Dark Avenging Angel (11 page)

Then, one evening, she appeared.

A lovely, sultry June evening had given way to a velvety night. John and I sat outside on the patio, drinking chilled white wine and gazing up at the stars. The slightest breeze ruffled the leaves on the sycamore tree and every muscle in my body relaxed.

John stretched his legs. “I love evenings like this. Makes you glad to be alive.”

“Mm.” The light from the living room window illuminated the garden, but cast shadows in the far corner by the rhododendron bush. Its branches moved.

“I think next door’s cat just paid us a visit,” John said. “What’s his name?”

“Sooty,” I said and then lowered my voice, “not very imaginative, considering he’s jet black.”

I wish to God it had been Sooty.

“What the hell?” John sprang to his feet and stepped back. His chair toppled onto the ground.

She was there. In the shadows, but her white face was clearly visible. Not only that, John could see her too.

I joined him. “Why are you here?”

The dark mouth opened.
It has been a long time, Jane.

John stared at me. “You
know
…that?”

I nodded. How the hell would I explain her? “I’ve known her since I was a child.”

The angel moved closer. Into the light.

John gasped and backed farther away. “Who are you? What do you want?”

She ignored him, but I had to know. “Why can John see you?”

We have an arrangement to conclude, Jane.

I’d known apprehension around her before. I knew what she was capable of, after all. I must tread carefully. I couldn’t risk her wrath.

I moistened my parched lips. “I’m happy now. There’s no one to add to your ledger. Please, there’s no need—”

“What ledger?” John grabbed my hand. I flinched from the anger and fear I read in his eyes. “Who…
what
…is she?”

I couldn’t think of a single sane word of explanation.

He shook me.
“Jane!”

I wrenched myself free. Tears streamed down my cheeks. He’d leave me now for sure. In a few seconds, my near-perfect life would crumble. I had to make her go away.

I turned to her. “
Please.
Don’t do this.”

The black eyes stared at me. The dark lips set in a firm line. Even in the dim light cast by the garden lamps, I could make out the undulations beneath her cloak.

John cried out. “For God’s sake, Jane. Make her
stop
.”

I screamed as he collapsed to his knees, his hands crammed to his head, his face a tortured grimace.

I pleaded with my angel, “Don’t hurt him!”

John roared in pain. “God help me!”

I tried to hold him, but he pushed me away. He turned his eyes toward me—crazed with broken blood vessels. “She’s killing me. The
noise
.”

I couldn’t stand it any longer. “I’ll give you what you want. Just let him go. Don’t hurt him anymore.”

John collapsed on the grass, panting and choking.

I looked from him back up to my angel. Her ledger was open. She was writing in it.

Panic. “Not him. You can’t have him. He’s done nothing to me.”

It is done.
Her voice had echoed and faded, as she herself disappeared.

John struggled to his feet. His eyes, at least, had returned to normal. “What the hell was that? What did she do to me?”

I took a deep breath. It had to happen one day. Might as well be now.

“She’s been a part of my life since I was a child. I used to think she protected me, but now, after tonight…” I couldn’t finish my sentence.

What had she written in her ledger? Surely she wouldn’t write John’s name? She had only ever written the names of those
I
judged to have done me serious harm. So she must have written another name. But whose? Mine? For not giving her that third name?

John’s hands shook, and the wine bottle he was pouring from clunked against the glass. He downed it in one and then poured one for me.

I sipped mine more slowly.

“Well, who is she?” he said. “What is she?”

I shook my head. “I wish I could answer your questions, but I don’t really know. I call her my angel.”

His stare made me uncomfortable. “Please, John. I’m sure she means you no harm.”

“Really? Then why do I feel as if she’s just raped my mind?”

“What?”

He shuddered. “It’s the only way I can describe it. Haven’t you felt like that?”

“No. Never.”

“She sent something into my head.” He screwed his face up at the memory. “Hundreds of creatures. I don’t know what they were. I could see them. Behind my eyes. Clawing at me. Scratching. And the noise. Screaming. Bellowing. Like a Bosch painting come alive. It— God, Jane. I can’t explain it. If I believed in heaven and hell and all that stuff, I would swear I’d just seen hell.”

