The Amulet (7 page)

Jerry Thompson was the most unpleasant person
she had ever met. It wasn’t just his very poor attention to
personal hygiene, but he also seemed to go out of his way to make
her life a misery, and, quite obviously, enjoyed doing so. She
often wondered why she put up with it and didn’t just leave. She
wasn’t a quitter, that was why.

Dressed and caked in make up, she almost
stumbled down the stairs to the dining room. Her Dad was already
sitting at the table in the kitchen having his breakfast when she
walked in.

“Cup of tea, Fae?” he asked. “God, you look
awful,” he continued when he looked up to see his daughter.

Faedra groaned inwardly, her attempts at
applying make up hadn’t had the desired effect.

“Yes, please, and, thanks, I love you, too,”
she replied testily to his question and subsequent observation. She
was never her best when tired. A bear with a sore head was an apt
comparison.

Henry poured her a cup of tea as she joined
him at the table.

“Are you okay, darling? Maybe you should call
in sick today,” he suggested.

“I haven’t slept very well the past couple of
days. I’ll be fine though, I’m not about to give Mr. Thompson any
more reasons to pick on me than he already feels he has.”

She ate her breakfast in silence. Today was
not going to be a good day and she could already feel herself
wishing it were over. Apart from the fact that she felt like a
zombie, and probably looked like an extra from the
Thriller
video, it was also the anniversary of her mother’s death. She
closed her eyes for a moment and gave herself an inward pep
talk.

Come on, Fae, pull yourself together. It’s
only twenty-four hours and then it will be over for another
year.

She always spent some time at her mother’s
grave on the anniversary of her death. It was a tradition of hers
that she started some years ago now. She would take a blanket, a
small picnic, sit down next to the headstone, and talk to her mum
about anything and everything. Somewhere deep inside she knew her
mum was listening. She had to believe it, it was one of the things
that kept her sane.

“Morning, Faedra, you look like crap,” Mr.
Thompson greeted her as she walked in the office dead on nine
o’clock. “Another minute and you’d have been late,” he continued in
his smarmy voice as he looked down at his wrist and tapped his
watch.

She took a deep breath and bit her lip.
“Morning, Mr. Thompson,” she sighed as she took her seat behind her
desk.

Mr. Thompson was a greasy looking middle-aged
man. He was fat and balding with a shiny head usually covered with
a sheen of sweat. He had beady little eyes that were positioned far
too close together on his face to be natural, and, for some unknown
reason, he decided it looked good to have a beard. Faedra had felt
her stomach lurch on several occasions when he had come back from
lunch with bits of greasy food stuck in it, and imagined him in his
office picking bits off for an afternoon snack. She stifled a
shudder. His clothing was always dirty, especially his shirts,
that, more often than not, had splotches of spilled food on them.
It was as if he didn’t know what a washing machine was, or
cared.

Everyone in the company hated him, but they
were relieved when she started working there because his attention
was now directed completely on her, as it was on all the new
employees before her, and would be until some poor soul was hired
in below her. Something that wasn’t likely to happen, as her
position was the lowest on the totem pole.

Faedra was the receptionist for the freight
company, so her main job focus was to answer the phones, direct
people to various departments, and greet people who walked through
the door. She was the first person you saw when you walked in, and
the last when you walked out. Mr. Thompson did throw in some filing
for her to do for good measure. Just such a task would set the
wheels in motion for Faedra to become very aware that something was
seriously amiss.

“Faedra Bennett,” Mr. Thompson snapped,
making her jump. She had her back to him with her hands in the
filing cabinet; putting away the load of files he had given her
just a few minutes ago. “How many times do I have to tell you?
ANSWER THE PHONE IN ONE RING!” he bellowed, making her jump once
more.

The whole office fell silent, and all heads
turned in her direction.

“But, Mr. Thompson, I have my hands in the
filing cabinet filing the records you just gave me and the nearest
phone is all the way over there,” she pointed to a desk a good
twenty feet away.

