Chapter One
The Present
The little girl whimpered amongst the darkness, like a frightened puppy. She had ventured into the cave whilst following a little stream, spurred with infantile curiosity. Apparently, curiosity had killed a cat once, somewhere. At the time, she hadn’t known how curiosity could possibly kill anything – but now she was trapped alone in a dismal cave she was starting to have one or two ideas. She had hoped to discover the source of the stream, way up amongst the foothills somewhere. Instead, she had discovered what being blind felt like. That was the problem with underground caves, you see – everything looked exactly the same: pitch black.
Now, she also knew what being lost felt like too. She couldn’t say she liked either feeling, thank you very much.
She started to wander deeper into the gloom, thinking that maybe she could get so lost that she wouldn’t be lost anymore. It was the type of logic that only a five-year-old could entertain, but it was still logic of a sort. She turned on the spot, finding that the darkness behind her looked remarkably like the darkness in front of her. Off to her side, the stream gargled. It reminded her of the dentist.
‘Can anyone hear me?’ the girl asked.
The darkness listened intently. From somewhere deeper in the cave there came a reply - a soft, scrabbling sound – like the patter of feet on rock.
It took her a moment to realise that it probably was the patter of feet on rock. Her heart began to pound; that wasn’t what she was hoping to hear. Silence would have been better.
‘Uh,’ she stammered. ‘Who… who’s there?’
Silence again. She had a horrible feeling that the scrabbling belonged to a “what”, not a “who”.
Something’s in here, she thought.
Her heart was palpitating and her breathing was frantic. And then she heard it again - the scrabbling. Nearer. Her fingers brushed loose grit from the wall and it plumed into her eyes and burned like fire. The girl screamed, her nerve finally snapping, and she turned blindly to run.
Two strides later, she had collided with one of the cave walls and banged her head. Stars twinkled before her eyes. She doddered about a bit, dazed, and then her stumbling feet found only void. The ground disappeared from under her. She fell, and her scream hung like a midnight mist in the dark. There was a splash, and a jolt zapped down her spine as though an ice cube had been thrown down the back of her top. She sank beneath the surface with hardly any resistance at all.
‘Help! Ah!’ The girl struggled, a roaring in her ears, her head pounding as though a basketball match was happening inside it. ‘Mom!’ She clawed at the surface, bobbed under again, spluttered amongst the darkness. She felt it bind her; cloak her in its veil – a boa-constrictor was wrapped around her lungs… ‘Mom! Mom!’ She went under again, and the darkness was a part of her, squashing her, squeezing her. She was riding on the wings of night, dreamily, her consciousness slowly ebbing away like a leaky watering can. Mom? Glug… The black was so eternal – so peaceful… And those eyes - those bright, amber eyes… They’ve never been there before… gluuuug…
Ella Barrotti woke up screaming. ‘Moooom!’ she yelled.
There were footsteps on the landing - thumping and impatient. Her father threw open the bedroom door, his large silhouette illuminated by Ella’s nightlight. ‘I am trying to sleep!’ he yelled, his round face doing an amicable impression of a beetroot. His brown hair, which was unruly at the best of times, stuck up in the most bizarre fashion as though a petrified cat was sitting on his head.
Ella was still breathing heavily. She looked round, frightened, expecting something horrific to be scrabbling over her walls and ceiling. Slowly, her eyes looped to her father’s door-filling frame. ‘Where… where am I?’
‘What do you mean “where am I”? You’re in bed, you silly girl.’
‘Oh – I…’
‘Do you know what time it is? It’s two o’ clock in the morning.’ Frank Barrotti yawned like a lion, as if to emphasise that such an hour should be spent asleep. ‘Do you think I like being woken up at two o’ clock in the morning?’
‘I had a nightmare…’ Ella began.
Her father raised a hand to stop her. ‘Ah – That’s not what I asked. Do you think I like being woken up at two o’ clock in the morning?’
‘No Father.’ Ella’s eyes wilted. She noticed that her duvet had fallen off the end of her bed.
‘So why did you wake me?’ Barrotti was fiddling with his glasses – he could barely see a thing without them. In his hurry he managed to poke himself in the eye, and it began to weep. ‘Now look what you’ve done…’ he cursed.
Ella kept silent.
Finally he got his glasses into position, his weeping eye magnified by the lens, and it looked to Ella like a marble criss-crossed with spidery red lines.
‘Well?’ he repeated, blinking far too much.
‘I had a nightmare.’ Ella’s voice was weak; she had forgotten that having nightmares was against her father’s rules. She lapped the roof of her mouth, convinced she could still taste the water.
‘A nightmare? I thought you’d at least cracked your head open, screaming like that. You’re too old to be having nightmares, my girl.’
‘It was the same one,’ Ella remembered. She bit her lower lip. ‘I was in that cave again…’
Her father stood erect, his face toning down from beetroot to tomato. ‘Hmmm…’ he said. ‘Well, Ella, there’s really no need to be frightened anymore is there. It happened six years ago.’
‘Seven years.’
‘Seven?’ Barrotti frowned. ‘It happened when you were five, yes?’
‘Yes, and I’m twelve now.’
‘You’re twelve?’ His brow corrugated. ‘You should start acting like it then, shouldn’t you. Twelve-year-olds don’t have nightmares!’
They might if they’d ever been an inch from drowning, Ella thought. She could remember going into the cave, could remember getting lost - could even remember falling into the water. Her nightmares wouldn’t let her forget it - she was reminded regularly. But after that it was just a blur. The next thing she knew was waking up in the sunshine outside the cave. She must have crawled along the streambed delirious; that’s the only way she could explain it.
‘Anyway,’ Barrotti grunted, ‘you should have grown out of it by now.’ His eyes were drawn to the nightlight that hummed quietly in one corner. ‘You see, I bet that doesn’t help you. The only way you’re going to conquer your fear is if you face it. Having that around is just making it worse.’
Ella looked at the floor. Dad’s right for a change, she said to herself. She’d been scared of the dark ever since – which she thought was quite understandable – but she knew that the nightlight would have to go at some point for her own good. Only she wanted to decide when. ‘I can’t sleep without it,’ she mumbled.
Barrotti frowned. He placed his hands on his hips, which stretched his top and ruffled it over his stomach somewhat. He didn’t seem to notice. ‘Hmmmm,’ he said. ‘Well when you do sleep, you wake me up screaming.’
‘I’m sorry Father,’ Ella said. ‘I’ll be more… more considerate…’
Barrotti gave a sharp nod. ‘Yes, well. This is not on, is it.’ A pause. ‘Is it?’
‘No Father.’
‘Screaming like that…’
‘No Father.’
‘Shouldn’t be waking the whole house in the middle of the night with your screaming. Not at your age.’
Ella blinked. ‘But you’re the only one who lives…’
‘And,’ he interrupted firmly, ‘you certainly shouldn’t be calling for your mother.’
Ella swallowed nervously. Ah. Her father had got that twinkle in his eye, and the glow from the nightlight seemed to tint them red. Here we go. ‘I didn’t mean to…’ Ella started.
‘Oh, you never mean to, do you. You just always do.’ Barrotti scowled, and then he gave the door an angry thump. His face was back to beetroot again.
Ella jumped. ‘Father, I can’t help it!’
‘You can help it and you jolly well will,’ he bellowed, arrows of spit raining down on the carpet. ‘Your mother is dead. Accept it.’
Ella had backed right up to the wall, her shoulder blades testing whether they could gnaw an escape route through the mortar. Tears like diamonds began to spill down her face, and however hard she tried she couldn’t force them back.
‘Stop crying,’ Frank Barrotti commanded, ‘it’s weak. Ella, shut up.’
Ella put a fist in her mouth like a stopper, but it only made her chest convulse.
‘Ella!’ He pounded forward and gave her shoulders a shake. ‘Accept it!’
‘But it can’t be true,’ Ella protested. ‘Why haven’t the police been round or anything like that?’
There was a moment, and then Barrotti sighed. He bent so that his eyes were on a level plane with hers, and his belly threatened to break free from his pyjama top. ‘Ella,’ he said, ‘it’s a government matter, that’s why. The government are sorting it out.’
Ella sniffled, though she’d finally suppressed the flow of tears. But inside her little heart was breaking. She was twisting strands of her platinum blonde hair around two fingers without even realising it.
‘For heaven’s sake, leave your hair alone.’ Her father gave a sigh. ‘Look, I know it’s hard to understand, but you need to try. These things just happen.’
Ella said nothing. She just let go of her hair and stared into her lap.
‘It was a terrible accident, Ella. A terrible accident. But it’s not the end of the world. Not yet.’ He spoke calmly now, and his face was back to its normal colour. It was still rather red, but that was normal for Frank Barrotti.
‘You and Mom were always arguing,’ Ella mumbled.
‘Adults argue.’
Ella bit her lower lip, and then wiped her eyes with a palm. I don’t need to ask what you were arguing about, she thought. That was obvious – your experiments. No one knew what you were doing, not even Mom. She wanted to know but you wouldn’t tell her. And now she’s dead…
Ella was brought back to her senses by her father’s withered brow. He was frowning so deeply his forehead looked like a piece of graph paper. And he was staring under her bed.
Ella felt her mouth go dry. Oh no… Trying to look as casual as possible, she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, hiding the object hidden under it from his view.
Barrotti simply cocked his head and peered around them. ‘What have you got under there?’
‘N… nothing, Father.’ Ella sniffed. ‘Just an old box of… oh, something or other.’
Barrotti was already reaching under the bed and dragging it out though.
‘No!’ Ella yelled, before she could stop herself. She dropped from the bed and put an arm around the box. ‘It’s just my diary. And you’re not allowed to look at that, are you?’ she tried to smile innocently, hoping her father would return the grin.
But Barrotti never smiled nowadays. Not properly, anyway. He stared coldly at her. And then he grabbed her arm and twisted.
Ella let out a cry and gritted her teeth. Her arm was prised away effortlessly. ‘Father, you’re hurting me…’
‘Stop struggling then.’ Barrotti opened the box up and stared inside. He let go of her arm, and Ella climbed back into bed, stomach sinking.
‘I only keep them because Mom gave them to me…’ Ella tried to say. Her arm was like fire. She tried to convince herself that her father hadn’t really meant to hurt her; he just didn’t know his own strength.
Barrotti was staring at her. ‘You call this nothing?’ he spat.
Oh dear, Ella thought. This was not going to go well.
‘Look at this…’ Barrotti spoke with disgust. He had picked up a little Buddha statue and was rotating it whimsically.
‘It’s Siddhattha Gotama…’ Ella said.
‘Don’t give me that - it’s Buddha, you silly girl. I’m not stupid.’
‘But Gotama was…’
‘Look at him, hair pulled up in a bun like a woman.’
‘Er… that’s supposed to be the shape of his head, father…’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’ Barrotti put the statue down, and then began riffling through a book he had retrieved. ‘The Bhagavad-Gita?’
‘Er… It’s about a battle that happened in India five thousand years ago,’ Ella said, and winced. She’d known he’d act like this if he ever found her stash of spiritual paraphernalia. He was a scientist, and he hated such things.
‘That woman driving the chariot – why is she blue?’ Barrotti asked.
‘It’s Krishna. And he’s a man, not a woman.’
He scoffed, and dropped the book back on the floor.
‘Father, the rest are just the same,’ Ella choked up. ‘Honestly – go back to bed…’
Barrotti wasn’t listening to her. He picked up another couple of books, snorted, and then dropped them on her carpet. ‘I can’t believe people would actually attempt to do a course in this, of all things. Miracles! In the twenty-first century! Useful doorstop though…’
‘Father, go back to bed…’
‘And what’s this? How can “now” have power? Ha!’
‘Father, you don’t need to look through it all…’ Ella tried to close the lid, but Barrotti was propping it up. Stop looking, Ella thought to herself. The last thing I want you to see is…
‘Ella…’
Oh dear…
Barrotti turned to look at his daughter, his face ashen like dying embers. A vein had begun to throb at his temple, and his mouth was curled into the most awful sneer. ‘How the hell have you got this?’ he grunted, lifting up the book: a compendium of Coptic translation. ‘Have you not listened to anything I’ve ever told you?’
‘They’re… they’re only the Gnostic ones, Father…’ Ella mumbled, edging away, wishing she had a protective shell to hide under.
‘What difference does that make?’
‘They… they weren’t even included, were they? And they’re supposed to be heretical… Remember?’ Ella had backed right into her bed again.
Her father was fuming, breathing heavily, and his gut was heaving like a bellows or some kind of wobbling mountain. ‘They are still Gospels,’ he hissed. ‘After all I’ve said, and you’ve been reading this, haven’t you? Haven’t you?’
Ella swallowed. ‘I’ve flicked through it.’
‘You stupid, stupid girl! It’s the same as the rest of them!’ He flicked randomly to a page, and then gesticulated in triumph. ‘Listen to this: “If those who lead you say ‘God’s Kingdom’s in Heaven,’ then birds will fly there first.” – what kind of rubbish is that?!’
‘You need to read the next…’
‘I can’t be doing with this. I’ve warned you Ella – God only knows I’ve warned you… And yes, I know it’s ironic for me to say, “God only knows” – but I don’t give a flying damn. I never want to see you reading this sort of thing again!’ He climbed to his feet like a bear, still clutching the book, and crossed the room in two strides. He turned at the threshold. ‘You’ll obey me if you know what’s good for you.’ And then he slammed the door and the whole room shook.
Ella sat stone still in the semi-gloom, heart pounding.
After a moment, the door to her room opened again and her father re-entered wearing the most ghastly smile. He was still clutching the book. ‘I was wrong,’ he mumbled. ‘Yes, I was wrong when I said I don’t want to see you reading this sort of thing. I meant that I do want to see you reading this sort of thing.’ He smiled, and placed the book very carefully on the table. ‘Yes. Read as much as you can. Don’t want you to lose interest at a time like this, do we? Ha ha.’
