The Returned (30 page)

The man swung his gun at Pierre’s head, connecting hard enough to make him fall. Then he stood over Pierre and kicked, kicked . . . Pierre tried to recover some strength, tried to stand,
but despaired. He knew the fight was lost.

Then there was torchlight shining through the windows. The front door opened, and the light swung around the room. It paused on the boy, standing quietly by the wall, staring at Pierre; then the
beam came round to Pierre’s terrified face.

‘What did you
do
to him?’ came a woman’s voice. It was a police officer, the one who’d brought the boy in the first place.

Pierre could only look desperately around, trying to see where his attacker was, but the man had gone.
Vanished
, he thought. He looked at the boy, who was still watching him.

A second woman came through the door, rushed over and embraced the child. He put his arms around her and held her tightly, as though he’d never let her go. The policewoman looked from the
boy to Pierre, still lying on the floor. Pierre could see the suspicion in her eyes, but couldn’t tell if it was him or Victor she was most suspicious of.

The other woman just looked at him with disgust. With one arm around the boy, she shepherded him out of the door. The police officer followed, giving Pierre one last look before she went. Her
eyes held many questions, but Pierre had no answers for her.

He put his hand to where he’d felt the shot hit him. There was no pain now. He pulled his hand away, clean. He lay still, trembling.

Scared of the shadows, Pierre began to pray.

Frédéric had been watching her all night.

Alice
, he told himself.
Léna’s cousin.

She’d been the life and soul, loud and laughing, talking about her Parisian boyfriend, saying how she preferred
older
men. Flicking glances at Frédéric over and
over, while he kept his distance. Whatever the bad feeling was between Léna and her cousin, he couldn’t understand the way Léna had behaved the night before. She must have known
how hurtful saying something like
that
was.

And he looked at the girl, and couldn’t shake off the sense of foreboding.

The others all liked her. She drank like a fish and seemed none the worse for it. Then, when it came to Frédéric’s turn to buy the drinks, she’d gone with him to the
bar. He found himself terrified, standing beside her. What of, he wasn’t sure.

‘Was Léna OK after last night?’ he asked her. It was the first thing he’d said to her all evening. ‘Her mum called my parents this morning and wanted to know if
I’d seen her.’

She pouted. ‘Don’t worry about Léna,’ she told him.

‘Why did she say what she did, Alice?’

‘She’s jealous,’ she said. ‘She knew what to say to upset you.’

He nodded. Yes, Léna always knew exactly how to upset him. ‘Did you know Camille?’ he asked. He couldn’t look at her as he said it. He was scared of what he’d see
in her eyes.

She paused. ‘A little,’ she said. ‘Now, come on. I’ll challenge you this time.’

She smiled at him. Despite his misgivings, he found himself smiling back.

One by one, she downed the vodka shots as though they were water, to squeals and cheers from those crowded around. Then it was Frédéric’s turn. He’d already had too
much, he knew, but he tried to keep up. One down, then the second . . . The third, though, was the last straw.

He set the shot glass down half-full, and shrugged.

‘Ha!’ cried Lucho. ‘You lose! You have to do whatever she wants.’

‘Whatever I want?’ said Alice. Her smile grew sly. She walked around the table and sat on Frédéric’s knee, then kissed him. Long, slow. Frédéric
nearly pulled back at the chill of her lips, but his head was spinning too much to move. There were whoops of delight and catcalls from those around.

‘What the hell are you playing at?’ came a raging voice. Frédéric opened his eyes to see Jérôme, Léna’s father. The man took Alice’s arm
and dragged her from her chair. She looked as furious as Jérôme did.

‘Dad, stop it!’ cried Alice.

Frédéric stared after them both in horror. None of the others had noticed what she’d said.

Just a slip of the tongue. It had to be.

Frédéric drank Coke for the next hour, trying to get his head straight, but he wanted to know. Wanted to know if the thoughts he was having were just crazy.

So he walked to the Ségurets’ house, scared but determined. On the way, another power blackout swept through the town, but walking in the darkness suited his mood.

He didn’t stop to think as he climbed the trellis at the front and knocked at the window. Alice let him inside, silent, then led him to a bedroom.

Camille’s bedroom.

