The Silent Twin (15 page)

‘
T
hanks for coming
,’ Jennifer said.

Mr Struthers stood at the front of the house, leaning on his granddaughter’s arm. Her name was Danni, and she was twenty-four years old. It had taken some persuading to get Danni to bring her grandfather, but not many people could turn down the plight of a little girl in trouble. His lined face stared at the building for a long while, sadness reflected in his eyes.

‘Let’s get you inside, Granddad,’ the young curly-haired woman said, easing him forward. They were both of the same tall, slim stature, and Danni had warned Jennifer that her grandfather wasn’t as good on his legs as he used to be. But given his age, Jennifer was just grateful he could get around.

‘I said I’d never come here again,’ Mr Struthers said, emitting a deep sigh of resignation. His feet seemed rooted to the spot, and he glanced back at his granddaughter’s car, perhaps wondering if it wasn’t too late to change his mind and go back home.

‘Danni got in touch after I posted on a forum about Blackwater farm. Mr Struthers is one of the previous occupants,’ Jennifer said, as Nick came outside.

‘Mr Struthers,’ Nick said, outstretching his hand. ‘I’m Abigail’s father. I really appreciate your time.’

‘I know who you are,’ he said. ‘I only wish I could have stopped you buying this dammed place before you did, then none of this would have happened.’

‘Why don’t we go inside and talk about it?’ Jennifer said, painfully conscious of the time. Joanna had left to attend mass and, despite Jennifer’s assurances, Nick had insisted on staying behind to see what Mr Struthers had to say. Not that she could blame him. Jennifer’s faith lay in being productive. Each second that passed was another second Abigail remained in the cold unforgiving ground. Prayers could come later.

Mr Struthers sat uneasily at the table with a cup of tea in his hand. Jennifer knew from their communications that he had had his own experiences with the dark entity that lurked within the walls of Blackwater farm.

‘I can’t say the place has changed much,’ he said, raising the cup to his lips.

‘We have plans to redecorate,’ Nick said, opening his mouth to continue.

But Mr Struthers cut him short, his voice flat and disparaging. ‘Don’t. This place has caused nothing but grief. It should be burnt to the ground.’ Mr Struthers took in the room, his neck shrinking back into the collar of his shirt, like an aged tortoise. ‘Can’t you feel it?’ he whispered, his eyes widening. ‘It’s still here . . . the darkness is all around you.’

Jennifer caught her breath, her fingers finding the small silver crucifix around her neck.
The darkness is all around you.
Such words had been spoken to her before. And at that time, it had not ended well.

‘We were young when we moved in here, my wife and I,’ Mr Struthers said. ‘We had big plans too. We didn’t know what the symbols were at first, but the more we stripped back this old house, the more we found. Pauline – my wife – she took pictures and brought them to the library. They told her they were satanic. That was the day it all began.’

The light bulb rattled overhead. Mr Struthers glanced up at the ceiling and frowned at the interruption.

‘The doctors said it was post-natal depression. But our baby was nine months old. Pauline doted on him up until then. All of a sudden, she became withdrawn. She had no time for anything or anyone,’ he said, his voice growing thin. ‘She told me things were happening in the house, but I said she was being silly. It wasn’t until I saw it for myself that I knew something else lived here with us. Something evil.’

Jennifer realised she had been holding her breath, and let it go. She wished she had discussed his experiences somewhere neutral, and not at the farm. An icy prickle touched her senses. The darkness Mr Struthers spoke about was aware of his presence. She could feel it, drawing near, feeding off the attention. Nick rubbed the back of his neck, a puzzled expression on his face. He turned to Jennifer.

‘I don’t understand. What’s this got to do with Abigail?’

‘It’s got everything to do with your daughter.’ Mr Struthers banged the table with his fist, before she could respond. ‘Don’t you see? When I moved here, I was just like you. But I soon learned such things existed, and paid for it dearly.’

‘Don’t go upsetting yourself,’ Danni said, patting his arm.

