The Protector of Memories (The Veil of Death Book 1) (10 page)

Her tears were not because of what Sarah had said or done but at the thought that she had lost Hope forever.

Alastair stood outside his clinic and faced the masses of people representing the various media. He coughed, raised his voice and read out his statement that he had prepared earlier. “Charity, the face of Beauty has suffered severe trauma to her face as a direct result of the head-on collision that her car was involved in yesterday.”

He stopped talking, smiled for the cameras before continuing. “As soon as Charity was stabilised and I was confident that she could withstand a journey, I moved her here to my clinic where she will receive the best of treatment_”

A reporter interrupted Alastair. “Frank.” Frank said and added “Daily National. We were told early this morning that Charity has only broken her arm?”

Alastair coughed and spoke the words that Charity had advised him to speak. “You are referring to the two women who call themselves Faith and Hope? Well they had somehow managed to get into the clinic’s main reception but that was as far as they did get. Charity has known these women for a very long time…” Alastair held his hand up for silence. “Please. We all respect that Charity has kept her private life private. She wants you to know that her silence came from a sense of loyalty toward these two women. She has only wanted to protect them but she cannot do this any longer.” He took a breath and continued. “Hope is an alcoholic and Faith suffers from two mental conditions – ‘paranoid schizophrenia’ and the ‘goddess complex’. A couple of weeks ago, Charity had to sever all contact from these women after coming to the painful decision that she could not help them. But when Charity stopped giving them money they turned nasty… vindictive. They have even threatened to kill…”

A noise broke out.

Alastair held up his hands for silence and when he got it he explained. “If Hope and Faith continue with their cruel vendetta against Charity then she will be forced to take legal action against them.” He stopped talking, stared directly into the camera positioned in front of him and added. “You have been warned_.”

Another reporter interrupted Alastair. “Alan Bowling ‘The London Local’.” Alan said and asked. “Is Charity aware of the video that is on all social sites? It shows Faith ageing somewhat rapidly?”

“Please,” Alastair interjected. “How could Charity be aware of anything that happened yesterday? Furthermore we must remember that Charity is always under severe criticism and in the main her critics are feminists. But they have gone too far this time. It sounds to me as if this image was intended to be an April fool’s day prank. But to continue on with the joke is cruel. Five people lost their lives yesterday. Our thoughts must be focussed on the families who are grieving. Trying to come to terms with the death of a loved one… a friend lost. A life cut short.” Alastair looked at his watch. “And now ladies and gentlemen you must forgive me, I have important work to be getting on with.”

He turned, walked through the doors of the clinic and ignored all other questions that were being fired at him.

“What exactly are Charity’s injuries?”

“When will we get to see Charity?”

“What caused Alice Crewmonger to crash?”

“Why did Charity let Alice drive?”

“If Charity’s creams are the miracle we’ve all been waiting for then why has she had plastic surgery?”

“Was Faith one of the volunteers for Charity’s creams?”

The questions faded as Alastair went through the security door, up the stairs toward Charity’s room and the moment he entered, he said. “Right that’s Faith and Hope sorted… now to the matter of Nurse Adams.” And when it became obvious that Charity did not know who Nurse Adams was, he added a sarcastic tone to his voice. “Nurse Adams is the nurse who rang Faith. She is also the same nurse who escorted Hope and Faith. She will be the same nurse wondering why it is that you are lying…”

Charity stopped listening to him and remained standing by the window. She had heard his sarcasm, smelt the essence of his disgust and pity. She narrowed her eyes and fantasised what she would do if she still had the ability to manipulate such energies;
snakes… long, thin snakes with scales of thorns.
She visualised shoving them down his throat. She smiled beneath her bandages at the thought of him choking.

But her delight was short-lived as she realised that that was all that it could ever be; a fantasy.
Damn you Hera.

Focussing her attentions back onto what Alastair was saying she realised that the man was still wittering on about a nurse called Adams. “Will you shut the fuck up?” She shouted at him with all the venom that she wanted to hurl at Hera.

Alastair took a step toward Charity and clenched his hands into fists.

Charity took a step forward. “You dare…” she hissed.

His jaw-line twitched with the anger that he felt toward her but he would not hit her.

He stepped back toward the door frame and crossed his arms.

