This particular night I had been awakened by a dark dream where I ran on the moors with someone chasing me. My heart galloped in terror, my breathing was a series of gasps, and I could feel my feet hitting soggy puddles of bog that sucked me down.
Waking was a sudden burst out of my bed to stand in the doorway and try to calm myself. Suzy was up and came to see what was going on.
Her hair was gray now, her eyes paled and her smoker’s growl had faded to a whisper. She had raised hundreds of us, seen us come and go, had used up all her patience and naivete.
“What’s wrong?” she asked me, cigarette dangling from her lip.
“Bad dream,” I answered. I was twelve, ashamed to admit I was still bothered by them.
“Oh yeah? What kind?”
“Something bad was chasing me through the moors.”
“You been reading the Daily Call about the Moor Murders?”
“No,” I shuddered. “Too many horrid things in the paper.”
She studied me as if she’d never seen me before. “You’re a good kid, Aidan. Not like the usual brats I’ve been given. You came from upper class. They never found your family?”
“No, Suzy. All I know is that they found me in Cheapside with a gold and emerald cross on me. The coppers kept it and gave it to the director to keep for me. They thought they could use it to trace my name but nothing ever came of it.”
“What do you want to do with your life?” she asked. “I’ve seen your forms. You’re as smart as any I’ve had, and you know languages like a native. You could go into Foreign Service, work for the government.”
“You mean be a spy like James Bond?” I was young enough to be intrigued. She laughed at that.
“Maybe. Go back to sleep. It’s only 2 a.m. and even Mr. Bond needed his sleep.”
“I’ll try.” I laid down and before too long, was back in the drama of the dream only this time, I was an observer watching someone else stalk a child and murder them.
The child’s face was clear and distinct; I saw a girl with curly brown hair, flat eyebrows, and pretty blue eyes. A dimpled chin, round face above a short, stocky body dressed in a school uniform. She carried a book bag heavy with books and wore a light coat and sensible brogues with white socks folded at the ankle.
The man who stalked her started at the train station as she got off and took the shortcut through the woods towards her house. Bordered on both sides by hedges, it was a lane that locals used to shorten the route from the depot to town.
He was taller than her, lean with good muscles and he easily held her struggling form. The sight of the knife made her faint in his arms and because he had been denied the experience of her terror, he slit her throat quickly, watched the blood spill into the mossy dirt with a thick coppery smell that excited him.
I watched as he cut her clothes neatly off, kneel between her legs and rape her. He spent an hour with the body; doing things to it I had no comprehension of what a human could do to another. When he was done, he stood, pulled up his zipper with satisfaction, and stared at the body. He was covered in blood and didn’t seem worried he might be seen.
Taking a tie out of his pocket, he tied the girl’s wrists together and dragged her deeper out into the moor, dropping her into the bog where she slowly sank out of sight.
Within minutes, all that was left of her was the blood stain and drag marks through the grass.
I woke up, screaming. Worse, it happened for the next week until I was afraid to fall asleep and walked around in a daze until both school and Suzy noticed and hauled me to the free clinic. The doctor pursed his lip, which bobbled his wart with a long gray hair, and I was fascinated by it. “He’s lost a stone in a week, Miss Mathews. His blood pressure is high, pulse rapid and he looks exhausted.”
“He’s not sleeping or eating,” she rasped. “Nightmares, every night this week. Sometimes, I can’t wake him from them.” I stared at her; I hadn’t known she’d been coming in to check on me.
“Aidan,” he addressed me. “What’s the problem?”
“What she said. Nightmares. Real,” I told him. My eyes were closing in the warm office.
“Tell me.”
“Walking on the moor,” I mumbled. “Someone’s following me. Stalking me. He grabs me, cuts my throat and then he rapes me.”
“Rapes you?”
“Well, not me exactly. I’m a girl. With curly hair, blue eyes, in a school uniform. You know, blue and green plaid skirt, green blazer with a red and gold crest on the pocket. With white socks, book bag packed with my school kit.
“He kills me, drags my body into the bog.”