Ella blinked. For a second she thought she might be dreaming again.
Barrotti began to laugh openly now. He gestured to the still-open box. ‘Read the Buddha books too, if you want.’
‘They’re called the sutras. And I do.’
‘Good. Though I must tell you that most people choose only one religion.’ Barrotti grinned, showing his tiny teeth.
Ella gave a shrug. ‘Actually, most people don’t choose their religion at all. They’re spoon-fed the religion of their parents.’ She added, ‘You can only choose if you have a choice,’ and gestured to her own reading collection.
Barrotti nodded his head. ‘Hmm. Very good – well, keep at it. Oooh, he will be pleased.’ He had crossed back to the threshold. ‘Night,’ he said, and shut the door, leaving Ella alone in the gloom.
‘Night…’ Ella muttered. There was silence. She didn’t know what to think or do. Her face was red with tear-trails, and her eyes were still wet. It was all getting too much for her, to be honest. Her father was acting so strangely – his mood bounced like a bungee rope nowadays, and she didn’t know how to act around him. And her mother - her mother was dead, and no one was telling her anything…
She sat in silence for a long while. There is more to it than this, she said to herself. Something very weird is going on. Nothing makes sense.
She reclined back against her pillow again and sighed. Taking a deep, deliberate breath, she let her body go limp. Her breathing slowed into a gentle, mechanical rhythm and she listened intently, beginning to count each exhale. Ah, she thought.
The nightlight peeked at her through the gloom. The dual bulbs glowed a hazy gold, and she was instantly reminded of those eyes in her dream – those amber eyes that she’d never noticed before, but that watched her nether-the-less. But she was used to it – the feeling of being watched. Even as she drifted back to sleep, as the sun was rising and the horizon was bleeding with its rays, she could sense something.
Ella Barrotti often felt like she was being watched - through the trees or in the open fields, or even back in the house. But she just supposed she was being stupid – a funny feeling, nothing more. She didn’t realise that every minute of every day, something did have their eyes on her - watching, waiting patiently. Waiting for the day; the day her life would change forever. And they didn’t have to wait much longer.
Chapter Two
‘Are you going to eat that, or just stare at it?’
Ella blinked, and looked up.
Rosie Barter, her best friend, was staring at her from across the table. Her hair hung in patient raven curtains across both cheeks. One eyebrow was raised. ‘You were in your stare-at-nothing-in-particular mode.’
Ella smiled grimly, and looked down at her dinner tray. She often disappeared into dreamlike, meditative trances – totally without meaning too. Even when the dining hall was full of noisy school children like it was at this moment. She sighed. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t help it.’
Rosie laughed. ‘It’s okay. I am used to it. But you’ve hardly touched your rice pudding. Not that it actually is rice pudding – it’s a cheap alternative. Mostly sugar, to make it actually palatable, probably.’
Ella chuckled at her friend’s ramblings. Rosie Barter was the type of person who could tell you why the sky was blue, why diamonds shone and what the capitals of every country in Europe were. But she was also the type of person who could get lost in a shopping queue and cut herself on an over-crusty loaf of bread. Apparently, once she’d got pneumonia from eating an ice cream. Quite fittingly, she had actually learnt how to spell hypochondriac.
‘Not good,’ Rosie was saying. ‘Probably full of E numbers, too.’
Ella gave her a fitting look, her brow rising.
‘What?’ Rosie asked.
‘Nothing, I suppose. Serves me right for befriending the cleverest girl in school.’ Ella began stirring the porridge-like slop. Rosie was nodding opposite her. Eventually, Ella sighed. ‘Well, that’s school dinners for you. And I wasn’t just staring-at-nothing-in-particular.’
‘That’s what it looked like to me.’
‘No. I was… contemplating.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Rosie was looking past her towards the centre of the canteen. Her mouth screwed up in annoyance. ‘Contemplate this: Dominic’s coming over.’ Her nose twitched, as though she was beholding something unpleasant. In her defence, she was beholding something unpleasant: Dominic Howe, the bully of year 6; three foot tall with an ego the size of a house. ‘And he’s sneering at us,’ Rosie added.
Ella sighed. ‘Nothing new there then. Why doesn’t he just leave us alone?’ she said, loud enough that the boy could hear.
Dominic was laughing when he reached them. ‘Leave you alone? I couldn’t do that. I feel sorry for you both: everyone else leaves you alone, don’t they, so I’d feel bad if I did too.’ He flashed them a face-splitting grin. ‘What’s this? Ha! The loner table?’
Ella still had her back to him, and she didn’t turn around. She merely rolled her eyes.
‘By definition, two people sitting together cannot be loners,’ Rosie said matter-of-factly. ‘A loner is a person who is alone. Guess what – a lot like you are now.’
Dominic’s round little face lost its smile momentarily. He looked round, as if to confirm to himself that actually he was the only one on his own. ‘Well you two only sit together because no one else wants to be friends with you…’ he looked daggers at Rosie, ‘…A right teacher’s pet -’
‘Yes, cleverness is such an ailment.’ Rosie dragged on her inhaler.
‘- and a freak who just sits alone in silence.’ He prodded Ella in the back, hard. ‘Have you forgotten how to speak, freakazoid?’
Ella blinked. ‘Have you forgotten how to shut up?’
Dominic screwed up his face. ‘That doesn’t even make sense, you weirdo…’
‘You’re the one who tries to get rid of his own insecurities by putting other people down,’ Rosie interrupted, brow raised.
‘Yeah,’ Ella added. ‘And we feel sorry for you.’
Dominic scowled. ‘Who are you to talk to me like that, freakazoid?’ He tried to tip Ella’s tray into her lap, but she managed to trap it on the edge of the table. Her hand got covered in rice pudding, but at least her lap didn’t. She only had to brush the odd crumb and yellowing baby carrot off her skirt.
‘Oh yeah,’ Ella said, ‘really mature.’
‘Yeah, come back when your voice has broken,’ Rosie said, handing Ella a serviette. ‘You might not sound as stupid then.’
Dominic scowled, but he left without saying another word, rejoining his gang who had taken up the middle tables of the canteen.
Ella frowned, wiping her hand as she watched him. ‘He’s going to finish year 6 tomorrow and then he’ll be off to secondary school, and he still acts like a baby.’
‘I wonder how he did in his SATs?’
‘Well he won’t have got all 6s like you.’
Rosie chuckled. ‘I don’t know I’ve got that, I’m just guessing.’
‘It doesn’t matter, anyway,’ Ella said. ‘His daddy’s paying for him to go to a private school, so we won’t see him after tomorrow.’
Rosie grinned. ‘Can’t wait.’
Ella stood up. ‘Eh. I suppose he is a right pain. Poor kid.’ She eyed the mangled pudding. ‘Well I’m not going to eat this now. Coming?’
Rosie nodded, picking up her tray and following Ella towards the food bins. ‘Too much refined sugar. Of course, any refined sugar is too much, because we’re only supposed to eat unrefined sugar…’
They began waiting in line (yes, even the bins had a queue).
‘…But silly us went and extracted it all because it tastes good,’ Rosie was saying, ‘and that’s the problem. For instance, cats prefer the taste of protein…’
‘Rosie,’ Ella warned, scraping the leftovers away, ‘you’re doing it again.’
‘Yes, I know.’ She fell silent, stacking her dirty tray atop the others. ‘Can’t help it.’ A smile. ‘I’ll try to act as thick as you.’
Ella laughed as they began walking back to their seats. Then she stopped and pulled a face. ‘Or as him.’
Dominic smiled sweetly as he passed, though his eyes were cold and calculating. His gang followed him out, mouthing rude words as they went. They were obviously rude words, though they hadn’t exaggerated them enough and so no one could tell what they actually were. They just looked like silly ventriloquist dummies.
‘Wonder how that lot’ll get on without their leader,’ Ella said with a shake of her head. ‘Maybe they’ll actually make something of themselves.’
‘I sincerely doubt that.’
They picked up their bags and left the hall just as the bell rang for afternoon classes. Not that there really were classes anymore. They’d just completed the end-of-school tests the previous week, and now they had nothing to do except discuss excitedly (or apprehensively) what secondary school would be like.
Ella was neither looking forward nor dreading it. It’d be what it’d be, as she often said. That, at least, was true.
Spools of light filtered in through the roof wells in the entrance hall, bringing up the irregularities in the blue carpet: mud and spots of blackened chewing gum.
Masses of tiny children consumed the narrow, institutional corridors, some barely bigger than the rucksacks they carried.
Ella and Rosie reached their form room and lined up outside.
Dominic gave Ella another massive grin – bigger than usual.
She frowned. What has he done, she thought. That smile meant something, and not knowing what he had done was nearly as bad as finding out.
The class teacher, Miss Chance, was a tall, slender woman who seemed to tower over the children like a tree. Her hair was as black as Rosie’s, and her eyebrows were drawn on. She smiled at the class and let them in.
Ella sat down next to Rosie in her normal seat.
‘Alright, children,’ Miss Chance said, quietening the class. ‘It’s a free hour, so help yourself from the box. Or just chat.’
Voices rose up like a bubbling cauldron once more. Rosie turned to Ella, eyes alight. ‘Want to play chess?’ she said.
Ella winced. ‘But we already know who’s going to win.’
‘We don’t know I’m going to win,’ Rosie mused. ‘But I probably will.’ She took another drag on her inhaler.
‘I’m sure you’re not asthmatic,’ Ella said.
Rosie gave a shrug. ‘I’m probably not, but I don’t want to become asthmatic, do I?’
Ella laughed. ‘My dad says you’re mad.’
Rosie looked hard at her. ‘Your dad thinks everyone’s mad. Apart from him.’
‘Yeah,’ Ella muttered. ‘Except my dad actually is mad. He found the box under my bed last night and he went totally berserk. I thought he was going to throw it out the window.’
‘What happened?’
‘He took out one of the books and stormed out of my room. A minute later he came back in and gave it back to me.’
Rosie raised her eyebrows. There was silence for a moment. ‘And… your mom?’
Ella swallowed. It was hard to talk about, even to Rosie. She sighed. ‘Nobody’s told me anything. I asked my dad why nothing was happening about it, and he said the government was handling it. They’re keeping it quiet.’
Rosie pursed her lips sympathetically. ‘I’m so sorry, Ella.’
Ella nodded. Her eyes fell to the table. ‘I’d still rather you didn’t tell anyone.’
‘Of course…’ Rosie nodded. ‘Do you think the government are keeping it quiet because of what your parents were working on?’
Ella shrugged. ‘I don’t know what my parents were working on. And I certainly don’t know what my dad’s doing now.’
‘I don’t think even the IMS know that,’ Rosie said. ‘My dad says that they’re concerned.’
Ella felt her stomach lurch. ‘I’m concerned.’
The IMS – The Institute of Medical Sciences – was a government run organisation that pioneered new medical research. Frank Barrotti was its head scientist, and he had his own laboratory beneath the house. Tom Barter - Rosie’s father - was a psychotherapist, working for a different branch.
Tanya Barrotti, Ella’s mother, had worked beside her husband until her death. She had met Tom Barter at one of the social meets, learned that he and his family lived in the nearby village, and they’d all been friends every since. Well, almost all. Frank Barrotti didn’t seem to like the Barters. Nowadays, though, he didn’t seem to like anyone, including Ella, and his mood swings concerned her.
‘I’ll get the chess set,’ Rosie said, standing up.
Ella smiled as she left, and then put her head down. Talk about her father upset her. Just thinking about her father upset her. Something had happened to him; he was never this, this alien.
I wish Mom was here, she thought, her heart aching.
Someone had returned to her table, and Ella looked up. ‘That was quick,’ she tried to say. Instead, she merely stared.
Dominic stared back at her, smiling.
‘What do you want?’
‘Your bag heavier than normal, is it?’ he said as he passed. He had a glint in his eye.
Ella frowned, lifting her bag onto the tabletop. If didn’t feel particularly heavy, though it did seem a little bulky. What have you done, she thought, unzipping it.
She sighed at what she saw. ‘You idiot.’
Dominic’s dirty dinner tray was sitting atop the rest of her stuff, and had coated the sides of the bag with sauce.
So that’s what he had done. Lovely.
Rosie had returned to her seat, clutching a chessboard. She frowned. ‘Why have you got a dirty tray in your bag, Ella?’ she asked.
‘One guess,’ she hissed back.
‘Ha ha! Ella’s stolen a dirty tray from the dining hall!’ Dominic had watched her from his place, and was now pointing out her predicament with glee. ‘What do you want a dirty tray for, Ella? Saving some for later?’
‘I think you should take that back to the dining hall, don’t you?’ Miss Chance said, fake brow disappearing into her frown lines.
Ella nodded bluntly. She stood up, dragging the tray out of her bag.
‘Stealing dirty trays…’ Dominic laughed, walloping his knees as if he’d never seen anything funnier.
‘She may have a dirty tray in her bag,’ Rosie hissed at him, ‘but you’ve got a dirty rat in your clothes.’
Dominic’s eyes widened, and he began patting himself down.
‘I meant you, you idiot.’
‘Settle down, children, settle down,’ Miss Chance cooed.
Ella left the classroom and sighed. Dominic really did belong in the infants.
She retraced her steps back to the canteen. Mr Poole, her maths teacher, passed her in the corridor and said, ‘You’re late, Ella.’
She said that she knew, and that Miss Chance had sent her on an errand. She didn’t explain that the errand was to return a dirty dinner tray she’d found in her bag.
The dining hall was empty now, apart from the cleaners who were going from table to table, wiping them down.
‘Are you alright, deary?’ one of them asked.
Ella nodded. ‘I just came to return this.’ She held out the dirty tray, as if she’d borrowed it. As you do.