The only light came from candles. She sat him down on the edge of the bed and kissed him again. She was so hungry, demanding. Lost, he kissed back, letting himself push those impossible thoughts
away, but they kept returning.

Tears were pouring from him. She looked at his face, concerned, wiping the tears away.

‘Who are you?’ he whispered.

She looked at him. There was hope in her eyes. And fear. ‘You know who I am,’ she said, her voice soft. ‘I love you. And you love me, too. That’s all that
matters.’

The impossible
, he thought. ‘Camille?’

She nodded, once. The truth hit him hard. Shaking, he stood and backed away. Camille watched him, the pain on her face matching the pain in his heart. She held out a hand to him.

Frédéric ran.

Adèle sat in her house and watched the clock as the hands crept forwards, until the time of the last coach had come and gone. She’d made her choice, and she knew
it was the right one; she even felt some relief at it.

When the power cut came, she and Chloé fetched candles and lit them. It felt almost ceremonial, lighting a candle for the dead, or as a prayer for hope. Here, now, what had died was her
love for Simon; and her hope was for the future, with or without Thomas. Another decision to make, and make soon.

Then the patio door slid open, and Simon stepped out from behind the curtains. She’d thought he might come, but she was strong enough now, strong enough to send him away again.

He was dishevelled; puzzled and angry, he looked like a child who couldn’t understand why things hadn’t quite gone his way. ‘Why didn’t you come?’ he said.
‘Was it
Thomas
? Did he keep you here?’

Adèle looked at him, the passion and pain worn so openly on his face. Her heart ached, but she had to make him see. ‘I’m not coming, Simon. You should leave.’

He shook his head, stubborn. ‘Not without you. Not without Chloé.’

She moved to stand in front of him, looking him straight in the eyes. Willing him to understand. ‘And what I want doesn’t matter to you?’

‘What you want? How would you know what that is, Adèle? You’re under this man’s spell. You can’t think for yourself. You never could. I have to think for both of
us.’ He looked across the room to where Chloé was watching. ‘For all three of us.’

‘You can’t stay.’

‘I came for you.’

She nodded. If he wouldn’t listen, she would have to ask the one question she knew would break him. ‘Why did you do it, Simon? You said that I saved you. That you were happy. That
you stopped thinking about suicide.’

‘What are you talking about? Of course I was happy.’

‘I believed you. But you finally did it, Simon. You
killed
yourself.’ She saw him flinch, confused. ‘It should have been the happiest day of our lives, but you killed
yourself. You betrayed me. You betrayed all of us.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘That’s not . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Please, Adèle,’ he said. ‘Come with me.’

He held out his hand; she shook her head and started to back away. ‘You’ve been dragging us to the grave,’ she told him. ‘Now you have to let us live. We don’t
need
you. Not any more.’

There was a flare of anger in his eyes. He reached out and grabbed Adèle’s arm, pulling her towards him with a firm hand, but Chloé stepped forwards. She moved between her
parents, looking into her father’s face with the same stubborn determination reflected on his.

‘Go away,’ said the girl. ‘We’re not coming with you. You chose to
die
instead of staying with us. It doesn’t matter that you came back. You’re still
dead to me.’

Simon let go, his anger turning to confusion and pain. He stared at his daughter, stared at Adèle, appalled at the rejection.

They all heard the car speeding up to the house, then the brakes screeching.

‘It’s Thomas,’ said Chloé. ‘I called him.’

Simon turned to the door he’d come through, and stepped back out into the night. Chloé took Adèle’s hand and clung to it.

Outside, they heard a car door slam, heard Thomas cry out: ‘Don’t move! Don’t move!’

They heard Simon shout, his voice full of anger and despair.

‘Stop!’ shouted Thomas. ‘
Stop!
’

Then gunfire.

Then silence.

At Dreyfus’s request, Anton spent most of the rest of his shift on the phone.

The dive team hadn’t had any time to examine the lake bed before the discovery of the animal carcasses brought everything to a standstill. They’d only been available for that day,
too; as things stood, it would be another two weeks before they or any other team in the country could return to the lake.

Anton was told to try and arrange something sooner. The best he could manage was an Italian team which could come in five days, but when he tried to phone Dreyfus to let him know the man
wasn’t answering his calls.