‘I’m all right, love’ he replied, resting his hand on top of hers. But he didn’t look all right. He seemed to have aged since he entered the kitchen, each word a struggle to deliver. ‘I couldn’t save your grandmother,’ he said, with a tremble in his voice. ‘Maybe I can do some good now.’ He took a deep breath as he addressed Nick. ‘Mr Duncan, I know you most likely think I’m senile, but think on this. This house has been the ruin of every family that lived here. Move away. You’ll never be happy at Blackwater farm.’

‘I can’t. Not until I’ve found Abigail.’

‘I lost my wife to this house,’ Mr Struthers mumbled under his breath.

He was drifting into the past, and Jennifer needed him to focus. ‘I know how hard it’s been for you, returning here. But I wanted to ask you about the land. Are there any sinkholes or wells that you are aware of?’

‘I know every inch of this land,’ he said. ‘I used to roam it at night, when I couldn’t sleep.’

Word of the man’s insomnia was enough for Nick to start taking him seriously. ‘We had the land checked by a surveyor. There’s no well on the plans.’

‘There wouldn’t be,’ Mr Struthers said, easing into a standing position. ‘They don’t know about it. But I can show you where it is.’

‘Best we not waste any more time, then,’ Jennifer said, turning the handle of the back door.

J
ennifer’s
earlier research had made for grim reading. Wells could be up to fifty feet deep, with water averaging at six feet. If Abigail had fallen into one of those, she wouldn’t have stood a chance. Some dried out over time, or were filled in by previous occupants. In a place as old as Haven, some were likely to have never been recorded. Jennifer had no way of knowing about the condition of the well Mr Struthers was referring to, or if there was one at all. She had simply put out a plea on the internet forum, asking for information from previous occupants of Blackwater farm. It was a primitive way of enquiring, given police had already investigated the land registry and the recent survey, but one that appeared to be paying off.

After twenty minutes of walking, Jennifer’s heart began to sink. They were going around in circles. The land was drenched from the storm the night before. She hadn’t called for back-up for this very reason. Too many false leads had been generated for police, and this was proving to be one of them. She took a breath as she gathered her wits, and when Mr Struthers stumbled on the churned up soil, she suggested that they call it a day.

‘It’s around here somewhere,’ Mr Struthers said, with Nick on one side and Danni on the other.

Jennifer followed the old man’s gaze past the rusted gate. She paused mid stride, and stared incredulously at the landscape to see an old burned out tree, split in half from the lightning storm. Gnarled and deadened, it reached into the sky. That’s it, she thought. Two blackened fingers, jutting out from the charred earth in a ‘V’ sign. The landmark the medium had forecast. She was here. Abigail was here.

‘Wait,’ Jennifer said. ‘Mr Struthers, do you see that tree? It wasn’t always that way. Is that what’s putting you off?’

The man turned and peered in the distance. ‘Yes . . . Near the tree. That way.’ He pointed a withered finger to the left of the burned out wooden carcass at the foot of the field.

They followed the tyre tracks as they wound around the tree, cautiously picking their way through the mud that had clearly been searched before them.

‘Here,’ Mr Struthers said. ‘Next to the trailer.’

It was little wonder that police had not found the well, if it was buried under the rusted trailer. But recent tyre tracks suggested the trailer had been moved.

‘I’ve found something,’ Nick said, testing the ground with his boot.

Throwing the rope he had brought to one side, he dropped to his hands and knees and the whites of his eyes flashed as he clawed manically at the loose soil. Jennifer fell to her knees and joined him in digging. She could almost feel Abigail’s fear as the little girl fell into the muddied tomb. But when she called her name, she was met with silence. Her fingernails scratched against tarpaulin, and she paused only to text Will in a confusing babble of words:
Abigail in a well at farm. Call ambulance and fire.

Seconds later her phone buzzed, but she didn’t have time to answer. Will trusted her enough to do as she asked. Help would soon be at hand.

Red-cheeked and panting, she pushed back the earth, aware of Mr Struthers in the background, whispering a quiet prayer.

‘Be careful,’ she said to Nick, ‘come back to the edge, don’t fall in.’

Grunting with exertion, Nick heaved back the layers of mud, and wrapped his fingers around the corner of the tarpaulin. ‘Pull back the other side,’ he said, sweat trickling down his face as he stood back from the edge.

