Alice Isn't Well (Death Herself Book 1) (8 page)

Chapter Twelve

1941

This time, she heard the whistle.

It was coming closer, closer than the rest, falling through the night sky. She squeezed her eyes tight shut, bracing for impact. Still the whistle became louder, as if it was right overhead. She held her breath, like everyone around her and then, when it seemed like the whistle was so close it was almost inside her head, it stopped for a fraction of a second, as if maybe the bomb had magically not landed, and then the entire tunnel rumbled as a distant boom rippled through the ground. Brick-dust fell from the ceiling, enough to put out a couple of nearby fires, and when Wendy opened her eyes she saw that only one fire was still burning, all the way at the other end.

The rumble continued for a few more seconds before finally subsiding.

“Somebody's home probably just got flattened,” whispered a mournful voice nearby, from the darkness.

“Our lads'll give 'em hell,” added someone else. “For every bomb that falls on London tonight, ten'll fall on Berlin.”

“You really think that?” another voice asked, with obvious skepticism. “It's turning. I'm telling you, the tide's turning, we're losing momentum and -”

Other voices quickly drowned him out with a series of boos and curse-words. Contrary opinions weren't popular, not with bombs falling all around.

Pulling her knees up to her face, Wendy tried to make herself as small as possible. She looked around at the dark figures on either side of the tunnel, occasionally getting a glimpse of half a face here or a pair of eyes there, as someone else tried to get one of the fires started again. Since Harry had left to take care of some other matters, Wendy had remained quiet and had tried to avoid getting noticed, had tried to pretend she didn't even exist. There were plenty of people around her, but she'd still not seen one of them properly, not yet. Just shapes and flashes of their faces in the gloom.

And the smell.

Most of them stank of damp clothes and sweat, and things she didn't even want to think about.

“Hey,” a voice said suddenly. “You. Over there. Hey.”

Wendy stared at the floor, even though she was sure the person was talking to her. She hoped he'd give up and move on if she just ignored him.

“Hey.”

This time, she felt someone nudging her arm. Reluctantly, she turned and saw a dark figure crouching nearby, with just a sliver of flickering light picking out one side of his tired, old face. A fire in a tin can cast shadows over his features, filling his every wrinkle with dark lines.

“Kid,” he continued, “let me ask you a question, eh? Are you smart? Can I ask you a question?”

She swallowed hard.

Suddenly the man leaned closer; much closer, close enough for her to smell the garlic and vinegar and tobacco on his breath.

“How do you tell the difference,” he continued, “between the living and the dead?”

“Leave her alone,” a tired woman said nearby.

“I'm just asking her!” he hissed, keeping his bulging eyes fixed on Wendy. “It's not a trick question, kid. I ask everyone when they're new down here. So come on, then, how do you tell the difference?”

She opened her mouth to answer. Her lips were dry and slightly stuck together after not speaking for hours. She wanted them to stay that way, but at the same time she could tell the man wasn't going to leave her alone unless she answered. “I... I don't know.”

Turning, he pointed along the tunnel with a dirty, mitted hand.

“It's not easy,” he explained. “The thing is, they mostly look the same down here, but I've worked out one surefire way. You've gotta look for their shadows, see? Living people have a shadow, you can see it when there's a fire going. Dead people, they don't got no shadow. It's the light, see? It helps you tell the difference.” He nudged her arm again. “I dare you.”

She waited for him to continue. “You dare me to what?” she asked finally, even though she didn't really want to know.

“Walk to the end of this corridor, and see if everyone's got a shadow.”

She shook her head, while watching the dozen or so figures crouched nearby. There was still only one fire burning, flickering delicately as a woman tried to get it going properly, and the shadows of the various people were all merged together, shifting constantly against the tunnel's curved, cracked wall. Picking the people apart, let alone their shadows, seemed impossible.

“Here,” the man continued, pulling something from his pocket and holding it out for her. “You can have this if you do it.”