The cleaner frowned, but pointed off in the direction of the serving hatch. ‘Just drop it on there then.’
Ella crossed the hall, her shoes squeaking against the sticky floor. She put the tray on the serving hatch and peered through, but the kitchen was empty. It looked like it was empty, anyway.
She was about to turn away and leave when something halted her. She turned back, frowning. She had heard something. Was that whispering?
‘There she is!’
‘Ssh! You know what The Green Man said – she might hear us…’
‘She never has before; I only want to get a closer look…’
‘Will you stop pushing me? And be quiet; she’ll hear you.’
‘No she won’t, she…’
Ella peered over the counter. ‘Who’s there?’ she asked.
‘She can hear us…’
‘Be quiet!’
The sound seemed to be coming from the cutlery rack.
‘Oh my God, the spoons are talking to me,’ Ella mumbled. She tried to back away, but her legs were leaden with intrigue.
‘Stop leaning on me – I’m off balance…’
‘Shhhh!’
‘No really, I’m going to fall… Feather!’
There was a squeal, and the cutlery rack tumbled over, apparently of its own accord. Knives and forks flew out of their slots and danced across the floor. Ella jumped away from the serving hatch, heart pounding.
‘What’s going on?’
Ella spun to face the cleaner, who was now approaching. ‘They just fell off...’ Ella said. ‘I wasn’t anywhere near them…’
The cleaner peered through the hatch and sighed. ‘It must have been too near the edge of the worktop.’ She sighed. ‘No worry, you can just…’
Ella was already hurrying out of the dining room. When she reached the entrance hall, she shivered all over. That was too weird.
She returned to class, and sat down without saying a word. Dominic was smirking at her, though she ignored him. She could barely think straight, and she lost four games of chess on the trot.
‘Ella, I think you’re getting worse,’ Rosie said as she checkmated with a pawn.
I’ve got an excuse, she thought; I’ve just seen a stack of cutlery talk and then throw itself off the counter. I’m allowed to be distracted.
Ella tried to make sense of it all on the walk home. Rosie was busy trying to explain what an atom was, but she could tell something was wrong. Ella wasn’t even saying ‘yes,’ and ‘Oh, I see,’ at random times like she normally did. She was so occupied with her own thoughts she couldn’t even do that.
‘Ella, are you okay?’ Rosie asked eventually, just before the fork in the road.
Ella didn’t say anything, she just continued walking.
Rosie prodded her. ‘Ella! I’m talking to you!’
‘Sorry, what?’
‘I was just wondering whether you were alright.’
‘Oh.’ Ella looked back to the ground again. ‘Yes. I’m fine.’
‘Well, okay then. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ Rosie put a hand on her shoulder and halted her. ‘You live up there, by the way,’ she said, pointing off in the opposite direction.
Ella frowned. ‘Thanks, I was miles away. See you tomorrow.’ She crossed the grass and began walking down the correct lane towards her house.
She approached the front door, and was about to open it when it opened by itself. No – it didn’t open by itself; it was opened from the inside as soon as she reached for the handle.
A man in a suit appeared at the threshold and observed her coldly. He held a briefcase, and his tie had pictures of banknotes on it. He stepped past her, and then turned. ‘We’ll be in touch, Mr Barrotti,’ he said. ‘You can’t hide it away forever.’
Frank was standing in the lobby, grinning. ‘I won’t need to hide it away forever,’ he said. ‘It won’t be long now.’ His eyes flicked to his daughter. ‘You’re back then.’
Ella wiped her feet and stepped into the lobby. ‘Yes, Father.’
Barrotti nodded. ‘Well you’ll want to start the dinner soon. We’re having steak.’ He began to cross to the iron door that led down to his laboratory.
‘But Father, I’m a vegetarian,’ Ella protested.
Barrotti was punching numbers into a keypad. ‘Then you better find yourself something else, hadn’t you.’ He wrenched open the door and disappeared down into the darkness.
Ella sighed. ‘Yes Father.’ She turned to shut the front door, and was in time to see the suited man drive his black sports car off their drive. He looked at her as he passed, his expression neutral.
Who was that, I wonder, she asked herself. A member of the IMS, no doubt. He was asking about dad’s work. They ARE concerned after all.
She crossed the lobby and began to prepare tea. The kitchen was long and spacious. The worktops were ceramic, and the floor tiles were slabs of rose-coloured marble imported from the Amazon basin. It adjoined the dining room, which was huge, and sported a gigantic mahogany table. It even had a glass roof that looked out to the stars. Really it was just a way of making the neighbours envious. Except they didn’t have any – the Barrotti mansion was surrounded by woodland.
All this space is wasted, Ella thought.
Neither she nor her father ate there anymore – not since Tanya’s death. Barrotti would take his meal into his lab as usual. Ella would take hers into the kitchen and eat it at the breakfast bar. And this is what she did.
Afterwards she washed up and cleaned the kitchen. Then she went up to her room and began to read.
She was aware of the July sky darkening; her eyes began to strain to pick up words. She closed her curtains and got ready for bed. She didn’t see her father at all that night – he didn’t leave his laboratory until late.
But she heard him. It was nearly midnight, and she awoke in a cold sweat, her nightdress sticking to her. Those amber eyes were still with her, and she blinked them away.
At least I didn’t scream, she told herself.
She settled back against her pillow and prepared to face slumber again. Then she heard voices, just audible through the wall.
‘I don’t think I can do it, master – I really don’t!’ her father said.
Ella frowned. Master? Her father had just addressed someone as master? Who? Mr Peterson was his boss, though he would never call him master. Most of the time, Barrotti acted as though he ran the IMS.
‘You must do what you must.’
Ella heard the voice, and her blood ran cold. Someone else was in the house.
Barrotti was almost weeping now, and his words were lost.
‘Control yourself,’ the voice scorned. ‘If this is to work you need to have a clear head. And you need to put all doubt from your mind.’
‘But…’
‘This must happen.’ The voice said. ‘It’s the only way we’ll survive.’
Chapter Three
Meandering breezes toured the village school grounds. It was lunchtime, and Ella and Rosie were sitting on the sloping banks of the field, looking back at the school buildings. The playground before them was full of excited kids; it was the last day before the summer holidays.
‘I’ll be sad to leave this place,’ Ella said. ‘Well, some things I won’t miss. Or someone in particular.’ She began to thread a daisy chain, and then realised there weren’t enough daisies so she gave up.
‘It’ll be strange though,’ Rosie said from her side. ‘Secondary schools are so big and scary. And the school day is longer, too.’
‘Only by ten minutes.’
Rosie thought for a moment. ‘Yeah, but that’s 2.5% of the school day.’
‘Oh, shut up clever clogs.’
Rosie reclined on the grass and allowed the beating sun to warm her. Finally, she said, ‘Want to play hide and seek?’
Ella looked down at her. ‘Hide and seek?’
‘Sure! You love it – what with your “at-one-with-nature” philosophy. And we haven’t played it out here for ages. Go and meditate, or whatever.’
‘But you cheat. You lock yourself in a bathroom cubicle or something, and although I know you’re in there I can’t actually prove it.’
Rosie laughed.
‘It’s not funny, it’s annoying.’
‘Okay, fine. You hide first,’ Rosie said. ‘But don’t be so predictable. You always hide up that one tree,’ she pointed in the direction of a withered old oak, ‘just because its branches are close enough to the ground for you to climb it.’
Ella nearly denied it, and then realised it was true. ‘Fine.’
‘Good.’
‘And don’t you go on about triangulation, or whatever it is you say. It puts me off.’
Rosie laughed again, and closed her eyes. ‘One… two… - I’m counting – three…’
Ella leapt to her feet and began ploughing towards the trees; this time she was going to climb a different tree. But then she stopped. Frozen. She had seen something out of the corner of her eye. Well, the corner of her eye was always seeing things, but this was different. She turned to her left, where the wood struggled up out of the long grass. The tall, sky-groping trees were rinsed in shadow. A tangled tunnel of bushes ran along the length, a couple of feet high. Everything looked like it should have looked. But she had seen something - she was sure of it…
Ella took a couple of curious steps towards the wood, and then she took a couple more. She stopped, and winced. She did have an over-active imagination, that was true, but this was more than that. The wind had stopped to watch her. She could hear Rosie Barter’s voice, faint in the background: ‘forty-one… forty-two…’ Ella was about to turn and hurry away again, when… (!) What on God’s green earth was that?!
Bobbing along the hedgerow, just visible above the foliage, was what looked like an upside down 99 ice cream. Except it was green, and almost blended in perfectly with the vegetation. Ella let her mouth fall open (because she was surprised, not because she thought it was an ice cream and wanted to eat it).
The green, bobbing, blodge-and-cone reached the end of the hedgerow. A body appeared from behind the foliage – strolling happily – with the upside down ice cream on its shoulders. It took Ella a moment to realise that the upside down ice cream was actually a head wearing a very pointy hat.
‘Oh my…’ Ella muttered.
It was a little man – smaller than her! Ella had to take a moment to realise that this little man was actually a green little man, which made things a little stranger. And it was his actual skin that was green, or so it appeared – soft and light, like an under-ripe banana. And his clothes – his pointy hat and dungarees – were green too. But they were a deeper olive, and could be seen against his flesh. It started whistling merrily.
Ella just stared at it as it began to wade deeper into the wood. She rubbed her eyes, hoping it’d disappear. But it didn’t. It just strolled deeper into the trees.
‘Forty-nine… Fifty!’ came Rosie Barter’s distant call. ‘Coming, ready or n…’ She drifted off mid sentence. ‘Ella!’ she yelled, ‘I can see you.’
Ella didn’t seem to hear. Her brain was busy trying to make sense of this situation. In the end it settled with, follow the strange thing! Now then, if you recall, it was Ella’s brain that had told her to follow the stream into that cave – and look where that had got her. But brains do tend to have the final word over situations like this. So, duly, Ella began to follow the strange thing. And she did it at quite a speed.
‘Ella, it’s too late!’ Rosie called from the top of the bank. ‘I’ve seen you! Oy! Where are you going? I’ve seen you!’
You wait until you see what I’VE seen, Ella thought.
She ploughed into the wooded thicket, not even giving Rosie a sideways glance. The trees’ straggling limbs clawed at her, and the temperature dunked.
For a moment, Ella thought she’d lost the little creature. And then, thankfully, she heard his whistling again. It was a very high whistle - probably high enough to break glass. Ella followed it, the shrill sound beginning to give her a headache. God help anyone who has to listen to that for long periods, she said to herself. It sounded like he’d been trained by a dog whistle.
And then she saw him again. He was in a clearing, bending over to pick up a few fallen apples. He tried to juggle with them, oblivious to Ella’s approach, still whistling like a boiling kettle.
Ella edged a little closer, her mouth agape. She began to twiddle the ends of her hair. She tended to do that when she was nervous.
The little creature dropped one of the apples on his foot. He yelled, brought his leg up sharply and kneed himself in the head. He yelled again and toppled backwards onto the ground, writhing about.
And then he stopped and looked up sharply.
There was a moment’s silence. Ella stared at the creature. The creature stared back.
‘Uuh…’ said the little man.
‘Flippin’ hell,’ said Ella.
He seemed quite horrified, and tried to edge into the foliage. Ella’s eyes followed him, which seemed to make him even more distressed. He gave a sort of squeal.
Ella managed to work her jaw. ‘What in the world are you?’
This was quite a derogatory question. The creature squealed again, leapt on the ground and tried to hide under his hat. ‘Don’t look at me!’ he yelled.
What a funny thing to say, Ella thought. If you’re a strange little creature and don’t want people to look at you, you’re not actually supposed to say ‘don’t look at me’. Try to disappear into the undergrowth, by all means. Even stay completely still and pretend to be a hallucination. But saying ‘don’t look at me’ is probably the only way of making doubly sure that everyone looks at you.
So, after he’d said these words, Ella looked even harder instead. ‘Oh my God,’ she muttered. ‘Oh my God…’
The creature was quivering. He slowly lifted up his head, and looked at her. His eyes were big and green like cooking apples. ‘She can see me…’ he mumbled.
Ella had lost the ability to do, well, everything. But she could see him, and she made it rather obvious.
Suddenly, the little green creature bounded to his feet and bellowed, ‘You’re dreaming, Ella Barrotti. This is all a dream…’ He waved his hands about in a manner he deemed most manipulative. ‘I’m not really a nymph, and you’re not really Ella Barrotti – no, blast – you are Ella Barrotti, but I’m not really a nymph. And you can’t really see me.’ He waved his arms a little more. ‘I am a figment of your imagination…’
‘Ella! Ella!!! What are you doing?’ The tense atmosphere was shaken like a rap of angry thunder.
Ella jumped, startled. She spun round, and saw Rosie Barter marching impatiently through the trees towards her.
‘Why did you come here?’ Rosie demanded. ‘Didn’t you hear me? And we’re not supposed to be this deep, we’ll get into trouble.’
‘Rosie, shush – look…’ Ella pulled her friend roughly into the clearing. There was silence for a moment. Slowly, anticipation began to trickle away.
‘What am I supposed to be looking at?’
Ella blinked. ‘No… Rosie, there was something here – a little creature!’ She took a couple of tentative steps, scouring every tangled inch. ‘No… it was here – a strange, little green man!’ But there was nothing – not even his pointy hat.
Rosie looked at her very hard. ‘Ella, this is stupid.’
‘No – Rosie – there was, I swear! You must have seen him before you called me?’
Rosie put her hands on her hips. She raised her eyebrows quite deliberately. ‘Yeah, El, and I’m a silver-backed gorilla.’
Ella frowned. ‘Rosie, please believe me. It even knew my name!’
Rosie just looked at her incredulously. Eventually she said, ‘Fine. What did this “little green man” say to you?’
