. Staring harder at the mirror I checked my complexion, confirming the effect burning the candle at both ends had. My skin was sallow and stretched tightly across my bones, giving me the lean and hungry look I normally associated with Vince.

Remembering the job he had asked me to do, I put the brush down, tore on some casual clothes and went down to the study. He was fortunate it was Sunday. I had some time to get on with the task in hand, and with a cup of coffee in one hand and my laptop open on the desk in front of me, I set about formatting menus for the ball, blocking out the sound of dogs barking outside.

I opened up the email Vince had forwarded me, listing the dishes for the evening. Then, selecting the text, I copied it all into Publisher, choosing a swirling font and a cream background to complement it. Sitting back, I examined my handiwork.

The barking had become more insistent so I stopped what I was doing and moved to the window to see what was happening outside. Hesitating, I peered gingerly through the glass and my heart lurched as I stared straight at Julia. She was standing across the street next to her dog whose eyes were wild. I felt like he was shouting at me. Then, as if she could sense my presence on the other side of the netted window, Julia turned abruptly and moved on towards her own house. I observed as she left the dog in the back garden before opening her car door to get in.

Something clicked and I stepped back from the window. I would follow her.

In my haste, I dashed out of the study and lunged for the front door, opening it just in time to see a flash of blue pass by. Acting on pure instinct, I rushed to my convertible and jumped into the driver's seat. Throwing the car into reverse, I nearly ran into a familiar figure as he sauntered past. Stopping the car, I let down the window with a sigh.

'In a rush?' he asked, eyebrow half raised as usual.

'Yes actually,' I snapped.

'Off anywhere important? Only I had something to ask you.'

'Right.' I sighed again. 'What did you want to talk to me about, Vince?'

'About the menus. Did you manage to format them?'

'Yes, I've just done them. I'll forward them over to you later.'

He stepped back and gestured for me to back further out into the road. I looked hurriedly from side to side as I did so before setting off in pursuit of Julia, leaving him standing mute and wary on the pavement.

Julia's car was still visible up ahead and I managed to catch up with her. It soon became obvious where she was going and after a short drive I arrived at her destination. To evade notice, I drew up just beyond the gravel car park, switching the engine off as I swung out of the car before making for the bushes on the periphery of the shop's grounds. Skirting round behind the foliage, I could see no sign of either Julia or her car. Confused, I paused to think before changing tack and walking over to the back of the shop in the centre of the clearing.

Just then, a voice rang out, making me jump into a splayed position against the barn wall.

'I want to know where those books are!'

So she was here. Goose bumps broke out on my forearms.

'You know what will happen if you don't give me those books!'

There was an incoherent, mumbled reply.

'You've been warned before. Now get those books back for me!'

Books? I stood very still, knowing I had to get out of there, knowing Julia was looking for the book which had been left on my doorstep. I threw myself back into gear, skirting efficiently round the perimeter of the shop grounds. I didn't think I could be seen back here, but as I shivered in the cloying, dank air, I could still hear the two women remonstrating with each other outside the front entrance. Or perhaps they were just inside. Either way, I had to stay out of sight.

Although it was mid-morning the half-light of the nearby woods gave the place a sense of timelessness. It felt unworldy, but I wasn't here to immerse myself in the mystery of the place. As the louder of the two voices went up a pitch I pricked up my ears again.

'What do you mean they're not there?'

I turned and ran to my car.

Back home my breathing felt shallow. Afraid my childhood asthma was about to make a reappearance, I went straight up to the main bathroom and turned the shower on to the hottest setting, letting its vapour steam up the room to the point that I could no longer see the wall on the opposite side of the room. Plug in, I sat in the bath at the other end from the shower unit and put my head back on the edge, breathing in the steam until my lungs loosened up. I closed my eyes to cut myself off from the external world around, to embrace the solitude. Steam continued to rise and heat enveloped me as I drifted in and out of my thoughts. Images of my panicked drive home plagued me. I suspected Julia would have heard me drive off, probably seen the car too. What had I been thinking? The torrent bore down and the water level in the tub rose until it got so high it was almost up to my neck and I grappled under the water and yanked out the plug before reclining backwards to the semi-comatose position I had been lying in before.

My mind ticked over as the swampy vapour contrived to send me to sleep. More images, this time of cards and a black-covered, anonymous diary. Tony's voice in my head, telling me things. Things I didn't want to hear. Transferring the torture of his own voices to me. Linda reaching out to me, screaming. Joan lying dead on the surgery floor, surrounded by the doctors and paramedics; heads bowed, impotence and regret hovering with death just above us.

I wanted to fit all the pieces of the jigsaw together, to get to the answers. Julia was up to no good. She was snooping round an occult shop, looking for books about mysticism, which surely was at odds with her status as the leader of the Charismatics. She exerted power over numerous villagers, encouraging them to wear Gothic-style talismans, join in babbling hysteria and divulge their deepest sorrows and fears in an unsafe environment. I didn't dare think what else.

I felt cold, despite the heat of the water which was still cascading around me into the bathtub. I feared I was failing my patients. I worked hard to protect these people in my day job but it wasn't enough. What would I do if it was all true: the clippings, the suspicions held by my council colleagues, my own suspicions? How would I intervene if something untoward happened? I had no idea.

After a while I noticed my elevated heartbeat, all thickened bass. It was time to get out.

I opened my eyes and stood up to shampoo my hair under the shower head. As I stood there I held my palms upwards to feel the little, hard droplets of water as they beat down upon me. Closing my eyes, I rinsed off the shampoo slowly. Suddenly the tenor of the collective droplets changed and shifted across to the left. I looked up to see that instead of being directly above my head, the shower head was now skewed to the right. Puzzled, I yanked it back across to the middle and turned it off.

I stood very still for some moments, sensing a shift in the atmosphere. The bath creaked as water swirled into the plughole. Another creaking noise, almost indistinguishable from that of the pipes, encroached, bothering me so much so that I stepped quietly out of the bath tub, bending to pick up my towelling dressing gown from the floor. Then, a muffled shuffling sound made me feel both stone cold and prickly at the same time. Pins and needles of dread covered me in indecision and fear gripped at my heart. Wishing I hadn't left my phone downstairs, I edged out of the bathroom door to the galleried landing where the dark stairwell beckoned me into the unknown.

I steadied my breathing and a kind of hush descended, although I wasn't convinced. My gut told me otherwise, as did the little hairs which were still raised at the back of my neck. Instinct told me to move, so I half-ran, half-fell down the stairs in an attempt to fly down at maximum speed. I hit the bottom hard, my ankle crumpling beneath me. As I tried to get up I felt a hand on my mouth whilst my arms were yanked backwards and I was pushed onto my front. Face down I struggled, but the hands holding me down were stronger. Rancid breath hit my nostrils as I tried, unsuccessfully, to cough. Realising I couldn't breathe at all, panic arose in my chest and I started to struggle. The hands tightened their grip.

'Listen to me now and I won't hurt you,' said a voice which sounded both unworldly and familiar at the same time. 'We've been watching you for a while. We tried to befriend you and we even invited you into the heart of our community despite knowing what you are, but you don't want to know do you?' The voice sounded more familiar now, although the blood rushing to my head made it difficult to concentrate.'

There was a brief silence which I made no effort to puncture.

'Well hear this. If you try to damage our community there will be repercussions, make no mistake. What we do here is very important. We save people and without us they would be lost. Do you really want to interfere with that?!'

I felt the hands release me and I gasped for breath.

'We know what you are but nevertheless, we thought we could win you over. You need to be saved, Elena. And you need to watch out.'

Despite myself, despite my fear, I refused to nod. I waited.

'You need to watch out,' the voice insisted, and I recoiled at the smell of stale breath. The owner of the voice grunted, and smashed my head on the floor. Blood rushed in my ears and I could taste it as it dripped down from my nose.

Then my training kicked in and I sprang up, twisting round in a flash to face my aggressor. He was masked, wiry, slightly shorter than me. Tightly coiled, too. As his fist shot out I blocked with my right arm whilst delivering a straight-legged kick to his jaw. I followed through but, too late, realised he was making for the back door. He dived into a shadow as I lunged.

Somehow he twisted back and delivered a punch to the side of my head.

As I fell, the darkness started merging all the images in my head into one. There was presence with me, at once right behind and a few metres away. I opened my eyes to catch a glimpse of dark eyes glinting.

The air closed in on me, pulsating, thick. Where was the light? And then, I was running somewhere. It looked like a wooden staircase in a high barn. I arrived at the top of the stairs and did not dare turn around. Ahead of me, I could barely make out doors and a high-pitched roof above, indicating the end of line. I had to go through one of these doors, and then what? A rush of air and just behind, a palpable sense of breathing and not breathing, tension and control. And then I began to run again.

A voice from above stopped me in my tracks. 'We told you to keep away. Why didn't you heed our warning?'

A faint whispering sound pulsed through the tangible silence which had closed in around me. Dank menace permeated the walls and what little flat light was there glowed sickly and weak through the rafters above my head. Just as I thought I would drown in the soupy darkness, a card flipped through the air and fell into my lap face up. It was The High Priestess. Then another, the Death card followed by The Hanged Man. A crack followed and all three cards burst into sudden flames which licked up towards my face and consumed my body. It was as if I'd fallen into the world of the dream diary.

Everything went black.

When I came round, the house was still and my vision was eclipsed by spots in front of my eyes which took some time to dissipate. My dressing gown had come undone and my naked body was almost blue with cold. Nausea rose up in my throat forcing me to get up on my hands and knees and crawl quickly to the downstairs loo. After throwing up I sat by the toilet bowl mopping the perspiration from my forehead. Then, I got up and switched the light on to check my reflection in the mirror. I looked perfectly normal apart from a swelling at the top of my forehead. I pulled my dressing gown more tightly around me before walking slowly through to the kitchen to find some ice. Slowly I sat down with it pressed against my head.

For a long time my thoughts just twisted and writhed around without direction or clarity. Eventually I made some sense of them and got up to check for evidence of a break-in. He'd left no trace, of course. I rattled both the back doors and examined the locks. Nothing. I wasn't sure why I hadn't changed the locks when I'd had the chance. It occurred to me that throughout the last few months I hadn't been thinking clearly: my judgement had become cloudy and muddled.

Upstairs in my bedroom, the clippings file had disappeared. Alarmed, I checked under the bed for the _' Man Myth and Magic'_ volume with Tony's writings and the other clippings nestling within its pages, and upon seeing it was still there, I breathed a deep sigh of relief. Some evidence of untoward happenings in the village had been removed but not all. The most incriminating remained.

I felt cold as the memory of Julia's visit to the New Age shop popped back into my head. Iain's stale breath was nothing compared to the threat of challenging Julia. I'd get him sooner or later, but she was a different matter. Remembering my after-hours discussion with Vince and the others at the last village council meeting, I resolved to keep a close eye on both her and her entourage at the ball, no matter what it cost. Then, my mind unravelled a bit. Standing, still semi-naked, and cold in my bedroom, I thought of my isolation and introspection and wondered if it had been sending me off the rails. I thought of Vince but pushed him to the back of my mind. And I thought of Tony.

### Chapter 24

**Tony**

**31 October**

The day is upon me.

I was received into the Charismatic Community two weeks ago, but Julia says to complete the process I must attend the outdoor ceremony tonight. This morning, the daily meeting was crowded and Iain presided. He delivered a long speech and at the end, he said some special words for me. I was not prepared for what happened next.

'Come my people,' said Iain, and everyone stood up. There were so many people it seemed like the whole village was there with me. They were crammed down the aisles, so many of them, crowds of people I had never seen before. Eyes blank on expressionless faces, it was not the joyful occasion I'd imagined and the tension was palpable. New people appeared in the gaps in between the waiting crowd, and the occasional whisper punctuated the silence.

'I give you Tony,' he said. Then he started to babble and the waiting crowd erupted with him, all of a sudden, falling to the ground in one writhing mass of incomprehensible words and deeds. 'Let the Spirit cast out his demons!' shouted Julia from the back of the crowd. 'Heal him! Heal him!'

Through the mess and confusion I thought I saw that woman again. Tall and blond, her hair up in a ponytail, her clothes tailored, carrying a small square handbag, she was standing alone at the back of the community, her mouth open as if she were shouting something. But I couldn't hear over the noise of the people who were writhing about at my feet.

I shut my eyes to quell the voices, the chanting and writhing. I drifted into a waking dream in which the blond woman came up close and stood right next to me, in which she plucked the roll-up from my fingers, stroked my hair and told me I should go with her. ' _Tony, it 's me, Elena,'_ she said. My angel? I thought.

'Get away from here. Before it's too late.'

### Chapter 25

The ball was held every year in a function room within Harlesden Hall, a National Trust property a few miles outside the village. I had never visited the Hall before but my fellow council members spoke highly of the venue and as we drove through the grounds along the narrow road leading to the car park, I could see why. Set in five hundred acres of parkland, the property had been owned by a local family of wealthy landowners for the last three hundred years. Set in the centre of its grounds, the Hall's Elizabethan facade peeked out from its location deep within an eclectic mixture of sprawling meadows and pockets of woodland.

All I could do was stare out of the window as we drove. That morning I'd awoken to to the sound of heart pounding, the memory of the attack clinging to me like sweat in a hot climate. And although I'd tried to distract myself throughout the day doing more research into the behaviour of cult leaders and how to combat them, I couldn't shake it. My attacker's presence wouldn't leave me and I didn't need to study myself in the mirror to see that my face looked gaunt and my grey eyes sunken into their sockets. I knew I would give myself cause for concern in my own consulting room, but there was nothing to do but see this thing through to the end

It was about 7pm when we arrived. I got out of the car, whilst Dan switched off the engine. As he walked around the back of his red Alfa Romeo to join me, his smile was appreciative. 'You've scrubbed up well.'