Charity nodded. “You focus on getting my image back to how it should look. Let me worry about these… minor details of my life.” She stared at him expecting him to leave the room. “Well!” She snapped out. “What are you waiting for?”

Alastair frowned at Charity. “What do we do about your body… the skin on your neck is not the problem. But your hands are. You have brown spots. Your knuckles are inflamed. These are the signs of ageing that I cannot change_.”

“Those I can cover up with clothing.” She stopped and laughed and then said with all the bitterness that she felt, “A costume of dress. Hera hooked us with our desire to dress up. We loved to look human but you don’t remember that do you Hephaestus?”

Alastair shivered;
she’s losing it
.

He used to love the sound of Charity’s laughter; soft and gentle.
Or
has her laughter always sounded like the cackling of a witch?

Standing away from the door frame he resented the fact that it had been he who had thrown himself at her. She had been young and beautiful; a perfect creature of the female species. He had followed her around like a bloody lapdog and when he did have her he wanted more… and more. He had never felt like this about any other women… including his wife. Desire consumed his every waking hour.
Not now
, he thought_.

“Alastair!” Charity shouted.

“I am needed at the hospital this afternoon. So tomorrow it will have to be.” He turned and walked out of the room, continued along the corridor, up a flight of stairs and into the room where he performed his miracles. He checked the machinery and even had the thought of overdosing Charity on anaesthetic. But if he did that then his reputation would well and truly be over; the reputation and skill that he alone had built up over the years.

He leant onto the stainless steel counter, clutched tight a scalpel as Charity’s words resounded in his mind: ‘Tell the world that it is your skills that keep me young and beautiful. Your reputation will soar to new levels and you will finally attain celebrity status.’

He had leapt at that opportunity without thinking it through. He didn’t even question fully as to why Charity would want to make such a claim. Her youth and beauty was a god-given gift and so he had assumed that Charity wanted the world to believe that his surgery… his skills had created her beauty because she loved him… adored him.

His thoughts turned to yesterday;
what a bloody nightmare!
Alastair was surprised that it had gotten this far. The police and the fire crew had sorted out the airbag whilst he had covered Charity’s face with a mask; stabilised her neck with a brace. The first sighting of her face had been in the ambulance. That was also the first time that he had questioned Charity on what she was putting into her creams;
what else could do such damage to the skin within a matter of hours?

But when he had questioned her, she had threatened to make a statement to the medical board and the media that her face was damaged because of the inadequacy of his surgical skills; ‘when the airbag impacted into my face I felt my bones collapse.’

He laughed aloud at the ridiculousness of the situation.
Who in their right mind would believe that?
But Alastair could not take that risk. “Damn you!” he shouted his anger out into the room because whatever it was that Charity was involved in; it was he who would take the fall and he banged his fist down onto the counter at his own stupidity.

A row of laboratory glass beakers shuffled together and tinkled like wind chimes. He glanced up at their soft sounds for it reminded him of Charity’s soft and sensual body.

He narrowed his eyes;
women do that – pretend that they are vulnerable… sensitive, entice you with their bodies when they need something. But as soon as they get it they turn into shards of glass – cold and cutting.
He clenched tighter his hold on the handle of the scalpel_

“Mr Herringbone.” Mr Row interpreted, “The police are here.”

Alastair turned as the taller of the two uniformed officers said. “Out of respect for Charity…” he shrugged his shoulders, “we have waited. But she was the last person to have seen Miss Alice Crewmonger alive. We need to take a statement from her.”

“Yes… of course. I have Charity stabilised and her pain controlled…” he released the scalpel from his grip and rubbed at the criss-cross pattern imprinted on the palm of his hand.

“Mr Herringbone?”

Alastair looked over toward the door, “Yes… follow me.” He said and led them down the length of the corridor and toward Charity’s room.

Linda was in the library, typing out a notice informing the public that there was to be a medium session later on this afternoon. When she reached the point where she needed to include a time, she looked up at Faith. “What time?” She asked, looked to the clock on the counter; 12.11 and then made the suggestion, “Four o’clock?”

Faith nodded a yes.

