The Sign of Ouroboros Page 6

  “If we have to, we will,” he said, “but perhaps the problem with the erratic heating lies not in the boiler but the pipework?”

  “Could be,” said Garvin. “Maybe an air lock. Did you drain the radiators?”

  Clay looked puzzled.

  “Ah, that's probably it,” Garvin went on.

  “Would that explain why one particular room is not heated adequately?” asked Clay.

  “Yeah, sure,” said Garvin, picking up his toolbox. “Just let me take a look at it. Probably a five minute job.”

  “Oh, good,” responded Clay, “it's just upstairs. Let me show you.”

  Clay let the handyman back up into the hall, then up the impressive main staircase. Garvin took his jacket off and loosened his shirt collar.

  Shouldn't have had that pint at lunchtime, he thought. But bloody hell, they keep it hot in here. Must cost them a fortune.

  When they reached the top of the stairs, Clay ushered Garvin along a corridor to an oak-paneled door.

  “This is the room,” said Clay, and opened the door. A rush of hot air scented with a flowery odor came rushing out. The interior of the room was dark.

  “Seems warm enough to me,” said Garvin dubiously.

  “Oh no, it's very erratic,” said Clay. “Please, take a look.”

  Still Garvin hesitated, waiting for Clay to step inside. Then someone spoke from inside the room.

  “Is that the handyman from the village?”

  Now that, thought Garvin, is a sexy voice.

  “Do go in,” said Clay, “Olivia will show you what to do.”

  “My pleasure,” said Garvin, and strode into the darkened room. “Do you mind if we have some light, though, miss? I need to see to work.”

  The door closed behind him, cutting off the light from the corridor.

  “Of course,” said the husky, feminine voice. “Just a moment.”

  A match flared and he saw a red candle being lit. He caught a glimpse of pale flesh, an arm, the curve of a breast. Then the woman retreated from the light. The candle cast just enough of a glow to show that it stood on a small table against the wall. Everything else was still in shadow.

  “That's not nearly enough,” Garvin said, “couldn't you just open the curtains?”

  “I much prefer the dark,” came the reply. “I have very sensitive eyes.”

  Garvin remembered everything he had heard about the outsiders who had taken Garlock House.

  Bunch of weirdos, he thought. Best play along if I want my money.

  “Do you mind if I use my torch?” he asked, already searching in his toolkit.

  Instead of answering the question the unseen woman asked, “What's your name?”

  “Mickey. Mickey Garvin.”

  “Mickey,” purred the voice. “I'm Olivia. I understand you're here to examine my plumbing?”

  Mickey tried not to laugh.

  “Erm, yes, I'd like to look at your radiator, miss.”

  He switched on the torch and swept the beam around the room. It was big, as he'd guessed from the echo, and luxuriously furnished. There was a huge four-poster bed opposite the door, its diaphanous curtains half-open. And on the bed was a half-naked woman. She was unclothed from the waist up. Her lower half, so far as he could see, was encased in some sort of sleeping bag.

  “Bloody hell!” exclaimed Garvin, staring.

  “Don't be alarmed, Mickey,” said Olivia. “I prefer to feel the air on my skin. Don't you?”

  “I don't know what you're playing at,” he said, “but I'm not here to play any kinky games.”

  “Oh, that's a pity,” she pouted. “I so wanted us to get better acquainted.”

  Sod this, thought Garvin, these people really are nutters.

  He reached behind him for the doorknob. It wouldn't budge. He was locked in. He began to feel panic on top of his confusion. He turned, dropping his torch, to try and move the knob with both hands. But it was obviously locked. He heard a surge of movement behind him.

  “Surely you don't want to go so soon?” asked Olivia, from close behind him.

  Garvin turned, and saw the looming figure of the woman. She was a good head taller than his six feet two inches. He flinched, felt his back press against the oak panels of the door.

  How did she move so fast? And how come I didn't hear any footsteps?

  He looked down and saw that she was still half-inside her sleeping bag. Then he realized that it was nothing of the sort; her human form ended at the waist, and below it was a tubular body, scaly and muscled.