“I don’t care about your petty excuses, girl.
Do what I ask you to or I’ll write you up. DO I MAKE MYSELF
UNDERSTOOD?”

Faedra could feel herself get hot and her
cheeks redden. She was not used to getting shouted at. Tears
pricked behind her eyes, but she’d be darned if she were going to
show this bully that he’d upset her. She certainly was not about to
cry in front of the whole office, so she managed to blink them
back.

“Sorry, Mr. Thompson, it won’t happen again,”
she said softly.

“Just make sure it doesn’t, girl,” he gloated
and turned to leave. “Oh, and I need the Hodgkin’s report too.”

“Yes, Mr. Thompson.”

She heard him mutter
stupid girl
as he
stormed off in the direction of his office. Heaving a heavy hearted
sigh, she finished the filing and wandered past all of her
co-workers - who were looking at her with sympathy - to her desk at
the end of the room. She smiled sheepishly at the ones who made eye
contact with her, but most just averted their gazes as she
passed.

She had only been in front of her computer
for a few minutes, not time enough to calm herself down yet, before
she heard the familiar weighty footsteps stomping down the office
towards her. Within seconds his hefty form was taking up the space
in front of her desk. Looking up warily, she grimaced at his
demeanor. His face was almost puce; she thought he was going to
have a heart attack right there and then. He better not because
there was no way she was giving
that
mouth-to-mouth. The
thought made her incredibly nauseous.

“Did I not make myself clear, girl?” he
shouted.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Thompson, I don’t understand
what you mean.”

“When I tell you I need a report, I need it
NOW. I do not expect to have to wait until Christmas! Trust me to
hire another imbecile!” he bellowed, before snatching the report
that Faedra had already printed - just not gotten it to him yet -
off the printer and stormed off back down the office again.

Faedra was shaken; she struggled to force
back more tears, but this time they were tears of anger. Had she
ever been this angry before? She couldn’t remember. Her whole body
was trembling and her palms that were resting face down on some
paperwork were burning worse than they ever had before. This time
it was not just a sensation, it was downright painful. She lifted
her hands to blow on them, and, as she did, her eyes widened in
horror and confusion. There on the paper were two scorch marks
right where her hands had been.

She scanned the office to see if anyone had
noticed, but everyone had their heads down attempting to look like
they were working industriously. Balling up the paper, she threw it
in the bin and went to the rest room to run her hands under some
cold water. She was getting very concerned about her hands now.
What just happened was definitely not normal; she also knew that
she couldn’t tell anyone; they would think her crazy for sure.

For the rest of the day Faedra managed to
keep herself under the radar until it was time to go home. An
enormous weight lifted from her shoulders the minute she walked out
the door. She felt as light as a feather, as if she would float
away on even the most delicate of breezes.

After going home to change and pick up Faen,
and her picnic basket, Faedra pulled into the church car park.
There were no other cars there, which suited her. People often gave
her funny looks as they walked by when she was nattering away to no
one visible. She pulled her blanket and picnic basket from the
trunk, and strolled towards the graveyard.

It was a beautiful, warm evening with not a
cloud in the sky. There was a slight breeze that ruffled the leaves
on the trees. The graveyard was about an acre or two in size and
framed on three sides by ancient oak trees, with the church
standing proudly on the remaining side. She knew that the vicarage
was behind the trees to her right and believed that there were
fields behind the other trees. It was hard to see through them; not
because they were a thick stand of trees, but because they were
covered with their summer foliage.

Faedra was in a daze as she meandered her way
through the headstones. She had been here to visit her mum so many
times that she thought she could probably find her headstone
blindfolded by now. It was just as well; she was so tired this
evening she didn’t have her wits about her, and felt like she was
on autopilot navigating her way through them.

The friendly black and white collie had
spotted them as they came through the gate from the car park and
bounded up to greet her and Faen, giving Faedra her usual toothy
grin. The collie and Faen went through their established routine of
him growling softly at her, while she rubbed her head against his
chin in response. This time though, instead of her running off to
sit in her usual spot after Faedra had petted her, she stayed with
them and followed behind until they made it to Lillith’s grave.

