The Haunting of Emily Stone (10 page)

As she cut the call, she heard a faint knock on the bathroom door. A moment later, Lizzie stepped into the room with a tired, worried look on her face.

“Who are you talking to?” she asked.

“No-one, sweetie.”

“Was it Daddy?”

“No.”

“Can we go to sleep now? I'm really tired, and my face hurts.”

“Your -” She paused. “Where does it hurt?”

“It's just sore all over.”

“Get into bed,” she replied. “Everything'll be okay, I promise. I've just got one more call to make, and then I'll be right with you.” Looking down at the phone, she brought up Karl's number. He was the last person she wanted to call, but she knew she needed help from someone.

“Do you promise?” Lizzie asked.

“Just go to bed. I swear, I'll be there in two minutes. You've got school in the morning, remember? You need to get some sleep.”

Slowly, and a little reluctantly, Lizzie pulled the door shut, and a moment later she could be heard climbing onto the bed.

“Please pick up,” Emily whispered, as she put the phone next to her ear. “Come on, I need you. Please, God, don't do this to us.”

“Hi,” Karl's voicemail said suddenly, “you've reached -”

Cutting the call, she set the phone next to the sink before leaning forward and putting her head in her hands. For a moment, she thought back to the dream she'd had earlier, when she'd been climbing away from the people in the dead place. It wasn't the first time she'd had that dream and she knew it wouldn't be the last, but she was more worried about whatever was happening to Lizzie. She knew they couldn't go back to the house, but at the same time she didn't have the money to go anywhere else, and she didn't have any friends who might take them in.

“Fuck,” she whispered. “Fuck, fuck -”

“Mummy!” Lizzie called through from the bedroom.

“I'll be there in a minute!”

“Mummy -”

“Just hang on! I'll be there!”

“My face hurts!”

Emily froze for a moment. “What... What did you say?” she asked finally.

“My face hurts,” Lizzie said again, as her voice became a kind of whine, threatening to break into sobs at any moment. “It really hurts.”

Heading through to the dark main room, Emily made her way to the bed and sat down before fumbling to locate a switch for the light. Finding one, she finally turned to look at Lizzie, only to see to her horror that the little girl's face was covered in several huge, thick bruises, which seemed to have developed in the spots where the hand had been pushing through an hour earlier.

“What's wrong with me?” Lizzie whimpered. “Mummy, my face really hurts!”

Chapter Eighteen

Twenty-six years ago

“I said,” he shouted, leaning closer to her ear, “this party is terrible!”

She smiled, before slipping away and making her way along the hallway.

Sighing, Robert took another sip of beer before turning to look back into the kitchen. Several people were chatting away, while a girl was sitting at the table by the window, clearly feeling sick to her stomach as she was comforted by her friend.

“You alright?” Douglas asked, bumping into him in a drunken stupor. “Come on, mate, you're not gonna hang around in the kitchen all night, are you?”

“Didn't you get the memo?” Robert replied. “The kitchen's where the cool people hang out.”

“And how would you know what the cool people do?” Stumbling to the fridge, he pulled it open and grabbed another beer before heading back to the door. “I think I've got a chance with that Felicity girl from the anthropology department. Be right back, my man. I'm going to try to lure her in by telling her about the new project we're working on. Girls love ghosts, right?”

Smiling, Robert turned and watched as his friend stumbled back toward the flat's main room. A moment later, he almost dropped his beer as something bumped into his shoulder, and he turned to find that the drunk girl from the table was hurrying past, making her way to the bathroom with her friend in tow.

“Hannah!” the less-drunk girl shouted after her friend. “For God's sake -”

Before she could catch up, the drunk girl – Hannah, apparently – had slammed the bathroom door shut.

“Hannah!” the other girl called out to her, trying the handle unsuccessfully. “Can you open up? You need someone to hold your hair back while you throw up!”

After a moment, the girl stood back, clearly exasperated, before making her way back to the kitchen. As she got closer to the door, she glanced at Robert.

“Rough night?” he asked.

She smiled, although she was clearly frustrated.

“I think I've seen you around,” Robert continued, switching his beer to his left hand and holding his right out for her to shake. “You work at the university, don't you?”

“I...” She paused, before shaking his hand. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. I didn't think I was that noticeable.”

“Rob Slocombe,” he told her. “I work in the -”

“Are you one of the guys setting up that group to investigate paranormal activity?” she asked, suddenly seeming far more interested.