Ella swallowed. ‘Well, it actually said it was a hallucination and that I was dreaming – but I could tell he was making it up. He obviously wasn’t supposed to let me see him… or something.’
Rosie actually looked concerned. ‘El, I think this whole situation has affected you very badly. Maybe you should speak to my dad…’
‘I don’t need a therapist!’ Ella yelled.
‘That’s what all nutters say…’
‘Rosie, I’m not crazy!’ Ella yelled crazily.
‘I know you’re not, I know you’re not.’ Rosie put a hand on her shoulder. ‘But I still think you could do with talking to somebody.’
Ella’s expression had turned deadly serious. ‘Rosie,’ she muttered, ‘I can’t explain it - but I know what I saw. It was a little, green, man.’
And then one of the trees began to laugh. Well, that’s what Ella thought for the briefest moment, anyway. And then Dominic Howe appeared from behind it, and the girl’s stomach sank.
‘A little green man?’ Dominic laughed. He slapped his knees, it was so funny. ‘No really – you saw it?’
Ella went red. She looked at Rosie, who was frowning at her.
I sound crazy, she said to herself. Perhaps I am. ‘I was only joking.’ She tried to shrug her outburst off as a prank, though felt sick to her stomach.
‘I can’t wait to tell everyone about this,’ Dominic said. ‘I think you’ve excelled yourself, freakazoid!’ He began running through the trees, as though he’d stolen some piece of vital information that could be extracted if he was caught.
Ella groaned and sat down among the trees.
‘Are you okay?’ Rosie asked.
Her friend managed to nod.
‘You were joking then?’
Ella tried to smile. ‘I suppose.’
‘Except you didn’t seem to be joking when you were telling me about it. You seemed really serious.’
Ella said nothing.
‘You didn’t mistake Dominic for a little green man?’
Ella laughed. ‘Well, he is little.’
Rosie smiled. ‘And you’re feeling alright? You’ve been through a lot, Ella, what with nearly drowning, and your mom, and your dad going crazy?’
Ella merely looked at the grass. The bell rang for afternoon classes, and she stood up. ‘Come on. We’ll be late.’
They didn’t say a word as they crossed the playground and re entered the school buildings. Rosie looked at her at intermittent intervals, however, and it made Ella feel terrible.
Was she ill? Quite probably. Spending your days with an eccentric father and your nights drowning in a cave would have an effect on anyone. And not a positive one, she supposed.
The last lesson of the day was science, with the head teacher. Mrs Peacock was a formidable looking woman. She was very large, and there was a rumour that she actually ate naughty children. She had probably started the rumour, to try and keep everyone in line. She wore the tiniest pair of glasses, and her eyes roamed so that it was as though she was looking at you constantly. Having said that, she was a very warm and kind woman, if you were good.
Most of the class were already settling into their seats, nattering excitedly.
Dominic waited for Rosie and Ella to sit down, before raising his hand.
‘Mrs Peacock? Ella said there was a man hiding in the wood.’
Ella groaned.
The head teacher’s eyes widened, and she took a couple of steps forward. ‘What did you say?’
Dominic repeated himself. ‘Ella said she saw a man in the forest. She saw him.’
Mrs Peacock looked at Ella, who felt her face redden. ‘Er… I was mistaken,’ she said quickly. ‘I thought I saw one, but…’
‘Now, you must be very clear,’ the headmistress insisted. ‘Was there anyone in the wood? Anyone at all near the school?’
Ella shook her head.
‘Are you positive? We can’t have strange men roaming the school grounds.’
‘I’m sure,’ Ella nodded, hoping that’d be the end of it.
Of course, Dominic wasn’t going to let it be the end of it. ‘Didn’t you say that the man was very little? And green?’
Some of the class giggled.
Mrs Peacock pursed her lips. ‘Ella?’
‘I… was only joking…’ The girl looked at the table, going bright purple.
‘Now, I don’t want you spreading fairy tales like this and frightening everyone.’
Oh yeah, because Dominic looks really frightened, Ella said to herself.
‘It’s very serious. It happened to a neighbouring school just last year, and they had to put special keypads on the doors. Do you understand that jokes like that aren’t very funny?’ Mrs Peacock gave her a disapproving stare.
Ella nodded her head. ‘Sorry, Mrs Peacock.’
‘Good. Well, we’ll have no more said about it. I know you’re excited that it’s your last day, but that’s no excuse for silliness, is it?’
‘No, Mrs Peacock.’
‘No, well I don’t expect it from you.’ Thankfully, she then looked up to address the class. ‘Okay everyone, it’s your last lesson at this school so we’re going to have some fun…’
They were still out in the playground taking photographs when the bell rang for afternoon registration. Mrs Peacock ushered everyone inside to collect their coats and bags from the cloakroom.
‘Have a nice summer, year 6s, and good luck for next year,’ she said.
Ella crossed into the empty classroom to pick up her bag. Behind her, the cloakroom was full of excited voices.
It’s over, she said to herself. I hope the summer’s going to be better than I imagine though. It would certainly be different.
She was about to turn back and head for Miss Chance’s classroom when something caught her eye. A faint golden glow seemed to be coming from inside Mrs Peacock’s darkened stock cupboard. Ella took a step towards it, and the bronze orb vanished behind a stack of books. Ella was sure she’d heard a gasp as it did so.
What on earth?
The girl walked up to the cupboard and peered inside. She could make out the golden tinge between the books. And then she heard something:
‘Oh she saw me… no no – go away…’
Ella was on autopilot now. She felt for the light switch on the outside wall, and clicked it on. There was another gasp as the hanging light bulb flickered to life, illuminating the stock cupboard.
Without thinking whether it was a good idea, Ella walked into the stock cupboard and began peering around the bookshelves. ‘Hello?’ she inquired, knowing how stupid she sounded.
There was no reply. But had she really expected one?
I think I am ill, she said to herself, deciding she must have imagined it. She’d imagined the golden glow, and the voices, and the cutlery in the kitchen and the juggling nymph.
There was a sound behind her, and she spun to face it. Dominic shot her a very toothy grin, before shutting the door in her face. She jumped towards it and jiggled the handle: he had locked it! The stupid, slimy, immature little…
The light went off, and the darkness was complete.
Ella felt her heart travel up to her mouth. ‘Dominic!’ she yelled, ‘Turn the light back on!’ She jiggled the handle again, felt her skin prickle and her temperature soar. The darkness was weighty, and it crushed her from every angle – her lungs struggled and she went light headed. Blackness infiltrated her very essence; consumed her consciousness and threatened to tear it from her.
She hammered on the door and screamed at the top of her voice. It was as though the fire of darkness had been lit in her very soul and was consuming her slowly, definitely.
She was screaming for ten seconds at the most, but it felt like an hour. Or ten hours. Time had stopped; darkness was the only reality.
When the door opened, she was forcing back sobs. Rosie was at the threshold, her backdrop illuminated with summer afternoon light. Ella hugged her in relief.
‘What are you doing in there? I thought you were scared of the dark,’ Rosie said, as if Ella had purposefully locked herself in.
‘Dominic locked me in,’ she hissed.
And Dominic was now pointing at them from the cloakroom, Mrs Peacock at his side. The headmistress was glowering at them.
‘You little snitch…’ Rosie muttered.
‘What are you two doing in my stock cupboard?’ Mrs Peacock asked, hands placed on her hips like a double-handled mug. ‘No one is allowed in there, and you know it.’
Dominic smirked at them gleefully.
‘Sorry,’ Ella said, quickly. ‘I thought I saw something in there…’
‘What? Another green man?’ The head teacher’s eyes were cold. She looked at Dominic. ‘Okay, you can go to registration now. And you can tell Mrs Chance why these two’ll be late.’
Dominic looked like Christmas had come early. He practically skipped away.
Ella felt slightly sick. ‘Mrs Peacock, Rosie didn’t do anything – I was the one who went inside…’
‘That may be so.’ The headmistress pursed her lips. And then she sighed. ‘It isn’t like you to be disruptive, Ella. Not like you at all.’
‘I know, I didn’t mean to be. I’m sorry.’
‘Are you alright?’ Mrs Peacock had frowned. ‘You’ve always been quiet, but these last few weeks you’ve seemed to be a little… a little…’
‘Yes, Mrs Peacock.’ Ella lowered her eyes. ‘I understand.’
Rosie was standing idly nearby, hoping to God that they weren’t going to get expelled on their last day.
‘Is there anything you want to tell me?’ Mrs Peacock asked, a touch of concern in her voice. ‘Anything at all?’
No, Ella thought. Hardly. ‘No.’
‘Alright. Well, off you go. I hope you have a good summer. Perhaps you’ll both come back and visit sometime.’
Ella and Rosie both nodded. ‘Yes, Mrs Peacock.’
‘Thank you, Mrs Peacock.’
They walked in silence to registration, and only spoke in order to apologise to Miss Chance for being late.
‘Yes, I was told to expect it,’ she said.
Dominic laughed at them, and this was how they’d remember him: sneering cruelly.
When the bell rang, Ella didn’t feel like cheering with the others.
What’s wrong with me, she thought. I shouldn’t be hallucinating; people will start to think I’m on drugs. She couldn’t imagine how she’d cope with Dominic spreading such rumours. And then she realised that she wouldn’t have to – he was going to another school. She wouldn’t have to see him ever again, hopefully.
Rosie tried to talk normally on the way home, though it was obvious something was bothering her. She kept shooting Ella strange, concerned looks, and asking her if she was okay.
When they finally split, Ella’s head was aching. She crossed over into the Barrotti Estate and followed the winding path towards the house.
The sun was a golden orb, floating within a blue lagoon. A couple of clouds scarred the distant horizon, but all else was clear.
She pushed open the front door and wandered into the lobby. The rose marble floor was slightly stippled with glare through the full-length windows, though her eyes were too glazed to notice. Her ears were functioning perfectly though, so the babble of discontented voices quickly grabbed her attention.
A dozen scientists (probably the entire contingent of Barrotti Enterprises) were gathered around the foot of the stairs, bickering. At the top, looking down at them from the landing, was Frank Barrotti. He was smiling at their protests.
‘You can’t do this!’ one of the scientists shouted.
‘I think you’ll find I can,’ Barrotti replied. He’d obviously just delivered one of his motivating team talks.
‘We only want to know what you’re doing!’ another man yelled. ‘You shut yourself away in your own private lab for hours at a time! You’re supposed to be working on the cure with us!’
‘Ah,’ Barrotti batted the suggestion aside. ‘Haven’t you all figured it out yet? That’s not what Barrotti Enterprises is doing anymore.’
‘But…’
‘No buts! Like I’ve already said a dozen times – you are all fired. Now get out of my house, you load of delinquent Einstein wannabes.’
The scientists in the lobby gasped and protested, and then began moving towards the door in one mass. A couple managed to air, ‘You’re insane, Frank!’ and, ‘Wait ‘til Mr Peterson hears about this!’ above the general grumble. Ella found herself hurrying away to one side.
The only thing Barrotti shouted back was, ‘Not you, Dr Palmer!’
A black scientist, who was narrowly approaching sixty, stopped walking and turned his head. His hair was thin on top, and his beard was a grey tuft like whirls of sugar. ‘What do you mean, Mr Barrotti?’
‘Those who were working on the cure are the only ones no longer welcome here. That is everyone apart from you.’ Barrotti dismissed the rest of the throng with a sweep of his hand, and they turned and burst out of the house, muttering to themselves quietly, or to others rather more loudly.
One scientist hung at the back of the queue. He gave a reproachful look and said, ‘Be careful, Palmer.’
‘Out you go, Goldschmidt,’ Barrotti said, shooing him away. ‘Out! There you go.’
Soon, Dr Palmer was the only scientist left. Ella was still hovering beside the front door, not knowing what to do.
Dr Palmer clenched his fists. ‘No one’s happy, Frank! They only want to know what you’re doing!’
‘Well I don’t have to worry about that anymore. They no longer work for me. You on the other hand are still of use.’
Dr Palmer spluttered. ‘What do you expect me to say? I want to know what it is you’re doing as much as anyone else does. You can’t keep me in the dark like this!’
Barrotti strolled nonchalantly down the stairs. ‘I can keep you wherever I want. And that’s because I pay you.’
‘But…’
Barrotti smiled. ‘And I’m paying you to finish your work on Atom degradation.’
There was a pause. Both men were scowling at each other, as if trying to mentally fry the other’s retina.
‘Just do as I say, Dr Palmer,’ Barrotti snarled, turning beetroot. ‘I’ve given you everything you ever wanted! So finish what you started.’
The scientist pursed his lips, and a vein on his temple began to throb. He said through gritted teeth, ‘I have finished. Yesterday. My research is complete.’
Barrotti lost his beetroot hue remarkably quickly. ‘And it worked?!’
‘Yes.’
He almost rubbed his hands together in delight. ‘Marvellous!’
‘I don’t need your money or your facilities anymore.’ Dr Palmer hadn’t blinked for a long time, and he growled more than spoke.
‘Well, what are we waiting for?’ Barrotti asked. ‘Bring up the disc with all your workings and we can celebrate!’
Slowly, Dr Palmer shook his head. ‘I’m afraid not, Frank. The disc stays with me.’
Barrotti’s jubilant expression slipped off his face like water. ‘What the hell do you mean?!’
‘I’ve seen some of your files, Frank. So has Goldschmidt. Don’t try and deny it – we’ve seen what you’re trying to do.’
Barrotti stared at the scientist.
Dr Palmer’s expression finally broke into a disbelief-horror cross. ‘You’re insane, Frank…’ he muttered. ‘You really are. How can you even think of trying something like this? Oh, I’ve always known you had a mad-streak in you – most geniuses have – but doing something like this?’
Barrotti was looking at Dr Palmer like a snake watching prey. ‘I want what I’ve paid for,’ he said.