I laughed and linked arms with him. 'Thanks for coming Dan. It means a lot.'

We made our way up the drive, my heels crunching on the gravel beneath us. I clung to Dan's sturdy presence beside me. Unseasonably crisp, the air clung to my bones as did the sleek, grey satin of my dress. My blond hair hung glossy and straight, reaching past my neck to reach almost to the bottom of my shoulder blades which were uncovered tonight. The criss-cross back detail of my dress revealed a patch of skin at the bottom of my spine where my quincunx tattoo lay. I noticed Dan stare at it for a second before he had a chance to avert his eyes and realised he'd probably never seen it before.

We walked slowly around the building's periphery, joking about my heels, my ridiculously straight hair and his over-tight cummerbund. I asked politely after Dan's girlfriend and he remarked that she was a sensible girl, possibly even the one who might bring him into line, although we both knew this was never going to happen.

The descending dusk was signalled by deep russet which turned rapidly to black behind the light cloud covering above. The murmuring of arriving party guests floated over to us on a gentle, but sharp, breeze. Distracted by our light-hearted conversation, I saw - too late - that Vince was chatting to Mark on the path ahead of us, together with Emma, Louise and Martin. There was another woman there with them whom I didn't recognise: Vince's partner for the night, I presumed. Before I could divert Dan, the group turned to look at us. Martin looked away immediately and Louise smiled garishly - she was already drunk. Vince didn't look at me.

I made a beeline for Emma. 'Hi,' I said. 'How are you?'

'We're fine. Not working tonight then?'

'No.'

Without introducing Dan to the group, I moved on, noticing that Louise was sniggering whilst muttering something to her husband behind her hand. Vince had disappeared.

Inside the stately home, Dan squeezed my arm. 'Come on,' he said.' A smile won't kill you?'

I took both his hands in mine. Giving him my best smile, I winked and stood on tip toes to whisper in his ear. 'Thanks for this Dan, I'll make it up to you.' Then I lowered myself down and looked round quickly, feeling sudden goose bumps on my arms. I caught Vince's eye before he had time to look away, before turning back to Dan, who was studying me with a wry smile. He was amused, I realised.

He bent his head down to mine. 'Elena love, that guy has a woman with him. His wife?'

'Shut it, Dan. Shall we go and get our champagne? And, no, it's not his wife.'

Looking around again to check, I saw that Vince had re-joined his sister and his friends outside. Inside the function room the air was thickening as people arrived, an exponential whirl of black tuxedos, aftershave and oceans of glossy evening dress. I knew almost everyone there but was wary: some I had only encountered as patients. I took Dan's hand and plunged headlong into the crowd. There was no sign of my colleagues Dr Gostik or Dr Vaizey and their respective partners, but I wasn't worried. They were supposed to be arriving together and I knew Dr Gostik and his wife were appalling time keepers.

After a few more minutes there was a slight stir at the front entrance of the function room, a temporal shift which made the hairs rise at the back of my neck. Straining to look through the thickening forest of bodies around me I saw that others were doing the same, unsettled by the slight disturbance in the steady ebb and flow of people. Julia and Iain had arrived.

Dan thrust a glass into my hand. 'So, are you going to introduce me to anyone, or am I going to have to start making up names for people?'

'All in good time.'

Outside the sky had thickened to a tangible black and I thought I could see small, bright dots appearing in the night sky past the large French window at the far end of the room. I collected myself and took his hand again, plunging him into the thick of it. Wondering, a little apprehensively, if Julia had seen us, I ran headlong into Paul.

'This is Paul, a colleague of mine from the village council,' I said. 'He's married to Lucy who works at the surgery. Paul, this is an old friend of mine, Dan.' I could tell from the quizzical look on his open and amiable face, that Paul was weighing up what kind of friendship this might be.

'Who else have you come with?' Paul asked Dan.

Dan shifted from one foot to another. 'I believe we are sitting with some of Elena's colleagues from the surgery,' he replied, draining his champagne glass.

I cut in. 'Actually, they're here now - if you'll excuse us.'

A shock of white, curly hair caught my eye at the far door and I turned to wave at Dr Gostik, who was just coming in through the front entrance followed by his wife and Dr and Mrs Vaizey. Gesturing that we could talk later, Paul turned away to greet a group of Rotary Club members standing on the other side of him.

'I thought we'd never get here,' shouted Dr Gostik across to us. 'But you know what my wife's like!' He glanced at the small, nimble woman by his side. 'And then we hit traffic. Oh well, what about a little tipple, eh?'

'Hi Pat,' I said to Mrs Gostik.

Dan reached across to grab two glasses of champagne from a nearby trestle table. Handing them to Dr Gostik and his wife he then grabbed two more for Dr Vaizey and his wife, Nicola. I chatted with my colleagues for a while, catching up with their news and enjoying their company outside of the surgery. Dan fetched more drinks and, sipping my second glass of champagne, I started to feel myself relax.

After a few minutes a slow swathe of people drifted into the banqueting hall to take their seats. Following the crowd we moved towards our table, but I was dismayed to see that Julia and Iain already seated at the next one. I froze, one hand on the back of my seat, the other on my clutch bag, which slipped, gently bashing the empty glass on the table in front of me. The clattering noise it made attracted the attention of Louise and Lucy, who were passing on the opposite side of the table.

'Had enough?' remarked Louise in a loud voice, looking more at Lucy than at me. Lucy smiled - a quick benign curve of the lip - before turning to Louise to grin more openly, covering her mouth as she did so. They were like naughty school girls. I thought of how quickly I could dispense with them if I wanted to, and turned away.

Nicola Vaizey caught my eye from her own seat, where she was now sitting. Her eyebrows were raised, but I waved the incident off. I looked across to where Louise and Lucy had been heading, to a table not far away. They were sitting in a boy-girl sequence, Vince in between them and Paul on the other side next to Vince's partner. Emma had her back to me.

A Scottish lilt, calm and controlled accompanied by its owner's cold hand on my arm broke into my thoughts. 'We could have given you a lift, Elena.'

I felt a dropping sensation somewhere between my stomach and my gut, aware the blood had run from my cheeks. I swallowed and looked around before replying. 'Thanks Julia but my friend Dan picked me up. We're old friends.'

'That's a shame,' said Julia, the over-firm pressure of her hand still on my arm, 'as I wanted to chat with you about something.' Her eyes were fixed on mine like a cat's or maybe a tiger's. I itched to flex my muscles and throw her off, but it wouldn't do here. Not yet.

Dan held up a bottle of wine. 'Would you like some wine?' He looked questioningly at Julia.

'Oh, this is my next door neighbour, Julia,' I said.

'Hello. Was it Dan?' Julia showed no signs of moving back over to her own table. 'You're an old friend of our Elena here?' Her smile was fixed and didn't reach her eyes. 'It's quite a long time since we had a doctor in the local surgery who wasn't from round here. I don't know what she must think of us!'

'You mean a psychotherapist?' Dan asked, his smile also not reaching his eyes.

The temperature inside the banqueting hall seemed to lurch up and down as I tried to stabilise the myriad of feelings which washed over me. I could not help but marvel at Julia's charade and I wondered if the whole village knew of this rift between us or if, in fact, if nobody knew. Even if they didn't, it felt like everyone in the hall must surely be able to feel our mutual hostility. I looked away from Julia's cat's eyes to search for a lifeline in the crowded room around me. Another heartbeat passed before, without warning, my arm was released. A sharp jingling quietened the room down to a low murmur and Julia took her leave of us to sit down. I followed suit and lowered myself into my seat to focus on the Rotary Club welcome speech and charity auction. My colleagues formed a ring around me, sitting forwards into the table. Although it had not been discussed, they seemed to pick up on my unease. Nicola squeezed my arm affectionately whilst her husband winked, Dan made witty asides, designed to make me laugh. The Gostiks enquired after my wellbeing, listening with maternal concern as I answered.

As the auction drew to a close, my pager flashed, its pale light blinking from within my clutch bag. Grabbing it out of the bag I flicked it open to see an urgent message from Kate asking me to meet her and Linda. It didn't look like it could wait. I stared at the screen for a moment, irritated, before grasping my shrug from the back of my chair. Although I made myself available to my patients out of hours, an emergency call like this was rare. But still. That in itself alarmed me. What could be so urgent?

'I have to pop down to my office. I'll call a cab and I won't be long,' I muttered to Dan in a low voice. He sat back in his chair and winked. A surgeon, he knew the drill only too well. He nodded as I waved curtly at the others before leaving the room. I didn't check to see who else was watching me leave, hoping that the quickest and most unobtrusive exit would be best.

The surgery was dark as I let myself in through the front door. Although it was Saturday evening, Jenny, the practice nurse was still on duty, albeit with her coat on indicating she was about to leave. She was talking to two women who were sitting in the waiting room. I screwed up my eyes to see who they were and the pale anxiety of the younger woman gave me the answer I'd feared.

'Thanks Jenny,' I said. 'I'll lock up here when I'm done.'

Looking at the women, I wondered briefly why Linda wasn't under the care of the hospital psychiatrist by now, remembering I hadn't followed it up, so preoccupied had I been with other events which had happened subsequently. As I reached them I saw that Linda's eye make-up had become a dirty, black sludge underneath her eyes. She was sweating, her hair matted as she pulled and fiddled with it distractedly. The girl's distress was disturbing.

We went through to my consulting room and after a brief talk with Linda, I picked up my phone to dial the number of the local psychiatric ward.

'You've got a bed tomorrow? Good.' I put the phone down and explained to Linda that I wanted her to go to hospital the next day.

'You're sectioning her?' asked Kate, her voice shrill.

'Not me, I can't do that.' Again I turned to Linda. 'But I strongly recommend you take my advice and go to hospital for a check-up tomorrow. When you get there, you'll need to be evaluated, and yes, the consultant there may decide to section you for a period.'

Linda looked up, as if seeing me for the first time. 'They're going to get me tonight. They're after me.'

I regarded her for a moment, trying to comprehend her response. 'You need to go home, go to bed and get some sleep tonight. I don't think you should be going anywhere or meeting anyone. Just home to rest.' And then to Kate. 'She should be all right overnight until you can get her into the hospital, but if you're worried, take her straight to Accident and Emergency.'

Remembering the clippings file, I continued. 'Don't leave her alone if you can help it please. She needs to have someone with her until she goes into hospital tomorrow.'

Kate nodded and took Linda's hand. Linda was shaking and as I watched them go, I bit my lip. Once they were gone, I typed some notes up in Linda's records and closed my computer down.

An icy shiver grasped my body, compelling me to pull my shrug more tightly around my shoulders. I couldn't rid myself of negative thoughts tonight - of Vince and his games, of Julia's menace and of Tony. Where was Tony? I hadn't seen him or contacted him since our discussion about the clippings file, and the omission suddenly clung to me, squeezing at my heart.

### Chapter 26

When I returned to the ball the band was playing and there was a large crowd on the dance floor. It didn't surprise me that I could see no sign of Dan anywhere. I knew he'd be in the thick of it. Scratching my head, I looked around the room. Most people had finished eating: plates were already being cleared away and the after dinner band looked like it was in full swing. I scanned the room for a clock, noting when I found one that it was a lot later than I had presumed. After another second of waiting in the doorway I made up my mind to push through the crowded room towards the bar. I brushed past a man drinking a pint of bitter whilst chatting amiably to a woman with bleached blond hair in a black dress and matching black knitted shawl. They glanced at me briefly, dispassionately. Community members, I wondered, but dismissed it. I glanced back at the man again, just to make sure and he caught my eye, a nasty smile crawl across his features before he turned back to his partner. I shuddered, regretting the eye contact immediately.

I reached the bar and turned to the man next to me. He was alone there, presumably getting drinks for his friends.

'Hi Vince.'

He turned, eyes flickering over me to rest on the tattoo at the base of my spine before returning to hold my gaze. 'I'm getting some drinks in. Did you want one?'

'No thanks, I'll get my own,' I replied, my gaze as steady as his. 'Are you enjoying the evening?'

'Hmm. It's a laugh, isn't it? And you ladies do like to dress up.' He jerked his head towards the corner table where his sister and his friends were playing an uproarious drinking game. Lucy and Louise were cackling at Emma, who appeared to be leading the proceedings. I looked over at them, tight lipped, not attempting to hide my disdain.

'However, I've got things to look out for, as have you.' There was a brief silence before he continued, a theatrical upturn to his voice. 'Well!' He picked up his three beers and a glass of wine. 'I'd better go and keep _them_ out of trouble.'

He left me standing at the bar.

I remained where I was for a few moments considering his words, keeping my shoulders straight whilst I looked down at the slender expanse of silver dress which reached to the floor. My hair was irritating me, so fetching a clasp out from my bag, I started twisting my hair into a loose bun before a voice behind made me jump.

'Leave it, it looks lovely down.' It was Dan and I relaxed into a smile. He reached over and ruffled my hair, winking as he did so. I laughed and ruffled his back.

'Dan, you scared me! I thought you'd gone.'

'Who's your friend?' he said, glancing over at Vince's table. 'I'm still waiting for you to introduce us.'

'Oh he's not a friend,' I said, quickly twisting up my hair once again. 'I know him from the village council.'

'What about the girlfriend? She a friend of yours?' Dan asked, eyes still twinkling.

'I don't think she's a girlfriend.'

He raised his eyebrows. 'Look, why don't you join me on the dance floor?'

'All right, I'm coming.'

We started walking over towards the dance floor, weaving our way through tables and past knots of people dotted along our route. When we were almost there, Dan stopped me. 'I almost forgot. You never told me exactly what was up with that Julia person? She's the leader of that crackpot community you told me about, isn't she? Cold fish, if you ask me.'

