Under a Watchful Eye(83)

Theophanic Mutations by Mark Fry, and what must have accounted for nigh on the entire print run of the sole edition of a rare and long-out-of-print paperback.

Confusion made Seb’s movements near frantic. ‘Mark?’ Seb held onto the stack of boxes to steady himself. ‘Mark?’

‘Seb. Seb. Seb,’ Mark called back, but in a suppressed, urgent, hissy voice.

Seb stepped out of the storage alcove and into Mark’s torch beam, directed down the corridor to locate Seb. He could see no more than a silhouette of Mark’s head.

‘We got company!’ Mark whispered forcefully.

‘What?’

‘Ssh! Outside.’

Seb moved to where Mark stood. ‘Just seen someone walk past that little window. Up there. Feet.’

‘Turn your bloody torch off, then,’ Seb said, as he killed his own light.

In silence and darkness, they listened to each other’s breathing.

‘A security guard?’ Seb eventually whispered, and from a hope that what Mark had seen was real and not something else.

‘No alarms, though. Nothing. Door wasn’t even locked. Didn’t look like a guard either. I saw a bit of skirt. Must have been a woman.’

‘It’s her! Come on.’

Seb made his way back up the stairs and into the passage behind the kitchen. Mark followed, but he took his time, as if he was more reluctant to leave the SPR hoard than afraid of what waited for them outside.





23


She Beckoned and I Followed


‘We’re so pleased that you came.’ The same woman with the crudely cut hair, who had accosted him on King Street in Brixham, spoke first. She appeared just as dishevelled as before, and was dressed in the same clothes, the dirty cords and a bobbled fleece inside a grubby, yellow raincoat.

The eyes of the second woman darted between her companion and Seb, assessing the exchange and the facial expressions, as if searching for the right tone, the correct discourse, with which to participate in the opening exchange. She wore a long, patterned skirt with hiking boots. In places the hem was soiled and ragged. The thick rope of her plaited hair seemed coarse, like grey hemp. Unkempt strands formed a fuzzy halo around her lined face.

She appeared expectant and eager to join in, but was also suffering an attack of nerves. Her white fingers twisted and her hands trembled. And if Seb wasn’t mistaken, she also seemed relieved to see him.

The two women stood apart at the end of the oval, weedy terrace, before the portico. They had been in that curious position when Seb emerged from the side of the building.

He cleared his throat to get rid of the tightness. ‘The files that Ewan took. They’re back downstairs. All of them.’

‘Thank you. I hope they gave you an idea of what has been achieved here.’

Mark remained behind Seb, and kept silent.

‘This has to end . . . I want it to stop, today. I want you to leave me alone. This has nothing to do with me. What was done here. Whatever you are doing now, I want no part of.’

The long-haired woman looked at the floor as if embarrassed by his outburst. But her companion with the helmet of hair smiled with what Seb took for satisfaction. ‘We’re all involved. We all struggle through the psychic stream. And the current is more powerful in some places, like here, and in some people. But the slowly flowing flood does not stop reaching out, Sebastian. When a roof leaks, the water always finds its way down. It drips onto our heads. A little at first, then more and more. But we all join the flow eventually. The dark, slowly flowing flood. We merely join it at different times. Who can say when that time comes to any of us?’

‘Ewan had no right to involve me in this. Whatever he did has nothing to do with me. I hadn’t seen him in years until recently.’

‘Lucky you,’ the woman said, her eyes becoming sly. ‘And what a disappointment he was. We hope you won’t be. But let’s be grateful that Ewan brought us together.’

‘What is it that you want?’

‘Want? This isn’t about us, this is about you, and your potential. We offer nothing but an opportunity.’

‘Yes, it is. It really is, Seb,’ the nervous woman with the long hair finally spoke up, only to be admonished with a withering look from her friend, who resumed her spiel. ‘Do you close yourself off from the truth, Sebastian? Do you fear a vision far greater than anything that appears in story books?’ She was referring to his work again, and this time as if it were childish. No attempt was being made to conceal her contempt. ‘Have you not received an inkling of a place far greater than this?’ She spread her arms and looked about herself, as if to indicate the ground upon which they stood.

‘Whatever this is, I told you, I want no part of it.’

‘That, unfortunately, is not my decision to make. I can’t grant wishes, but I can guide you in what must appear strange and frightening. But you needn’t be afraid, or confused.’ She’d widened her eyes mockingly when she’d said ‘frightening’. ‘And if you see them tonight, and you may do, don’t be frightened. They don’t know themselves.’

Seb breathed out hard enough for it to become audible. He worried he might hyperventilate and needed to force a swallow to regain control of his larynx. ‘What do you mean? Tonight?’

‘Please, Seb. You must try to understand what Veronica is telling you. Otherwise it’ll always be difficult. It doesn’t have to be this way. We don’t have much time.’ This from the second woman again, her face pleading with him. And Veronica? At least he now had a name for the creature with the helmet-hair.