  “Don't be scared, Mickey,” she said, leaning down. Her eyes were suddenly bright, glowing in the murk. Their pupils were slits.

  She's a monster! And she's moved on from piglets!

  “Leave me alone!” he shouted, striking out in fear. Olivia, moving with lightning speed, grabbed his hand in hers and made a soothing noise.

  “It's all right, I won't hurt you. I just want to give you a present.”

  With her other hand she grabbed him and, as he wriggled in futile terror, pressed her mouth against his neck. The sting of her bite produced a strangled scream, then he felt something course through his veins, robbing him of will-power.

  Again, she looked into his eyes, and this time he did not find her terrifying.

  “I'm so beautiful, aren't I, Mickey?”

  “Yes, so beautiful,” he agreed.

  “You want to be my friend, don't you? And help me and my friends?”

  “Oh, yes please.”

  Mickey listened, smiling in numb delight, as Olivia explained his task to him.

  ***

  “You can't remember anything else, any detail that might help?” asked Brad.

  “It's a blur,” said Kathy, shaking her head. “Like they fogged up my mind. Every time I try to focus on details I get confused.”

  “There is something we could try to reach suppressed memories,” said Marcus. “But it's risky.”

  “You don't mean drugs or anything?” asked Kathy, her voice panicky.

  “No, I mean hypnotic regression,” explained the Englishman. “Just a kind of relaxation, really, letting your unconscious mind get at things your conscious mind can't access.”

  “Have you done it before?” asked Brad.

  “Yes,” replied Marcus. “A few times. It's a way of overcoming traumatic experiences as well as recovering memories. But there are no guarantees it will work.”

  Kathy looked from one man to the other.

  “So two middle-aged blokes are asking me to come to their place so they can make me lose all self-control? Well, I've had worse offers.”

  Seeing their expressions, she laughed.

  “Only joking, guys,” she said. “Now, are you going to buy me lunch before you start poking around in my mind?”

  An hour later, the three were in the Englishman’s living room in his Camden apartment, preparing for the experiment. Kathy, nursing a cup of tea, sat in a comfortable armchair. Marcus closed the heavy curtains against the afternoon sunshine, so that the only light came from his desk lamp. A microphone stood on the desk, pointed at Kathy, its cable connected to the PC.

  “You sure you want to go through with this?” asked Brad.

  Kathy nodded. She looked tense but determined.

  God, she's so thin and pale, thought Brad. That lunch must have been the first proper meal she's had in days.

  “I want to know what happened to me,” she said, “and I want to help you. Let's go for it. Just so long as my head doesn't spin all the way round or anything.”

  She handed her teacup to Marcus, then settled herself in the chair.

  “What do I do?” she asked.

  “Try to think of a happy place, like a tropical island, or somewhere nice from your childhood,” suggested Marcus, tapping a key to start recording the session.

  “Don't you dangle a watch in front of me or something?” she asked.

  “Not quite,” said Marcus, sitting down to face her. He took out a silver
fountain pen and held it about six inches in front of the young woman's face.

  “Focus on the light reflected from the pen,” he said, his voice quiet, gentle. “Hear only my voice. And keep thinking of a good place, a safe place, the place where you're happy.”

  Marcus kept talking for about a minute, making the same suggestions over and over. Focus on the light, the happy place, his soothing voice. Brad had expected some sudden change in Kathy's expression, but she simply looked blank. Then Marcus paused in his monologue and put the pen back into his pocket.

  “Can you still hear me, Kathy?”

  “Yes,” she replied in a flat voice.

  Her voice is normal, thought Brad, slightly disappointed. Like they're having a regular conversation. Nothing like the movies.

  “Cast your mind back to last year,” said Marcus gently. “Do you remember your time with Ouroboros, Kathy?”

  “Yes,” came the reply, in the same emotionless tone.

  “Do you remember them talking about their new home, the place they were going to relocate to?”

  Kathy was silent for a moment, her face blank. Then she spoke again.