‘So call the police!’ Dr Palmer laughed. He turned to leave.
‘The repercussions for you will be far worse than a visit from the police, Doctor.’
Palmer turned back around. ‘Are you threatening me, Frank?’
‘Give me the disc.’
Dr Palmer’s lower lip curled. ‘Not a chance. You’ve gone too far this time - the IMS won’t pardon you. We all know why you turned your back on Yahweh – and it must have been terrible for you. But it doesn’t warrant something like this!’
Barrotti’s expression crumpled like a panting hog. ‘How dare you try and tell me what it warrants. I grew up with them my entire life; the backward, sexist homophobes – thinking everyone else had to be saved, or condemning them to hell…’
‘They’re not proper Christians, Frank…’
‘Don’t give me that. They ruined my life, Palmer! All in His name!’ Barrotti was fuming. Ella wouldn’t have been surprised to see little wafts of steam emanating from each ear. ‘Give me the disk,’ he repeated.
Dr Palmer shook his head. ‘I’m sorry, Frank, I really am. But you’ve gone too far. I’m out of here.’ And he turned around and hurried out of the front door.
Barrotti watched after him, welting with rage. His face had almost passed the beetroot stage and gone on to plum. ‘He’s a problem, isn’t he. Oh yes – he doesn’t understand…’ He was whispering to himself, almost inaudibly. ‘But we’ll make him understand, won’t we, master.’ A pause. ‘Master?’ He looked round as if searching for someone, confused. Slowly, his eyes rested on Ella. ‘What are you doing here?’
Ella looked up. Her father was standing on the landing outside his office door, scowling at her. ‘I… I live here,’ she said.
‘Don’t be smart with me. Where have you been?’
‘School,’ Ella said. You know, I’ve been going since I was four. ‘I’ve just finished for the summer.’ She began to trudge up the stairs.
‘What did you hear?’
‘N… Nothing… I mean, I saw you send the scientists home, but that’s got nothing to do with me.’
Barrotti frowned at her, but said nothing. He turned to go back into his office.
Suddenly, Ella raised her head. ‘Father?’
Barrotti rolled his eyes, hanging across the threshold of his office, looking ready to slam the door any moment. ‘Well? What do you want? Hurry up and speak, girl.’
‘It’s just that…’ Ella tried to frame her words carefully. ‘I saw something today, and I don’t know how to explain it…’ She looked up at him. ‘Something that… that might not have really been there…’
Barrotti looked hard at her.
She continued, beginning to twiddle her hair. ‘I mean, I just…’
‘Stop playing with your hair, Ella.’
‘Sorry… it’s just that I’ve noticed, er, you acting strangely too.’ She looked up at her father. Barrotti blinked and swallowed at the same time. She looked down again. ‘I don’t know – Mom’s death was a massive shock…’
‘What is it that you’re saying?’ Barrotti hissed. The little vein on his temple was pulsing again. He gripped his daughter’s arm like a vice. Ella gritted her teeth. ‘You are the strange one, my girl. It’s Tanya’s fault,’ he muttered. ‘Encouraging you to read all that namby-pamby spirit rubbish. I told her a million times, and I’ve told you a million times. But do you listen?’ He let go of her arm and pointed to her room. ‘Get out of my sight. You sicken him and you sicken me.’ And then he strode away.
For a moment Ella just stood on the landing in shock. And then she felt the tears beginning to spill down her face, and she couldn’t halt them. Nor did she try.
* * *
Scrub ran breathlessly into the Heart of the Earth yelling. ‘Where’s The Green Man?! I must speak to Shakya!’ He grabbed the first nymph he passed by his dungaree straps. ‘Have you seen him? Shakya? Have you seen him!?’
‘Well yes, of course I have.’
‘Where is he?’
‘I don’t know.’
Scrub frowned. ‘But you just said you’d seen him!’
‘I have. Many times. But not lately.’
Scrub gritted his teeth. ‘Grruuh!’
‘Please let go.’
‘I’m here, I’m here.’ The Green Man waddled out from one of the corridors. ‘Been down the Yangtze – you should see some of the vegetation… as big as a house!’
Scrub let go of the other nymph and bounded over to him.
Shakya frowned. ‘What on earth’s happened, Scrub?’
‘It. It’s happened!’ he gasped. ‘It’s happened! It’s begun.’
The Green Man paused. ‘Do you mean…’
‘Yes! She saw me! She spoke to me – sort of. I didn’t know what to do so I pretended to be a dream and then I ran away. But she definitely saw me.’
The Green Man pondered, and then he sighed. ‘So it’s really going to happen. The day of reckoning is upon us all. I need to speak with her.’
‘What should we do?’
‘I’m not sure. But we better do it fast – we don’t have much time.’
Chapter Four
Moonlight painted a silver patchwork on the walls and floor, trickling in through the roof lights. The assassin was a shadow in the darkness. He moved silently like ether, across the landing, gently slid the bedroom door open.
‘You know what you have to do.’
The assassin heard the voice of his master – he often heard the voice of his master these days. And he knew exactly what he needed to do. ‘You can count on me,’ he whispered. He uttered the words only to himself, but he knew his master heard.
‘I am counting on you. The whole Realm is counting on you.’
The assassin nodded. He understood.
Dr Palmer lay asleep, wrapped in his bed covers. The curtains billowed gently against the partially open window. His laptop lay open on a cluttered desk, surrounded by books and papers, a large model of an atom, a bible and a large wooden crucifix.
The voice spoke again. ‘Do what you must,’ it said.
‘Yes, master.’ In a flash, the assassin had dragged Dr Palmer out of bed and left him lying against one wall.
The scientist woke, scrabbling frantically, not sure where he was or what was going on. The sheets caught about his legs as he tried to stand, and he crumpled again. ‘What the devil?’ His eyes settled on the assassin standing over him.
‘Hello, Doctor.’
Palmer had awoken in a nightmare. ‘What are you doing in my house?!’ he asked, eyes wide and reflecting moonshine. ‘Get out of here!’
‘I’ve come to take what doesn’t belong to you. As you wouldn’t give it willingly.’
Palmer shook his head. ‘No! You can’t have it!’
‘But the experiment can’t be completed without it.’
‘I know what the experiment is! And it destroys the very essence of mankind! You cannot have it!’
The assassin smiled, and then held out his hand. ‘I shall not ask you again.’
Dr Palmer turned a tomato red. ‘You’ll burn in the deepest crevice of hell…’
The assassin was unmoved. His master talked to him. ‘Kill the believer.’
‘This is your last chance,’ the assassin said.
‘It’ll destroy us all!’ Dr Palmer cried, cowering as far away as his arching back would allow. ‘I’m not going to let you take it!’
‘Kill the believer!’ the voice demanded again.
The assassin sighed. ‘Give me the disc. Now.’
Dr Palmer growled like a wolf, rabid with hate. ‘Over my dead body.’
The assassin smiled. ‘I was hoping you were going to say that.’
* * *
A pastel haze lined the distant moors with glare. It was the next morning, and Ella had almost convinced herself that the previous day’s events had been some kind of delusion. Little green men didn’t exist! Not on Earth anyway. The thing had even said he was a figment of her imagination. It was only the cave troubling her mind now - that dark, dark cave and the water, bubbling up to clog her lungs – and those eyes, glowing amber…
Her nightdress was clammy with perspiration. She climbed from her bed and drew back the curtains. The sun had risen above the tallest hill, topping it in rusty gold. The smell of fir and bracken wafted in through the partial window opening. It was an early Saturday morning.
She dressed and washed, and then crept out onto the landing. All was quiet. Barrotti’s bedroom and office lay adjacent to each other, and Ella had to pass them both to get to her own room at the end of the landing. It was as if he had designed them purposefully so he could hear her passing no matter where he was and come out and shout at her.
He was in his office - Ella could hear him from the landing – quite clearly. He was whining and hysterical.
‘Please don’t make me,’ he garbled, ‘Please!’
And then another voice spoke – a male voice - quite gruff, though calmingly mellow at the same time. Ella thought she recognised it from somewhere. ‘You must do as I say, Frank Barrotti,’ it said.
Ella was intrigued. It’s the same voice that I heard the previous night, she said to herself.
‘Please,’ Barrotti continued, with a sort of whine. Ella had never associated her father with such expression. ‘Don’t make me do this, master…’
He’d called him his master again.
‘It must be done, Frank Barrotti,’ the voice replied. ‘The day is near. Too near.’
Ella couldn’t decide whether the man was in the room, or whether her father was speaking with the telephone on speaker. What can’t my father do? she wondered. He’d always prided himself on his ability to do anything – he was always so controlled, being a superman and all. She’d never heard him this upset. Didn’t know he was capable, to tell the truth. But who was this master?
Ella frowned, and then hurried down the stairs as quietly as she could. But at least Dad wasn’t talking to himself, Ella thought. I definitely heard someone else talking with him – unless I’m hearing the same imaginary voices as he is! Ha ha.
She descended the stairs and crossed the lobby, stopping only for a second to put on her trainers, and then broke out into the sunshine. There were a couple of clouds; bobbing like lost ships on an open sea, though the day was still splendid and warm.
With the vigour of childhood, she crossed the fields, plunging deep into the wood that circled the estate. She was cooler in the shadow. The trees stood tall like soldiers in ranks, surrounding her, and a trickle of broken leaves fluttered down from the canopy high above.
She only stopped when she reached the stream, breathlessly, feeling the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She looked to her right upstream, where the creek flowed down from the rainy hills. She had followed it once, looking for the source, almost all the way – right into the darkest depths of that cave…
She shivered at the thought, and quickly turned her back on that direction, looking left along with the current. A couple of leaves were scooting along with the flow like flayed canoes.
Finally, she stopped. Chest heaving, she leant back against a tree trunk and put her hands to her face. Her mind had stretched back to yesterday, and as much as she wanted to, she couldn’t ignore it. She had seen things that weren’t there. And it frightened her. ‘What’s the matter with me?’ she cried. ‘I don’t understand…’
She’d come to a large lake, and the sun was trickling its silvery rays over the surface, the surrounding trees bowed down so their leaves could taste the water. For a moment Ella simply stared at it absently. And then her eyes widened in shock.
A little boy had fallen into the water! He was splashing about, spluttering and screaming, ‘Help me!’ over and over again. His head bobbed under a couple of times.
Without thinking, Ella sprinted round the lakeside and finally waded in. ‘Hold on!’ she shouted, adrenaline now dictating over rationality. She was quite a strong swimmer – especially at backstroke, which everyone seemed to find hilarious for some reason. But she’d slowly gone off swimming. You had to get wet, for a start. And when you did backstroke you couldn’t see where you were going, and it was never a flailing arm that touched the pool wall first. No, you invariably smacked your head right into it. Funny that.
So she opted for front crawl. Despite its name, you could really go quite fast when crawling. Probably not faster than butterfly, but that was a stupid stroke anyway. It was faster than backstroke at least, and you could actually see where you were going too, which was always a bonus. The lake water didn’t taste particularly nice, but she supposed it wasn’t supposed to.
‘Help me! Help me!’ the little boy was crying, disfigured with foam. He’d gingerly drifted around to look in the opposite direction. Ella could only see the back of his head, sleek and dark with water, bobbing in the froth.
The water was freezing, but Ella didn’t notice until she was already in and swimming. The initial shock must have numbed everything. She panted as she swam, each stroke pulling her closer. The boy was quite fat; she noticed his large shape in the water, and he was rapidly running out of energy. Try flapping in the direction of the shore, she said to herself.
Finally, after what seemed like an age, Ella Barrotti reached the drowning boy. Her heart was pounding, and her breathing ripped sharp pains through her chest. She grabbed for his shoulders and yanked him round. She screamed. The tubby little boy was as green as a frog, and he had on his head a soggy, dark-olive hat.
‘Ella Barrotti!’ The thing yelled, his voice falsetto.
‘Oh my God!’ Ella cried, now trying to swim away again.
But the thing had wrapped his arms around her, his weight sagged on her shoulders and she couldn’t wriggle free.
‘Get off!’ she yelled, thrashing about, her arms locked to her sides. Her head bobbed under the surface for a second, and she came up spluttering. ‘Let go of me…’ She went under again, for longer this time.
‘She’s drowning!’ the green thing was yelling. ‘The Child is drowning!’ But he held on tighter, desperate to keep his own head above the water.
‘That’s because you’re pushing me down!’ Ella spluttered. She fought again, but it was useless – her energy had been sapped, and she couldn’t support her own weight and the weight of the blobby green monster.
Her head disappeared beneath the surface for the third time, and she couldn’t force it back up. She opened her eyes, and bubbles invaded them. The depths were gloomy, the water grey – but she wasn’t the only one down there. Something was swimming towards her, weaving, scaled tail oscillating…
You have to be kidding, Ella thought.
She was pulled to the surface, and broke into the sunshine amid splutters and other strange sounds. The mermaid still held her, stared for a moment - her face a pale blue, shoals of hair tumbling either side like purple seaweed. ‘Are you okay?’ The voice seemed to echo up from the very depths of the lake.
Ella tried to speak, but she was unable. Her eyes were fixed on the face in front of her. She managed to nod her head.
‘Good.’ The mermaid looked to the green thing she held in her other hand. ‘Bulb, I hope you’re pleased with yourself. You nearly killed The Child.’
‘Well if you’d come when I’d first fallen in…’
The tubby green boy didn’t get to finish his sentence. With a swish of her tail, the mermaid was dragging them both at high speed back towards the shore.
The next few moments went by as though in a dream. Ella lay on her back, water rushing by beneath her, watching the clouds pass overhead. Soon she had ploughed aground, and lay still in the mud. The mermaid began shouting at the tubby green boy again, who promptly hurried away from the lake edge and started blowing raspberries.