He shook his head and set his empty glass down. “I’ve got to get out of here. I can’t stay. I’m sorry.”

He nearly fell over the chair in his hurry to leave.

I watched him, horrified. “John, please. Don’t go.
Please.
”

I heard the front door slam.

Chapter Twelve

He rang me just as I sat down at my desk.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and sounded it. “I still don’t know what happened. Forgive me?”

I tried to make light of it. “Nothing to forgive. You had a fright. Not surprising, really. She’s not the sort of thing you see every day.”

“What she did to me was… Well, I can’t explain it, not even after a whole night trying to work it out. I’m done in today.”

“Me too. Where did you stay in the end?”

“Just a mate’s house. I’d like to come home, though.”

“I’ll cook steak and salad.” Well, he’d have the steak. I’d just have the salad.

“I’ll be home around seven. Got a meeting at five thirty.”

That night I had the dream again.

This time, I stood on the dusty road with the sun beating down on me.
I should have worn a hat
, I thought, as I touched my burning head.
Must get out of the sun. Into some shade, if I can find any.

Up ahead, the hotel shimmered white against the vivid-blue sky. I squinted at it and set off toward it. From somewhere to my left, I could hear waves crashing on the shore, but all I could see was arid scrubland, where dry bushes of gorse and cacti jockeyed for position.

The scene changed and I stood in front of the double glass doors. They slowly opened and there he stood, tuxedoed and smiling. I couldn’t speak as he took my arm and led me through reception, into the ballroom where, as before, I looked down and found the shorts and T-shirt had been replaced by the gorgeous, white gown.

The band struck up and this time I recognized “Everything”.

The man drew me closer to him as we danced. Not a waltz this time. Just in time with the rousing beat. He bent close to my ear and whispered, “You can have anything you want. Everything.”

“But I don’t understand. How?”

Now the room was empty. I stood alone. But not for long.

A rumble like thunder or the pounding of hooves. Coming closer.

Danger.

I had to get away. I tried to push myself out of the dream, but the rumbling grew louder and louder.

Then an alarm sounded.

I woke up, sweat pouring off me and shaking uncontrollably. “Thank God! I’m back. I’m safe.”

John switched off the alarm, glanced over to me and frowned. He touched my forehead. “You’re going nowhere today. Come on, lie back down. I’ll phone in to work for you.”

“I had that dream again.”

“Dreams don’t generally make your face red.” He felt my forehead. “Or give you a raging temperature. I think I should call the doctor. You may have come down with something. Your head’s really hot.”

A wave of nausea sent me diving off to the bathroom. I just made it in time before I threw up in the toilet. My head throbbed.

As I rinsed a washcloth in cold water to soothe my burning face, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I looked as if I’d stayed out in the blazing sun for hours, and when I touched the top of my head, it stung and burned. A quick inspection revealed a vivid-red scalp.

“How can you get sunburn in a dream?” I said as I climbed back into bed, glad of the cool sheet.

“You can’t. I’ve just phoned in for both of us. I’m staying at home to look after you. And I’m phoning the doctor at eight thirty. I’ll get you a home visit. I don’t think you’re in any fit state to go there and we don’t know what it is. Might be infectious.”

I wanted to protest, but my head banged relentlessly and I still felt as if I could be sick at any moment. Whatever was wrong with me needed to be diagnosed and treated. Right now, I wanted to die.

The doctor arrived around eleven. I’d slept fitfully and my head still banged, but at least after the fourth trip to the bathroom, I didn’t feel quite as nauseous.

“Sunstroke,” the doctor said as she wrote a prescription. “This is for some lotion for the sunburn. Meanwhile, drink plenty of liquids and keep cool. Remember, sitting outside in the sunshine is all very well, but it can be dangerous. You should sit in the shade or cover up. And always use sunscreen.”

“I haven’t been sitting outside in the sun. Not at all.”

The doctor looked from me to John.

“She’s telling the truth,” he said. “It’s a mystery how she could have contracted sunstroke. When she went to bed last night, she was her usual pale self. Now…” He pointed at me.

The doctor shook her head and closed her bag. “Well, I’ve never heard of anyone contracting sunstroke from staying indoors, but that’s what she has. I recommend you stay at home until you feel better. In your case, two or three days or so will probably see you right. It’s only a mild case, fortunately, or else we’d be stretchering you off to hospital.” She hesitated. “Have you been weighed recently?”

