‘Mind if I ask you a few questions?
Chapter Nine
Miller’s suspicions were running high; he constantly checked behind himself and kept an eye out for Price as he entered the store. Why would Price want to meet here? Miller doubted he just happened to be doing some shopping. A more likely theory was that Price brought him here to either prove a point or play a trick.
Miller felt the eyes of the security guard on him as he passed. No doubt he appeared suspicious as he glanced around nervously. Attempting to put the security guard at ease, Miller smiled at him, then realised just how awkward and suspicious that must have looked. For the love of God, don’t get yourself accused of anything.
Walking down the length of the centre aisle, Miller kept searching for Price, wondering why either one of them was here. Was Price even here? While he wouldn’t put anything past him, a simple trick of sending Miller to a supermarket for no reason didn’t seem like Price’s style. For one, it wasn’t humiliating enough.
‘Hey, God-boy, over here.’
Miller stopped, took a deep breath, and turned around. Price was peering around the end of one of the aisles Miller had just walked past. He wasn’t holding a basket or any shopping, but he did have something small in his hand, metallic but not wide enough to be a phone. Before Miller could get a better look, Price disappeared back down the aisle. Miller followed him.
‘Is there a reason you wanted to meet me here?’ Miller asked, approaching Price, who was now midway down the aisle, looking back at where he’d just been standing.
‘Of course — I was interested in joining your religion, but then I figured it would be more cost-effective to buy the baloney directly.’
Rise above it. And Miller did. Maybe if he ignored Price’s comments enough he’d start talking to him like a human being.
‘Did you get the information?’ Price asked.
‘I spoke to whoever I could. Those I didn’t speak to were largely covered by those I did.’
Miller held up the clipboard with the notes he’d made.
‘Great,’ Price said, then shot off down to the end of the aisle, peeking around the corner again.
Was he following somebody? Don’t get involved, Miller told himself, just give him the notes and leave.
Miller joined Price, and was about to tell him he had no intention of becoming involved in his games, when Price started playing anyway. He lifted his hand outward into the adjoining aisle, holding the object Miller had noticed earlier. He could see it better now: a voice recorder. Curious as to whom he could be recording, Miller peered around the corner. The people Price appeared to be focusing on were a woman and her young daughter. The daughter — around four or five — was trailing behind. They were both walking away from where Price and Miller stood.
‘What are you doing?’ Miller asked.
‘Watch.’
Price clicked the play button. Instantly a child’s cry rang out, making several people nearby jump, including the woman. It was an older child’s cry, and it was clearly one of physical pain. Price switched the recorder off after only a couple of seconds, then hid it in his pocket. The woman twisted around, checking on her daughter. Once she saw that her daughter was OK, she carried on as if nothing had happened.
‘She checked,’ Price said to Miller. ‘In fact, several other people with kids nearby looked around as well, did you notice?’
‘Yes, she heard a child cry and checked her child was OK. I’m going to need some help seeing your point here, Price.’
Price rolled his eyes.
‘OK, we need more data. Go and trip the little girl over.’
‘What?’ Miller said, realising he’d practically shouted the word and several people were now staring at him. ‘Are you serious? I’m not tripping over a little girl, and neither are you.’
‘It’s in the name of science! Sophie Fullwood claims she knows it’s her baby on the recording.’
‘Yes, mothers know their babies’ cry. I happen to believe her there.’
Price stared at him wide-eyed, as if waiting for him to see the point.
‘The woman turned around,’ he said. ‘She checked the girl was OK.’
‘She may have cared about any child crying. Regular humans are capable of caring for others, you should try it sometime.’
Of all the many things Miller found irritating about Price, his habit of smiling when being insulted was right up there. Price really did love an argument, and Miller was left feeling ashamed of stooping to snide comments.
‘Then why did she look away and stop caring the second she’d seen her daughter was OK?’
That Miller didn’t have an answer to, but he did notice how quickly Price had the rebuttal ready, again proving to Miller just how much he loved these arguments.
‘OK, so she thought it might be her daughter. But for a parent to hear crying, of course they’re going to presume the worst until they know otherwise.’
‘Exactly!’ Price cried, believing Miller was coming around to his theory — whatever that was.
Miller stared at him dumbfounded while manoeuvring out of the way so an elderly gentleman could grab a selection of sausages.
‘Sophie hears a baby crying. She panics, thinking it might be her own. But in this scenario she cannot confirm her child’s safety. And the more she hears a cry that she can’t find a source for, the more she becomes convinced it’s hers. For everyone else, there are two outcomes when they hear a child’s cry. One: It’s not theirs and the parent forgets the cry. Two: It is theirs and the parent believes they knew instantly it was their child. Now if only I can get that little girl to actually hurt herself, then we can ask the mother whether she knew instantly, because I’m willing to bet she claims to.’
‘You’ll leave the little girl alone,’ said Miller, as firmly as possible.