“Do you know the name of this girl, Aidan?” His manner was sharp, urgent, penetrated my sleepy lethargy.
“Kitty---Caitlyn something. She wore glasses.” I yawned, felt myself spiral down into a sleep so deep that the nightmares couldn’t intrude.
Chapter 10
The train ride cost me 50 pence; I got on at Harrowsgate and rode it to Malcombe Moor. The place was crawling with Bobbies and they watched me with narrowed eyes as I wandered the station. Vending machines marched against the back wall and the doors led out a series of steps to the outside and the cut off to the lane I’d seen in my dreams.
“Hey, laddie. Who are you? What are you doing loitering about?”
I didn’t answer but hurried into the woods and several of them trailed me until I found my feet on the damp path through moors and mire. Gorse bushes and hidden draws kept me from sight and none of them wanted to lose their shoes in the slop.
Drawn irresistibly to the pool I’d seen in my dream, her face kept floating just under the surface even though I knew she wasn’t there yet. I had the distinct sense she would be the next victim and I couldn’t prove it.
I retraced my steps, the coppers were gone, and the locals were standing round talking in small groups. I wandered, popping into shops, asking where the school was and if anyone knew Kitty or Caitlyn. It brought me curious and unwelcome stares, especially from the postmaster who was an older man with hard eyes and strong hands. The way he looked at me made me nervous and I left the village watching behind me all the way to the station.
My nights now were no longer spent sleeping, I rode the trains back and forth enough times that the conductors knew me. Sometimes, I got off at the place where I had seen her alive, other times I rode to the Heath hoping to spot him riding the train home.
The day I saw her, I rubbed my eyes thinking I was asleep and seeing her in my dreams. I was on the Amesbury line, heading out to the Heath, nearly the opposite direction from her murder site. I was afraid to approach her. What could I say, excuse me, I’ve seen you murdered. Don’t go home and take the shortcut? She’d think me mad and call the Bobbies on me. Instead, I pretended not to see her; followed her off the train to the village of Chelmsford where she entered a flea market the size of the village green.
Stalls were set up under trees and the open; people bustled about like shoals of fish. There were antique dealers and rubbish piled high, plants and herbalists, fortune readers and used clothes all for sale in someone’s slot. I was fascinated by the sheer volume of items for sale, there were even live animals and a childrens petting zoo.
She headed for an apothecary’s shop and because of the crowds; I was able to approach right behind her, listening to her conversation.
She came to get something to make her feel good and the way she asked made me think it was some kind of password question because the shopkeeper said he thought she was a mite young for it but she repeated the question and told him she had the blunt. I saw her hand over a ten pound note and he gave her a piece of paper twisted at both ends. She tucked it carefully inside her shirt. His eyes found me.
“You too?” he asked and I blushed, shook my head and pretended to browse the nearest row of stuff which happened to be feminine products. I was mortified, embarrassed and didn’t see her leave until the shopkeeper pushed me out.
I lost her in the crowds;
roamed the market for two hours before I gave up and went back to the station. As I arrived, I realized I had no cash left, some thief had picked my pockets and robbed me of every penny I’d had. Luckily, I’d tucked my return ticket into my jean pocket and that was still there.
I crept home in defeat and sneaked in by the rooftop. Instead of going to my room, I sat on the roof with my knees tucked into my chest and watched as the stars rotated over my head.
Morning came in an agonized crawl. I entered the bedroom, mussed the bed so Suze thought I had slept, changed my clothes for ratty t-shirt with the Grateful Dead and black jeans, fresh boxers and socks. Wetting my hair with my fingers, I smoothed it out and stared at my face in the little mirror above the small porcelain sink. Dark shadows smudged my eyes making the purple dark like wine, my mouth turned down in sadness. I looked tired, hopeless. I would have scared the devil out of his skin.
“Aidan?” Suzy’s smokers rasp floated up to me. “Breakfast.”
The thought of food made me nauseous but I descended to the kitchen and picked at the eggs, biscuits until it made a homogeneous mess on the plate. Suzy sighed, took it away, and handed me a glass of milk and a white pill.