Looking down, she saw that there was a twisted, bent bottle top in the palm of his hand.

“I don't want it,” she told him.

“What's wrong? Not good enough for you?” He reached closer and put a hand on her waist, before fumbling with the top of her skirt. “Where's your pocket? I'll -”

“No!” she shouted, pulling away and bumping into the opposite wall in her haste to get away from the man's creepy, wandering hands.

“What's wrong with you?” he asked, sounding annoyed. “I was just trying to give you something! Thought you should keep it somewhere safe, that's all.”

“Leave her alone, Stan,” said another voice from the darkness. “She's just a kid.”

“That's what he likes,” another voice added. “I told you before, he's not right in the head. He doesn't understand the difference between children and adults.”

“Best move along, kid,” said one of the other voices, nudging Wendy's ankle. “Find another place to sleep. Everyone down here knows to keep away from Stanley and his fiddling fingers. He likes putting them in places they shouldn't be.”

“Don't listen to those liars,” Stanley hissed, leaning toward Wendy again. “Come and snuggle close, for warmth.”

Stepping over his outstretched hand, Wendy began to make her way along the corridor. She looked down to either side, checking to make sure that each of the people she passed had a shadow. It was hard to tell sometimes, since the fire in a nearby tin-can was getting stronger and all the shadows were merging, dancing wildly across the wall. Most of the people were either sleeping or resting, and some of them looked dead, but they all seemed to have shadows, until Wendy reached the far end of the corridor and saw a woman kneeling on the floor, wrapped in various old and stained sheets, with her hands on her knees. Stopping, Wendy looked for the woman's shadow but saw nothing. She told herself she was wrong, that she was just missing something obvious, but as the fire continued to burn she realized there was definitely no sign of a shadow. Finally, slowly, the woman turned and looked up at Wendy with yellowing eyes that stared with unblinking, mournful intensity.

“It's okay,” the woman said finally, her voice sounding harsh and gravelly. “It doesn't hurt, not that much.”

Stepping past her, Wendy hurried into the next corridor, but she stopped for a moment when she saw that there were more people all around, waiting for the air-raid to be over. Making her way along, forcing herself to be brave, she consciously kept from looking for shadows this time, figuring that she really didn't want to know whether the dead were mixed up with the living, or if that was even possible. She wanted to find Harry, since he'd at least seemed kind, but she had no idea where to look first. There were so many people, however, that she struggled at times to pick a way past all the legs and arms sprawled across the floor. She had to scrunch her nose up to avoid the foul smells, too, since there was nowhere for people to go to the toilet and most were simply relieving themselves where they sat and then shifting a few feet from the mess. The tunnel shook again as a bomb fell nearby, and Wendy took the opportunity to skip over a few more legs until she reached a junction, at which point she looked to the right and saw an empty, dark corridor leading away with no-one on the floor. Compared to the other tunnels, it looked like paradise along there.

“You going that way?” asked a woman.

Turning, Wendy saw that a younger woman, about her mother's age, was watching from the nearby floor. Unable to help herself, she looked for the woman's shadow and was relieved when she saw one flickering against the wall.

“Why isn't anyone using that tunnel?” Wendy asked cautiously.

“Go and see,” the woman replied.

“But why's it empty?”

“Go and see,” the woman said again, before a faint smile crossed her lips. “And if you see her, say hello from all of us.”

“Her?” Wendy paused. “Who are you talking about?”

“Hey,” the woman continued, nudging an older woman next to her. “The kid doesn't know.”

“Know what?” Wendy asked.

The two women laughed at some shared joke.

“Go and take a look,” the first woman continued, pointing along the dark tunnel. “It's alright, if anyone asks, we'll tell them which way you went.”

“Don't be mean,” the other woman told her. “She's just a child.”

“I'm not being mean. I just think the kid should go and look if she doesn't know. She'll soon come running back.”

“What's down there?” Wendy asked. “Why is everyone crowded into these tunnels when there are others that are empty?”