“Here we are again, boy,” she sighed, her
voice weighted down with sadness.

Faedra set down the picnic basket, threw out
the blanket on the ground and sat down on it. Leaning up against
her mother’s headstone, she outstretched her legs in front of her.
She patted her hands on the blanket either side of her legs.

“Come on you two, you can join me, you know,”
she said to the two dogs that were standing either side of the
blanket and looking at her with an understanding she couldn’t quite
figure out. They did as she asked and lay down next to her, putting
a head on each of Faedra’s thighs so that they were nose-to-nose.
The ‘sibling rivalry’ was completely gone, and they both let out a
sad sounding whine.

“Hey, you two, I’m okay,” Faedra ran her
hands over both of their soft silky heads and they didn’t take
their eyes off her.

Faedra let out a heavy sigh and leaned her
head back to rest it against the cold hard granite of the headstone
and closed her eyes. It felt nice and cool against the balmy warm
of the evening air. A few minutes passed and she said nothing, but
listened to the sounds of nature surrounding her. She could hear
the dogs breathing and feel their hot breath on her hands that were
now resting on her thighs. The birds chirped in the trees behind
her; in the distance she could hear a horse whinny from the stables
across the road.

A crunching on the gravel path prompted her
to open her eyes. It was the vicar and he was heading in her
direction.

“Good evening, Faedra. I thought I might find
you here this evening,” he said with a knowing smile.

“Hello, Vicar.”

“Are you feeling alright, my dear?” he asked,
his eyebrows pulled together to form a frown.

“I’m fine,” she lied. “Haven’t been sleeping
very well the past couple of nights and right now I feel a little
sad, but I’ll be fine.”

He seemed satisfied with her answer and
smiled again. “Well, if you need me, dear, you know where to find
me. Say hello to your mother for me won’t you.”

“I will, Vicar, thank you.”

The vicar turned and headed towards the
church. Faedra watched as he disappeared behind it, closed her eyes
again and sat in silence for a few more minutes. She was trying to
clear her head before she spoke to her mum, but the more she tried,
the more out of focus she became until she could hold it in no
longer. A wave of emotion swept over her and she burst into tears.
She was tired and had had an awful day.

“Mum, I miss you so much,” she sobbed. “All
this strange stuff is happening to me. I don’t know why and I don’t
know what to do about it. I don’t feel like I can tell anyone. I
mean, I think I’m going crazy, so I can’t imagine what other people
would think. They’d probably lock me up and throw away the
key.”

Tears tumbled down Faedra’s face. The eyes in
the woods, the fortune-teller at the fair, the abuse by Mr.
Thompson, her hands, and the fact she missed her mother
desperately, all came flooding out. She buried her face in her
hands; her body was wracked with emotions that were out of her
control for the moment. The tears were relentless and she felt
powerless to stop them. She was hoping a good cry would make her
feel better.

A cold wet nose nudged her elbow. She ignored
it. Faen nudged her again; this time she took her hands away from
her face, which was now red and blotchy. She could see the blurry
outline of her dog looking at her with sadness in his eyes too.

Faedra wrapped her arms around his neck, just
like the first time she had met him. She buried her face in his
soft fur and accepted the comfort she felt when she did so.

“I wish she could give me some kind of sign
that she was still with me,” Faedra said into his neck. “Faen,
sometimes I feel so alone.”

He whimpered in response; she still had her
head buried in his fur. She didn’t have the strength, just yet, to
leave the security and comfort she felt when he was close to her,
and he was not about to move a muscle until Faedra had calmed
down.

A few more moments of sobbing passed, and the
shudders rippling through her body started to ebb. Her breathing
became less ragged. She pulled herself from Faen to wipe the tears
from her eyes with a tissue she had grabbed from the picnic basket.
When her eyes began to focus and the drumming in her ears from the
pulse of her heartbeat calmed, she heard a familiar sound that she
hadn’t heard for a very long time.