“God,” he replied, “are people talking about us already?”

“Jenna,” she told him. “Jenna Riseborough. I'd really love to talk to you about what you're doing some time. In fact, I was planning to come and look you up.”

“Well, here I am!”

Six hours later, as the sun came up and the party finally started to fade, they were still at the kitchen table, still talking about the work Robert was undertaking, and already making plans to meet again so that Jenna could get involved. Finally, they headed off to find breakfast somewhere, still locked in conversation.

***

Today

“I just wanted to catch you in your non-hungover, non-drunk state,” Jenna explained with a faint, sad smile as they made their way along the path that led to the faculty building. “Which is basically between two and five each afternoon.”

“Come on,” Robert replied, “I'm not that bad.”

“Oh, you are,” she continued. “Seriously, Rob, you're
that
bad, everyone -” She caught herself just in time.

“Everyone's saying it?” he asked.

“I didn't say that.”

“Great, so I'm the campus drunk now. Don't people have anything else to talk about? I mean, sure, I like a drink now and then, but so what?”

“To drown out the sense of a fading, unfulfilled career?”

“Ouch.”

“Working on any new papers? Any projects? Dare I ask, even a book?”

“I'm mulling over a few ideas.”

“I thought so. Bugger all. What about your private life? Any women on the go?”

“I keep busy,” he told her, bristling slightly at the suggestion. “We can't all be shooting academic papers out of our -” Hearing howls of laughter nearby, he turned and saw a group of female students running out of one of the nearby buildings. “Do they have to be so loud?”

“I know!” Jenna replied sarcastically. “You should totally tell those goddamn kids to get off your lawn!”

“So now you think I'm a grumpy old man?”

“You love that persona. You embrace it with gusto.”

“I
am
fifty-four.”

“I'm fifty-two,” she replied. “Hell, Tom's fifty-five, and he's taking me skiing next month in Switzerland. I'm not telling you that to brag, Rob, I just thought I should remind you that there are other options. You don't have to sink into an irascible decline just yet.”

“Thanks for the advice, Jane bloody Fonda,” he muttered. Spotting a police car up ahead, parked by the faculty building's main entrance, he frowned. “What do you think
they
want?”

“Could be anything,” she replied. “Maybe someone in your department has been naughty? You don't have a secret weed factory hidden somewhere, do you?”

“Don't be ridiculous.”

“Pity,” she added with a faint sigh. “It might do you some good.”

***

“She gave you
my
name?”

“She said you might be able to shed some light on what's been happening,” Detective Carver replied, with a tone of voice that made plain his extreme doubts. An unshaven man in a crumpled suit, he had the doughy complexion of an alcoholic. Taking a book from the shelf, he took a look at the title before setting it back down as if he had no idea what to do with it. “She said you're the only person who might understand. She kept saying your name over and over, so I figured it was worth a shot. Bloody hell, you've got a lot of books in this office. How many are there? A thousand?”

“At least. But hang on, has Emily Stone actually been arrested?”

“She was picked up at approximately six o'clock this morning,” Carver continued, “on suspicion of causing serious bodily harm to a child.” He looked up at the top of one of the bookcases for a moment, before turning to him. “I know, right? Sick.”

“What happened?”

“A receptionist at a motel in Coltreath called us with her concerns. She noticed that Ms. Stone's daughter had significant bruising on her face when the pair of them were leaving the building. The receptionist stated to us that the child had no signs of bruising when they'd checked in a few hours earlier. When uniform arrived, they found Ms. Stone and her daughter in a nearby alley, eating sandwiches purchased from a shop around the corner. Seems like Emily didn't want people seeing her daughter's face for some reason. The report stated that Emily seemed to be in a distressed state, and that her daughter was crying.”

“So you think Emily beat her daughter?”

“We're keeping an open mind, but for now Elizabeth Stone has been taken into protective care and Emily Stone is being held at the local station. Given the circumstances, as well as Emily's refusal to explain the bruises, plus previous reports that have been made by teachers at Elizabeth's school, we have no option but to act. When a child is in danger, that child's welfare has to be our primary consideration.” He sighed. “There are forms about this kind of thing. Lots and lots of forms.”

“So she hasn't admitted it?”

“She's barely said anything at all. Not even to the duty lawyer we got for her.”

“She just told you to come and speak to me?”

Carver nodded.