“You'll make a new friend if you go and look,” the first woman told her. “A special friend. Hell, some people say that when you make friends with her, she never lets you go. You'll be friends forever and ever. Or for rest of your life, anyway.”

“But -”

“Sshh!” the woman added, before putting a finger to her mouth and miming drawing a jagged line across her lips. “From what I've heard, she doesn't like it if people talk too much about her. She gets real mad.”

Turning, Wendy looked along the dark tunnel, and for a moment she felt as if she could somehow sense someone at the far end, waiting for her.

“Hold up!” a voice called out suddenly. “Little girl, wait for me!”

Looking back the way she'd come, Wendy realized that Stanley was coming after her.

“Bloody hell,” the first woman muttered. “Good luck, kid. Looks like you've got Mr. Wandering Hands on your tail. I reckon you actually
might
be better off going to see Hannah.”

“Hannah?”

“Little girl!” Stanley shouted, shuffling into view with a grin. “I've got something for you!”

“Go,” the woman told Wendy. “He won't follow you down there, that's for sure. He might be desperate, but he's not stupid. You can always come back in a bit. Maybe, anyway. If you're lucky.”

Feeling a shiver at the thought of Stanley getting too close, Wendy turned and ran a few paces along the dark tunnel, before stopping and staring straight ahead. The last thing she wanted was to get lost or to meet anyone who lurked at the far end, but at the same time she definitely didn't want to hang around near Stanley. Slowly, and with a mounting sense of being watched, she began to make her way along the tunnel, even though there were no fires burning and she quickly found herself in darkness.

“Hey!” she heard Stanley calling after her. “Come back this way! I won't hurt you!” She could hear the two women laughing, too.

She kept limping, determined to get as far away from Stanley as possible. Her mother had warned her about men like Stanley, so she figured her mother would approve of anything that meant not being near him. Besides, she told herself she could turn back at any moment and return to the foul, overcrowded tunnels. For now, she wanted to be alone, and she wasn't even
that
scared, not scared enough to stop.

“You'll make a new friend if you go and look,” she remembered the woman telling her. “A special friend. You'll be friends forever and ever.”

Chapter Thirteen

Today

“Hi,” Alice said, stopping in the doorway and looking into the porta-cabin, where Donald was finishing some paperwork at the desk.

He glanced at her, and the hint of concern in his eyes was unmissable.

“I went looking for you,” she continued, taking a step forward. “I thought... Well, I wasn't sure what to do when I couldn't find you.”

“I was...” He swallowed hard, as if he was scared. No, terrified. “I was just checking the site, you know? I was... Just checking. Nothing wrong with that.”

She offered a smile. “Listen, I think maybe -”

“You can go and do another tour,” he added, interrupting her. “No harm in checking again, is there?”

“Sure,” she replied, stepping toward him, “but -”

He suddenly pulled back in his chair, as if he didn't want her to get too close.

“Donald -” she began.

“I thought I saw someone,” he stammered, pointing at the monitors, “out the other side, near the back door. Maybe you should go out there and, I don't know, hang around for a bit. There's no point having two of us sitting in here, is there? Seems like a waste of resources.”

“But -”

“Please go,” he added, as if he was on the verge of a full breakdown, desperate for her to not get too close. “Please, just... Go.”

Pausing, she realized he was almost shaking with fear. She looked down at the paperwork on his desk and saw that he'd printed out information about new jobs in the area. Apparently the thought of being around her was too much for him to deal with now that he knew who she was, and now that he knew about her past. She figured he must have read all about her past, probably including the lurid claims that people made about her on forums.

“Is there...” She took a deep breath, feeling a sense of panic and dread in her chest. “Is there anything you want to ask me, Donald?”

He shook his head keenly.