I opened my mouth to reply but quickly shut it again. Julia had appeared behind us.

'Hello again.' She greeted us with the same tight, bright tone as before. 'I noticed that you disappeared for a while earlier.'

'Patient emergency,' I retorted.

'Anyone I know?'

'Sorry, I can't break patient confidentiality.'

'I see. Yes, of course.' Again, the tight-lipped smile. 'I wanted to ask you about something actually. Shall we take a walk?'

_' Actually_, I need to go to the bathroom. Please excuse me. I'll be back in a minute.'

I pulled Dan's arm and together we exited the Great Hall in the direction of the bathrooms. Once in the corridor, I changed direction and led Dan outside where we strolled for a few moments together down the path leading from the stately home to its gardens, before I stopped and turned to face him. Putting my arms around him I pulled his head down to my ear.

'Steady on, love.'

'You misunderstand me, darling,' I said. 'I need to tell you something but I don't want to be overheard. I need cover!'

He chuckled and put his arms around me, pulling me closer. 'I reckon this is as good a cover as you'll get - nobody's going to hear us. Fire away.'

'I'm going to need to stay here a while,' I hissed. 'I have to take care of something and I might be late - if you want to leave, just do so. You can let yourself into the house. There's a key under the back door mat. Don't ask questions, or come looking for me or anything else like that. I don't want to attract unnecessary attention.'

Dan raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

As we unlocked our embrace and turned to walk back into the stately home, I noticed a dark shape in the doorway swivel round and saunter into the building. Had he been watching us?

Dan steered us to the dance floor, and I stayed there for a while, making a reasonable show of enjoying myself, until it dawned on me Julia was nowhere to be seen. I frowned and touched Dan's arm, indicating I needed to take a quick break. He nodded but continued dancing.

It had begun to rain outside, but despite this, I decided to walk away from the stately home. Turning left outside the French doors I walked through the rain into the gardens. Hurrying along, head bent against the rain, I nearly ran straight into Vince, who was standing under his umbrella ahead of me on the path. I hadn't seen him leave and blinked in confusion. He nodded a cursory hello but I felt as if his intention was anything but to greet me politely. His eyes glinted but at the same time his voice wavered and I couldn't really discern what was behind this mismatch of sound and gesture. I stopped and waited in silence, letting droplets of rain drip from my hair onto my nose.

'I saw you talking to Julia,' he said.

'She came over to talk to me. Not the other way around.'

'Where is she now?' He was watching me carefully.

'I don't know. I was wondering that, too.' I took a breath. 'A few people have disappeared from the ball - can you guess which ones? They may have gone home, of course, but considering what we discussed in the pub a few weeks ago about a certain ceremony, I thought I'd take a walk around, maybe venture into those woods and see what I can find.'

I made to move past him, but he grabbed my hand. For a second we stared at each other.

'Come on, Elena,' he said, keeping his voice low. 'You can't be taking a walk inside those woods on your own?'

'I can look after myself.'

The stately home nestled behind us in the darkness of the gardens. A halo of light surrounded it although the steady hum of voices which usually caressed the ears of those outside was now inaudible over the aggressive patter of the rain. As we continued to stare at each other in silence, the umbrella clattered to the floor, falling unnoticed from Vince's free hand. A peal of laughter from inside the banqueting hall registered and I took my cue to pull away.

Turning towards the woods beyond the stately home's gardens, I began to walk again.

Vince fell into step with me. 'I'm coming with you.'

I didn't reply and we were both silent as we marched forwards.

The sky stretched across my sphere of vision like a membrane. Thinner at the top and thicker at the sides, the orange of the lights outside the Hall directly above us turned the sky a menacing shade of purple at the edges. Further away, the horizon was flecked with sparkling dots which crept across the night sky. I strode along, looking up towards the heavens rather than down at my feet and the undergrowth, which grabbed at my dress as I pounded through it.

After several minutes, we stopped and I took stock of where we were. We had ended up in a large clearing where the thick tree mass had lightened to give way to a clearer expanse. My dress was ripped in three places and my feet felt too large for my body as I dragged them through the damp undergrowth. I was soaked. Voices reverberated and strained at the edge of my consciousness. I slowed my pace down, suddenly aware of the sodden, autumn leaves beneath my feet and my breath cutting through the night air. At some point the rain must have stopped, giving way to clearer skies. It was already cold and the temperature was dropping fast. I made for the edge of the clearing to avoid the clarity of the moon and the voices in the near distance.

We glanced at each other. Backed up against the edge of the shadows, I stooped over to catch my breath, wondering if we were anywhere near the site of the clandestine Walpurgis ceremony. Gradually, I gained control of my breathing and concentrated on my surroundings. The voices I'd heard earlier seemed a lot closer and I frowned as I attempted to tune in to them. I could make out other sounds mixed in with the low hum of voices: a low moan and a shrill, but constant whine. My breathing became irregular as I strained to listen more closely, my instincts on alert.

Indicating to Vince that he should follow behind, I edged up to a large, low branch on the periphery of the clearing and parted its leaves to see. In the clearing, I saw a terrible face contorted in both ecstasy and power. With long, dark hair and willowy legs, the central figure stood with her arms outstretched towards the sky in the middle of a crowd of onlookers: men and women still dressed in their ball gowns and tuxedos but transformed into creatures of another universe. Their eyes aloft, glazed and otherworldly, they chanted softly looking as if a spell had been cast on them. Shrinking back into the shadow and protection of a large, maternal oak tree, I squinted through its remaining brittle leaves, paper-thin now that autumn had advanced to claim their former lushness. There was a silence, suddenly deafening.

'This woman has broken the rules,' said the central figure in a voice which although lilting and low was powerful and direct.

I edged closer to the side of the tree trunk, gripped by slow release panic as I tried to see who the people were. There was no mistaking the woman in the middle whose voice carried through the night air to where I hid. The assembled group were concentrating intently on the proceedings but still, I felt as if my breathing alone could be heard all around the clearing. I couldn't work out who was whom as tuxedos and ball gowns merged into a mass of black and white and colour. But I recognised the girl in the middle: my patient, Linda, who at odds with the rest of the company, was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. There was no sign of her sister.

And I recognised the man too.

As I caught sight of him, he turned to look directly over at the branch behind which I was hiding. He was standing to one side of the main group in the middle, his blue eyes haunted, mournful and pleading as they bored through the surroundings to strip everything away. In his left hand he was clutching a sheaf of papers of differing sizes which looked worn and tatty at the edges. And I felt as if I was standing right before him, my soul exposed and bare, lain open for all to see. I had failed him. His eyes conveyed this as he stared over at me, sad and resigned. I opened my mouth to scream but no sound came out and I just stood there, helplessly contorted.

Julia, who had been chanting incoherently, slid across to where Tony was standing before gliding back to the middle. 'THIS, ladies and gentlemen,' she said slowly and deliberately, 'is an example of the sickness the world bestows on you if you meddle where you are not welcome!'

A tremor passed through the waiting crowd: they appeared to sway in time with Julia's slow, lilting words. The invisible thread connecting me to Tony strengthened as I continued to stare over at him, paralyzed. Breaking his sightless gaze, I took a deep breath, recognising the hard kick of adrenalin which coursed through my veins, as I prepared to burst forth from the bushes to run into the circle.

Julia floated back over to Linda, her lilting tones breaking through my train of thought. 'Tonight is our annual ceremony, where evil must be banished.'

The assembled crowd took this as a sign and, moving together in one, fluid mass which flowed around the two stricken figures in the centre, they started chanting. Three, two, one, I prepared to lunge myself out of the foliage towards the group.

I was stopped by a hand thrust over my mouth and an arm thrown around my waist. Damn Vince! I kicked and thrashed about but he held me tight, pinning my hair back as he bent his head to my ear. 'Quiet!' he hissed. I breathed in and kicked out backwards. Ignoring his muffled cry, I yanked myself away before turning to face him.

'What was that?'

His green eyes flashed as he rubbed his right calf where I'd kicked him. 'This way. Come on!' There was no mistaking his urgency, so as he turned, I followed, ploughed unevenly through the undergrowth. Unable to keep up I broke into a run to the cover of a thick mass of trees beyond.

'They've seen us,' I thought I heard him say, his voice lost in the rustling of our feet on the leaves and twigs below. We stopped, my breathing hard and painful as we stood staring at each other. Then Vince moved forward to take my hands in his, clenching them roughly. I noticed how several locks of coarse, shaggy hair had fallen in front of his eyes, making it difficult to read his expression.

'What were you about to do then?'

'I have to put a stop to it.'

A long silence stretched between us as the moon went in, finally, behind swift clouds which thickened and crowded around it to engulf their prey. Darkness closed in.

A shrill screech carried across from the clearing to where we were standing, breaking both the silence and the spell. My mind cleared and I remembered what had seemed so important only moments before.

'That woman there, in the jeans, she's a patient!'

'The one right in the middle?'

'Yes. She's not supposed to be here.' I pulled my hands away.

'I agree. She's far too young to be messing about with that lot. What's her name? Lana or Linda or something?'

'It's not only that. She's not well...' I broke off, afraid to say too much, my brow furrowed. 'She's my patient and she's in danger. Other people too! Whatever they are up to - it's not good.'

'You can't just go running into their midst,' he said, not releasing his eyes from mine. 'We need to expose her. But Elena, let's do it properly, let's not put ourselves in danger too. You don't know what those people are like, what they're capable of.''

'Vince! I know! But time's running out!' I kicked off my shoes, grabbed them with my free hand and took flight once again. I heard a growl of frustration behind me, but I kept running until I got back to the clearing. As I re-joined the trees encircling the clearing where the gathering had been, I stopped, rooted to the spot.

'Here!' he ordered as he caught up. 'Give me your phone. Quick.'

I fished out my phone. It was tricky, as the chain on my bag was both wrapped around my neck and caught in the sash I had wound around my waist. My bare feet were exposed to the uneven autumn ground which was strewn with dank leaves and sharp, brittle twigs. I shuffled up behind him and peered over his shoulder to the clearing. 'They've started up again,' I whispered, well aware there was no need for commentary. Vince put his forefinger on his lips and I fell silent again, watching as he used the zoom function on my phone to view a close up of the proceedings. I allowed my eyes to adjust to the group who were about fifty metres away, close enough for us to see and hear them, close enough for them to see us too. But not near enough for them to hear the wild beating of my heart. Only Vince was privy to this.

As moonlight escaped the rain clouds above, biting cold swept in. My toes curled as I tried to keep my circulation going, to keep a semblance of feeling in them. I told myself it wasn't important as I screwed up my eyes to get a better look at what was going on in the clearing.

A cloaked figure stood gaunt and tall, its face taut. I looked again, hardly trusting myself, but despite the sudden appearance of a cloak I knew who this was. The height and presence, the long, dark hair plastered against her face and shoulders in flattened, separated ringlets. A slow, crawling feeling of horror clutched my heart and lungs, making it difficult to breathe. For the second time that night I wanted to scream, to break into a run, but I was unable to move.

I craned my neck to see better. She looked much younger, her legs and arms sinewy and taut, her hair glossier and her eyes darker than before as she bent over a figure kneeling at her feet. The crowd around her, all tuxedos and gowns, was faceless. They swayed together and emanated an unworldly hum. Behind the kneeling figure was another cloaked figure, a man, small and dark, like a thief in the night. A black panther. Little and wiry, I barely recognised Iain in this form. He, also, appeared much younger, thinner and a lot stronger. Why the cloaks? I didn't like it and I suppressed a shiver and the desire to flee the scene.

Hands clenched into balls, I stole a glance at Vince who was focussed on the phone camera. He did not look at me. Turning back to the figures in the middle, it was then that I realised the man in the middle was stripped to the waist, his hands tied behind his back, his eyes tightly closed and his mouth torn open in a silent scream. Noise, a kind of pleading, emanated from him.

'Julia, Julia, Julia!' he was saying. 'I beg forgiveness. Please. Please!'

Through the trees, the smaller cloaked figure picked up a dark canister which had been sitting on the ground on the edge of the crowd, and began to unscrew its lid. I watched, aware of Vince who was standing perfectly still just in front of me, his hair obscuring his profile so that I could only see the line of his jawbone, hard and straight, giving nothing away. Looking back at the clearing, I fixed my eyes on the cloaked figure as he trailed the canister in a line then crossed over to the other side of the clearing to begin again in the opposite direction. When he was finished he stood back. It was then that I noticed the wind had dropped completely so that the air hung in stagnant pockets around us, and the hum increased in volume before splitting into several parts. The sound was disharmonious, rising and falling, and it sounded like nothing on earth. I couldn't make out words, just sounds, like an elongated form of the babbling I'd heard at the prayer group.

I craned my neck but Vince's hand shot out behind him, the pressure of his hand on my shoulder firm and decisive.

A lone voice continued, 'I'm so sorry for doubting you. I'm sorry for writing those things about you. I'm sorry for the smoking and the drinking, for the vices.'

The Julia-figure appeared not to hear him.

'Tony!' A voice in my head screamed but no sound would leave my lips.

'Not yet!' hissed Vince in my ear.

Then. Breakdown. His voice cracked and dissolved into a sob as his head was released by the black panther. At the same time, another figure was pushed into the circle, a younger figure with short hair matted around her pale face. Her eyes stood out from the white of her skin which reflected the light of the moon. Julia started chanting again and I felt something within me begin to snap.

I'd heard about ceremonies like this, and as well trained as I was in controlling my emotions, I could feel cold fingers of fear crawling across my body. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, almost as if my brain wasn't able to process what I was seeing. Even with the prior knowledge I'd gained from reading through the clippings file and talking to the other councillors about the suspected practises of the Community, I was not prepared for the reality.