“Do you...” Robert paused for a moment. “Do you know about Emily's past?”

“Course. Who doesn't? It was all that ghost bollocks, wasn't it?” He sniffed derisively. “And you're the guy she and her mother were trying to con, yeah? No offense, but everyone in town kind of knows Emily's story, she's like the local celeb. Apparently they tried to get her on
Big Brother
a few years ago, but she turned them down. Dunno why, would've been fun.”

“Listen,” Robert replied, trying not to seem too dismissive, “I haven't had anything to do with Emily Stone for more than twenty-four years. She emailed me yesterday, but that was nothing, just part of whatever mania she's going through.”

“You heard from her, Sir?”

“Just a quick message.”

“And what did she want?”

“She said something about it all starting up again, but I'm not interested. It's just bullshit.”

“The ghost stuff?” Carver asked, with a barely-concealed smile.

“The ghost stuff.”

“Which she and her mother admitted, twenty-four years ago, was all a hoax?”

He nodded.

“And now,” Carver continued, “she's, what, changed her mind and decided to pretend it was real again?”

“She seems to be claiming that part of it was real all along,” he replied. “I guess she's going through some significant mental gymnastics to avoid facing the truth.”

“What was your impression of her state of mind when you read the email?”

“I'll get a copy for you,” Robert replied. “She seemed fairly rational. She wasn't a gibbering lunatic or anything like that, but it was hard to really get much of an impression. Obviously, the fact she was getting in touch with me showed that something isn't right in her head.”

“But the things she said in the email...”

“I wasn't interested in getting involved in a long discussion,” he replied, opening his laptop and bringing up the email. “I've moved on from that sort of thing, I don't have anything to do with paranormal investigations these days, and even if I did... I mean, there's just no way I could take her seriously, so I politely but firmly turned her away. She certainly didn't say anything that made me think she could be a danger to others, or I would've done something about it.”

“I've got to be honest with you, Sir, we're considering sectioning her under the Mental Health Act. If we do that, and assuming she doesn't submit to the process voluntarily, it might be useful to have your testimony on her state of mind.”

He clicked to print the message. “I couldn't really say anything useful.”

“But from your perspective, she seemed to have suddenly come out of the woodwork, as it were, and started talking about things that go bump in the night? After twenty-four years, that seems somewhat significant.”

“Yes, but -” Heading over to the printer, he waited as the message came out, and then he took it over to Carver. “The girl, Emily's daughter... What exactly is the nature of her injuries?”

“Bruises on the face, mainly.” He took a look at the printout.

“Consistent with having been beaten?”

“We're not sure yet. She won't say anything, but someone's gonna examine her later today and then we should have a much better idea of what happened. As you can imagine, it's a bit of a delicate situation, what with her being just a kid. Can't just have anyone going in and prodding her, can we?”

“But you're certain her mother is responsible?”

“We're struggling right now to see how there could be anyone else involved. Those bruises had to come from somewhere, and they're all over her face. It's impossible to believe it could have been an accident.” He sniffed again, as he folded the printout and slipped it into his pocket. “In my experience, these things always turn out to be exactly what they look like. The simplest explanation usually fits.”

“So if...” He paused again, imagining Emily sitting in a police cell.

“I really don't mean to detain you for too long,” Carver said finally, sounding a little bored. “If I could just take a brief statement regarding your thoughts on Ms. Stone's state of mind, I can be on my way and hopefully this can all get wrapped up pretty quickly. Unless you want to agree to her request, that is.”

“Request? No, I'm not going to see Emily Stone. Are you crazy? I'm not interested in that at all.”

“That's not actually what she wants,” Carver replied. “She asked us to speak to you about her daughter Elizabeth. That's who she wants you to see.”

***

“You're considering it?”

“God, no,” he muttered, as he continued to roll a fresh cigarette. They were sitting on a bench outside the university's cafeteria, with students hurrying past in every direction, and it was time for his post-lunch smoke, which he took daily with almost religious zeal at precisely 1pm. Sometimes, he was able to persuade Jenna to join him, even though he knew she hated the smell of cigarettes. “Do you think I'm insane?”

“Blatantly, but that's beside the point.”

He smiled.

“I think you're curious,” she continued, watching him with a hint of concern. “I can already tell you're thinking about the whole thing, I can see a spark of actual passion in your eyes, Rob, and it's been a long time since I could say that. Plus, if there's a child involved, don't you think you have an obligation to help?”