I shook my head. “Why do you ask?”

“I wondered if you had been experiencing any sudden weight loss. You’re not on a diet, are you?”

John got there before I did. “Well, as a matter of fact—”

“No,” I said.

The doctor looked from one to the other of us. “Are you eating normally?”

“Yes,” I said.

“No sickness or diarrhea?”

Again John got there a split second ahead of me. “Well, she does—”

“No. Not at all,” I said.

The doctor looked again from one to the other of us and gave another almost-imperceptible shake of her head. “You are almost certainly underweight, Jane. I would prefer it if you could make an appointment to see me. Just to be on the safe side.”

“Okay,” I said, knowing I wouldn’t.

“She thinks we’re lying about the sunstroke,” I said, when John returned from seeing the doctor out.

He waved his hand. “Let her. We know the truth.”

“Do we? I don’t. Not anymore.” My banging head pounded relentlessly and I leaned back against the cool pillows. I didn’t feel any urge to make myself sick, though. This was no migraine.

“Go to sleep now,” John said, his voice gentle and soothing. He seemed to have forgotten all about his own traumatic experience.

This time, when I slept, my dreams were peaceful. I just hoped John’s were.

I started reading about out-of-body experiences, case studies of people who, just like me, had thought they were dreaming when, in fact—so they asserted—their spirit was leaving their body and traveling off to another plane. It all sounded crazy and outlandish. Previously I would have discounted every word I now absorbed.

Many of them reported feeling a tugging sensation and then a snap, like an elastic band, when they returned to their bodies. All described feeling the elements around them. They could hear, smell, touch and taste their temporary world. I remembered the tasteless food and champagne of earlier years. In the latest dream, I hadn’t eaten or drunk anything. If I did so now, would I experience those vivid flavors others seemed to have enjoyed?

Two nights later, recovered from my sunstroke, except for peeling skin, I returned to my dream.

This time, I was already in the ballroom and the man I now wanted to call Carlo handed me a tall flute of ice-cold champagne. I sniffed it. Bubbles spattered my nose and Carlo laughed as I shook my head. I put the glass to my lips and took a sip.

The cold, crisp flavor flooded my taste buds.

“You like this champagne?”

I nodded and set the glass down on the table in front of me. All around us, couples were dancing, others gathered in small groups. No one paid us any attention, for which I was grateful.

“Who are you?” I said. “Please tell me. Are you Carlo Castiglione?”

A broad smile became a laugh. Now people turned to see what the hilarity was all about. They all started to laugh and it was as before. Everyone laughing at me.

I stood up and crammed my hands to my ears to try and shut out the cacophony, but it just grew louder, more raucous. I squeezed my eyes shut. “Stop it! Why are you doing this? Why?”

The laughter stopped. I opened my eyes.

The room was empty.

Except, this time, the rumbling of heavy hooves came from much closer. The chandeliers swayed and the crystal tinkled.

I picked up my skirt and ran out through an open door, straight into a field that had nothing to do with the hotel. I’d stepped into another dream.

Now I wore blue jeans and a white cotton shirt. For some reason I was barefoot, but on a lovely warm day, with soft grass under my feet, it felt good. All around me, young people lay around eating packed lunches, chatting. Birds twittered and bees hummed.

Something drew my attention. To my left stood a white, wooden one-story building with a porch. Standing there, still dressed in his tuxedo, stood a man. I didn’t have to wonder who—Carlo smiled and tipped an imaginary hat to me. Just as the sun disappeared behind a cloud.

The scene changed again and now I had joined him on the porch. This time he handed me a small bowl of tiny Alpine strawberries. I picked one up and bit into it. The juice squirted into my mouth, Sweet, luscious.

I wanted to kiss Carlo, to feel his arms around me. I wanted…but I remembered John.

Guilt.

No, this was only a dream. That didn’t count, did it? I resisted the temptation.

“Everything tastes perfect here,” I said as I selected another one.

“Of course. I told you. You can have anything you want. Everything.”

The words struck fear into my soul. I prayed I’d wake up, but feared I’d be trapped here forever.

Behind me, a rumble.