“Dr. Elverson gave me these when you can’t sleep or you feel frazzled,” she said. “Don’t take them when you’re going to classes. You’ll sleep through them.”
“I need something for when I’m awake.”
“I told him no. I don’t want you hooked on shit that makes you not care. I saw too many of my kids go that route and never get off that crap.”
“Like Schnee and Marc?”
She snorted. “They’re smart enough not to use it, just sell it to teens. You don’t need that shit.”
“No,” I admitted. “I’ve got enough problems of my own without creating more.”
“What do you think these dreams mean, Aidan? You think you’re psychic?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, Suzy. I just know I can’t sleep or eat until I find out what they mean.”
“I hope it’s soon or there’ll be nothing left to you.”
“Finals are this week,” I sighed. “I haven’t studied at all. I’m afraid I won’t pass my forms.”
She snorted again or maybe she was just trying to draw a deep breath. “You’re tops in your grade, Aidan. You’ll go on in whatever you decide.”
“I’d like to go to L.S.E.,” I said hesitantly. “Is there enough funding for that?”
“We’ll make do. If you do go on, you’ll be the first of my boys to go second form. I’m proud of you, Aidan, either way. You’ve been a joy to raise.”
Impulsively, I hugged her, throat surprisingly tight. “If I had a mum, Suzy, I’d like her to be just like you.”
“Go on, boy,” she grumbled. “You’ll be late for the coach.” I snatched up my lunch chit and ran out the door to the stairs.
Chapter 11
I never made it to class; I had an overwhelming urge to ride the tube to Malcombe Moor, reaching the town at nine in the morning. It was one of those typical English mornings with lowering gray skies and a dismal rain falling.
The lane between the town and the line was running as if a stream went through it; I kept to the high side, finding a narrow opening between two trees and the hedge where I could squat and hide without becoming very drenched, as I hadn’t the wit to bring a mackinaw to stay dry. Nor had my trainers fared any better, they were soaked through all the way to my knees.
I was miserable, cold, wet and yet, I managed to doze the whole day away, woke only when the shadows lengthened into dusk and people started to hurry home off the train and use the short cut.
They came in groups and alone, the postman, matrons with grocery sacks and city workers; all of them with brollies and Wellies, heavy rain coats. They had obviously listened to the weather reports.
School kids slipped past me if they were first formers, even the older ones didn’t tarry but hurried along as if they sensed the coming evil. It was near dusk when Kitty appeared, and this time she wasn’t in her school uniform, just a pair of jeans and a rain slicker with the hood up, rain covers pulled on over her shoes.
She glanced about, wary as a rabbit and jumped when the postman stepped out behind her. He called his name and she relaxed, smiled as the two of them made their innocuous remarks about the weather.
I slipped off my perch and stood behind them, he had already been down this route from the post office hours ago.
“Kitty,” I heard him say, “I’ve a parcel for you just down the lane. I was bringing it over this afternoon and got hung up on a big delivery to the Jensen’s.”
“Who from?” she asked, delight on her face with the thought of an unexpected present.
“From me.”
“You? Whatever for?”
He grinned and pulled out his knife and I had seen it so many times in my nightmares, I knew it better than he did. I ran up behind her, jerked her out of his grasp, and sent her flying, shoving him to his knees with a rugby tackle.
“Kitty! Run!” I screamed and she did so, scrambling to her feet with an alacrity missing in her everyday motion. She screamed the entire way to the village and I was fast after her.
He was up and on his own feet seconds later, I heard the pounding of his heavy footsteps and he cut me off, wielding the knife before him.
“You bloody bastard,” he hissed. “I’ve seen you loitering about before. You spoiled my bit of fun. Guess what? I do boys, too and you’re far prettier than that cow. Love your eyes.”