‘Are you alright?’ The mermaid had returned to Ella.
The girl sat up, somewhat dazed. ‘I don’t know. Am I?’
‘You look fine.’
‘Yes, but am I mad?’ Ella asked. The mermaid burst out laughing. Ella didn’t really see the funny side of anything. ‘I mean, this can’t be happening. Surely. You can’t be real – it’s not possible…’
The mermaid raised her eyebrows. ‘Sometimes the truth is stranger than the wildest imagination.’
‘So… you are real?’
‘We’re all real, Ella Barrotti, yes.’ The voice had come from behind her, and Ella turned. Standing against one of the nearest trees was another little green man, though this one was slim and tall (relatively). The clothes he wore were patterned and grand (though still green), and a large top hat sat on his head.
‘Ugh…’ Ella said.
‘Yes Child, “ugh”.’ The little green man also held a walking cane, and he gave the ground a sharp tap. And then he turned his head. Standing behind him, overshadowed by the wilting canopy, were at least a dozen more little green creatures. Floating above their heads were orbs of golden light.
‘Flippin’ heck…’
‘We are spirits of the Earth, Ella Barrotti. And I am Councillor Tangleweed. Hello.’
There was silence. Ella stared at him for a long while. ‘I haven’t got a clue what you’re talking about,’ she said eventually.
‘That’s okay, I’m not surprised.’ Tangleweed took in a deep, deliberate breath, and then began again. ‘We were here before all this - when the Earth was first formed. The Earth’s spirit - given voice, given heart…’ he looked over at the hovering bronze orbs, ‘…given wings. From the very beginning. We are the living Gaia, young sir, the soul of this planet. And we are under threat.’
Ella was suspended in delirium, within a cocktail of fear, hysteria and utter disbelief. ‘Wait… wait – slow down,’ she said. ‘Please. Start again. No – explain it better, because I am really confused at the moment…’
Tangleweed frowned, as if what he was saying made perfect sense and she was obviously a very stupid little girl for not understanding it. ‘Okay, I’ll say it again. Please pay attention. We are spiritual beings. We live with the Earth, as the Earth, for the Earth… and another one I can’t quite remember. Oh, in the Earth, that’s it. We are representatives of the four elements; earth, fire, wind and water…’
‘I must be dreaming,’ Ella muttered to herself. ‘This can’t be happening…’
‘Hehum?’ Tangleweed looked disapprovingly at her. ‘Sir, I’ve got a job to do, so please don’t interrupt me. Right, where was I? Oh yes. We are nymphs, Ella Barrotti…’ he made a sweeping movement with his arm, gesturing to the rank of little green men standing nearby. They all seemed to edge back into the shadow, like little children being introduced to a new babysitter.
All, that is, except tubby Bulb, who prodded his chest and proclaimed proudly, ‘Nymphs, Ella Barrotti! N-I-M-Fs.’
‘Yes,’ Tangleweed said, ‘thank you, Bulb. Being a dampened spirit hasn’t dampened your spirits has it, ha ha. Maybe you should be more careful in future; you nearly drowned The Child.’
‘It wasn’t my fault,’ Bulb protested, wringing water from his sleeves. ‘Scrub pushed me in!’ He pointed to one of the nymphs hanging near the back of the group.
Tangleweed gave a sort of gasp. ‘Scrub? Is this true? Where are you, lad – come forward – why are you hiding back there?’
‘She… she’ll recognise me, sir…’ Scrub garbled, moving forward very reluctantly.
‘Never mind that. Is this right? You pushed Bulb into the lake?’
Ella was staring at the nymph currently being chastised by the councillor. She did recognise him! He was the little green man she had seen whilst playing hide and seek!
He was in the middle of saying, ‘I didn’t mean to push him in, sir – you know when you want to frighten someone, say on the edge of a cliff or…’
‘Or a lake?’
‘Yes… or the edge of a lake... so you go up and push them but hold on? Well I forgot to hold on, sir. I just went up and pushed him straight in.’
Ella’s head was spinning. She had dived into the lake to save a fat nymph of the spirit world. If this wasn’t crazy, nothing was. ‘Wait… wait – nymphs? Is that what you’re telling me you lot are?’
Tangleweed nodded. ‘Yes, Child. That’s what I’ve just said, listen up.’
Ella sucked against her teeth. ‘Legend has it that nymphs are female,’ she said.
The councillor puffed out his chest and spluttered a bit. Apparently he was a little frustrated and annoyed. ‘I’ll have you know that that is simply a horrid misconception…’
‘It’s because their voices are so high,’ interjected the mermaid from the lakeside.
Tangleweed’s face soured. He ushered Scrub away and gave Ella a stern look. ‘That is a mermaid, Ella Barrotti. Disruptive creatures, mermaids. And I’ll thank you for not encouraging it.’
Ella opened her mouth to respond, but she didn’t think “arguing with a nymph councillor” would look good on her CV.
The mermaid spat water at him. ‘Pompous grape.’
‘Enough of that, fishy.’ Tangleweed moved further away from the lake. He looked at Ella. ‘Are you listening? This is very important sir, I suggest you listen. These, Ella Barrotti, are fairies.’ He pointed to the orbs of gently throbbing bronze.
Ella shook her head. ‘No way… you can’t expect me to believe…’
‘What else are you going to do, sir? For, believe it or not, you’ve had two fairies following you – keeping an eye on you (or four) - for seven years!’
Ella looked at the hovering lights and squinted. Through the glare she could just make out humanoid, female figures, all adorned in pearly robes with gently fluttering wings. The bronze glow encircled each fairy as though in a bubble. ‘You were in Mrs Peacock’s stock cupboard!’ Ella proclaimed suddenly.
‘That was me, actually miss.’ One fairy raised her arm – waved it actually – and drifted forward. ‘Feather’s the name, miss.’
‘You got me into trouble, Feather.’
Another fairy burst out laughing. Feather glared at her, and then pulled her forward. ‘Well, this is Waggletoes, and she knocked over a whole tray of cutlery in your school’s kitchen, the clumsy oaf.’
Waggletoes turned scarlet. ‘Only because you knocked me into it.’
‘That was you two?’ Ella asked. Then she almost laughed. It wasn’t the spoons that were talking after all. It was just two fairies.
‘Waggletoes is a bit scatty,’ Feather whispered. ‘Once she threw acorns at a beehive just to get the bees to chase her. And they were faster as well.’
‘I only got stung a bit…’
‘You got stung a lot.’
‘That’s enough you two!’ Tangleweed waddled between them and brandished his cane out, as if barring them to continue. ‘The Child doesn’t want to be berated by a couple of adolescent fairies.’
‘She’s the only adolescent,’ Feather said quickly, pointing at the other fairy.
Waggletoes turned purple again and scowled.
‘Anyway,’ Tangleweed said, determined to grab attention again. ‘There’s still one more spirit to meet – let’s call an imp, shall we…
‘Oh, miss, noooo,’ Feather whined. ‘I can’t stand imps. They’re so moody and caught up in themselves. I’m sure they’ve got an evil streak.’
‘That may well be, Feather,’ the councillor said, ‘but they have to do what I say, don’t panic.’ And then Tangleweed did the strangest thing. He seemed to grip the air with one hand, as if he was gripping a coat pocket, and then he reached his other hand into the imaginary gap. After a second, he withdrew it again, clutching a very small (even by nymph standards), hairy, red creature by the ruff of his neck.
‘Oy, gerrof!’ the imp commanded, swinging his miniature arms wildly.
‘Now now,’ Tangleweed warned, ‘please don’t play up in front of the Child.’
The imp, acting much like a child himself, proceeded to try and spike the councillor with the two horns on his head. And then he seemed to realise what Tangleweed had said, and looked over his shoulder. ‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said to Ella. ‘I thought you’d be prettier.’
Ella didn’t know what to say. To be told that by a being who had a face cross between a goat and a bull was an insult indeed.
‘Be nice,’ Tangleweed insisted.
‘Put me back in the Earth’s mantle and I will be!’
‘Only after you build us a little bonfire. Poor Ella Barrotti’s soaking wet!’
Ella hadn’t noticed until then, but she was actually dripping. Her hair was thick and discoloured with lake water, and her clothes were ruffling uncomfortably against her skin.
The imp was moaning again. ‘I can’t do that, sir – you know what the councils are like; especially at a time like this…’
Tangleweed glared at him. ‘I’m part of the council! Do as I say, imp, or The Green Man will hear about this!’
Ella frowned. ‘Who’s the Green Man?’ she asked out loud, to no one in particular. No one in particular answered. ‘You are all green men!’
The imp was snarling now, still in Tangleweed’s grasp. ‘Oh, Shakya will hear about this alright…’ he rolled up his red sleeves. ‘Totally against the laws of science… we can’t muck about with things like this – if any human was watching…’ He paused for a moment and then said, ‘Put me down then, unless you want me to set fire to you.’
Tangleweed placed him on the grass, and then hopped away quickly. The imp continued to mumble as he rubbed his hands together, finally thrusting them at the ground and blowing. A flame erupted in midair (somehow) and danced, as if suspended, showing a total disregard for the laws of chemistry.
‘Well hurry up then,’ the imp said, prodding Ella closer to the fire. ‘The sooner you warm up the sooner I can extinguish this ridiculous… idiotic…’ His words trailed off.
Ella felt the pleasant heat, and moved even closer to it, anxious for the warmth.
‘Splendid,’ Tangleweed said, shooting her a very toothy smile. Luckily, his teeth weren’t green – that would have been just disgusting.
‘Who’s the Green Man?’ Ella repeated, determined to get an answer.
Tangleweed looked anxious to proceed to more pressing matters, so his words were rather rushed. ‘He’s our leader. The Spiritual King of the Earth. Shakya is his name; The Green Man is what he is… sort of.’
‘And where is he?’
‘He lives in the Heart of the Earth,’ Tangleweed said. Ella frowned; surely it was awfully hot in the heart of the Earth. ‘And he will want to see you… before it happens. But that’s for him to decide. He just wanted me to introduce you to us, sir.’
‘Will you stop calling me a “sir”,’ Ella protested.
Tangleweed frowned at her. ‘Child, I can promise you that that is the least of your worries at the moment.’
A pause. Ella blinked. Yes, she said to herself, my main worry is that I’ve got a clan of nymphs and fairies here trying to convince me that they’re real. And I’m soaking wet, being dried by a fire hovering in midair.
Tangleweed spoke again, and his voice was tinged with wear and fatigue. ‘You’re special, Ella Barrotti,’ he said.
Yes I am, Ella thought. “Special needs” by the looks of all this…
‘You’re not a normal child…’
‘Look,’ Ella said, ‘I never have been. And I find it very unnerving for a little green man to point it out to me.’
The councillor smiled. ‘How many children do you know who’ve read a compendium of the world’s religious works?’
Ella raised her eyebrows. ‘Only one: me.’
‘Exactly.’
‘Exactly.’
Another pause. Tangleweed cleared his throat. ‘Ella Barrotti, talking to the spirits is not something people do. Not anymore.’
‘Oh really? I thought this was all perfectly normal.’
‘Ella Barrotti,’ Tangleweed continued without paying heed to the sarcasm, ‘seeing us spiritual beings isn’t normal either. You’re the only person in the world who can see us – at the moment anyway…’
Ella sighed. ‘But I only started seeing you all yesterday…’
‘Yes!’ Tangleweed erupted. ‘Yes. And it means something.’ His eyes had grown as big as saucers.
‘Care to tell me what?’
The following silence was prickly. The spirits fidgeted uncomfortably as though they’d had itching powder poured down their tops.
Tangleweed swallowed. ‘Something bad, Ella Barrotti. The Green Man wants to tell you himself, so I’m not sure what I can really say…’
‘You can’t say something bad’s going to happen and not tell me what it is!’ Ella screeched.
Tangleweed pursed his lips. ‘It’s nearly time.’
Ella waited for him to elaborate. He didn’t. ‘Time for what?’
‘Time to find out which one of us will win.’
Ella frowned. ‘Time to find out which one of who will win what? Speak sense!’
Before Tangleweed could speak again, the little imp (who had been fidgeting nervously) leapt in the air. ‘Human! Human!’ he yelled, and extinguished the fire in a sweep of his hand. ‘Stupid nymph!’
Ella looked over her shoulder and saw a woman coming towards her, walking a dog. The woman was one of her teachers from the school.
‘Ella? Is that you?’ the woman asked, with a Welsh accent.
‘Hello, Mrs Jones…’ Ella yelled, waving. She shot the spirits a warning look, though the woman walked past them without batting an eye. Only the dog sensed something, and he looked around, growling.
‘Calm down, Buster,’ Mrs Jones said, giving the dog a reassuring pat. ‘He’s been acting strangely for a couple of days now.’ She smiled at Ella. ‘Are you okay, dear? You look a bit wet. Didn’t fall in the lake, did you?’
Ella shook her head. ‘Oh no, Mrs Jones,’ she said. ‘I… er… these clothes have only just been washed and they haven’t dried properly yet.’
The teacher smiled thinly. ‘But your hair’s wet as well, love.’
‘Yeah, I… had a bath not long ago. Forgot to dry it.’ Ella swallowed.
The dog was running about, pulling on his lead, frantic. The fairies were discussing whether to throw things at him.
‘We’ll be going now, Child,’ Tangleweed said. ‘I’ve told you what I needed to tell you. Expect a visit from The Green Man soon!’ He began to waltz off into the trees.
Ella stared after him, wanting to call him back.
‘Excited for the holidays, are you?’ Mrs Jones asked.
Ella nodded her head enthusiastically. ‘Oh yes.’ She aired her voice off into the woods. ‘I just want to know what’s going on with the world.’