A demonic voice sounded from somewhere deep in the forest.

'Transeas a Diabolo. Nos eiiciamus vobis!'

Four more cloaked figures appeared holding burning torches, one at each end of the crossed lines they had drawn on the ground with the substance from the cannister. Oil! The realisation hit me just seconds before each figure raised an arm. With an almighty crack the ground exploded into four rivers of fire, each travelling at speed towards the other, so that when they met in the middle, a gigantic cross formed.

Then Tony just disappeared. With him, the wind rose with an almighty howl and blew the fire out. Again, Vince's hand shot out, before I could move, to hold me in place. But someone must have heard us. A whirlwind of movement saw the faceless troop close its circle as the girl in the middle was lifted up and dragged by the mass across the grass to the edge of the clearing.

Without warning, a glint of metal on the crowd side of the troop accompanied a cracking sound, like a firecracker. 'Gun!' I pushed both of us down to the floor, my face so close to the ground that soil pushed up into my mouth and nostrils. I don't know how long we stayed like that, the warmth of Vince's body next to mine, whilst the leaves and earth threatened to suffocate me. After what seemed like an eternity, I jumped to my feet, spluttering as I wiped grime and leaves from my face with my arm. Vince stood up in front of me revealing he was in a similar state, his tux glistening wet. His eyes seemed both greener and darker than ever, the light of the moon picking up his usual critical glint which intensified as he surveyed his surroundings. He took in everything, as quick as a flash. Me, the newly emptied woods, the clouds moving back in to obscure our light source.

'What was that for?'

'They've got guns. I might be able to fight but I can't dodge bullets.'

'You can fight?'

'Yes.'

'So what now?'

'You tell me,' I replied, still looking around. 'They went in that direction, towards the road at the back. Come on.' I took his hand, hard and dry in my own cold, wet one. 'Looks like they don't know where we are. Let's try and follow them. You saw what they were doing.'

I was still breathless, and my chest was hurting, but I didn't care. I started walking towards the trees at the opposite end of the clearing, Vince behind me.

'They looked like they were going to kill that girl.'

'I know.'

We walked in silence for a few minutes, back into thick, black darkness. I had to feel, rather than see, my way through the trees which appeared to thicken up and impede our progress. I stopped to listen but could hear nothing to point me in the direction of the crowd and their helpless victims. The clippings file burned a hole in my mind's eye, burning ever brighter the more hopeless our progress through the deserted wood became. As failure beckoned, the fates of past victims rose up before me, and their anguish ripped me apart. The minutes stretched out.

Vince stopped and tugged on my hand so that I came to an abrupt halt.

'They've disappeared Elena. They knew they were being followed and they've done a runner.'

I glared.

'We're not going to find them here now.'

We stood in silence for a few moments as I tried to accept we had lost them, and with them our opportunity to protect Linda and Tony. I looked around me, desperate for the game not to be up. Vince, too, scanned the woods around us. Eventually we gave up and began to walk back.

We hadn't been walking for long when he stopped me. 'Elena, you've dropped something.'

I stopped and grasped the handle of my clutch bag to be sure. Checking its contents, I shook my head, 'No?'

'This - look - is it yours?' He bent down in one fluid movement to pick up a small, silver talisman from the floor. Wiping earth from the top, he turned it over in his hands, which I noticed were streaked with mud just like mine. I squinted to take a better look, but it was too dark to see much and the rain had started coming down again. When I realised what it was, I took a step back.

'It's one of their talismans,' I said. 'Just throw it. Evil-looking thing.'

'No, stick it in your bag. It proves they were here.'

He held it between his finger and thumb. Without a word I reached over to pluck the silver object from his fingers, but as my hand brushed his, the air between us changed. I closed my eyes and leaned into him, feeling his lips brush my temple as he spoke into my hair, his hands encircling mine. 'Now might be a good time for us to have that talk.'

A gap opened up for me to fall into. I felt as if he was propping me up, as if the ground was disappearing beneath my feet. I took in a breath, hoping to steady myself, and I opened my eyes. Chucking the talisman on the ground, I took his face in my hands.

'Does it need to be said?' I asked, holding his gaze for a second, seeing the darkness I'd observed the night he'd followed me home from the pub return. With one swift movement I clutched his hair and pulled him closer. As I kissed him, time stopped. I forgot about the cold. I forgot about my patients, the hooded figures, the fire and the flash of metal. I forgot about everything. This was the kind of embrace which wouldn't end there, which unlocked worlds.

He moved his hands up to clutch the back of my head, and kissed me back, his passion increasing the depth and intensity of what passed between us. The moon came out and lit up the long curve of my neck as he worked his way all the way to my collarbone. I threw my head back, and stared into its bright white light, which was at once clear and mysterious, grasping thick strands of his hair as they tickled the expanse of skin just above the neckline of my dress. We fell to the ground, and this time it was no illusion. The freezing damp seeped through the back of my dress but I barely noticed it as the world around us started to spin.

'I've been watching you,' he seemed to say, his voice far away. 'Waiting for a sign.'

'I know,' I said. 'I know.' But sometimes all we can do is stand and stare, I thought.

Afterwards, he pulled me up and warmed my hands in his before turning to lead me out of the woods, back to the real world.

'Come on,' he said as we moved off. 'Time to go home.'

### Chapter 27

**Tony**

**1 November**

A voice in the woods drew me out. I saw her, my pale lady, watching from the shadows, I saw her beckoning for me to come. She was with another, a man I'd never seen before. The others who stood around me in a circle and Julia who stood inside with me neither saw nor heard her. It seemed that they could not, but I did.

She saved me.

I cast away my shackles whilst they got to work on another. I cast them away and fled. I understood, finally, where my strength was. Where it had been all along. It just took a glimmer of hope, a suggestion of another life, to bring it out.

She didn't see me running towards her, fleeing the confines of this short, sweet life of mine. She didn't see me running in and out of the years and the days until my life was condensed into a second. She didn't see me, but it doesn't matter. It only takes one person, one voice from somewhere beyond, to save a life.

She saved me. So I will save her.

I will find her and I will save her.

### Chapter 28

An empty feeling swirled around my insides as I sat, ignoring the weak rays of sunlight which reached through the window through the branches of the mulberry bush outside. I sat at my kitchen table, staring at the window glass opposite, more at my own reflection than at the outside world beyond it. My ghostly, refracted form made me flinch. I was all wispy hair, deadened eyes, slack skin taut on cheekbones and lips turned down into a frown which I imagined would eventually wear deeply grooved lines into my face where happy dimples might have been. I was still wearing my silver-grey ball gown, now ripped and bedraggled, more of a grimy grey than the resplendent silver of the night before. There was no sign of the glint in my eye, the curl of my lip or turn of my neck, long and white in the moonlight. That was yesterday, many worlds away from where I was today. My hair was matted and straggly, falling over my shoulders, in places damp and tangled with red and golden leaves. The back of my dress was streaked with mud, a reminder of the previous night: the chase, the ceremony, the bewilderment, horror and desperation which washed over me in waves.

I looked down at my hands, which were covered in tiny cuts. My nails were chipped and broken. The thick, rust coloured bangle I'd worn on my wrist was sitting in front of me on the table and I picked it up, turning it over and over as I tried to sort out my thoughts.

I could still feel my feet flying across the ground, my heart beating and the combination of terror and anticipation which burst from my chest. I relived that terrible temptation within me to loosen my soul to allow all the strands to escape, once and for all. I recalled the feeling of loss and failure. Then what, then what? What of my patient, what of my friend? What of those who were in mortal danger, who were still in danger, for I knew only too well how this worked. How the minds of the _borderliners_ ran on and on, tortured by the horrors which twisted, like poison ivy, around their hearts and souls.

I don't know how long I had been sitting at my desk when Dan came down from the spare room. His eyes were rough with sleep, pyjamas wonky and ruffled. I heard him as he padded down the staircase, but I couldn't be bothered to move, and the house was so silent, I wanted to embrace the peace of it for a few moments longer.

'Morning, or should I say "evening"?' he joked, eyeing me critically as he did so.

I turned my face towards him slowly. 'Hi Dan.'

He stopped in the doorway, wary now. 'You OK?'

'Yes, but I got in really late.'

This was an understatement. Not only was I still wearing my ball gown, I must have looked like I had been sleeping rough.

'Do you want me to run you a bath or something?' he asked. The question surprised me: nurturing wasn't normally his thing just as being nurtured wasn't normally mine.

'That would be lovely, thanks.' Even to my own ears I sounded distant and indistinct.

Dan didn't pry any further, but that made things worse. I needed to make sense of the previous night but my mind was confused. I wanted to get cleaned up and dressed and go over to my consulting room to look something up on my work computer. I wanted to ring the hospital to check if Linda had arrived and I needed to talk to Kate. I was both afraid of and desperate to do all these things.

And I had to find a way to check on Tony. I turned the dream diary over in my hands, thinking. The author had to be him. I couldn't think how, but somehow his thoughts had ended up in Martha's hands.

Lastly, I had to confront Julia and Iain.

The creak of water through the pipes signalled it was time to pull myself together and get cleaned up. Climbing the stairs lethargically, I was aware of how odd I must look in yesterday's dirty and torn ball gown and was thankful that there was only Dan here to witness it. I went into the bathroom and closed the door quietly behind me before turning off the bath taps. Peeling off my clothes, I lowered myself into the bath, the white of my skin almost translucent against the foamy water. I was vaguely aware of Dan's voice, as he spoke to someone on his mobile. After a brief soak, I got out of the water and pulled on a pair of jeans, a T-shirt and a fleece. My muscles ached as if I'd been on a long run and I was reminded again of my strange night. Shaking the memory off, I told myself to get on with the day and the task at hand.

Stepping outside I saw that it was raining again. Dirty pavements glistened but despite this, I wanted to walk to the surgery in the rain, to feel the damp, cold air in my lungs, to be there, outside, when the rainfall intensified.

My senses were heightened but dampened at the same time as my mind threatened to drown me in its deathly embrace. I shook myself. I needed to keep my head above water and get a grip. I thought of the workings of the mind and how the unconscious and the conscious fought a furious fight, each blow against the other increasing in intensity as time wore on. In my case, the village had reached into my subconscious and robbed me of my piece of mind. It was as if reality had been stripped away and I'd been conned into a twilit world where the rules of engagement were hazy and uncertain. The village was the face under the lake which promised great secrets beyond its unruffled surface whilst the stars in the sky twinkled an impotent warning from far above. And if I hadn't guessed already, that tranquil water had already transformed itself into a fast moving, turbulent river, which was carrying me far from safety. Seduced by its secret promise, I was torn between letting myself be taken with the current and attempting to climb out and claw my way back to higher ground.

I pushed on the door of the surgery, remembering, too late, that it was Sunday and very much closed. I had been so wrapped up in my thoughts I had neither considered this nor noticed how shut up and dark the surgery windows and doors were. Fumbling around in my pocket for the keys, I walked round to the other side of the building and let myself in through the back door of my consulting room. As I closed the door behind me and walked across the room, a feeling of deja vu crept across my shoulders. A piece of folded A4 paper sat upright in the middle of my otherwise clear desk, beckoning me to draw closer, and as I stopped in my tracks to consider the sight a familiar feeling of adrenalin pumped through my veins.

I opened up the paper and let it drop, watching it float to the floor like the last leaves of autumn which were drifting around aimlessly outside. The sheet landed face up, its content cradled by protective folds which remained partially in place. I knelt down, took a deep breath and peered at what I had seen. Taking it between my finger and thumb, I straightened it out with my other hand and scrutinised what I saw: a photo of the juxtaposed Tarot cards sitting on the coffee table at my house.

There was no message scrawled across this photocopy, although thinking of Linda again, I remembered I still had the paper she had given me of a photocopied Tarot card. Opening up my top drawer to pull out Linda's sheet of paper, I compared the two. Unsurprisingly, they looked the same.

I picked up the phone to ring the psychiatric ward at the hospital, a sense of renewed urgency gripped my stomach, turning it inside out. A bemused ward sister on the other end of the phone told me that the patient had failed to turn up.

Alarmed, I hung up and dialled the number for Linda's sister, Kate. Voice agitated, she picked up within two rings and I could tell immediately that something had gone wrong. 'She's not here. She must have slipped out last night and now she's gone. I've already notified the police.'

I recalled Linda's pale and anxious face at the ceremony and cursed Vince for stopping my intervention, even though the very thought of it continued to send shivers down my back.

'Kate, have you any idea where she might be?' I asked after a short silence.

'No. If I did she'd be back here with me by now, wouldn't she?'

I wound up the conversation and put the phone down again, staring into space as I joined up my dissipated thoughts. Then, my mobile phone rang from within my bag.

'Elena?' It was Dan, his voice soft but wary.

I didn't answer, I was too afraid.

'Elena, you need to come back home. Something's happened next door. There's an ambulance. And a lot of people. All sorts. I think it's got something to with that friend of yours, the one you're worried about-' I cut him off without a word and flew out of my consulting room, out of the surgery and into the car park.

## PART IV  
The Moon

### Chapter 29

I parked in my driveway and jumped out of the car, leaving the door hanging open. The air had changed, giving way to a sharp frost I barely noticed as I stumbled to the next house along. An ambulance was stationed outside, its lights flashing silent blue onto the matt grey of the paving stones immediately opposite Julia and Iain's gate. I took a right turn up the short path leading to their door.

Iain stood in the doorway arch, his face wary and blank.

I threw my voice on ahead of me, as if hoping to create a safety net to fall into. 'Iain, what's going on?'

Iain stared through me. 'You can't come in here.'

'What's happening?'