  “Litch-weir. Hitch-mere. I can't hear it properly. They never mention it when I'm around. I just catch things, as I'm coming into the room, or passing by outside.”

  “Try, Kathy,” urged Marcus. “You're doing very well.”

  The young woman's face contorted in terror. She gave a strangled cry.

  “No!” she said, in a small voice. “They've found me! They can see me! And you!”

  “What the hell?” asked Brad. “Maybe you should snap her out of it.”

  For the first time, Marcus looked uncertain.

  “Kathy,” he said, “speak to me.”

  Kathy's expression changed again. The fear vanished, replaced by a confident smile. She turned her head to look directly over at Brad, sitting in the shadows on the couch. Something about her expression seemed familiar to him.

  “Hi, Dad,” she said in what sounded like Kelly Steiger's voice, all trace of British accent gone. “How's it going?”

  ***

  “You've got the flu?” asked Leanne. “In the middle of April?”

  Mickey Garvin groaned, and turned over in bed.

  “I just need to rest up for a bit,” he said.

  Leanne stood, hands on hips, in the doorway of the cottage bedroom. She was skeptical about her on and off boyfriend's condition.

  “This isn't an alcohol-induced flu by any chance?” she demanded.

  “No,” Garvin moaned from under the duvet. “It came on sudden, like. After I did that job up at the big house.”

  “Well, that explains it,” she sniffed. “Bunch of weirdos, they are. Come from all over the place. Foreigners bringing diseases into the country, I shouldn't wonder. I'll get you some chicken soup. You need to keep your strength up.”

  Leanne was in the small kitchen heating up the Heinz soup in a saucepan when her boyfriend emerged, wrapped in a threadbare dressing gown.

  “Feeling better, love?” she asked, glancing round.

  “Yes, I'm much better,” Garvin replied, sitting down at the table.

  Leanne was not so sure.

  He looks like a ruddy zombie, she thought. All pale and lifeless. Maybe he really is ill.

  She poured the soup into a bowl and set it on the table in front of him. He looked down at it, as if trying to work out what it was. Then he smiled, picked up his spoon, and began to eat.

  “So how did it go up at the big house, anyway?” she asked, sitting down opposite him. “You get their boiler sorted?”

  “It was fine,” he said. “Very nice people. Paid me in cash. Wish they were all that straightforward.”

  Garvin looked up from his soup.

  “They've got a job for you as well, darling,” he said. “Regular work. Nice little earner.”

  Leanne, who ran a one-woman mobile hairdressing and manicure business, was surprised.

  “I'd have thought those posh folk wouldn't want any dealings with me,” she said. “Wouldn't they go into Hereford to get their hair done and that?”

  “No,” explained Garvin, “they really want to see you. I told them about you, see? And they said, yes, you send her up to us.”

  He smiled again, returned to his soup.

  Well, she thought, their money is as good as anybody else's.

  “All right,” she said, “I'm going up that way tomorrow. I'll drop by and see what they want.”

  “Sooner the better,” he commented. “There's one lady who's very eager to see you.”

  “How come they're so keen to meet the locals all of a sudden?” she asked. “They've been all standoffish for months. What did they say to you, exactly?”

  Garvin looked confused, and with his free hand, he tugged absentmindedly at the collar of his pajama jacket. Leanne saw an angry red mark just above his collar bone. She looked more closely and saw a second mark just visible under the first.

  “Here, is that a love bite?” she said, jokingly.

  “No,” he said, looking down again. “Not a love bite.”

  “I wouldn't be surprised if you had fleas, this place is so scruffy,” she said.

  She did not give the marks any more thought until it was too late, and she had acquired some of her own.

  Chapter 5: Signs and Wonders

  “Kelly?” said Brad, startled into responding.

  Marcus made an impatient gesture. He had asked Brad not to speak during the session.

  “Kathy?” said Marcus. “Listen to me. I want you to wake up.”

  “Forget it, Svengali,” said Kelly’s voice, “I'm catching up with my old man.”

  “What is this?” exclaimed Brad. “Some kind of trick?”