‘You see, the problem is mothers make awful scientific observers when it comes to their children. Their ideas become riddled with confirmation bias. Best example: sugar. A ridiculously large amount of mothers believe sugar makes their children hyperactive — but there’s no evidence to support that. Most of the time it’s the mother’s expectation that means they see a change in the child; it’s nothing but confirmation bias. I can show you various studies if you don’t believe me. Mothers never believe me; they like to think they know their children.’
‘Are you done?’ Miller said, proffering the clipboard one more time, in the hope that Price would accept it and he could leave.
‘So who did have the baby in the end?’
Tempted to give Price his own smug smile, Miller instead opted to take the high-road and remained straight-faced as he spoke.
‘Nobody.’
‘Impossible,’ Price said, snatching the clipboard.
Price stood there, flicking through and scanning the pages, looking for something to contradict Miller’s statement.
‘How do you know they told the truth?’
‘They corroborated each other’s stories. And one lady recognised me from TV, practically told me her life story. She told me everything about most of the other residents too. Trust me, she told me things I didn’t want to know.’
‘Just because somebody speaks a lot doesn’t mean they’re not speaking crap. Quite the opposite, usually,’ Price said, not letting this nugget interrupt his checking. ‘So nobody’s aware of a baby? Nobody?’
‘Nobody. Time for a new theory?’
Price shook his head.
‘Interference is still the best and most logical explanation.’
‘Right, well,’ Miller wasn’t sure quite what to say from there. More and more people were crowding around them, although not directly paying them any attention. Apparently by standing in the way of them, Price and Miller had created a sausage shortage that the public were no longer going to stand for. Price was too engrossed in the notes to notice. ‘If you’re done proving your point, I’m going to leave.’
Price didn’t reply, which Miller d
ecided was a good thing and walked away before his mouth opened out of habit. Miller made it just to the end of the centre aisle, turning around the corner and putting Price out of sight, when he heard the cry. Miller’s first thought was that the crying was from the voice recorder. But this wasn’t switched off within a couple of seconds, and when Miller paid attention to it, he realised it sounded different. There was no tinniness that was present in the recording.
It was an actual young girl crying.
Miller rushed back around the corner. Halfway down the centre aisle was the same little girl from earlier, only now she was being held and soothed by her mother.
Surely he didn’t.
Price was standing next to the mother, speaking to her while watching the girl with false-affection. Miller was no expert in lip-reading, but the fact that Price has already told him his plan meant Miller knew exactly what was being said.
Did you know the second your daughter started crying that it was her and nobody else?
When Price had mentioned tripping over the little girl, Miller had been horrified, but he’d not truly believed Price had meant it. It put a new question in Miller’s mind, one that worried him deeply: just how far would somebody like that go to prove themselves correct?
Chapter Ten
Sophie Fullwood lay awake in bed. She felt tired — she always did — but sleep refused to take her. Although she had her back to his, Sophie could hear Keith sleeping. How could he sleep so easily? After everything that was happening, and after their huge argument earlier, how did he simply nod off? In truth she was jealous of the ability. What she wouldn’t give to retreat into a dream for a while.
Far off she could hear the static of the radio from the living room. Every door was open between here and there, and she’d turned the volume up as much as she’d dared. She wanted to try and avoid the neighbours complaining about the noise, in case she ended up having to explain to them why she was listening to static so loudly. She didn’t want any of them involved, and she certainly didn’t want to risk ending up locked away in a loony-bin. Besides, she was recording everything and would play back those tapes tomorrow to double check for anything she might have missed.
Forget it. Put it out of your mind. Go to sleep.
Closing her eyes tight, pressing her head against the pillow, Sophie tried to will herself to sleep. But sleep refused to listen.
The beginning signs of sleep, just small hints of its approach, were creeping in when something changed in the room. It was subtle; at first it was nothing more than a feeling that the room had somehow altered. Whatever it was, it was enough to make her afraid to open her eyes.
The chill was the first specific change she could put a name to. While her face and hands were the only parts of her body exposed, she felt the sudden chill all over.
She was being watched. This was just a feeling too, but it was so specific and so strong that Sophie could have pinpointed exactly where in the room the watcher was. Whatever, whoever, it was, they were standing at the foot of the bed. Sophie reached behind herself and pressed her hand against Keith’s back, hard. He rolled away from her an inch, then fell back, all without even nearly waking.
Tia.
The name came into her mind without warning, as if she’d needed a reminder. Whatever the presence in the room, it wasn’t Tia; she would have warmed the room, filled Sophie with love and joy, not cold chills and dread. But whatever it was, it had to have something to do with Tia.
Sophie had to look.
Her eyes crept open. Darkness, with only vague outlines. She was looking off to the side of the bed, rather than at the bottom where she felt the presence; she would allow her eyes to adjust to the darkness before turning. They did, but not enough for those objects outlined to become distinct. All the while Sophie could hear the heavy breathing of Keith asleep; she was afraid to call out to him.
Swivelling in the bed, she stared down the end, staring exactly where she felt the presence was.
And there he stood. Still at first, his arms at his side, dressed in black, his hair past shoulder length and covering the edges of his face. And while it was too dark to make out any of his features, she could sense the sadistic smile.