'You can't come in here,' he repeated, as a short, burly woman pushed past him. I whirled round to follow the woman out to her car, which was parked behind the ambulance outside.

'What's going on?' I asked her.

'Keep clear. A member of our community is unwell.'

I backed away and made to return to the front door which was already swinging shut.

'Where's Tony?' I shouted, 'I want to talk to Tony!'

'Sorry, who?' said the burly woman behind me. I remembered now that I had seen her at Julia's prayer group.

I turned back to face her. 'Please tell me this isn't what I think?'

There was a silence.

At this, I threw myself at the front door and hammered on it. 'Iain, let me in!'

After a few seconds I felt a hand on my arm. 'I'm going to have to ask you to stop that and keep clear.'

'What's going on?' I screamed. 'Why don't you let me in? My patient, my friend, they're missing. Please tell me nothing bad has happened to them!'

'You're no friend of anybody here,' snarled another woman from inside.

At that moment another member of the Community slipped past, and again I had Iain in front of me, framed by his newly opened front doorway. Time juddered and paused and instinct took over. Without thinking, I made a run for the open door, pushing past Iain before he had a chance to react. My handbag slipped down my shoulder, but I powered on. I had to get into the house. The community member behind me was faster, and grabbed at my retreating back, wrenching my handbag from my shoulder as he did so. I shrugged it off, leaving him standing with it in his hand as I raced up the stairs, taking them two at a time. After a short delay, he began to thud up the stairs after me. When I reached the landing I lunged at a group of women who were standing by an open door, protecting something. As I threw myself into their rapidly forming barricade, they fought me off. I noted several things beyond them: curtains shut, Julia kneeling by the bedside eyes closed, lips moving soundlessly, a stale odour; paramedics moving briskly around putting items into plastic bags. In one of the bags I caught sight of a syringe before the door was closed, conclusively in my face. Someone grabbed me by the arm.

'I want to know what's going on!' I yelled.

Still holding my arm, one of the women said, 'Downstairs with you. Now!'

'A friend of mine was staying here. He's not well!' I continued. 'I want to see what's happening!'

'Sorry. You can't.'

The bedroom door opened and shut again and I caught a glimpse of a praying Julia, statue-still and head bent, through the crack. 'Come downstairs,' the woman repeated and I stiffened my back a little, steeling myself. I started to count backwards from twenty, clenching my muscles and hardening my core as I prepared for conflict.

The door opened again and out stepped Julia in a silk dressing gown. She looked pale and drawn but took three decisive steps to where I was standing, and rested her hand on my arm.

'I'm sorry Elena. I've got some bad news.'

I recoiled and as the woman at my shoulder let go and I covered my face briefly with my hand.

'Please tell me it's not what I think,' I hissed.

'A member of our community is unwell, yes. But we will stand together and she will be healed. Please leave us alone now.'

'She?'

'Yes. One of our younger members. We have been caring for her here since yesterday, but now she needs to go to hospital.'

I felt weak and started to step back down the stairs, hardening my arm into a block formation as someone tried to push me from behind. I couldn't be bothered to look back at them, and as I got to the bottom, Iain's beady eyes levelled with mine, looking straight into them for once. He was so close I could see flecks of yellow and tiny veins in the whites of his eyeballs.

'Something's happened to this,' he sneered, holding up my phone. I noticed it was covered in droplets of different sizes and its screen was steamed up.

'Where did you get that?'

'It was on the floor next to your bag. Where you dropped it.' I noticed he was smiling unnaturally, his teeth bared.

'Liar.' I grabbed it out of his hands.

I looked at the other people around us who seemed to have increased in number. 'Did anyone see Iain interfering with my bag?' I asked them, but it was as if I was talking to myself.

'No. Now if you please?'

In the doorway, I swung back round. 'I'm going to get you, Iain. Make no mistake.'

His laugher rang in my ears as I stepped out into the night air.

Back home, I took a seat at my kitchen table which afforded a good view of Julia and Iain's house, and sat looking at my phone. It was broken, no doubt about it, soaked through and smashed. I guessed it might have been dropped in a bowl of water and then stamped on. It wouldn't switch on, and even when I connected it to my computer I couldn't retrieve the photos Vince had taken of the ceremony the previous night.

Having asked Dan for some privacy, I sat for ages just staring through my window, trying to penetrate the house next door for clues. After the ambulance had departed, presumably with Linda in it, there had been nothing much else going on there. The sound of car doors slamming and engines revving had followed for a few minutes after before silence descended. All the windows were dark now, save one - the side window facing my house. There sat the cross once more, illuminated from behind and the only sign of life left in the place.

I thought about Linda and how I could get access to her, mulling over how much force I would be able to get away with if needed. And I racked my brains on the subject of Tony. There had been no sign of him in the house and no mention of him either. Now that I thought of it, the marked smell of lingering tobacco had been absent from the upstairs of the house, and the room I'd assumed to be his bedroom, empty. I tried to remember exactly what I'd seen in the few short moments I'd been allowed to stand at the top of the stairs on Julia's landing. One empty looking room, bare floorboards and a glimpse of a barren bed side table, white linen on a single bed, nothing more. One more bedroom, the one I'd noticed contained a double bed and a dressing table crammed with perfumes and jewellery on my previous visit to the upstairs of the house. And finally, the bedroom in which I'd seen Julia praying just now. No, there was no sign of Tony.

I sat at my kitchen table for a while, trying to figure things out. I was there for so long I forgot about Dan and my request that he leave me alone for a while. When he came back downstairs, his face was serious and his eyes flat and I couldn't blame him for what he did next. He stood for a few seconds, framed by the kitchen doorway, his jacket slung casually over his shoulder. I saw that he was carrying his overnight bag and he made no attempt to come any further into the room. 'I need to get off.'

It was an odd feeling, almost one of rejection. I knew he meant to go, and that it was perfectly reasonable but it felt like betrayal. I shrugged my shoulders, and although my feelings of anger were dissipating, they were giving way to an unholy, dejected feeling, a kind of mental freefall. I couldn't ask Dan to stay a second night even though I knew I was on the edge.

'Thanks for coming to the ball with me yesterday and for being so supportive.'

'You know me, I'll do anything for an old friend,' he said.

He stared at me for a few more seconds before shrinking his jacket onto his shoulders and disappearing into the bitter, evening air. I watched him go before picking up the phone in my hallway. Screwing my face up, I paused for a moment to recall his number, mindful of the hour. It was getting late and I had the feeling my days and nights were running into one another in an uncontrollable blur, my sense of time skewed and inaccurate.

He picked up after one ring. 'Elena,' he said. It was a statement rather than a question, and I breathed in deeply, missing a beat before answering him.

'Vince, I need to talk to you-'

'On my way.'

The phone clicked before I had a chance to finish what I wanted to tell him.

I paced about in my hallway for a few minutes afterwards before I saw a shadowy figure with a tell-tale saunter approach. As I opened the front door, two things happened simultaneously. He stood in the doorway for seconds, not moving whilst I stared at him from across the threshold. Then, in one fluid movement, he stepped in, kicked the door shut behind him and pulled me over to him. My hands had been outstretched to stop this but I relaxed for a moment, standing in my hallway with my head resting against his chest, hands still poised like springs to push him away.

Minutes passed and neither of us spoke. Then I released myself. I felt small and afraid. He remained silent.

'It's next door. My patient.'

'I saw an ambulance go past earlier, was that for her?'

'Yes. Attempted suicide. Julia and Iain, they're completely. Completely.' I stopped for a breath, Vince still standing opposite, not touching any part of me. I breathed again.

'They are after my blood. And yours, no doubt. And Linda's - if they haven't got hers already. And God knows how many other people.'

'Calm down. Let's think.' He thrust his hands into his pockets.

I went through to the sitting room and sat down on the sofa, my head in my hands. Vince followed me in and sat on the opposite sofa, his body lithe and poised like a panther's, one of his feet pushed up against my coffee table whilst the other rested on the floor. He looked both thoughtful and wary.

'Let's back track then. Do you want to talk through what happened last night?'

I nodded.

'And what about a drink to help us think?'

I got up and went to the kitchen to rummage around for spirits. Finding a bottle of whisky, two glasses and some ice, I returned to the sitting room and poured us a drink without bothering to check if whisky was what he wanted.

He sipped his drink. 'What we saw last night, Elena, we need to talk about it.'

I nodded again, sipping my whisky in unison with him.

'Vince, do you know anything about the significance of the so-called Walpurgis night ceremonies?'

He stopped, mid-sip. 'Is that what they call them?' He leaned forward, twirling his glass around in his right hand as he did so. 'I've been aware of the ceremonies for a while. As we said after our council meeting that day, everybody in the village knows something about them, but it's taboo. I told you there was a spate of them in the eighties and early nineties, when I was still a lad. There was talk of cult practices. I think there was a police investigation but they found nothing conclusive and shortly afterwards Julia and Iain left the village for a while.'

'Don't people ever learn?' I asked, not liking the way he smiled as I did so.

'Elena, I know you've been here for eighteen months or so, but in village terms, you're still new around here.' He took another sip. 'I suspect you are also new to villages. You don't look like you've ever lived in one before.' I shook my head, not returning his smile.

'Places like this attract a certain kind of person. And odd practices.'

'But isn't it all rather...untoward?'

'Possibly. Whatever it is, we need to put a stop to it. Personally, I've had enough. My concerns are not the same as yours: this is my home and I don't want to see it tainted like this. It's my livelihood, too, and I don't want people scared off.' Another sip. I noticed he was nearly at the bottom of his glass.

'It's pretty bloody weird, that's for sure,' I said. 'Before all this happened, I went over to have tea with Tony one afternoon and -'

Vince raised his eyebrow 'Who?'

'Tony, you know, the guy who was staying with Julia and Iain. He was at their party.'

'No, I don't know.'

'He's the one who came to the pub after our council meeting one night but you didn't see him.'

'I remember. Not the guy, but your odd behaviour.'

I stared at Vince. 'Well, anyway, one afternoon Tony showed me a file belonging to Julia, of newspaper clippings dating back more than ten years. They were all about people who had gone missing without a trace. And some of the clippings mentioned some secret rituals or ceremonies that were taking place in the autumn and winter months. That ritual we saw in the woods...'

I stopped for a second to gather my thoughts whilst Vince leaned forward again and looked over at me very directly, all traces of a smile now gone. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat.

'The ritual we saw in the woods. We need to put a stop to all that.' He lifted up his empty glass. 'Got any more of this?'

I nodded and picked up the whisky bottle to refill his glass. 'Help yourself next time, OK?'

He continued, 'So what else did you want to tell me?'

'That my phone's been wiped. The one you took the photos on.'

'What?'

'When I saw that there was an ambulance next door, I rushed over there and dropped my handbag in the doorway on the way in. They were trying to stop me going in, so I pushed past Iain in the doorway and some women who were blocking the stairs. Linda was in one of the bedrooms but I couldn't get to her. They caught up with me and stopped me before I had the chance. Some of Julia's henchwomen escorted me out.'

'Also, as those people were escorting me out of Julia and Iain's house.' I stopped. This was painful. The air around us changed again, becoming thick and soupy, hiding the details of my living room from sight, so that all I could focus on was Vince, who was staring over, his eyes intent. He had stopped sipping his whisky.

I changed tack. 'Iain's a psychopath, I mean it. Even with my professional hat on. While I was upstairs trying to get in to see Linda, he did something with my phone. I'd left in my handbag. He must have taken it out of my bag and broken it deliberately. Because when I got back down stairs again, he handed it to me.'

'You all right?' Vince asked, standing up. Glass in hand, he stepped over to the sofa I was sitting on, and sat down, arms wide, resting one on the sofa inches from my back, and one on his knee, which he propped up on the opposite leg.

I looked away. 'Not really, but to continue...I drew level with Iain, and he had this kind of half-grin, half-snarl on his face. Like a rabid dog.' I closed my eyes to shut the image out. 'Well, a sane rabid dog. Or a murderer. He stretched out his hand and I saw that he was holding my phone - broken, wet. It was obvious he'd done it. He was so pleased with himself.' I shuddered.

There was a long silence before he spoke again. 'Tell me more about the Walpurgis ceremonies. What's the connection?'

'Oh, back to the clippings file. I was getting to that. That afternoon when I had tea with Tony and he showed me Julia's clippings file about villagers who went missing shortly after suspected ceremonies, he told me about the "Walpurigis night" connection. Apparently, Walpurgis was a ritual held in northern Europe to rid people of winter demons before welcoming the summer in, but it seems the Charismatic Community - or should I say _cult_ - here has adopted the idea. It's almost as if they use the concept as a label for whatever it is they get up to on the night of the annual village ball. As if they've stolen the idea of ridding their community of anything that gets in the way. In _their_ way. I think they use it to silence people who might blow the whistle on their more untoward practices, or maybe they are covering something else up. I can't quite work it out. They could also be using it to get rid of people who are trying to escape the community. Like Linda, for example. The clippings I read referred, in some cases, to patients. People my predecessor dealt with - I looked some of them up.'

'This cuttings file, where is it now? I'd like to have a look.'

'Well, that's another thing. On that afternoon, I removed the file from Julia's house and brought it over here. But I only had it a few hours as the next day someone broke in here and the item I found missing, as a result, was that file.'

Vince leaned over and took hold of my shoulders. 'Someone broke in here? Do the police know?'

I stared, but he did not remove his hands. 'I don't really do police, Vince. I can look after myself. Don't forget, in this case, there was no evidence of a break in and the only item missing was not something which belonged to me anyway, something I had, myself, stolen.'

He expelled breath through his teeth, sliding one of his hands up to clutch the back of my head.

'I feel like I need to shake you, Elena. What do you mean there was no evidence of a break in?'

'I mean just that. I suspect they may have a key.'

'They?'