‘Perhaps we should wait for the –’ Mr Struthers began to say, before Jennifer butted in.

‘She’s waited long enough.’

Nick nodded, taking up the far corner and pulling the tarpaulin across. A look passed between Nick and Jennifer, an exchange of understanding. They were both on the same side. And they weren’t going to wait another second to set Abigail free. In the distance, a siren screamed. It was barely discernible as it sped through the country lanes to their location.
They’re not quick enough,
the thought resounded through her mind each time she considered waiting. Her brain told her to wait for back-up, and allow the experts to plan a proper entry into the muddied hole. But her heart won out. Abigail could be dying down there. They could not afford to wait for strategies and pre-entry briefings.
She was going in. But as she approached, her expression was a mixture of apprehension and regret.

N
ick joined
Jennifer at the edge of the hole and stared into the gaping darkness. It was black as the night, and encased in rough circular brick. The stench of rotting soil and brick rose up, and Jennifer realised that there was something else intermingled with the smell, something not born of the land. As Jennifer and Nick leaned further forward to inspect the inside of the well, Mr Struthers and his granddaughter backed away, heads lowered in respect.

‘Abi,’ Nick called. ‘Sweetheart, can you hear us?’

His words echoed in the hollow void, returning no response. Suddenly the wind dropped, the birds stopped singing, and there was nothing but perfect silence. As if Haven was waiting for what lay below. Sensing his discomfort, Jennifer gently placed a hand on his back.

‘It’s okay, Nick,’ she whispered. ‘Whatever we find . . . If she’s down there, we’re going to bring her home.’

Jennifer stood with her hands on her hips as she peered into the well, mentally preparing herself for what was to come.

Nick pulled off his coat and shone the torch on his phone. ‘I’m going down there,’ he said.

She followed the beam of light into the gloom. It did not reach the bottom.

‘Oh no, you’re not,’ she said. ‘The last thing we want is you landing on Abigail.’

She plucked a stone from the ground and held it between finger and thumb. Dropping it into the depths of the darkness, she held her breath until she heard the splash. The hole was surely no more than fifteen feet down, but they had no way of telling how deep the water was.

‘Thank you both,’ Jennifer said, giving Mr Struthers a nod of gratitude. ‘Can you find your way back to the house and direct the emergency services to our location?’

A look of relief spread over Danni’s face at the prospect of getting away. ‘Of course. C’mon, Grandad, let’s get you inside in the warm.’

Mr Struthers didn’t argue. Neither of them wanted to see what lay ahead.

‘
I
’m going
to climb down,’ Nick said, handing one end of the rope to Jennifer. ‘I’ll lean against the wall, so you shouldn’t have to take my weight.’

‘Are you serious?’ Jennifer said. ‘I’m not strong enough to take your weight. What if you fall? I’m lighter than you. Let me do it.’ She placed a hand on his tensed shoulder. ‘Please, Nick.’ She wanted to say that they did not know what faced them. If Abigail was dead, then Jennifer would prefer to take the memory of finding her body than allowing the little girl’s father to. Nick nodded solemnly, his face dark with emotion.

‘Whatever happens, I need you to stay up here,’ Jennifer said firmly. ‘It’s a narrow space and it could cave in. If it does, just wait for the emergency services. There’s been enough tragedy.’

The cold wet mud had numbed her fingers, and she forced them to grip the bristled rope. Dirt patches stained the knees and arms of her suit, but it was the least of her worries as she squeezed into the narrow space. She looked regretfully at the trailer. If only it had been nearer, she could have anchored herself to the metal. But she needed every inch of rope, and would have to trust Nick to take her weight. But if he let her fall . . . it didn’t bear thinking about.

Her tongue clicked against the roof her mouth as she swallowed back her nervousness. Descending into the filthy hole was her worst nightmare, but the thought of Abigail drove her on. Yes, she should wait for the experts, but she knew from experience that risk assessments and safety equipment took time to set up. Abigail’s life could be hanging in the balance and she couldn’t afford to wait. She took one last breath of the clean outside air before shuffling down into the claustrophobic gloom.