Who are you?
She wanted to speak the words, shout them even, but she could only think them. But the dead don’t need to listen with their ears, and they don’t need to speak with their words. She felt the smile widen, and she saw his arms moving up to his chest. He was sending her a message, but all she could tell was that he wanted her to fear him.
His arms moved into a cradling position, and from nowhere he was now holding something wrapped in a black blanket. It wriggled. Even in the darkness, where she could make out so little, Sophie instantly recognised the tiny arm that came reaching out of the cradled bundle.
Tia.
She felt that sadistic smile again, and felt a little more of the message. The smile split apart, becoming a silent laugh. Sophie reached out for Keith under the covers, shaking him vigorously, but too afraid to take her eyes away from the man. When shaking didn’t work she prodded his side like a murderer stabbing a victim, as violently as she could, but he didn’t wake, didn’t even stir, as if he was…
Sophie was about ready to scream out, but the man raised a hand and pressed a finger against his lips.
Shhhhhhhh…
The room stayed silent; she heard it in her mind, and she obeyed. Whoever — whatever — this man was, he was in control, and Sophie would do whatever she had to for him to release her baby. Please, please God don’t let him hurt my baby.
The man silently swivelled on the spot and started for the door. Sophie told her body to follow, but it was so consumed with dread that it didn’t receive the message, not until the man had gone through the open doorway and disappeared from sight. At that point, her dread remained but the focus changed. If he left now, she might not get to see Tia ever again.
Sophie shot out of the bed and flung herself with the force of an explosion from the room. She saw nothing of him in the hallway, so she didn’t slow. Seeing nothing in the kitchen, she also flew through there, until arriving in the living room.
They had to be in here; this was where it had started.
But there was nothing. Not even any clue as to who or what she’d seen. Sophie was left with nothing more than a pounding headache, as if her mind was pushing against her skull, about to burst through. On top of that she was nauseous. She had no idea an encounter with an evil spirit could produce such physical symptoms. But none of that mattered. The only thing she had to be worried about was Tia.
It all came up then. Her regrets, her fears, her anger, it all rose to the surface like lava. Sophie collapsed to the floor. She screamed. There was more anger than fear in the scream, and it served as her own message back to the man in black. She knew his message now, and it was an obvious and simple one.
I have your daughter. She’s mine now.
But Sophie had an equally simple message, and she trusted the spirit to interpret it from the scream.
I won’t stop until I get her back.
Chapter Eleven
The park was modestly sized, with barely enough room for a play area for the younger kids and an open space for older ones to play football. But the kids seemed to be enjoying themselves, what few there were this early on a Saturday morning anyway. Miller looked around for the benches where the adults sat while their kids played. There were only a few, and they were all occupied by strangers chatting away, most of them paying their children little attention.
Miller strolled around the play area, suspecting there was at least one more bench out of view on the other side. He worried somebody might think him suspicious, wandering around a children’s play area with no kid of his own. In this day and age it seemed parents were constantly on the lookout for suspicious men. Miller knew Father Lenn had been on the receiving end of some cruel and unfounded insults for no reason other than his religious position.
/> There was indeed another bench, and at it sat Sophie Fullwood. Despite her obviously and strongly upset tone on the phone, Miller still felt pleased to see her. More than anything else, he was pleased to see her away from the flat again. He just hoped it wasn’t due to another argument.
From afar, it didn’t look good. She was staring off into the playground, her expression vacant. Miller suspected she wasn’t staring at anything in particular, that her thoughts and memories had taken her completely out of the present, but he couldn’t be certain as where she was staring remained out of his view.
‘Hey,’ he said, once he was within several feet of her. He sat down on the bench, not too close to her.
Until that moment, she hadn’t seen him, so his greeting made her jump. Her own greeting was a barely perceptible nod, then she went back to staring at the playground. None of the parents seemed to mind, or notice, a lone woman watching their children play. Maybe they naturally assumed her child was in there somewhere. Maybe that was exactly what Sophie was imagining, thought Miller as he followed Sophie’s gaze to a young girl swinging. She had long golden hair, and her face was a perfect representation of happiness.
Ah, to be made happy by seats on chains again.
Miller caught one of the other mums watching Sophie. She didn’t appear suspicious, but Miller could detect pity. They knew who Sophie was, or at least this one did.
‘How often do you come here?’ Miller asked.
‘Whenever I leave the flat I drop by.’
They both watched as the golden-haired girl flung herself out of the swing and landed on her feet. She laughed to herself, looking over to her mother for some admiration. The girl’s mother was too busy talking to another woman, and the little girl went back to the swing without losing a fraction of that smile.
‘Did you want to talk to me about something in particular?’ Miller asked.
Sophie nodded carefully.
‘I need your help,’ she said.
‘I’m trying to do everything I can for you.’
‘No, I know, but … we need to actually do something. Tonight. To help her.’
Miller studied Sophie’s face in the hope that it might give a clue as to where this had come from. Something had happened, that much was obvious, something that meant she was now in a rush.