Carlo’s eyes grew wider. The smile faded. He grabbed my hand and we ran. Down the steps, across the grass. Behind us, the rumble became a pounding.

“Don’t look back!”

I didn’t need Carlo’s warning. I panted and struggled to catch my breath as we ran harder and faster over the never-ending expanse of grassland, damp and cold under my bare feet.

Whatever charged after us was gaining ground. I wanted to scream but hadn’t sufficient breath. Still we ran. I clutched his hand. It felt warm. Alive.

“Close your eyes! Jump!”

I jumped. Alone.

I woke up.

John was bending over me.

“Thank God you’re awake. I’ve been trying to rouse you for ages. You’ve been crying out in your sleep and kicking. That’s what woke me. You nearly kicked me out of bed.”

I blinked and tried to focus, the dream still clear in my head. Adrenaline still surged through my veins from the danger I’d been in. But it had been just a dream, hadn’t it?

I pushed the duvet back and gasped at what I saw.

“How did this happen? How can my feet be so filthy?”

“What?”

My feet were covered in grass stains and streaked with mud.

John touched them and mud came off on his hands. “You look like you’ve just run across a grassy field.”

“I did. In my dream.”

John stared at me. Then he backed away. He put his hands up to each side of his head. “This isn’t possible. I swear you’ve been beside me all night. Even if you’d sleepwalked, we don’t have any grass. You’d have had to go down the road to find a lawn, and even then, you’d have to slide around in it to get your feet in that state.”

I got up. “I’m going to have a bath. And I’m going to make an appointment to see the doctor. Something’s wrong with me and I’ve got to find out what it is.”

“I’m coming to the doctor’s with you.”

I didn’t expect that. “I really appreciate the offer, John, but I’d rather go on my own. Besides, my GP won’t be able to do anything. She’ll have to refer me to a psychiatrist or someone. Maybe I need a brain scan.”

John put his hands on my shoulders. “Jane, this is affecting me too. Please don’t shut me out.”

Now I felt torn. I’d always been so private about anything medically related. Except I’d never experienced anything even remotely like this before.

“Okay. Thanks. But please don’t worry. There has to be a simple explanation for all this.”

John smiled and let his hands drop. “Let’s hope it doesn’t involve admitting a dead Italian rock star into our lives. Might get a bit crowded.”

I stood on tiptoe and kissed his nose. I didn’t imagine him flinch.

We didn’t discuss my angel. But I had a nagging feeling that what she did to him that terrible night must surely still prey on his mind. Something had changed between us. Something I didn’t know how to put right.

I thought about little else when I wasn’t at work. I started measuring and weighing my food. At least I could control that. I mustn’t get fat again. John fell in love with a relatively slim woman. He didn’t fancy fat women. He’d told me so.

The doctor signed me off as unfit to work for a minimum of three weeks and immediately referred me for a CT scan of my brain. The horrified look on her face—as I calmly explained the dreams, along with the muddy feet and my increasing belief in out-of-body experiences—said she must have been convinced I had some sort of massive tumor. The way she looked from me to John and back again made me wonder if she thought he too should be treated. Or maybe she just felt sorry for him.

She quizzed me about my diet. I wished she’d leave it alone.

“What did you eat for your main meal yesterday?”

I told her about roast pork and green beans I’d prepared with sage-and-onion stuffing, apple sauce, roast potatoes and lashings of rich, meaty gravy. John had loved it.

The doctor took notes, frowned and handed me a diet sheet.

Once I left the surgery, I glanced at it. The sight of all the food I was supposed to eat had me retching. I threw the piece of paper in the nearest wastebin and went home.

The results of my scan came through remarkably quickly, within a week, and John and I returned to the GP’s office.

Dr. Staines smoothed down her black pencil skirt, adjusted her rimless glasses and scanned the sheet in front of her. “I’m delighted to tell you that no abnormalities have shown up. The scan is perfectly clear. So that’s something we can rule out.”

I hadn’t realized, until that moment, just how scared I had been of a bad result. I exhaled and John squeezed my hand.

“That’s great news,” he said.

I squeezed back and wiped away a tear.

“Are you still having the dreams?”

I nodded. “Last night, I was back in the ballroom again, drinking champagne and dancing.”