Linda pressed ‘send’ and shared with Faith her amazement at how quickly communication was received and answered nowadays. “People pick up their e-mails on their smart-phones. I bet some people have already got this message.” A ‘beep’ sounded out from the computer, Linda opened the message and read the confirmation. “See what I mean? It’s incredible.” She exclaimed. “However…” Linda trailed her words away as she scrolled through the library member’s contact details, “there are those not of the ‘techno’ age. I will have to telephone them directly and speak with them…” she laughed quietly and added. “Will the sound of ‘beeps’ and ‘clicks’ overtake that of the voice?”

Linda stared at Faith and it suddenly occurred to her that Faith had only spoken a few words ever since she had arrived at the library over an hour ago. “Are you okay?” she asked. “Is there anything I can do?”

Faith scratched at her scalp. “My mind is adapting… albeit slowly.”

Linda nodded, glanced between Faith’s scalp and at the paleness of her face. She held her friend’s eye contact and stared into the colour of chestnut brown and saw not the usual sparkle or vibrancy within them. “Why don’t you go and get yourself a coffee and something to eat? “I’ll join you when I’m done here.”

“Yes,” Faith replied and made her way over toward the library’s café.

Linda picked up the telephone and watched until Faith was sitting down in the café before dialling the first number on the library’s contact list.

While she waited for the phone to be picked up at the other end, she continued to look at Faith.

She recalled the very first day when Faith had walked into the library, up to the counter and said: ‘I can hear and see your ghosts and they have asked me to pass on their messages to you… the mortals. I have accepted that task and it seems that the ghosts favour the library to do it within’.

Well
! Linda shook her head at the memory of that day.

She had asked Faith to hold a medium session that very same week. Brian and most of the staff had thought Linda to be mad but it was her gut feeling that had told her to believe in this woman called Faith. Besides, she had reasoned with the other members of staff that doubt would arrive if Faith was a fake.

Linda smiled… well that was near on three months ago. What had started out as a trial period became a once a week permanent fixture. Then a couple of weeks ago, the medium sessions have been daily_.

“Sorry.” Linda said to the voice on the other end of the phone and focussed on the task at hand.

∞

Faith ordered a cup of coffee, sat down at a table and observed the vast amount of ghosts who favoured the human form.

As they drifted in and out of the library, she leant back into the chair and listened to each and every one of their messages.

“Please.” Faith eventually said to the ghosts. “Worry not. I hear your messages. I have them committed into my memory. You must wait.”

The ghosts flickered in and out… wove through the books or meandered through the many paintings that hung in the alcoves running along the left hand side of the library. “Thank the stars.” Faith muttered but her peace of mind was short lived when the species of ghosts, who favoured anything but the human form, visited her.

Shapes and forms floated and hovered within the air of the library’s café.

Mist, smoke, threads of wispy tendrils of air, floaters of squiggly lines mingled with the dust from human skin.

But then the scene changed so drastically it caused Faith to jump up and stand behind the library’s wooden chair.

If the creature before her was an empty ghost then it was the largest that she had seen so far. Its tendrils exceeding well into the eighties and as the creature’s life-form continued to fill the entire space of the library’s café, Faith could not help but stare at it with a sense of awe.

It really was breathtakingly beautiful; its inky blue tendrils shimmered like creeping ivy as they drifted in and out of the chairs, tables, flooring, walls and ceiling. And the rich, deep colour of crimson glistened and shone like ruby dew drops all around the surrounding area.

The creature drifted toward her and before Faith had a chance to react, the tendrils wove into her mouth, ears, nostrils and eyes before settling into her mind.

She screamed out in pain as eighty-six death scenes played over and over again within her mind. Her head felt as if it was on fire; sweat beads trickled down her face, neck and back – the moisture prickled her skin and as quickly as she felt hot, Faith now began to shiver with cold.

“What use is the knowledge of your deaths when it is confined to one mind… my mind?” She muttered and raising her voice shouted, “What do you want from me?”

But the images kept on coming and it felt as if she were suffocating within a pit of madness.

Rocking her body back and forth; forth and back she tried to get the empty ghosts to stop. “Please no more… I can’t_”

The creature left Faith’s mind as quickly as it had arrived.

“Hey…”  Linda said as she embraced Faith, trying to coax her body to stillness. “It’s okay.” she whispered. “Steady. That’s it. Steady. Faith…” but Linda paused and looked at Faith’s face that had aged another ten years. “What is happening to you?”