Thin-lipped, Nick gripped the rope, his heels dug solidly into the ground. Jennifer ignored the manic palpitations of her heart.
Left, right, left, right,
she focused on her hands as they moved down the rope. With each step, she delved deeper into the confined space. A slow intake of breath brought another burst of stench rising up to greet her. She balanced her feet against the crumbling brick circle.

‘Abigail,’ she shouted, her voice echoing against the circular walls. ‘If you can hear me, make a noise, a movement, anything.’

But all she could hear was the sound of her own breath. The air was thick and heady; the sort of climate people ran from the second they encountered it. Taking her weight with one hand, she plucked a pebble from her pocket and dropped it into the abyss. She felt like Alice in Wonderland as it slid down the well, but rather than a wonderful adventure, she was faced with a horrific task. The pebble plopped into the water beneath. She prayed that Abigail was somehow alive, and had her head above water. But given the lack of response, it wasn’t looking likely. Insects scuttled out of the moss-lined bricks. She took a steadying breath, forcing herself to continue focusing on her hands as they carried on working their way down the rope. But the further she was plunged into the darkness, the more uneasy she became.

Using one hand, she pulled her phone from her pocket and jabbed the torch button, casting the narrow beam below.

‘Can you see anything?’ Nick’s voice echoed all around her.

Jennifer cleared her throat as she stared at the water a few feet below. ‘No. Just water.’ She gazed up at the light from the entrance hole, and Abigail’s words came back to haunt her. It was just like she had said when she had spoken through Olivia: a tunnel, with a light on the other end. And somebody was waiting on the other side. But instead of it being a death experience, it was a traitor, leaving her to die. Jennifer craned her neck to make out Nick’s blurry outline, and became painfully aware that her life was in his hands.

She hung, helpless in the silent depths of the well. All hopes of saving Abigail disintegrated. She had done all she could, and the instinct to escape was rising like a tide within her. She reasoned with her decision. If Abigail
was
in the water, there was nothing Jennifer could do for her now. ‘Pull me up,’ she shouted, ready to hand it over to the professionals. But there was no response, just Nick’s outline, staring down as he blotted out the light from above. She tried shouting again, but cold fear restricted her throat, turning her plea into a warble. Why wasn’t Nick answering? Gritting her teeth, she willed her body to climb, but holding the phone, the rope and balancing her weight was proving too much, and her limbs trembled in protest.

‘No!’ she gasped, as her phone slipped between her fingers. She reached out to grab it just as the rope jerked from above. Fingers numbed from the cold, the rope slid between her hands, and she was plunged into the water with a sickening splash. Icy cold water invaded her body, dragging her into its depths. It thundered in her ears, flooding her nostrils, the silt stinging her eyes. She kicked furiously in an effort to break the surface. An image of Abigail flashed in her mind, falling into the water, watching in horror as it rose. Had she died in this underwater tomb? Jennifer scratched the dampened brickwork as she grasped for purchase, her fingernails bending backwards, while she spluttered for air. Helplessly, she slid down the wall, grasping for a rope she could not see. Then it came; a sense of dread that told her she was not alone.

The dark and foreboding presence loomed all around her in the narrow enclosure. Within seconds, she knew it was the same creeping menace she had encountered in Blackwater farm. But now it was upon her, embedded in the heart of the land. Her search for answers had led her to this place, and Haven did not give up its secrets easily. A deathly presence settled in the well.

Cold hands tugged her ankles, and she fought back the rising panic as her head bobbed beneath the water a second time. Drawing on her police training, she forced herself to think rationally. It wasn’t hands. It was the rush of the water streaming through the weakening brickwork below. But where was the rope? She reached blindly in the darkness, spluttering as she swallowed the tainted water.
Don’t leave me down here
, she thought, blinking in the darkness as a shadow descended overhead. ‘Take my hand,’ a male voice said. His strong warm hand gripped her forearm, dragging her upwards into his embrace. It was Will. He had climbed down the rope and he wasted no time in pulling her onto dry land.

‘What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’ he said, pulling off his coat and wrapping it around her.

Jennifer retched as she coughed up dirty water. She waved away the paramedics, as an assortment of emergency services piled in. ‘I couldn’t find her,’ she said between chattering teeth. ‘It’s too late. She’s gone.’