The Sister(135)
The test of faith she’d set him all those years before, the reason he’d carried on working after Gracie had died… He had to know what it was and whether it had been worth it. More than that, he needed to know she was right. Because if she were, he’d know without a doubt there really were more things in heaven than earth, that there truly could be a life after death and he’d be reunited with Gracie at last.
It had to be true.
The spectre of self-doubt rose in him. To have waited this long in vain, would mean the end of everything. He was almost ready to accept he might have been wrong, that perhaps The Sister wasn’t quite all he thought she was, no more than a clever trickster after all.
Sensing how little time he had left, he made up his mind. As soon as Stella had found a new job, he’d stop fighting just to live another day. He’d just give in and slip quietly and unnoticed out of the back door.
The temptation to open the envelope containing the prediction had never been stronger. He wondered what could happen if he peeked inside. After years of self-control and with time running out, Ryan succumbed and opened it. Pulling out a yellowing sheet of paper, he unfolded it.
Chapter 117
Miller shot forward on the bed gasping for air before he’d even opened his eyes. The folds in his bedcovers restrained him as if he were wearing a lap belt. Gulping another lungful, he realised he actually had been holding his breath. His heart hammered so hard against the inside of his ribs, he felt as though a herd of stampeding buffalo were trampling his chest, the heavy beating pounded in his head.
It was just a dream. He flopped down onto his pillows while the effects subsided. There were no curtains or blinds at the windows. The daylight intensified by the whiteness of the walls and ceilings hurt his eyes. He closed them.
During the course of his life, he’d escaped drowning many times, but never before had his sleep been troubled by these apparent flashbacks. Lately his dreams generally had become more frequent and increasingly lucid, their significance progressively disturbing and portentous. Last week he dreamed he was working with a researcher named Michael Simpson, who specialised in the study of brainwashing and its application within cults. Although he’d never seen or heard of him before, his nightly encounters with him had seemed so real. The dreams culminated in a trip to Amsterdam where he’d confided someone was trying to kill him. It was crazy, but he feared for Simpson.
The dreams meant something and, despite endless analysis, he couldn’t fathom what. Deep down, he thought they represented a warning.
He switched on his laptop with the intention of googling the meaning of dreams. A news feed caught his eye. He stared in growing disbelief. Researcher Murdered in Amsterdam.
Able to guess correctly a good deal of the time, his intuitive powers now seemed to border on the psychic. He knew now with certainty before he read on, what the researcher’s name would be.
Stunned, he reached over to the bedside table and checked his watch. Just before nine o' clock. Opening the bedside cabinet drawer, he fumbled through the accumulation of discarded notes and half-empty boxes until he found what he was looking for: a dog-eared old business card. After all these years, he wasn’t sure why he still kept it; perhaps he thought he’d need it one day. The area code was an old one, but he knew what it should be, so he added the new digit and keyed the number into his phone.
A few seconds later, it started to ring.
Chapter 118
If he’d been on stage with a magician, he’d have thought it was sleight of hand or some other conjuring trick. The note read: When a former patient returns, a new church rises from the mountain.
It wasn’t at all what he’d expected. A former patient returns and a new church. What was all that about? He always thought it would be something momentous, not something so mundane and cryptic. Guilt weighed heavy on him or was it merely disappointment?
You should have waited.
An uneasy feeling crept over him. He feared the consequences of his actions. Which former patient? You should have waited, you silly old fool.
A seemingly random thought popped into his head. A vision appeared of someone he’d not thought about in years.
The telephone rang. Startled, he lifted the receiver. ‘Hello, Ryan here.’
‘Dr Ryan?’
‘Bruce?’
‘How did you know it was me?’
His heart leapt at the realisation he’d chosen exactly the right time to open the envelope. Was it a coincidence? It couldn’t be. For a moment, he worried how he’d tell her and then realised there was no need.
She already knew.
Chapter 119
Miller pulled up in a taxi, paid the driver and stepped out into the unseasonably warm sunshine. From the pavement, the fa?ade of the building didn’t appear as imposing as it did when he was last there. The heavy ornate cast-iron gate was secured in the open position with a heel operated counterweighted stay. The stone steps looked familiar, though more dished and worn in the middle than he remembered. High on the wall, the unblinking eye of a CCTV camera lens pointed down, covering the entrance. Arranged vertically, four buzzers shared the same bright alloy speaker panel.
Miller selected the third one up and pressed, the buzzer sounded, and the electronic keep snapped back, allowing him entry. Climbing the stairs, he noticed the creamy-coloured walls were scuffed and scruffy, probably not painted in years.