I flinched slightly. 'I think you know who I mean.'

He let go.

'That's it. I've had enough of this. We have to get them out of the village,' he said. 'It's late and you're tired. Much as I'd like to stay...' His eyes glinted behind a couple of thick strands of hair which had fallen forwards. 'I'm gong to insist you go straight to bed. Don't talk to anyone and don't answer the phone. Above all, don't go on any more of your walkabouts. I'll be back tomorrow with a plan.'

He got up and I followed him to the door. I felt woozy and my head was beginning to ache. We stood at the door briefly before I opened it, and he took my face in his hands.

'You have to take better care of yourself, Elena. Please.'

Then he turned on his heel and was gone.

### Chapter 30

Click, click, buzz, the phone rang quietly, so quietly my heartbeat overpowered the sound as it purred in the distance. I let it ring for much longer than I could normally bear. Finally, a louder click and a voice came on the line, sharp and suspicious.

'Yes?'

'Kate? It's Dr Lewis. I wondered if there was any update on Linda.'

'Hello Dr Lewis,' Kate replied, her voice softening a little. 'She's in hospital, she's stable now, but other than that, there's no news.'

'I wanted you to know something,' I said, lips suddenly parched and dry. 'I think there may be a connection between Linda and some other patients of mine.'

For a moment I thought the line had dropped, or Kate had put the phone down on me, but then the voice replied, assuming its biting tone once more.

'Why would you think that?'

'I'm sorry, Kate. I've had some other patients in a similar position to Linda recently, and there is something which connects them all. It probably isn't relevant. I can't tell you who the other patients were. Are, I mean.' I coughed, 'but it might be.'

'Look, Dr Lewis, my sister is very ill. We need to get her better. She came to you for therapy and it made her worse rather than better. So thanks, but no thanks for the meddling.'

'I'm sorry.'

'Not as much as I am. Now maybe you could get off the phone line. I need to keep it open in case Linda wants to ring me.'

'Please, Kate. I'd like to help. Is there anything I can do?' I persisted.

'Why do you want to help us? What have you got to do with it?' Kate replied.

I hung up and sat looking at the phone. I was shaking, my body awash with remorse as I saw myself through Kate's eyes: nosy, interfering. But not only that, I saw someone who had not halted the chain of events taking place inside Linda's mind. I hoped one day soon, Kate would be the bearer of good news, but I felt there was unlikely to be any. Still, hope springs eternal, I thought.

Frost coated the landscape outside. My hands, already chapped and frozen were curled into the sleeves of my tracksuit top as I picked up speed to banish the cold. Ears tingling, headphones on, I filled my senses with running beats to drown everything else out. As my heartbeat rose I struggled with my breathing to regulate it and allow my body to run on auto pilot whilst I took the time to think and meditate. Julia's face floated around in my mind's eye as I ran across hardened, once-muddy ground. The Tarot cards swam in next, the echo of their real-life counterparts all the more vivid as they took shape in my mind.

On the road home I met no-one, the sharp frost having delayed the day and banished many to the safe insides of their houses. When I passed Julia and Iain's house their car was missing from its usual position at the front and the place looked shut up and empty. After getting back inside, I did fifteen minutes of yoga to steady my mind, before quickly showering and changing, firm in my resolve to visit Linda in hospital. I could guess which hospital she had been taken to and I would get access to her somehow.

Remembering my mobile phone was broken, I picked up my handbag and left the house, phoneless. I wondered if I should have told Vince of my plans, but shook myself at the thought. I was an independent woman, and a professional - if I wanted to check on a patient who was ill, why wouldn't I? I really needed to see how she was for myself.

The hospital didn't have a great reputation, and as I walked through the double doors leading to the psychiatric ward at the end of the corridor, I couldn't suppress my revulsion at the place. It was dirty and soulless. God forbid one day I would finish up in such a place. I buzzed my way onto the ward and with my fingers crossed behind my back, I introduced myself. Just as I was doing so, I noticed a nurse on the other side of the nurses' station rubbing Linda's name out on a whiteboard above her head. As her colleague tapped on the computer keyboard I knew what she was going to say, and braced myself.

'Linda Mason discharged herself earlier today.'

'What do you mean?'

'I'm talking English, aren't I?'

'Sorry, I mean, when and why?'

'Can't tell you that. You're not family.'

'I'm her psychotherapist,' I said, wondering if it would work.

'Yes, I know who you are. I've seen your name before. But we've been told you're not treating her anymore?'

'Look, I'm also a friend and I have good reason to believe she shouldn't have been discharged so early.'

'I agree, but we can't stop people unless they've been sectioned. She hasn't been.'

I sighed, heavily. 'No?'

'No,' she confirmed.

What was it with some of the consultant psychiatrists in these places? Sometimes I really wondered.

'Any idea where she went? Home to family?'

'No idea, sorry.' She picked up a ringing phone receiver in front of her, leaving me standing at the desk.

As I left the hospital, I noticed Julia on the other side of the car park. I slunk in behind an off-roader and watched her as she entered the hospital. Checking my watch, I waited another ten minutes before clocking her exit, this time rushed and agitated. My heart leapt as I considered the implications. I had no idea how to contact Linda if I was correct in my assumptions, I just hoped she'd had time to get right away.

I waited for Julia to drive away from the hospital car park before starting up my own car and making slower progress back to the village, where my practice was awaiting me.

At lunch time, I went back to my house. Opening up my laptop, a new email sat waiting in my inbox:

Elena, what are you doing? I thought I told you to stay home and keep out of trouble.'

I wrote back.

Vince, I have to work. To do otherwise would be foolish. In the meantime, Linda has been discharged. Can you help me find out where she might be?

I drove back to the surgery for my afternoon patient list, beleaguered by hailstone which hurled themselves at my windscreen and the thought that there was still no sign of Tony anywhere.

### Chapter 31

That evening a storm raged. Trees shed leaves which whirled round as if they were unable to find a place to fall and the wind howled as if it foresaw the pain it would inflict all around. The temperature had risen a bit, so after my afternoon surgery had finished I'd taken myself off for a long walk, letting myself in through the back gate when I returned. For a while I just sat on the bench in my back garden looking up at the sky, staying like that long after the heavens opened and the rain soaked into my clothes, plastering my hair to my face, shoulders and the back of my neck. I kicked my shoes off and let my bare feet dangle off the edge of the bench onto the ground. As the storm progressed and the torrent showed no sign of abating, I planted my feet into the soft earth beneath me, so that the mud squelched between my toes.

Lightning struck somewhere on the horizon, flashing across the sky like a jagged stab wound. Increasing in intensity and volume, thunder crashed and reverberated off the buildings and trees all around. My tears mixed with droplets from the sky and I couldn't tell how long I'd been sitting there, considering what I had to do. Demons danced around in the shape of wild trees and shrubs which were being pulled this way and that by the wind. If there was a time when you had to decide something, it may as well be this, I thought. For a while longer, I just sat there and let it all wash over me: the village and its inhabitants, the bottomless pit of solitude I now found myself in, the lust and greed, the need for power and gratification.

My heart was weary, so I slept.

I can only have been out for a few minutes, but when I woke up I felt as if I had fallen into a deep, black pit and dropped out of the world for a brief period. I got up feeling entranced, dragged along by instinct which pushed me back into the house, dripping wet and cold. I walked through the living room to the dining room where I greeted the sideboard like an old friend, running my wet hands along the wood before resting them on the lock.

I paused before crawling across to the piano and pushing my right hand underneath its heavy, wheeled base. Dust had gathered on the laminate flooring beneath, causing me to cough as I groped about. Eventually my hand closed on a small metal object which I pulled out. Returning to the sideboard, I inserted the key in its lock and opened the door to reveal, not cutlery, glasses or plates, but files. I pulled out a black file box labelled 'Patients' records' - the title itself a red herring - and straightened up to put the box on my knee. Checking its contents quickly, I nodded and got up to march straight to the front door with the box under my arm. I was making for Julia and Iain's evening prayer group, instinct telling me they'd be there.

In the meeting hall Julia was standing at the front of a small congregation. Motionless, her arms were raised, her eyes closed and her face lifted. From my position at the back by the door, I could guess at the drill. The assembled group bent their heads downwards and I imagined them peering into the darkness of their own private universes as they waited for Julia to begin speaking.

In a low but clear voice, she began: 'We are mere mortals. We know that many of us in our community are sick and infirm but we are not the Healer. That is a divine right.' She paused, opened her eyes and looked straight over at the back of the assembled crowd, where I was standing, before continuing. 'We don't know why so many of our brothers and sisters of the village have died before their time over the years, but we do know this: that we must have a genuine desire to be at one with the divine forces of the world. Many of our kin did not.'

In the silence that ensued, Julia remained with her eyes closed, face aloft and hands outstretched. This was the moment and I plunged straight in, my voice bouncing off the walls and my eyes reflecting the faces of surprise which greeted me, their communal shock rising to greet me like a tidal wave.

The silence tensed.

'Julia,' I said. 'You say that only the divine can heal, but frankly, that's irresponsible. But let's say you're right. What happened to your so-called brothers and sisters wasn't due to a lack of healing. Instead, they were pushed over the edge by something else. Take Linda, for example,' I looked round to see that all the people around me now had their eyes open. Most of them were looking at Julia. 'Linda is very unwell.'

Julia stared over. Iain had come down from the pulpit to join her and they stood shoulder to shoulder, at the front of their congregation who stared unblinkingly over at them like rabbits in headlights.

'Today, fate brought you to this community, Elena,' Julia replied, and the people collectively let out a breath and a great sigh rippled around the room.

'I have no interest in joining this community.'

There was a pause in which Iain stroked his top lip and a woman at the back dropped her umbrella. Weak sunlight filtered through the modest windows, and the whole set up seemed fake, second rate, nothing like the grand, stain-glassed, Gothic churches of my childhood.

'I call on the Spirit to call out your demons!' Julia cried and threw herself to the floor babbling, sobbing and wailing, grasping at her chest as she did so. Iain threw himself down shortly afterwards, as did several members of the congregation, until soon the whole room was alive with writhing form and motion. Once the tension in the room had reached fever pitch, Julia ran over to me and grasped at my dress, which I wrenched back from her.

'She colludes with demons!' A breath in, and she continued whilst the collective babble dimmed to a mutter. 'She will not send them to us! She thinks she can heal them alone! Little does she know. Little does she understand. For we cannot exist without each other, we cannot be healed without the holistic therapy of our Charismatic Community!'

I looked around, aghast. Why had I come here alone? The still faces of the villagers watched, waiting to see what my next move would be. I opened my mouth to say something, but stopped as the door swung open to reveal Vince and Emma, followed by Paul, Giles and several other members of the village council. As people stole looks towards the commotion at the entrance, the room came alive with rustling, small coughs and whispers as they took advantage of the break in the tension. Julia had her hands on her hips and was staring across at the group who were now standing, arms crossed, by the door, assessing their options.

'What do you want, Vince?' asked Julia in a hushed tone which intimidated the congregation into complete silence once more. 'If you're here to make trouble, you aren't welcome here.' She glared at Emma who wore a wide smile, unperturbed by the threatening tone.

'Well, it's not a social call, I'll give you that,' retorted Vince, moving in to the centre of the hall whilst Emma stayed by the door with the other council members. 'You might think you own this village and all the people in it,' he gestured around him. 'But there are those of us who have been here longer than you. And we don't buy this. Any of it.'

He turned to speak directly to the congregation, but Julia had shut her eyes and had begun to pray again, wailing in a relentless monotone with her face thrown back and her palms facing upwards. Vince raised his voice above the din. 'I know what's going on here, and if you think about it, so do most of you.' He paused to take a quick look around. 'Let's not pretend. Nobody talks about it but you all know about the people who have taken their own lives, don't you?'

Several sets of eyes bounced from Vince to Julia to Iain and then back to Vince again. 'Anyone here suffering from depression, feeling down or lonely? Or worse? Maybe you got on the wrong side of _her_?' He turned to stare at Julia. 'Maybe you refused to pay into her community fund or did something she didn't like? Or you committed the cardinal sin of talking to outsiders. I don't like the New Age shop any more than any of you, but I wouldn't actively stop anyone from going there. But she does, doesn't she? She stops you from talking to people she thinks are a bad influence, keeps you from mixing with people who won't join the community. Do you know why? Because she wants to keep you under her control.' He paused to look around the room before lowering his voice to a growl. 'And the more people she has under her control, the more of this-' He raised his hand and rubbed his forefinger and thumb together, '-she has. And she likes the power too.' He turned to look at Iain, raising his voice once more. 'In fact, they _both_ love the power. Don't you mate?'

He scanned the room again. Iain was on the move, striding round from the front of the assembled group to Vince's position at the back. He put his hand on Vince's arm. 'Look. I'm going to have to ask you to leave.'

Vince threw him a look of disdain. 'Not until you hear me out. And if you know what's good for you, you will.' He shook Iain off and raised his voice to block out the sound of Julia's low key, insistent chanting. 'Dr Lewis has been having trouble for some time. Your leaders here certainly know how to make a person's life difficult. And there's nobody whose life they want to make a misery more than someone who could potentially expose them for the charlatans that they are.' He looked at Iain and then at Julia, who had finally stopped chanting to stare over at him with renewed vigour.

'Yes, that's right. You heard right. You are nothing but a bunch of charlatans. You prey on people who are vulnerable, who are unwell. I don't like what goes on here but until recently I thought anybody stupid enough to buy the rubbish you peddle got what was coming to them. But now? Now you are causing irreversible damage to the entire village. People committing suicide? Strange rituals in the woods? Oh yes, don't worry, we all know about your little secrets! But you're getting greedy now aren't you. Over half the village inhabitants must be members - how much money does that earn you, I wonder? I bet it's a pretty penny. But the way you're going, soon there'll be nothing left of this village. People who have no money will have even less. Others will fall ill. These people don't have your best interests at heart, they don't care about you.' Vince was looking directly at Julia now. A couple of women in the middle of the room had sat back down on their chairs. Another was crying quietly whilst the woman next to her had put on her coat and was pulling her towards the door.