“The empty ghosts are making their existence known unto me. I can contain their words and their echoes but not their emotions. I feel all that they felt within the last few seconds of their death. It pierces into the depths of my life-force.”

“What is it that they want from you?” Linda asked. “Is it justice? Does justice set the Soul free?”

“No Linda…” Faith paused and watched as the network of threads drifted through the walls of the library. “They are already free_”

“Vengeance_” Linda interrupted Faith but jumped and shouted “Ah!”

A book had fallen off of a shelf nearest to where they were standing.

Faith scratched at her head. “That was the species of ghost who favour the human form. I don’t think it liked what it was reading.”

Linda stared at Faith and couldn’t help but laugh aloud and it helped… a little – for it eased the tension that she felt within the library. But as quickly as she had laughed, she stopped and frowned at the sight of open sores that riddled Faith’s scalp.

“TCP. That is what you need.” Linda said as she placed the fallen book back onto the shelf.

Walking over toward the counter she opened the draw, retrieved the bottle of TCP that she kept there… for ‘just in cases’ and within minutes was administering the lotion to Faith’s scalp.

“This will sting.” Linda warned and every time Faith flinched she kept saying, “Sorry.”

Faith waited until a couple of the mortal minutes had lived and died before she said, “I understand your actions Linda.”

“Pardon?”

“I understand. I understand why you do what it is that you do… distraction. Your actions indeed speak louder than your words.”

Linda nodded and then whispered. “I am still trying to come to terms with the fact that you keep on ageing right before my eyes. And the friend that I know to be a twenty year old looks to be seventy.”

Faith flinched again at the sting from the lotion.

“Sorry.” Linda added in sympathy.

“Linda. Would it help if I was to tell you that my age in mortal terms is more akin to… well let’s just say a vast amount of mortal eras? So to look seventy is in fact quite young.”

Linda screwed the top back onto the TCP bottle – set it down on the table and leant back into her chair.

“No Faith that does not help at all.”

Repeating her earlier question she asked. “Faith… what is it that these species of ghosts want from you?”

“They leave with me their death scene but other than that I don’t think they want anything from me.”

“Isn’t that enough? I see the damage that these… visitations are doing to your body?”

“But my mind is not damaged,” Faith said and trying to offer Linda some reassurance added. “The human ghosts speak to me all at once and I hear each of their voice with such clarity.” She patted her head again, “this is good,” and looking at Linda, added. “Thank you.”

Linda’s kindness reminded her of what the ghost called David had said in the park. “A young ghost called David told me to be careful.”

Linda said nothing and so she continued. “He worries that I will be killed for my silence…” but Faith’s words trailed away as an owl the colour of snow, swooped down and landed upon Linda’s shoulders.

The owl blinked at Faith with eyes the colour of burnt orange.

“Linda you do not see the owl perched upon your right shoulder, do you?”

Linda instinctively looked to her right shoulder - saw nothing, turned toward Faith, met her friend’s eye contact. “I like owls,” she said and became aware at how calm her voice sounded. “Give me time. I know not what to say to you in words but I can offer you my friendship… my support.”

“That is more than words could ever do…” Faith paused and added, “Unless of course you happen to be my mother, Eurynome.”

Linda waited for Faith to explain and when nothing else was said, she rubbed at her forehead and repeated, “Give me time.”

Faith’s mobile phone started ringing.

She answered it and then the questions as they were put to her.

“Yes. I am Faith…”

“Yes I have a sister called Hope…”

“You have arrested Hope…”

“Wielding an iron bar whilst drunk…”

“Yes I can vouch for her character. Yes…”

Faith hung up.

Linda held her hands up. “I heard. Look…” she read the time on her watch; 12.37. “It’s just gone twelve thirty. Ring me if you think you’re going to be any later than three…” she paused, “we could always reset the medium session for tomorrow. Surely ghosts can wait?”

“All species of ghosts are visiting this very day.” Faith said as she rushed out of the library.

Linda stayed where she was and stared at the motion of the library’s revolving doors. When the doors eventually slowed down and then stopped, she looked all about her and wondered how the world looked to somebody like Faith;
all species of ghosts?