Read The Sister Online

Authors: Max China

The Sister (9 page)

"Midnight it was, I couldn't sleep because I hadn't had a drop for hours. I was shivering, sick and cold to the bone; I wanted to die. Not knowing what else to do, I closed my eyes and prayed. When I opened them, she stood above me, in that cape o' hers, all alight as if she'd a fire burning behind her. She leaned over me, her hand out straight - like that - and I swear it glowed. I was scared; I never seen anything like it, and she was smiling, and I felt warm. The next thing I knew it was morning. I've not had a drop since."

A murmur rose amidst the men. Some believed him. A few wanted to believe. The others were too far gone to care.

"Well, how come you're still on the streets then?"

"God did not build
Rome in a day. All in good time, Czech, all in good time."

Czech, a good man who'd lost his way.
She smiled. They didn't need her tonight.

It didn't take long for her to achieve a mythical status among the down-and-outs in
Brighton. Some swore she could perform miracles, or they'd say she could be in two places at once. They christened her, 'Our Lady of Brighton.'

 

 

When the church heard the rumours of a miracle Lady, they sent emissaries to investigate. She knew they were coming, and stayed away from the streets at night. It didn't occur to them to look for her in a fortuneteller's kiosk in the Lanes of Brighton during the day. The following Easter Sunday, she resumed her services. Through her, tramps, wino's and the lost, lonely and disconsolate, found a God they could believe in.

The little bell above the door tinkled, taking her out of her reverie. She looked out from the darkness where she sat, not seeing who it was, but she knew.

"I've been expecting you."

 

 

Chapter 15

 

Brighton June 1975

 

Ryan was not looking for an affair that morning, as he strolled along the seafront past the pier. A few seagulls squabbled on the ground over scraps on the promenade, their loud cries attracting new screeching arrivals from the sky above into the fray. As the size of the group grew, he wondered absently,
how many gulls it took to qualify as a flock.

He turned away from the front and headed towards the heart of the town.
A shepherd and his flock … a congregation of people.
The definitions took on a religious connotation, and he found himself wondering what had happened to Vera Flynn . . .
Inevitably, he arrived at the point in his recollections where she'd made the second of her predictions. The first was of course, uncanny, and left no doubt she was in possession of something extraordinary: the ability to foretell at least the near future. When she'd whispered the second prediction to him, it was far into an indeterminable future. The warmth of her breath was on his ear once more, and the tingle of pleasure her tongue had sent through him as she pushed it deep inside, sealing the memory there. As he thought through the coming about of, and later the consequence of her suggested future, he felt the stirring of an erection.

Over the years, he still thought about her occasionally. How he would have loved the chance to study her.

He reflected on the order of things, on the million and one thought processes discarded every hour of every day and deliberated on the sensory impressions filtered out as unimportant to survival. He also considered the unlikelihood of successfully predicting what would happen in the next minute. Oh, you might have a clue in the here and now as to which way events might turn, based on chance, probability and the ability to guess well, but to predict something an hour before, or the
day
before? The odds were beyond calculation. What mechanism could be involved in singling out from all other perceived information, a moment in time that did not yet exist? He sought answers from beyond the bounds of established convention, visiting mediums and their like.

He'd yet to find a single one with any special ability, other than well polished-trickery.

At first, he walked past the shop by a few paces. A distinct impression formed that he should go back.
There's something different about this place . . .
He stopped, retraced his footsteps, and then peering through the window; decided to go in. A tiny bell signalled his arrival.

A soft female voice came from the gloomy interior. "I've been expecting you."

What…? This was a new ploy.
He squinted into the darkness.

"Turn the sign around on the door, Dr Ryan, and lock it for me, will you?"

He did as she asked without question; a sense of unreality pervaded as he turned the sign to
Closed,
and crouching, turned the key in the lock. He stood up and sensing someone right behind him, he spun around.

She was there. He'd
known
it would be her. She lifted her face to him, her eyes a myriad of changing shades of green. He saw himself in miniature reflected in their opalescence . . .

Her soft lips parted as they touched his; she orgasmed almost instantly, shuddering against him, electrifying him; he marvelled at the joys of her, knowing it had barely begun. What he'd known for a long time would happen was happening. The second prediction was coming true.

It was an experience; he would later note, like being born again.

She'd broken her vows of chastity. Abandoned by her powers, he again lost the chance to study her. Perhaps it was fated he shouldn't know more and once he'd served his purpose, she never allowed him to sleep with her again.

 

 

Chapter 16

 

A few months passed and Vera closed the shop on medical advice. Ryan had invested in her practice, buying the unit to keep the pressure off her. A year later she was ready to open up again, he helped her with the cleaning and preparations. Despite her weakened state, she now considered it safe to handle the stone again. She took it from her pocket, removed one of her gloves, and making a fist around it, closed her eyes. A renewed vigour infused her, restoring her fully. He was incredulous as he watched the change.

Later, he added to his notes.
Vera seemed to relish losing her powers. I am sworn to secrecy over the reasons for it, but she seemed to know it served a greater purpose, and she enjoyed the freedom from responsibility more than anything, although the events of the past few months seem to have sapped her strength. I examined her in my capacity as a medical doctor, and as I signed the necessary paperwork, she decided to share something with me.
He outlined what he'd witnessed, and concluded.
She keeps a mysterious black sphere - she refers to it as 'The stone' - about her wherever she goes. It seems to invigorate her. I suspect it is the source of her power.