'You are upsetting my people,' replied Julia, her voice hard and her eyes glinting. 'As is _she_ ,' she said, pointing at me. 'You are merely envious of my community, of the joy we spread. All you can do is drag people from the path! That is not your right and you will surely be punished for this.'

Emma coughed at the back whilst Vince shook his head. His shoulders were taut and his green eyes still as they took in every member of the congregation.

I cleared my throat. 'All you're doing is spreading fear. I've seen people make themselves ill, frightened out of their wits. I've seen you bully those you don't agree with, like the people who run the New Age shop, for example.'

A few people scoffed, but Emma cut them dead. 'Is anyone here wondering how that young girl is right now?' she said. Nobody moved. 'Or maybe some of you already know? Maybe you were there the night they sent her completely barking?'

'Well, maybe it was Dr Lewis who sent her "barking"?' said a woman from the congregation. 'She was there. As was your brother.'

Vince laughed without mirth. 'Oh really? Where would that be?'

'In the woods after the ball,' replied the woman. She was the kind I wouldn't normally mess with, but Vince was unperturbed. 'You were there as well, weren't you? With your friend, the quack.'

'Well, since you mention it,' Vince caught my eye. 'We know exactly who was in the woods that night. And what they were doing.'

'Prove it,' said the woman.

Vince answered her. 'Don't you worry. We will.'

People had started moving towards the door. I noticed that some were covering their faces. Vince turned to block their way. 'Hold on a second,' he said to them.

I pulled the box file out of my bag and marched over to Vince, holding it above my head, before turning to face the crowd. 'In this file I have details of all the people who have gone missing from this village over the last twenty-five years. I know who they are, and I'm going to find out what happened to them. Then, I'm going to go the police. I will ask them to reopen those cases and I will ask them to look into your finances. Let's see how much money you've got in you coffers, and how much of it was given to you willingly. I've got reason to believe not all of it was.'

To an extent I was calling their bluff, as the file contained the four clippings left within the _' Man Myth and Magic'_ volume together with some bits and pieces I'd managed to put together after the clippings had been stolen back, but when I caught sight of Julia in the opposite corner, her eyes seemed darker than ever, like two bullets aimed at my soul. A white-out-of-black image, like a photo negative, flashed up in front of my eyes as I faced the door to leave. This was the Julia of the dream diary, white out of black, a skull, all faceless eyes and soulless being.

'Liar,' she called after me, her voice echoing across the room. I was aware that I could no longer breathe, and still clutching the file, I lunged towards the door.

'You've got no case against us,' said a rasping voice somewhere behind me. 'You'll never prove it.'

I kept moving, away from Iain's grasp and I felt the air behind me change as Emma and Giles moved in to block him.

'Why don't we stay here and continue our chat for a while longer?' I thought I heard one of them say.

'Oh no you don't. You leave her be.' White fire danced in front of my eyes burning a path to my exit as I stumbled outside, reeling. A hand caught me as I fell.

'I thought I told you to stay home today, and look after yourself,' said a voice, low and keen in my ear. I kept my eyes shut for a moment before stirring myself back to life.

'Yeah? Well I'm going home now.'

'I'm coming with you. Whilst they are in there, we might have a little look at something.'

'What do you mean?'

'Come on.'

'What about them?'

'Leave them to Emma and Giles. They can handle them for a few more minutes. I think we've managed to spook some of those people. I hope so, anyway.'

He helped me up and we hurried over to my car. Whilst I opened it up he slung the box file into the back and lowered himself into the passenger seat. Getting in on the driver's side, I started the engine and drove us the short distance across the village to my house.

Once there, we got out of the car and went inside.

'Open up,' said Vince striding over to the French doors at the back of the house. 'I think it's about time we found some of this "evidence".'

I did as I was asked and followed him out into my back garden. Shortly afterwards we jumped the fence between my property and Julia and Iain's. Unwilling to break our flow, I continued to follow without asking questions and watched with fascination as Vince picked the lock on one of the side doors.

'Sometimes have to do this as an estate agent,' he said, even though I felt this was a dubious explanation at best.

There was no sign of the dog as we went in, although it occurred to me I had not heard it barking recently. The back door clicked open and we shut it quickly behind us, moving forwards through the kitchen to the hall. I led the way up the stairway to the little office at the top of the landing. On finding the door to this room locked as well, Vince performed his party trick again and opened the door. It took a little longer this time, but the lock eventually gave way and we felt our way through the darkness of the box room.

As my eyes got used to the darkness in the room, I made my way to the window to open the curtains a crack, so that I could get a better look at the desk corner where I'd stood with Tony, just a couple of weeks ago. Looking up, I saw an empty space on the shelf where the clippings file had been, the wood now bereft and nude.

Vince walked over to the desk from the doorway where he'd been standing, watching my reaction.

'Not good news?'

I sucked in my cheeks. 'No. The clippings file isn't here.'

'Any idea where it might be now?'

I stood very still as I thought about it, listening to pipes grumbling somewhere in the background, and I shook myself. An image popped into my head of Julia berating the assistant in the New Age shop.

'Yes, I think I know where it might be.'

Once at the shop, we parked up and ran.

'Show me where you think these things are,' said Vince, breathless as we reached the entrance.

A pathetic padlock sat on the door latch. Vince bent down to examine it and two seconds later he'd snapped the metal spring open, inviting me to walk straight in. Torch on, low slung by my side, we followed our noses to the place where I'd seen the books on my previous visit. Incense hit my nostrils and I felt choked.

'You all right?' Vince swivelled round and put one hand on my back.

Tentatively, I moved into the womb of the shop. We fumbled forwards very slowly, trying to avoid the paraphernalia on the floor.

At the bookshelf, I bent down. 'Here they are, let's have a look inside.' I checked the books, thumbing through them one by one until I got to the last one, volume number seven. As I held the golden binding upside down and flicked through the pages, several small bits of paper flew out. Bingo

'These are the missing clippings. Let's gather them back up into the pages of this book and get out of here.' I felt faint.

I shoved the clippings back into the book. Then Vince gathered up the bound volume and turned to go. 'Come on Elena! We've got what we need so let's get out of here.'

I stumbled after him, fighting that sinking feeling I knew well from my childhood. I couldn't breathe. Once outside, I fell to my knees, gulping the fresh night air into my lungs. The feeling of light-headedness started to trigger the usual chain reaction, but this time it was worse. It was as if all the tension from the last few weeks had built up inside and was threatening to squeeze the life out of me. The feeling of being pursued had finally caught up with me. Vince's warmth somewhere behind me was a lifeline in the dark, something I'd been avoiding needlessly. My childhood experiences had hardened my heart: somewhere along the line I'd decided letting my defences down equated to weakness which might lead me to end up treading the same path as my mother, or maybe worse.

'Breathe,' I thought I heard Vince say, somewhere far away, and I obeyed. I had to trust this man, I had to let go. Opening my eyes I found myself nose to nose with him, his face contorted in an expression of concern which appeared both comforting and strange.

'I'm sorry for getting you into this,' I said.

He merely smiled and thrust a bottle into my hand. 'Here, drink this.'

I let myself into the house with Vince behind me, carrying the book we had removed from the shop. Once in the entrance hall, there was a rush of air as he came right up behind me to take my arm, a little forcibly, in order to help me up the stairs.

The adrenalin rush had dropped, leaving me dead tired. My determination to prove wrongdoing on the part of Julia and Iain was weakening and I knew I had to pull myself together in order to stay on course.

'It's OK, Vince,' I told him. 'Really. I don't need any help. I just want to get to bed.'

'Can I come?' he winked again and this time I did not resist him.

### Chapter 32

When I opened my eyes, daylight was flooding through the window and it took me a few moments to remember what had happened. I looked around for Vince but the house was silent and I knew I was alone. I hugged myself despite the warmth of my duvet, wondering why I had slept in so late. On the end of my bed was the book we had taken from the New Age shop, half open with the clippings spilling out onto my bedspread. Sitting up in bed I craned my neck to get a better look.

On cue, the telephone by my bed rang.

'Elena, are you up?'

'Hi Vince. No I'm not.'

'You OK?'

'Yes, but I've only just woken up. What are these files doing on my bed? Did I put them here?'

'That's why I'm ringing. I'm on my way back now. Start reading. I'll be with you in about half an hour.'

_Half an hour?_ How far away was he? Half an hour was a long way around here. It meant he could be some ten to twenty miles away. Or busy with something. Whilst pondering this, I got up and showered quickly, leaving my hair wet and dripping as I pulled on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, before sitting down on my unmade bed to look more closely at the paper strewn on the end of it.

I eyed the clippings for a while. Turning my attention to the _' Man, Myth and Magic'_ volume I noticed the pages looked oddly clumped together towards the back. Slowly, I prised the book open, grabbing at a smaller sheaf of paper which was stuck between the folds. Turning the book upside down to shake the wad of paper out, I was surprised to find it wouldn't budge. Remnants of yellowed glue were splattered towards the spine and after tugging gently at it, I realised the paper would rip before I'd get it out in one piece. I tutted. Whatever this was, I would have to read through it within the casing of the larger tome.

Leafing through, I saw the paper was covered in Tony's distinctive, forward-slanting hand.

_**Tony Elwis**_ , it read. **_Autumn diary._**

I ran my fingers over the pages, which were thin and brittle and laced with a familiar odour. Leaning down I inhaled. The lack of dust on this notebook made it easier to take in a thick masculine stench of tobacco and after shave. The tobacco smell was rough and herb-like with a tinge of something akin to cannabis. The after shave was almost certainly something from the Eighties: raw, pungent and cheap.

The pages were so fragile they needed careful handling. When I felt ready, I started to leaf through, afraid of what I would find, and sure enough a familiar sensation crept over me as I studied the scrawl inside. As I read through, my head hurt and I screwed my eyes up to decipher the handwriting. It was smudged in many places and often jumped lines in unexpected places.

A few pages in, I read _' I watched the woman next door from my window: so tall, pale, brittle and watchful...'_ and caught my breath so violently I began to choke. Further on the author described Iain as having no soul and his view of Julia made my chest feel tight again. Worst of all, the writing matched that of the dream diary.

A sense of otherworldliness descended as I read and I tried to piece together what I was reading with the events in the village of the past few weeks. Something didn't quite add up. For what seemed like a long time, I stared into space, trying to find Tony in the gap there, between the real and imagined, between my dream world and the cold light of day. Maybe my doctors had been right all those years ago.

I didn't hear Vince come in, nor even come up the stairs and stand in my doorway. His shadow enveloped mine. 'That was an illuminating read,' he said, making me jump.

I looked up, but said nothing. I allowed myself to take a long look at him - wondering what he knew - and for once, it was he who flinched.

'Elena-'

I interrupted. 'I've read all through Tony's diary. I suppose you have too?'

'Yes. But who is he?'

'You really don't know?'

'No, you mentioned him before, but I have no idea who he is. What was more pressing was the clippings file. I went over to my office, photocopied it, then took it straight to the police.'

I wondered how long I'd been asleep for. Glancing over at my clock I was shocked to see it was 11am. I'd assumed it was much earlier.

'Don't worry, I rang the surgery to tell them you were sick. Someone is going to ring the patients on your list for the rest of the week to reschedule them.'

I smiled at the thought of Louise and Lucy's reaction to Vince ringing me in sick. They would have a field day with it.

'What do they know?' I asked, suddenly alarmed.

'Don't worry about Louise and Lucy, I can handle them. Or Emma will handle them. Either way, they're not your main concern here.'

I looked back down at the open books and papers on my bed and picked up the _' Man, Myth and Magic'_ volume.

'I didn't know you were into dreams, prophesies and all that sideways mind shit,' Vince continued, still standing by the door. He didn't look impressed.

'I'm not,' I lied. 'I thought he was.'

'Who? You mean your mystery friend? Was that why he left all this stuff in that book?'

I stared at him, hands frozen on the outside of Tony's diary.

'But you were right, this shit has been going on for years. Before now, there was no concrete evidence people had disappeared under odd circumstances, but the fact that your neighbours have so carefully collated a clippings file of these disappearances means the police are going to want to talk to them. The clippings are like trophies. That's what the DI at the police station said.'

'What do you think?' I asked.

'The sideways mind shit is safe with me, don't worry,' he replied.

I got up to level with him, but he put out a hand to hold me away by the shoulder, silencing me with his unsmiling wink, the one which made me wince. We stood like that for several moments before his expression changed, the concern which flickered there replaced by desire.

We embraced: a fast movement, quick and tight, in stark contrast to the slow, gentle affection of the previous night. My world filled up with him and when an odd rattle sounded just outside, I reacted too slowly. Afterwards I realised that as a full paid up singleton, I'd never heard anyone let themselves into my house before. Vince heard it too, and after a few seconds pulled away from me to cock his head to one side. But just as he made to turn round, a crashing blow caused my ears to close and my vision to swim in and out of focus in an uncanny, sickly kaleidoscope of colour, before blackness descended and my head hit the floor. Muffled grunts and a bang followed by a crash found themselves into my consciousness, but the order was hazy and I could not quite tell where the sounds were coming from. Something wet was dripping down from my nose and my lips and I couldn't move.

It seemed an eternity before I was able to open my eyes.