It was only then, once night had fallen, that he’d realized the other engineer on shift, Claude, wasn’t in the control room. Anton thought back; the last he remembered, Claude had
mumbled something about a check he needed to make. At the time Anton had been on the phone, deep in argument with the leader of the departing dive team, who’d been angling for extra money
– given what he described as the ‘distressing circumstances’ of the discovery of the animal corpses during the dive.

Claude had gone outside, and simply hadn’t returned.

Puzzled, Anton stood and walked to the door of the control room, only for it to burst open. Eric stormed in, eyes wide, out of breath.

‘You still here?’ said Eric.

‘Waiting for the night-shift guys,’ said Anton.

‘They’re not coming.’

‘What?’

‘Haven’t you seen?’ He went outside, and Anton followed. Eric pointed to the town below, in darkness. ‘The power went out an hour ago.’

Anton stared out across the town. No, he hadn’t seen: the dam control room had its own generators, and the only windows looked out across the lake. If there’d been a problem, the
power plant should have called him. ‘Did they have another outage scheduled?’

‘It’s been out for over an
hour
, Anton. This is different.’ Eric hurried back inside, and went to his locker. He pulled a plastic bag from his pocket and started to
fill it with the locker’s contents. ‘Thought I’d grab things as I drove past. Everyone else probably took the south road to avoid crossing the dam.’ There was a deep
mechanical thump from nearby. Eric looked frightened.

‘Probably just the generator,’ said Anton. ‘It does that sometimes. What’s going on?’

Eric didn’t reply. He closed the locker and turned to the door, eager to leave.

‘Eric,’ said Anton. ‘What’s this about?’

Eric leaned close, face to face and sincere. ‘The power’s gone. They’re giving up. You should get out while you can.’

‘Stay here,’ said Anton. There had to be something they could do. ‘Stay here for ten minutes. Let me try and find Dreyfus.’

‘No.’

‘Please. Ten minutes, that’s all. Just watch the systems. Please.’

Reluctant as Eric was, he nodded. ‘Just ten. Then I go.’

Anton drove down to the power plant. The car park was empty, save for one vehicle. As Anton ran to the entrance, Dreyfus came out of the building.

‘What are you doing?’ said Anton.

‘It’s over,’ said Dreyfus. He looked shaken, even more panicked than Eric. ‘The plant’s flooded.’

In the darkness, Anton looked over to the switchyard; he could see glints on the surface of water that must have been over a metre deep. ‘You can’t just leave. You
said—’

‘I’ve done what I can. I got everyone out, and now I’m going. You should go, too. It’s pointless staying.’

‘There has to be something we can do.’

‘It’s
dead
. We tried everything. The power won’t come back now. Don’t you get it? This isn’t something we can fight any more.’

‘And what about the people in town?’

Dreyfus paused. He looked around in desperation, as if some solution might present itself. But he shook his head. ‘There’s nothing we can do for them.’ Dreyfus hurried to his
car and got inside.

‘Someone has to monitor the dam, sir,’ Anton shouted.

Dreyfus stared at him as though he thought he was mad. Then he drove away.

When Anton reached the dam control room again he half-expected Eric to have left, but the man was still there, sitting in front of the monitors, looking at the screens with absolute
intensity.

‘Did you find him?’ said Eric. Anton nodded. ‘And what did he say?’

‘To leave.’

‘He’s right.’ Eric stood and walked out of the door. He strode to his car, Anton following. Eric got in, then turned to meet Anton’s eyes. ‘If you knew what I know,
you’d run from here. Do you understand? Run, and never look back.’

Anton gestured to the lake. ‘There’s still a mountain of water behind a dam that might be failing. We can’t just abandon it.’

Eric closed his eyes, shaking his head in frustration. Then he reached across, to under the passenger seat. He pulled something out and offered it to Anton.

Anton looked at the small silver crucifix, bewildered. He took it.

‘For what it’s worth,’ said Eric, and then he drove away, leaving Anton alone.

After he had run from Camille’s room Frédéric wandered the dark streets, angry and scared. It was quiet, well past midnight. Was she lying to him? Was she
lying, when she said she was Camille?