‘Oh, I know what you mean, dear,’ Mrs Jones said. ‘Going mad, isn’t it. In my day things were totally different…’
Tangleweed had looked back at her. ‘There are opposing forces in this universe, Ella Barrotti.’ He added with a whisper, ‘And All opposing forces, seen or unseen, in the world, underworld, or the heavens…’
Ella frowned at his retreating back. ‘Yes?’ she hissed.
The spirit winked. ‘Will wage war.’
Buster was barking again, trying to chase after the retreating spirits. Mrs Jones was having a hard time controlling him. Finally she said, ‘Ooh, I think Buster wants me to carry on. Bye, dear – hope you’re okay,’ and she started moving off again.
Ella grimaced, hoping Mrs Jones would take this as a smile. Will wage war, she thought. War. Surely not…
She didn’t realise the war had already begun, and she was to be in the centre of it.
Chapter Five
‘Durga, I’ve just pulled up to his house now. I don’t think he’s in.’ Goldschmidt peered through the windscreen of his car into the evening twilight, mobile phone held up to his ear. ‘All the lights are off, and there doesn’t appear to be any sign of disturbance…’
There was a snort from the other end of the line. ‘That’s not necessarily good news, Benjamin. He’s not answering his mobile – that’s not like him, is it.’
‘No,’ Goldschmidt admitted. ‘It’s not. Fine, I’ll go and investigate.’ He hung up.
The night was mild, embroiled with a crisp wind. The moon, smeared by cloud, peeked down from a high. Goldschmidt left his car and crossed the cobbled drive. He knocked on the door, once. ‘Palmer?’ He knocked again, harder. There was a strange echo to the wood – almost as if…
He twisted the handle, and the door creaked slowly open.
‘Oh no…’ he muttered, feeling his heart beginning to race. He crept silently into the hall, eyes darting, analysing the shadows. ‘Hello? Anybody home?’
The silence was unnerving. Goldschmidt began to climb the stairs, his own frantic breathing filling his ears. This was not good… not good at all…
He crossed the landing, hovered at the threshold to the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar. He called through the darkness, ‘Palmer? Are you in there?’ Gingerly, he pushed open the door and walked into the room. ‘Oh my G-d…’ he gasped. Palmer was in there alright, though he looked a little worse for wear.
Hands shaking, Goldschmidt redialled and put the mobile to his ear. ‘Durga? We have a problem. Frank got to him. Palmer’s dead.’
* * *
Ella Barrotti whimpered amongst the darkness, like a frightened puppy. She had ventured into the cave whilst following a little stream, spurned with infantile curiosity. Apparently, curiosity had killed a cat once, somewhere. At the time, she hadn’t known how curiosity could possibly kill anything – but now she was trapped alone in a dismal cave she was starting to have one or two ideas. She had hoped to discover the source of the stream, way up amongst the foothills somewhere. Instead, she had discovered what being blind felt like. That was the problem with underground caves, you see – everything looked exactly the same: pitch black.
Now, she also knew what being lost felt like too. She couldn’t say she liked either feeling, thank you very much.
She started to wander deeper into the gloom, thinking that maybe she could get so lost that she wouldn’t be lost anymore. It was the type of logic that only a five-year-old could entertain, but it was still logic of a sort. She turned on the spot, finding that the darkness behind her looked remarkably like the darkness in front of her. Off to her side, the stream gargled. It reminded her of the dentist.
‘Can anyone hear me?’ the girl asked.
There was a sound amongst the darkness. It sounded a lot like someone clearing their throat. And then a voice said, ‘Yes, Child. I can hear you.’
Ella frowned. That’s not supposed to happen, she thought. But it was nothing to what happened next – the whole cave began to twist and shake. The girl thought she was in an earthquake at first, until the darkness began to vanish, twisting into a galaxy spiral. And then she decided she must be dreaming. Oh wait, she told herself, I am dreaming. This is all rather strange…
Threads of silver were weaving about in the black; the very air seemed to be heaving. And then, like a concertina, space itself folded inwards. In a second, Ella was staring into a rocky, dimly lit room, whilst still standing in the cave’s darkness. Beside her the stream gurgled, and the jagged granite shapes lunged about behind her. But in front of her was the small, stonewalled room, open torches flickering with firelight. In the centre of the room was a raised platform, and on the platform sat a throne. In the throne perched a bush with eyes.
Ella gawped at it.
An opening appeared under the bush’s eyes (his mouth, presumably) and the luscious green leaves took on the form of moustache and beard. ‘Ella Barrotti,’ he said, his voice gruff and wise with age.
Ella looked around her, not understanding how the harsh, cold cave managed to mutate gradually into this bush’s throne room. She realised she was her twelve-year-old self again. Finally, she turned back to stare at the bush, forgetting her inhibitions. To an outsider, she would have appeared rude, but she just couldn’t help it. In a way, she nearly laughed. ‘Who the hell are you?’ she asked.
‘You need not be alarmed,’ the bush said.
‘Need not be alarmed?!’ Ella screeched. ‘I’m talking to a bush! No wait – I am dreaming this time, aren’t I…’
‘Well, yes and no. Actually, not really – not anymore.’
‘No… I was having that dream again – about the cave…’
‘Yes, but I interrupted it. I hope you’re thankful.’ The bush smiled. He reclined in the throne, stretching his branch limbs. ‘It’d have been too dangerous to manipulate spacetime whilst you were awake. You might have had a heart attack. It’s happened before. At least in a dream you can pretend it’s not real. For a while.’
Ella shook her head. ‘But… what… how… I am dreaming – I’m fast asleep!’
The bush sighed. ‘Call it a lucid dream then, whatever you like. You are asleep, but this is also happening. I must talk to you; it is very important.’
Ella found her mouth very dry. ‘So… am I conscious?’
‘Yes.’
‘And… and you have somehow invaded my mind by stretching space?’
‘Well, sort of. But not really – stretching spacetime has just allowed me to speak to you face to face.’
‘You can do that?’
‘Evidently.’ He added, ‘Like putty.’
Ella tried to swallow. She said eventually, ‘Who are you?’
The bush seemed to find this very amusing. ‘I’m Shakya, Child. The Green Man. I thought that much would be obvious.’
‘You… are The Green Man?’
‘Yes. Call me Shakya, please, it’s much easier to say.’ The bush cleared his throat. ‘I trust my spirits said I’d be wanting to speak to you? I gave Tangleweed specific instructions…’
‘He did…’ Ella muttered. ‘He really did…’
‘Well here I am.’ He didn’t say ta-da. He didn’t need to. ‘I trust you’re rather confused at the moment.’
‘Huh, you can say that again,’ Ella muttered.
‘I trust you’re rather confused at the moment. This must be quite a shock.’ Shakya blinked. ‘You want to know what’s going on? What’s happening to you?’
Ella almost laughed in relief. ‘Yes, I do.’ Her tone lowered somewhat. ‘How come this has happened? Why can I see you all?’
The Green Man paused. He ruffled his leafy body, adjusting his position in the throne. ‘Child, you were chosen. It might have been long ago, I can’t tell – the spirit realm is beyond all dimensions; we have no sense of time. But you were chosen. And there’s nothing either of us can do about it, except accept it.’ He adjusted again.
Ella winced. ‘But what do you mean chosen? How? By whom?’
‘That’s something only you will truly know. Only time will tell.’
‘But… but why now? My mom’s just died and my dad’s just gone mad – why have I suddenly obtained the ability to see the spiritual realm…’ A pause. ‘… Unless they’re connected…’ she looked at the bush. ‘They’re connected, aren’t they… Of course they are! How could I be so stupid…’
Shakya smiled. ‘Ella Barrotti, it meant something, when you saw that nymph. Not necessarily to you – but to us. It meant that it was nearly time.’
Ella frowned. ‘That’s what everyone says! Time for what?’
Shakya’s expression was stone-like. ‘We call it the day of reckoning, Child. And there isn’t long left - only two days, your time. Including today. This Tuesday will be the day of reckoning.’
Ella blinked frantically. Tuesday? She looked at him sadly. ‘Tangleweed said something about opposing forces…’
There was a sigh from The Green Man. ‘Yes. Opposing forces. You understand now that there is a Spiritual Realm that coexists beside the material one – it has been invisible for all eternity. Not only is there a Spirit of the Earth, there is a Spirit of the Universe too. A whole Realm that exists in the fabric of the entire universe – ruled over by King Deity, the supreme Guardian Angel. It is called Marga, Child, and it exists everywhere – on a parallel.’
Ella frowned, trying to remember everything. ‘So, there’s a Spiritual Realm called Marga, and it’s ruled over by Deity, who is the King of the Spirit of the Universe?’
‘Precisely.’ Shakya looked saddened somewhat. ‘But there is another Realm, Child – a Realm of darkness and deceit.’
Ella shivered. ‘That’s what is meant by opposing forces?’
‘Yes. It is the Realm of Antifaith.’ Shakya looked hard at Ella. ‘It is the opposite of Marga, and they are… they’re going to collide.’
Ella blinked. ‘What will happen then?’
Shakya swallowed. ‘A Storm will rage on Earth, bigger than all others put together.’
Ella was silent for a moment. ‘And there’s going to be a war?’
Shakya sighed again. ‘Yes,’ he said eventually. ‘There shall be a war, Ella Barrotti. Between the Spiritual Beings of Marga, and the Demons of Antifaith.’
‘And… and what has that got to do with me?’ Ella asked.
Shakya sighed. ‘Child, it has everything to do with you. You will be at the centre of it. The Demons will walk the Earth. And they’ll come after you.’
Ella found her eyes widening. ‘Demons?’ she shrieked.
Shakya nodded sadly. ‘Yes, Child. Demons. And if we lose, well… mankind will never be free. And it all hinges on you – without you, we are all lost.’ He gave a weak nod. ‘You will dictate the outcome of this war, Ella Barrotti.’
Chapter Six
Ella had heard him clearly – more than clearly, even – though she wanted to pretend that she hadn’t. She wasn’t made for this – she was only a child! And not a particularly adventurous one at that – she couldn’t be in a war! No matter what kind of strange, twisted war this would turn out to be, she knew it wasn’t for her.
‘I can’t do this, Shakya,’ she said eventually. ‘I can’t shoulder this burden…’
‘Ella Barrotti, I’m afraid you have little choice. In fact, you have no choice.’
Ella sighed again. ‘This is all too much – I can’t fight Demons, or destroy evil Realms… I’m just little Ella Barrotti, not particularly intelligent – certainly not particularly brave…’
‘But you are particularly spiritual.’ Shakya smiled. ‘And that’s exactly what we need, for this war won’t be fought with guns or bombs. It will be fought with faith alone. Now then,’ he cleared his throat, and raised his voice a few decibels, ‘that is all I needed to tell you. Certainly, Deity will want to talk to you himself in the next couple of days. But I will contact you when the time is right.’
Ella said nothing.
Shakya said, ‘Good bye, Ella Barrotti. And the best of luck.’
The room was spinning again, twisting in on itself like some kind of dizzying kaleidoscope. Colours merged and coalesced, and Ella felt somewhat peculiar in the concentric vortex. This is worse than the teacups at the fair, she said to herself. And they’re bad enough. Blackness was infiltrating everything, and soon it was all she could see – an inky, spinning mass.
And then her eyes snapped open on their own accord.
She was lying in bed, surrounded by night time semi-gloom. For a moment, she hadn’t got a clue where she was, and looked round in confusion. She didn’t get her bearings until her roving eyes had pinpointed and settled on the nightlight, whose dual bulbs glowered through the darkness.
Except there were three bulbs, not two. It took her a moment to realise that one of the light orbs was actually Feather. The fairy flew over to her, and settled on top of the duvet.
‘Shakya talked to you, didn’t he,’ Feather said.
Ella nodded. ‘How did you guess?’
‘I could see your eyes moving rapidly beneath the lids.’ Feather smiled. ‘Are you scared, miss?’
Ella swallowed. ‘Should I be?’
Feather pursed her lips, and then looked away. ‘Probably. I think I am.’
There was silence for a moment. ‘Did you know?’ Ella asked. ‘Did you know that there would be a war?’
The fairy’s big blue eyes grew misted. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘We’ve always known.’
* * *
Within the valley, a kilometre or so north of the Barrotti Estate, a small village hugged the contours of the landscape. The houses were old, the air clean, the streets narrow – the people were friendly, simple law-abiding folk. It was the last place on Earth you’d expect something interesting to happen. But interesting things have a habit of cropping up where you least expect them. That’s what helps make them so interesting.
It was a typically normal Sunday morning. Tom Barter was busy frying the breakfast bacon. He hummed Nessum Dorma to himself as he did so, went wrong in the middle of the chorus and somehow ended up with God Save the Queen. Helen Barter was getting their twelve-year-old daughter, Rosie, ready for whatever it was twelve-year-olds did in the summer holidays. She was carefully plaiting her daughter’s silky-brown hair, saying ‘keep still’ every couple of seconds.
‘I am trying to keep still, but you’re pulling my head all over the place so I can’t help it,’ Rosie whined. ‘My poor follicles…’
Helen sighed, and gave her a playful slap. ‘There you go.’ She tied off the second plat and stood up from her knees. ‘Go on. Have your breakfast. Do you think you’ll go and see Ella today?’
Rosie shrugged. ‘I’m not going to her house – not now Tanya’s…’ She didn’t finish her sentence. Tom and Helen exchanged pained looks. Rosie continued, ‘I’m not going there anymore. Her… her dad scares me…’
Tom pursed his lips, fixing his blue-grey eyes firmly on the frying pan. It spat up at him. ‘Frank’s certainly a strange little man,’ he said. ‘No one at the IMS knows what to make of him anymore. Mr Peterson’s at his wit’s end.’
The IMS was a specialist, government funded organisation – The Institute of Medical Sciences – and Mr Peterson was its Head. Frank was its leading scientist. Tom was its leading psychotherapist. They were the best in their fields, though Tom was always quick to point out that that was where the similarities ended.