Feet and yelling. That was all I could register at first. I tried to move but my neck hurt and when I tried to open my eyes, the left one remained shut. I couldn't breathe, but although it felt like dying, nobody was paying me any attention. Sound came tearing back into my ears so violently it hurt, and I knew I had to get up. Wrenching my neck upwards, I saw with my one good eye, that two men were struggling, pulling, pushing, tearing and ripping. One of them was taller and lither than the other, who looked small and wiry. All dressed in black, he reminded me of a contract killer - and then I realised who I was looking at.

At the same time, a woman's voice screamed.

'She's up! Get her!'

I whirled round, suppressing the instinct to let go of the vomit which was rising up in the back of my throat. Julia was right behind me, arms raised, hair and eyes wild. I had a split second to move before her long fingers pillaged my hair, pulling and ripping at what I now realised was already a pretty nasty head wound. I turned again to see a flash of silver and then I screamed again.

'Vince, he's got a gun!'

In a flash, Vince appeared to strengthen his hold on Iain's upper arms, pushing them both out into the corridor. More crashing and thudding ensued out of my line of sight, but no matter how desperately I wanted to follow them, I had an immediate problem of my own in the form of Julia, who was bearing down on me once more with a heavy looking object -I supposed Tony's _' Man, Myth and Magic'_ book - above her head. In the split second that followed, I threw myself down on the floor and rolled under the bed. Having calculated that I was thin enough to crawl to the other side on my front, I shifted forwards catching my head on metal elements of the underside of my bed frame as I did so. Intense pain temporarily blinded me and I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood in order to stop myself from screaming.

Now in flight mode, I dragged myself quickly to the other side, wrenched myself out and threw myself at the doorway. Turning sharp right, I ran down the stairs and dived towards the front door at the bottom. Hot on my heels, Iain made a swiping motion towards me and sent me flying. Loud thudding signalled Julia's flight behind me on the stairs.

More stars lit up the darkness behind my eyelids, but this time I was ready. I willed myself to over come the desire to freeze, just as I'd been taught, and I sprang up, my muscles taught and ready to strike. She was right behind me, holding a large book in her right hand which looked like another of the _' Man, Myth and Magic'_ series. She aimed it at my jaw. A short whistling punctuated the air as the book flew towards me, but I was quick. I could see she hadn't been trained to fight and I punched the book out of her hand before twisting back and raising my right leg to kick her away. I screamed, a short aggressive sound, before following through. One punch and she was down. As she fell, I saw the surprise in her eyes, and I allowed myself a smirk before I jumped over where she was lying on the ground to pin her hands behind the back and deliver a final chop to the back of her neck. Good. She would be out cold for a while.

'Watch out!' Vince shouted.

I turned, too late. Iain was right in front of me, his eyes cold. His fist connected with my head. As everything started to go into slow motion, I knew I only had seconds to get him back before I dropped. In one swift movement, I knocked the gun out of his hand and wound his right hand behind his back whilst Vince got hold of his left. Together, we pushed him to the floor. At least I was still fast. I pushed my knee into the small of his back and whacked him on the head.

'You little shit!' I yelled.

Then I closed my eyes and gave in to the darkness.

When I came round again, I was lying next to the front door but Julia and Iain had disappeared. I was on my back with blue uniforms crouched around me. A cold breeze caressed the side of my face, and blue light passed intermittently across my body. I tried to piece together what had just happened but my brain refused to play ball, returning instead to thoughts of Tony, whose blue eyes pleaded with me from some unreachable place.

Gradually, I opened my eyes properly. Somehow a stretcher had been inserted beneath me and I was being carried towards the open door of an ambulance. I blinked back the light as I was lifted up into the inside of the vehicle and placed onto a waiting gurney.

One of the uniforms made an urgent gesture to the others. 'She's awake.'

### Chapter 33

Images of hanged men, hermits and paths paved with burnished gold plagued my night, a long night, spent under the observation of my medical colleagues in the local hospital. Morning came, brought to me slowly by a feeble dawn. The weak rays of light which reached through the curtains mocked my sanity, which I'd been fighting all night as light and dark battled for supremacy in my head. My dreams rolled themselves into a gigantic ball of terror, punctuated by wild images of Julia who rose up above my bed, golden staff in hand, eyes flashing as she cast a spell of eternal darkness on my mind; by the pungent breath of Iain, which threatened to poison my soul; by Tony's greying hair, and an emerald aura which shone as he stood alone in the road, hands outstretched, cigarette butts at his feet with burning papers lining his path to my window.

The women's prayer group came out of the shadows beyond them and walked silently to press their noses against my window glass, their eyes unseeing from hollowed-out skull sockets of emptiness and desperation. Ball dresses and tuxedos glowed emerald green behind them as terrified screeching sounds ripped my ears to shreds. And I knew there was nothing to do but ride the storm.

Finally Joan walked to the forefront, arms reaching out towards me.

The police officers who had accompanied me to the hospital disappeared until long after daylight reappeared. Or so it seemed. People came and went in a variety of uniforms and I found I was unable to distinguish between them. Between spells of unconsciousness, a doctor with dancing brown eyes and a pristine white coat had stopped by my bed and taken my hand. As I considered the angelic quality of his curly cherub curls and his open, almost innocent face, he explained I'd been badly concussed and would need to stay in hospital for a few days. With a reassuring squeeze of the hand, he'd told me that disorientation was to be expected, but I'd make a full recovery. All I needed was rest and quiet, but it was torture.

After more dreams and black patches of nothing, where all I could see in the void were the eyes of Tony, as he reached out to me from the clearing, the police returned. My heart leapt as I saw a familiar figure follow them in to stand at the back of the room as they sat down to question me. His hair, as ever, covered his right eye and as he listened in silence, I noticed him flick it back every now and again, his brow furrowed in concentration. A few minutes passed before he strode over to the door.

A nurse followed him back in. 'I'm not sure if she's well enough for this yet. So you've got five minutes before I come back.'

I caught the wary eye of the DI as it met mine as I moved my head to look at him. 'Before you ask, your neighbours have been taken into custody,' he began. 'Luckily, your friend, Vince here, had the presence of mind to put in a call to us just as you came under attack yesterday morning.'

'What day is it?' I asked.

'It's Friday 13th November,' answered the DI. 'And that's one nasty head wound you've got there. It's a good job we got there when we did. Who knows what else they might have done?'

'What, after I'd taken them both out?' I said.

Vince smiled.

'Erm, well, yes, sort of,' said the DI, clearing his throat. 'We got there in time to finish up with handcuffs and place them under arrest. You'll have to testify in court, of course.'

I just looked at him in silence. I noticed he couldn't really look at me - was I in that much of a mess?

'Just tell us again, what happened. In your own words.'

So I told him as much as I could before the nurse came back to save me from my exhaustion, and the feeling that I would pass out again if I had to relive the ordeal for another second. After the police left, Vince came to the side of my bed and, without a word, stroked my hair until I fell asleep again.

The world turned inside out, so that I was standing in my garden once more, only it wasn't quite right. The sky was red, split in two by a great rocky expanse which rose up from the ground like a volcano. Then, I was standing at the far edge, looking back at the parade of houses, at my home in the middle of them, and at Julia's house by its side, flanking the other houses like a guardian, or a stalker.

I shut my eyes and when I opened them again, my garden had disappeared. As if I'd opened the shutters to another world, a brief slash of darkness was replaced by bright light, which made me wince as I stared into the source of it. The light dimmed to reveal a large barn in a clearing, trees swaying on the periphery. I took a couple of steps towards it, realising my feet were bare and my body clad in a silver ball gown, as pristine and new as on the day of the ball. I felt as light and airy as the autumn leaves which were flying from the trees and floating in the air around me. There was no sound but the gentle breeze passing through the trees' branches all around. It felt like a giant amphitheatre, and I wondered if Ariel and Caliban would appear to stop me in my tracks as I continued to take steps towards the barn.

Another shutter snap, and I found myself inside the barn, its wooden beams drawing in slivers of new sunlight from outside, to illuminate a large, round table at the centre. It looked like the one from Julia's meeting hall, but Julia wasn't there. Empty chairs sat, still with anticipation, and as I looked beyond them to the smooth, wooden surface to the table, I saw cards waiting there too. Gliding forwards, I hovered by the table to see what I knew would be there.

Craning my neck to see better, I saw the cards had real faces within their illustrated bodies, and like 3D holograms they hovered just above their flat, paper hosts, mouthing unheard words. The Hanged Man's green eyes flashed at me and his long, coarse hair hung upside down to almost touch the floor beneath him. 'Vince?' I said, but before the man could answer his appearance had changed to that of another, this time with clear blue eyes which cut through time and space. I cut to the next card, the one of Death. As I looked at it, I heard a deep, mournful voice inside my head saying 'You are the agent of change.' I tried to block it out.

A hand on my shoulder caused me to jump. I turned slowly to look into the eyes of a young woman with long, dark hair, dressed in a floor length black, grungy dress. 'Martha?'. She didn't reply but another voice, a woman's, started speaking from somewhere within me. 'Trust your instincts,' it said. 'What you have seen has come to pass, as it was always meant to. Life is an illusion and the events of your life are all happening now. There is no past, there is no future, only the here and now of infinite possibility. For everything which could have come to pass will do so, and will not. Your experience is your reality, and your responsibility.'

I hung my head, clamping my hands to my ears, breathing hard. 'Beam me up,' I whispered, hoping for a reprieve, but the cards and voices weren't finished with me. When I opened my eyes, The High Priestess card was floating around in front of them, her dark eyes purple, her long, brunette locks agitated by the breeze which had started to whistle through the barn through newly opened windows. Next to her was another card, but all I could see were the words 'The Hermit' written beneath a small oval mirror. I reached out and grabbed it from where it had been hovering, just above the table. Bringing it closer to my face, I saw my own face in its reflective surface. But I didn't recognise myself. I was changing, morphing into many different versions of me, some older, some younger. In one I was a child, sitting on my grandmother's knee and she was telling me something. I couldn't hear what she was saying, no matter how hard I strained my ears. Both figures stopped for a second and stared out of the card at me and then I heard it, my grandmother's voice from another time, saying 'It's your duty to observe, Elena, to pay attention. Not everything is as it seems, reality is not what you believe it to be.' And as she said this, the card flipped out of my hand and fell to land, face up, on the table. It slotted itself back into the reading.

My eyes moved across to the final cards: Death and The Moon. I took a breath in. All was silent apart from a clock ticking somewhere in the background. It seemed to echo the beating of my heart, louder and louder, as I thought about the messages of Death and The Moon. Then, as I looked at The Moon, several images flashed up. All of my dead patients appeared in the seats around the table, their faces still, eyes boring into me. 'What is it?' I said. 'What have you come to tell me?'

A voice replied, 'We have not come from anywhere, we were always here. We will always be here. And so will you. Things are not what they seem.'

On the table, The Moon card burst into flames. As blue, yellow and red licked up towards the pitched roof of the barn, the table started to shake. My dead patients were joined by Tony, Martha and my grandmother who sat in the seats adjacent to me. Someone was calling, 'We may have lived and we may not. You rid the world of her, but she will be back as will others like her, for they live inside all of us. We are one.' I looked at the Tony figure, my eyes pleading, but he merely nodded.

Then, I dropped to the floor. The world went black and I saw that I was lying in a hospital bed, my bare feet poking out at the bottom of crisp white sheets, my hair splayed on a large pillow behind me. The world outside my window was bleak and rain-splattered. Vince was sitting, silently, at the side of my bed, his eyes closed. He looked as if he was meditating, or thinking something over, something which elicited no answers. I decided not to disturb him and I closed my eyes.

When I woke up again, I was alone. I waited for Vince to return, but when he didn't, I discharged myself and went home.

Exactly six weeks after I was discharged from hospital, there was a knock at the door and a familiar shape behind the glass.

I gasped. 'Tony!'

His eyes twinkled a shade of iridescent blue, and I noted that he looked well, very well. In fact much better than I did.

'I thought you were dead,' I said, staring at him, as he smiled gently, and took my hands in his.

'Elena, I came to deliver a message.'

I looked at him, uncomprehending as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, white envelope.

'For years I was lost, but you helped me, and I was found again. I walked in darkness, and you showed me the way. You helped me walk in the light, to have hope, to look forward to the future, to all of our futures. For we are all God's children, and He will save us. I know you don't believe it right now, but I promise you will, one day.'

Then he bent his greying head, clean and dry, towards mine and kissed me, very gently on the cheek as he released my hands.

'This is for you. Try to understand, and have faith.'

He placed an envelope in my hands, turned and walked away, as I stared helplessly at his retreating back. I wanted to shout, to run and stop him, but I could do nothing but stand there and watch him go. It seemed to me that he disappeared in the direction of the village centre, but when I finally came to my senses and rushed to the end of my driveway, there was no sign of him anywhere.

So I returned to my house, shut the door and opened the envelope to find a newspaper article from a town far away, and a date which didn't make sense:

East Sussex, 5 November, 1986

Anthony Elwis, 7 September 1942 - 5 November 1986

Anthony Elwis, 44, of Lincoln passed away on 5 November after a short illness. His family were by his side when he drifted off to be with the Lord. Born to Agatha and Mark Elwis in Lincoln on 7 September 1942, Anthony went to Lincoln Boys' Grammar School and the University of Oxford, where he studied philosophy and theology. He will be sadly missed by his friends and family.

The ground dropped, or I did, I didn't know which, as my horizons widened and flattened out to meet and engulf me in their hardened embrace.

I thought of Tony, of the Charismatic Community, of their prophesies and of mine. I thought of the futility of my life. Or not. And I thought of eternity.

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### Table of Contents

Prologue

Part I The Death Card

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

PART II The Fool

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Part III The Hanged Man

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

PART IV The Moon

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Stay in touch with Kirsten Arcadio and the Borderliners Trilogy