She remained close to him, even working with him as he sought to make scientific sense of her. She wouldn't elaborate about the stone, other than to say it was her talisman. Without gloves, she wouldn't allow him to handle it, telling him he would taint it.

"Taint it … with what?" he'd asked.

Because she couldn't lie, she chose her words carefully. "Some things are beyond human comprehension."

"I'd like to examine its composition further, I've never seen a material quite like it, it's almost obsidian, but how did it become so perfectly spherical?"

She replied, truthfully, "I don't know."

"If—"

"No more questions," she said, closing the matter firmly. "You asked if I could help you in the more extreme cases, to unravel what you cannot?"

"That's right, I did."

"The answer, is that I can, but only if it plays a part in the bigger plan."

"What plan is that?" he asked.

"I can't tell you, it's always changing."

"But you will help me?"

A vague smile was on her lips as she handed him a sealed envelope.

"What's this?" he said as he took it.

"Inside the envelope is the third prediction I told you of when I was thirteen. You must not open it until the day comes."

"And how will I know when that is?"

"
You will know," she said.

 

 

Two of her predictions with regards to him had already come true, and he'd witnessed countless other accurate forecasts of the near future. He had no doubt that, in the fullness of time, the third would come to pass, as well.

 

 

Chapter 17

 

Tuesday July 15
th
1975

 

A shrill unearthly wail cut through the air, curdling the blood, suspending time, silencing everything.

High in the hills, the expedition line stopped abruptly, and then began to move again, reversing its direction. A head count revealed four boys missing, the remaining eleven boys and three teachers snaked back along the path, descending fast.

Above, silent and unnoticed in the cloudless sky, a small cruciform fleck, circled lazily against the sun. The buzzard observed the unfolding drama below with avian indifference.

 

 

Kirk found Bruce Milowski rocking backwards and forwards in a foetal, squatting position, close to the edge of the pond, rambling to himself incoherently about evil spirits and moving shadows. Wild-eyed, he told Kirk how the water had sucked each of his friends under, one by one.

"I tried, I really tried. I threw Brookes my shell, and he caught it. It should have saved him . . ." he gnawed on his knuckles until the skin broke.

"What are you talking about, boy," Kirk said, "you're not making sense."

"Because I can't swim - don't you see?" Without warning, he repeated the blood-curdling scream that first drew them back down the hill. Up close, it was ear splitting.

His behaviour spooked the other boys, infecting them with wild fears and imaginings. A sense of panic rose among them, the atmosphere palpable; filled with blind dread and confusion. Kirk recalled similar scenes in the war.
These kids are shell-shocked.

A noxious odour drifted out from the deep, water-filled hollow and registered with Kirk, triggering memories. He'd once lost three men while crossing a swamp in
Borneo, a pocket of marsh gas and hydrogen sulphide had erupted out from the mud in such concentrations that it killed them within seconds, before dissipating in the open air.

Behind him, his colleague stripped off, preparing to go into the water.

Kirk caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. The PE teacher in his underpants ran by, ready to dive in. He'd almost reached the edge.

"Stop!" Kirk's parade ground voice barked. The other man stopped dead. "You can't go in there." He pulled the inside of his collar up, covering his mouth. "The gas, it's poisonous, keep back."

Kirk delegated him to run for help instead.

Even away from the water's edge, the smell was overpowering. On the lower banks, the corpses of several different species of birds provided a testimony to its lethal potency.

Somebody put a red blanket over the surviving boy's shoulders. Two teachers tried to comfort him.

Milowski watched the scene descend further into chaos. In his detachment, he was as far removed and indifferent as the buzzard that continued circling the skies above.

He began rambling again. "You could see the sky in the water, but then it turned black! The shadows, they live in the water, and they've got out. They're going to get us all!" he paused, suddenly quite lucid. "I let him have my seashell, I threw it to Brookes, and he caught it. I thought it would save him…" Then he screamed again, a few of the boys started to cry. Kirk slapped him hard, the sound cracking like a rifle shot. Everyone turned to look at him. He immediately put his arm around the boy's shoulder.

"You're in shock kid, calm down. You're safe now; it's going to be all right."

The slap had snapped the hysteria out of him, and he shivered once, the reversal of his state was unnatural in its immediacy, he sank to his haunches, squatting twenty-five feet from the edge of the water, quiet, almost catatonic, he stared across it, contemplating the loss of his friends. Empty and bewildered at what had just happened, unable to accept its reality, he'd already begun to seal the memory. He would put it away in a bubble, and not remember it again for a long time. The last part of child in him had finally gone, and with it, more than that. The blind faith he'd held in the power of his magic seashell. And with that, his belief in God disappeared, too.

He refused to move, even after the emergency services arrived.

 

 

An unmistakable smell of sulphur rose from the stagnant pond, churned up by the activities of the dive teams, and swamped his senses. He got the inescapable feeling that if there really were a hell, that’s where he was already. Struck with the conviction that something else was going to happen - he sat, watched and waited.

Only four-wheel drive vehicles were able to get close. They had little tents erected in a cluster near the entry point, for the divers. One of the trucks, a pick-up, had an A-frame bolted onto the back. From the top pulley hung a heavy-duty hook connected to a steel cable winch. Milowski wondered why they needed a piece of equipment like that.

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