‘Ella’s been acting weird these last couple of days too.’ Rosie’s idle comment tore through the silence like a meat cleaver. The atmosphere was suddenly unbearably tense, like an over-taut guitar string. But Rosie seemed oblivious to it. ‘I’ve caught her talking to herself a few times – when she thought no one was around. She was going on about how a little green man was talking to her the other day.’
Tom blinked, glancing to his wife. He put a plate in front of Rosie, and then caught Helen’s eye again. Something was going on. Of course, something was always going on, but this time he wanted to know what it was. Things weren’t as they were supposed to be at the Barrotti labs. Tanya’s death was enveloped in unanswered questions, and so was Frank’s work. No one at the IMS knew what he was doing anymore. But everyone was concerned.
Just then, Tom’s mobile started ringing.
Helen sighed. ‘What are they going to have you do now?’ she asked.
‘Don’t they know what day it is?’ Tom asked. ‘It’s a Sunday – my day off!’ His mobile continued to ring. He thought about ignoring it, though the ring tone jingle very quickly got on his nerves, and the only way he knew how to stop it was to answer. He didn’t know how to change the tune either. He strode quickly from the room to get some privacy. ‘Tom Barter,’ he said with a sigh as he answered.
‘Tom, we have a big problem.’
Tom recognised his boss’s voice. ‘Mr Peterson, do you know what time it is?’
‘Yes. Eight fifteen. AM.’ Mr Peterson’s tone said “what’s your point?” – his voice didn’t need to. ‘Can you get to your laptop? I’ve forwarded you a picture I received late last night through email.’
Tom sighed. ‘Yes sir. Give me a minute.’ He climbed up the stairs wearily, called back to Helen: ‘I won’t be long, dear.’ He entered his office and turned on the laptop. The screen climbed slowly to life. ‘What’s this all about, sir?’
There was a nervous pause, and Mr Peterson swallowed, though it was barely audible through the mobile’s static. ‘This must remain confidential, Tom.’
‘Sir, I’m a psychotherapist,’ Tom said. ‘Everything I do must remain confidential.’
‘Good. Make sure you’re alone,’ Mr Peterson continued. ‘You don’t want anyone seeing this – especially your daughter.’
Tom held the mobile closer to his ear. He frowned, got up and locked the office door. He was intrigued. ‘Okay, sir…’
‘Is your laptop running yet?’
Tom nodded. ‘Yes.’ He scrolled the cursor over to his emails and double-clicked.
‘Check your emails, Tom. I’ve sent you something. I want to know what you think.’
Tom checked his inbox: one new message. ‘Yep, I’ve got something. And fancy that, it’s from you. Wait, the message is blank…’
‘Yes, there should be a file attached.’
‘So there is.’ Tom clicked on the little paperclip icon to the left of the subject title. A new window popped open, and a high-resolution digital photograph slowly unveiled itself. Tom inhaled sharply. ‘What on earth…’
‘Exactly what I thought,’ Mr Peterson snorted.
Tom was looking at the face of a corpse. The lighting was overly bright with the camera’s flash, making the photograph even spookier. The man’s mouth was half-open, and his eyes were glazed and milky. Specks of blood and spit had flecked the chin and the hair. But the most obvious thing was the writing scrawled in permanent marker across his forehead. ‘He’s… he’s dead…’
‘Fantastic evaluation, Mr Barter.’ There was just the slightest hint of sarcasm.
Tom was too engrossed to really hear what his boss said. He squinted to read the writing. ‘Es if Abel died’. He frowned. ‘Es if Abel died? What does that mean?’
There was a pause on the other end of the phone. ‘We were hoping you would be able to tell us.’
Tom shrugged. ‘Es if Abel died? Is that even English?’
‘Well, ‘if’ and ‘died’ certainly is. The word ‘Abel’ rings a bell. The ‘A’ is a capital letter, so it makes me think it may be a name…’
‘Abel was one of the sons of Adam and Eve – according to Genesis,’ Tom said, giving his head a scratch. ‘I think he was killed by his own brother – Cain, or something.’
‘You think it maybe a link to Christianity?’
‘I don’t think anything, sir.’
‘No no… it’s just that, well, look at what he’s wearing around his neck.’
Tom looked to the bottom of the photograph. There he could just make out the brass form of a crucifix worn as a necklace – only just visible at the bottom of the image. ‘A crucifix. So he was Christian…’
‘Catholic. We’re confused, Tom. This guy has been murdered – and the words ‘Es if Abel died’ have been written across his forehead.’
‘I’ve never seen anything like this, sir.’ Tom’s stomach was a trampoline. He had never seen such a disgusting image.
‘What did you think of that symbol?’
‘What symbol?’
‘There’s a symbol on the tiles near his left ear,’ Mr Peterson paused. ‘It’s painted in the guy’s blood.’
Tom looked hard at the spot. Sure enough, there was a circular motif next to the corpse’s head, barely visible in the light of the photograph. ‘What is that?’
‘You have no idea?’
Tom winced. ‘Nope. I’m familiar with religious symbology, but this…’
Mr Peterson grunted.
Tom sighed. ‘Sir, I’ve never seen that symbol before in my life.’ He looked hard at it again. It was a circle, divided into three parts by sinusoidal lines:
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‘I suppose it’s symmetrical, if that helps,’ Tom offered.
‘Not really.’ Mr Peterson cleared his throat. ‘Tom, this killing – it… there seems to be a sort of ritual about it.’
Tom frowned. ‘Do you know who the victim is?’
‘Yes I do.’ Mr Peterson sighed. ‘His name is Jack Palmer. He was a scientist from Barrotti Enterprises.’
Tom inhaled sharply. ‘He was a scientist working for Barrotti?’
‘Yes, and I reckon his work had something to do with it. The person who sent me the photograph is Benjamin Goldschmidt.’
Tom’s brow leapt into his tuft of fringe. ‘Never heard of him.’
‘He’s a scientist at Barrotti Enterprises too – well, he was. Apparently, Frank fired all the scientists on Friday.’
‘What?’
‘Yep. Fired everyone apart from Dr Palmer.’ There was a grunt. ‘According to Goldschmidt, Palmer was working on something called Atom Degradation. And Frank wanted it badly.’
There was silence again. Helen called from outside the door, asking how long he’d be. Tom said he’d be out as soon as he can. He rubbed the stubble growing across his gaunt face. ‘How on Earth did he end up dead?’ he asked. ‘Especially like this – it looks satanic! Who would want to do this?’
There was a sigh. ‘That’s what we need you to find out.’
Tom shook his head to himself. ‘You can’t be serious, sir. I’m a therapist! I don’t… don’t know anything about dead bodies or secret sacrifices… I’ve already said I don’t recognise the symbol – you’ll need an expert…’
‘We’ve already looked. The symbol has never been seen before.’ A pause. ‘Tom, we don’t really have a choice.’
‘Have you spoken to Barrotti about it yet? He must know something!’ Tom lowered his voice, worried his family might overhear. ‘I have nothing to do with Barrotti Enterprises, sir – but enough people do. Why have you come to me?’
Mr Peterson was silent for a couple of seconds. When he spoke again, there was reluctance in his voice. ‘Tom, believe me, you were the last person I would have chosen.’
‘Thanks.’
‘But I’m not the one who’s dragging you in. You’re already there.’ Again there was silence. Tom held the phone impatiently to his ear. Mr Peterson took a breath. ‘I’m forwarding you the email Goldschmidt sent me.’
Tom was intrigued despite of himself. After a few seconds, a new message popped into his inbox and he clicked on the title, still bold, waiting to be read. The message raised the hairs on Tom’s neck. ‘But… but… this doesn’t make any sense…’
‘You realise now why you are already part of this mess?’
Tom shook his head in disbelief. ‘But I don’t know a Benjamin Goldschmidt… How can he possibly know me?’
‘I haven’t got a clue, but he does.’
The message was short and decisively simple:
“Something is very wrong with Head Scientist Barrotti. Dr Jack Palmer has been murdered. I must speak with Tom Barter immediately.
Benjamin Goldschmidt”
* * *
Frank Barrotti had locked himself in his home office like he often did. The morning sun had climbed above the horizon, its rays creeping through the blind slats and broadcasting luminous strips across the far wall. He didn’t like the sun very much – he said it stifled the senses. He’d never go to sunny countries if he could help it, and he always wore prescription sunglasses if his work brought him outside. Ella thought he could be a vampire. It was true he didn’t like garlic, and that he was hardly ever seen in the daytime. Frank Barrotti didn’t think he was a vampire (but who could really know for sure?) But he was a monster.
His mobile phone rang, humming Beethoven’s 5th symphony. ‘Frank Barrotti.’
‘Frank, it’s Mr Peterson.’
‘Good morning, sir.’ Barrotti sank back in his chair. John Peterson was the Head of the IMS – the ‘pockets’ of Barrotti Enterprises. Frank was always testing to see how deep they could get.
‘Frank, I’m slightly concerned.’
‘Oh nonsense, sir. You’re always slightly concerned…’
Mr Peterson interrupted him suddenly, ‘Don’t mess with me, Frank. I’m not in the mood.’ He made his voice as serious as he could.
Barrotti reclined deeper in the chair and grinned to himself. ‘Okay, sir. I’m listening.’
‘We’ve invested nearly four hundred million pounds into the latest cancer cure project, and 5 years too. Now I hear that you’ve abandoned it, without ever consulting me, and sacked all the staff.’
Barrotti made a non-committal murmur. ‘Mmm. Well it’s only money. The government throws it away all the time.’
‘This is not acceptable! Who runs this organisation?’
‘Well, you keep saying it’s you…’
Mr Peterson growled into the mouthpiece so loudly that Frank had to remove it from his ear.
‘Sir, this is very immature behaviour. I’ve only done what I had to. The cure was going nowhere – I’ve got more important things to work on.’
‘Don’t give me that, Barrotti. You’re always pushing the boundaries too far – well you darn well listen to me, Frank,’ Mr Peterson said, his voice infected with anger. ‘I don’t know what you’re doing… I don’t know what crazy stunt you’re pulling… but it stops. Now.’
Frank sighed, as if he was bored with the confrontation. ‘Mr Peterson, please don’t presume to tell me what I am or am not doing. It is nothing to do with you.’
‘There’s been a murder, Frank! One of my scientists has been murdered – how can you say it’s got nothing to do with me?!’
Frank was silent again. Ah. ‘How did you hear about that?’
‘Because,’ Mr Peterson spat, ‘I was sent a photograph late last night.’
Frank sat up straight in his chair, immediately attentive. ‘A photograph?’
‘Yes.’ Mr Peterson’s voice was strained with his heavy breathing.
‘What kind of photograph?’
‘A photograph of a scientist’s dead head!’
Frank rolled his eyes. ‘It’s nothing to worry about, Mr Peterson, I can assure you…’
There was a roar of frustration on the other end. ‘Frank! A man has been killed! How can there be nothing to worry about?’
Frank shrugged his shoulders. ‘Trust me.’
‘Ha, I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Which isn’t very far. Did you see what they did to him? They wrote on his head and drew a satanic symbol in his blood!’
‘It’s not satanic sir.’
Mr Peterson didn’t seem to hear. ‘Es if Abel died. Does that mean anything to you?’
‘Something about someone called Abel. Dying.’
There was a tense pause. ‘Frank, the sender of the photograph said there was “something wrong” with you. And there certainly is.’
Frank thought for a moment. ‘It was Goldschmidt, wasn’t it.’
There was a pause. Then finally, ‘I’m not saying anything, Frank.’
‘Oh don’t worry – I already guessed. He’s a problem. A big problem, always canoodling with Palmer. Do you know where he is?’
‘He only did what he thought was right…’ Mr Peterson began. ‘You probably think he should have gone to you first…’
‘Do you know where he is?’ Barrotti repeated.
A pause. ‘No.’
Barrotti smiled. ‘You’re lying. But that’s okay; I have other means of getting what I want.’
Mr Peterson didn’t like his tone. ‘I don’t like your tone,’ he said. ‘I don’t know what’s got into you lately, but I don’t like it. You’ve turned the Barrotti labs into some kind of secret organisation to fuel your own fantasies.’
‘I am the scientist, sir. This is my Estate, and these are my labs.’
Another pause. ‘But you research what the Agency tells you to. What the government pays you to. I don’t know what you’re doing down there – I probably don’t want to know.’ Mr Peterson began hissing, ‘Two people have been killed because of your work, Barrotti. I can’t believe you persuaded me to cover up your wife’s death – I thought it was for the good of the company. But you don’t give a damn about the company, do you? Nor about anyone else. Well, I can tell you this: it stops, Frank. Whatever you’re doing. It stops. Today. Now. I mean it.’
Frank sat in silence for a moment, holding the receiver automatically to his ear. A vein began to throb, and his round face was reddening like an overripe tomato. He spoke through gritted teeth. ‘With respect sir, go to hell.’ He replaced the receiver.
He sat in silence for a long while, heart slowly relenting. He expected Mr Peterson to phone back, and so took the phone off the hook. That imbecile would enjoy having a conversation with the ‘engaged’ tone.
Goldschmidt. Sending the photograph to John Peterson of all people. But Tom Barter? What was going on there? Goldschmidt knew things, terrible things – his work couldn’t be exposed, not yet. And Tom was too dangerous – he was too close. This was all a bit of a mess.
And then the voice spoke. ‘And it’s your job to sort out your messes’.
‘I know it is, master.’
‘Peterson - he’s going to be a problem too.’
‘I know he is, master.’
‘They all are. In the way. It is nearly time, Frank Barrotti, and he’s in the way.’
‘Yes, master. He’s a hindrance.’
‘Yes. And hindrances need to be exterminated.’