“I told the coppers about you,” I said and bolted to the side and promptly sank into knee-deep mire. The more I struggled, the faster I sank. He grabbed me by my hair and I swatted at him. He hauled off and punched me in the stomach and I stopped breathing. He was able to drag my limp, nonresistant body onto solid ground where he went through my pockets and found my ID. Trussing me with plastic cord, he bound my wrists and ankles and then dragged me off into a copse where we were hidden from casual view.
“Aidan Smyth,” he read. “London. E6. Bit off your turf, Heh?”
I struggled as he pulled down my jeans and boxers, played with my balls and dick; I tried to scream once my lungs started working. Heard the far off shouting of people heading our way. He heard it, too.
“Too bad,” he whispered. “I bet you’ve never had a big cock up your arse.”
He took the knife and slowly slid it into my belly to the right of my belly button, watching my eyes darken as he did it. The pain was an ice-cold burn and then a fiery monster eating my guts. My entire body went into a spasm. He drew the blade up and hot fluid gushed out of my insides to splash down my sides, my guts were like snakes weaving and dancing. I could not speak in the horror of seeing inside me.
His face dissolved. I could feel the knife reach my heart, felt it shiver and skip but the pain had receded; no longer touched me.
“Good bye, Aidan Smyth,” he whispered in my ear and I barely heard him as he stood and ran off.
The last thing I did hear was her voice telling me not to die in her place, the lights of police, and the cold blackness of death.
Part 3
Chapter 12
I woke this time knowing my full name, where I had lived both lifetimes and what had happened to me. I woke in hospital in a bed in a ward with only a nurse in attendance.
“Hullo. Do you know who you are, son?” she asked. I saw a woman near my mum’s age, thirties with coal black hair and blue eyes. She was pretty, wore a white uniform with her name on the pocket.
“What year is this?” I asked and she looked unsettled.
“1999.”
I sighed. I had lost another twenty years. “Can I have a mirror?”
“You weren’t in an accident,” she said. “Nothing’s wrong with your face.”
“How old do I look?”
“How old do you think you are?” she countered.
“Twelve or thirteen?”
“You don’t know?”
&
nbsp; “I remember being twelve.”
“You still are. You have some unusual scars. Why don’t you tell me your name?”
“Aidan Argent.” Actually, the right Honorable Aidan Michael Darancourt Griffon Argent. I should have been thirty nine years old by now but was still stuck in a 12-year-old body.
“The Moor Murders?”
“What about them?”
“Did they catch the man who did it?”
“Aye. In fact, he just died in prison. Served twenty years and died of AIDS.”
“Aids?”
She looked at me oddly as if I should know what that was. She explained and I shuddered, wondering if he’d done anything to my body after I had been murdered.
“I read about it. A boy named Aidan was his last victim. He saved the intended victim, a girl named Kitty Coyle. She ran back and got the Bobbies and Scotland Yard but they were too late to save the lad. He’d been disemboweled and cut to his heart. In fact, the murderer took his heart with him. The girl recognized the attacker, the postmaster. He was caught with the boy’s organ, arrested, and sent to Wormwood Scrubs. Why?”
“I knew him. Aidan.”
“How? He died before you were born.”
I couldn’t answer without sounding insane. She asked me where I lived and I couldn’t answer that either. I was sure Suzy was long dead and left me with no place to go. “I have no one,” I whispered.
“Orphan. That’s tough.”
“What happened to me?”
“Police Inspectors found you along the transit line. Unconscious, unresponsive. We thought you were an OD but no drugs were found in your system. You were in shock, no sign of any trauma, just these scars. You’ve been here for a fortnight. Doctor thought you’d never wake up. Are you hungry?”
“Is it tea time?”
“Long past but I can find you something. Be back in a bit.” She left me, returning in a half hour with a Styrofoam cup of lake warm tea and a soggy bacon sandwich I devoured in four bites. I felt as if I hadn’t eaten in ages. I suppose I hadn’t.
After her came the doctor, harried National Health and he checked my eyes, heart, lungs and reflexes, seemed pleased with the results and pronounced me fit. He wanted to know about the scars and asked me if I had been abused. The police came next, took my fingerprints, and were disappointed when they came up unknown.