The Sister(213)

The advice was lost on the Czech as he wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, eyes red and streaming. ‘I don’ remember my mother!’ he said, with a hoarse voice.

‘Shame on you, Czech.’

‘An’ shame to you!’

The sound of footsteps in the narrow street silenced them. The only light was the moon. Knocked out on a nightly basis, the council had given up replacing the streetlights years ago. Boarded up buildings lined both sides of the street, but the security measure didn’t prevent the former hotel opposite being used as a drug den. A large corner of corrugated iron sheet covering a ground floor window pushed out. A pair of feet appeared, followed by legs and the rest of the body, which eased down to the pavement beneath. The owner of the footsteps they'd heard held the sheet open, before climbing in himself. There was always someone coming or going.

They never bothered the two men; they didn’t have anything they needed.

‘She hasn’t been since last year,’ the Irishman said.

The Czech slipped further down against the wall, so that his back was almost on the floor, while his head remained upright, leaning against it. From the side, he was almost L shaped. His neck would ache in the morning, but he was too far gone to move. He closed his eyes, mumbling, ‘Crazy Irish, lemme sleep.’

‘Things were different when she was around. I didn’t need this shit when she was around.’ He looked at the half-empty bottle with disdain. Turning it to catch the moonlight, it revealed the tiniest smear of liquid still inside.

He licked his lips and almost sensually pushed his tongue into the bottle’s smooth neck, tipping it up, waiting patiently for last of the moisture to dribble over his taste buds. It warmed his mouth, and he slumped back against the wall, eyes slowly drifting out of focus.

The gate creaked. Heart pounding, he sat up rubbing his eyes as he looked warily down the steps.

The figure of a woman, dressed in a light grey cape, came towards him, her pale face and rosé coloured hair coming alive in the silvery light.

She looked younger than the last time he’d seen her.

‘Czech, wake up; she’s here. Our Lady is resurrectified.’

She smiled enigmatically. ‘Hello, Paddy.’

Hollow crumpling sounds came from the thin metal sheets as they pushed back from the window behind her, she looked over as a gangly youth slid out, looking around furtively before going on his way.

The smile was still on her lips, but her face couldn’t mask the sadness she felt at the plight of those around her.

Paddy was on his feet, wiping his hands against his clothes, smoothing his hair. ‘What is it, what’s wrong?’

She turned to face him. ‘It’s okay, Paddy. I was just thinking, that’s all.’

Every year at Easter, no matter what, her mother had returned to Brighton. She’d have loved to have helped them all, but she recalled her words. You can’t grow seeds in a barren land; they won’t take. A question formed in her head. But what if you bring fertile soil with you?

She rolled the stone between her thumb and forefinger. Manipulating it into her palm, she closed her grip on it. The impressions it contained had long since passed into her, but the energy it possessed amazed her, firing her body and soul.

She thought about her mother again, but she was shut down to her. Rosetta couldn’t connect.

‘When the time comes,’ her mother had said, ‘and the Resurrectionists come for you; seek out Miller. He’ll know what to do.’

She puzzled over the advice. Why not you, Mum? It was the one area they hadn’t covered in the plan. A thought seeded in her mind, designed to seek out the light when the time came, germinated. If she uses the wavelengths, the tall man, he will know.





Chapter 156



Monday, 27 August





The improvement in Kathy had occurred almost overnight. The hospital released her on the proviso she stayed with her sister, and Miller had insisted Stella took six weeks off work to help with her rehabilitation. He’d kept in regular touch with her throughout, and during her absence; she’d volunteered – if time permitted – to create a new website for him. On Saturday afternoon, she’d telephoned to say she would be in on Monday. Desperate for the change in direction an enhanced presence on the internet could bring, he hadn’t argued. Quite apart from that, he needed her back.

The gates were already open. She was already in. As he strolled up the driveway, he noticed she was playing music. She must be in a good mood. He was looking forward to seeing her. Unable to suppress a grin, he pressed the buzzer. The alloy speaker panel crackled, and the bolt mechanism disengaged. Pulling the door open, he entered.

Her face lit with a smile. ‘Hi, stranger,’ she said, switching the radio off. She got to her feet and came around to the front of the desk, encircling him with her arms.

He squeezed her tight and said, ‘Good to see you back at last. How’s Kathy?’

Pulling away, she looked almost disappointed.

‘And you – how are you?’ He shrugged, embarrassed. ‘I’m sorry; I’ve had so much on my mind I’ve forgotten my etiquette.’

‘We’re both okay,’ she said, ‘Kathy goes to a day centre now. I’m a bit worried because she’s talking about becoming a nun, which is hardly surprising after everything she’s been through. Doctor Marshall said her recovery was nothing short of a miracle, but he was inclined to believe she’d faked at least some of her earlier symptoms. Do you think he’s right?’ she said, cocking her head to one side inquisitively.