  “No tricks, Dad! It's all for real. That's what I discovered. Once you're in the circle, everything becomes clear.”Kathy's face was serious now.

  “That's how I can see you now, Dad. We all do. Kathy left us, but we didn't leave her. The circle is unbroken. We can see through her eyes. And that's just one of our powers!”

  “Kelly, why can't you just meet me face to face?” demanded Brad. “If it's all so wonderful, why won't they let you see me?”

  “Like I said,” replied Brad’s daughter, “I see you now. I'm not a prisoner, Dad. For the first time in my life, I really belong. You should join us too!”

  “I just want to see you, hon,” said Brad, “I just want to meet you, in person, to be sure you're okay.”

  Kathy's expression changed again, her eyes narrowed. This time her voice was harsh, deeper, and had a cold, inhuman quality.

  “If you value your lives, do not interfere.”

  “Kathy, if you can hear me, I'm going to count down from ten, and by the time I reach one, you'll be awake,” said Marcus, firmly.

  As Marcus began his count, Kathy's eyes rolled back into her head and she slumped to one side. A fleck of foam appeared at the corner of her mouth.

  “She's having some kind of fit,” said Marcus. “Help me, Brad, in case she swallows her tongue.”

  A minute later, a baffled Kathy was sipping from a small glass of Scotch. She remembered nothing after being told to focus on the fountain pen.

  “Did I help you at all?” she asked Brad.

  “Kind of,” he said. “But you also raised some more questions.”

  Marcus had been quiet since Kathy had recovered from her seizure.

  “You should get medical help,” he said. “But I have a feeling you won't.”

  Kathy shook her head.

  “Don't like hospitals,” she said firmly. “Anything official, I'm keeping away from it.”

  She got up ready to leave.

  “Got to be going, gents. Things to do, people to see. And even more people to avoid.”

  “You never told us where you're staying,” said Brad.

  Kathy gave a thin smile.

  “That's right, I didn't. Let's just say it's not luxury accommodation, but it's
rent free.”

  “You do know the police want to talk to you about Matt Arnold's death?” asked Marcus, getting up to open the door for her.

  She shrugged.

  “I don't want to talk to them,” she replied.

  “How will we get in touch with you?” asked Brad.

  “I'll get in touch with you,” she said. “Thanks for the tea and booze, Marcus.”

  Just as she was leaving, Kathy stopped, realization dawning on her pallid face.

  “Bloody hell, there is something else,” she said. “Maybe you did churn up a lost memory or something. It's a bit daft, but I should tell you. About that book.”

  “What book?” asked Brad.

  “Clay's book,” she said. “He wrote it years ago, he said. Anyway, we were all told that if we ever saw a copy, we had to buy it, and bring it back so they could destroy it. Stop it getting into the hands of unbelievers.”

  “What was it called?” asked Marcus.

  “Some boring title, like a schoolbook,” she said. “Something like Theories About Stones And Circles. Anyway, it's the only one Clay wrote, so it shouldn't be hard to find it. See you around, fellas!”

  It took Marcus five minutes online to find that Clay's book was entitled A New Theory of Stone Circles. It had been published by a small academic press in 1993, when Clay was still a respected archaeologist. Copies were indeed rare, but Marcus found one on eBay and ordered it at once.

  “This could be a major breakthrough,” said Marcus. “Fingers crossed.”

  “Because Clay wanted them destroyed?” asked Brad.

  Marcus nodded.

  “If it wasn't important, why worry about the likes of us reading it? Clearly there's something in it, however marginal or obscure, that he wants to keep secret.”

  “It doesn't bring us any closer to Kelly, though,” observed Brad. “What do you make of that performance, or whatever it was?”

  Marcus shrugged.

  “I've seen some strange things,” he said. “But I'm going to reserve judgment on that. There was one thing Kathy said, though. A clue that might help us find Clay and his cult.”

  He turned to the computer again.

  “Clay was obsessed with stone circles,” explained Marcus. “And there are only so many of those. The name Kathy half-remembered might just coincide with one, or a place near to one.”