“Are you sure?” She looked over at one of the chairs and thought about sitting down for a moment, but she wasn't sure whether or not that would be a good idea. The last thing she wanted was to freak him out further, and for him to go running out of the porta-cabin and disappear into the night. She'd asked one of the doctors back in the hospital what she should do in a situation like this, and he'd assured her that it wouldn't happen. She'd asked again and again, and the answer had been the same. Fat load of good that advice had turned out to be. “It's just...” She paused. “Donald, I feel like maybe you've worked out the reason for that gap on my CV.”

“None of my business,” he snapped, his voice thick with tension.

“No, but -”

“I don't want to go poking about in your business,” he continued. “Not me. I'm not a nosy man.”

“Sure, but -”

“Please,” he hissed, his eyes filled with fear. “You don't have to explain yourself to me. In fact, I'd really prefer it if you didn't.”

She paused again, on the verge of turning to leave but feeling as if she still needed to work things out with him. She didn't know what to say, but she felt certain that she had to say
something
, to maybe find a way to show him that she wasn't dangerous. Even though she barely knew him, and despite the fact that she didn't even like him that much, she still felt as if he was the closest thing she had to a friend, so she wanted to at least
try
to make him understand.

“I could have changed my name,” she told him finally. “I thought about it, but I felt that'd be...” Another pause. “I didn't change it, because I didn't do anything wrong. At least, I don't think I did.”

“I believe you,” he said quickly.

“That man, that...” She tried to think of a more convincing way to explain what had happened. She knew that there were many myths and lies about her story, many crazy theories in the public domain, some of which had painted her out to be some kind of monster. “The version in the newspapers wasn't quite accurate. Neither is the Wikipedia story, I tried to edit it but someone keeps reversing all my changes. Someone thinks he knows better.” She took a deep breath. “I didn't kill the policeman who came to my house that night. I really didn't, it wasn't me. I used to think it was, but now I'm sure it wasn't. Someone else killed him. I don't know who, but...”

She paused, hoping against hope that he'd tell her he understood.

“I believe you,” he said again, as if he wanted to end the conversation as quickly as possible.

“I just don't quite remember what...” She took another deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Well, I guess you know that part. To be honest, leaving the hospital wasn't even my idea, but the doctors thought I should get back into the real world. After ten years, they told me I was well again. As well as I can ever be, anyway, given that there's a hole in my mind. They arranged this job for me, they told me no-one would ever care about my past, but I knew that wasn't true. People like to root around in other people's lives, don't they? At least, I think they do. I'm not great judge of how the world works, really. I don't have much experience of being around other people.”

Donald stared at her, clearly still desperate for her to leave.

“The scars have mostly healed,” she added, smiling again. “I'm not... You don't have to be scared of me.”

His face twitched slightly, as if he was struggling to keep from racing out the door. “Okay,” he said finally.

She frowned. “Okay?”

“Okay.”

“Okay what?”

He swallowed hard. “Just okay.”

She paused for a moment. “You're just saying that to get me to leave, aren't you?”

He shook his head.

“It's fine, I understand, just...” She reached for her radio, before deciding to leave it on her belt. “I'd quit and leave you alone, but then I'd lose my assisted living grant, and I need that for a month or two while I settle in to my new life. I've only been out of the hospital for three weeks, if I quit now they'd cut me off and I don't know what I'd do. I'd probably lose my little one-bedroom apartment too, and... I just need another month, maybe two at most, to get myself on my feet so I can support myself. If I could quit this job tonight, I would, just to make you feel better, but I can't.”

He opened his mouth to reply, but no words came.

For a moment, silence fell between them. Donald stayed in his swivel chair and Alice stayed on the other side of the desk, and they kept their eyes on one another until, finally, Alice took an empty chair and sat down.

“Please,” she continued, with a hint of desperation in her voice, “I need this job, I need it to work. After two weeks, your boss is going to ask you to fill out an employee evaluation form, and what you write on there is going to get passed on to the people working my case, and if I don't do well...” There were almost tears in her eyes as she waited for him to say something, for him to understand and to meet her halfway. “Please just judge me based on how I do while I'm working here, not on what you've read online or what the papers said about what happened to me ten years ago. I'm not that person anymore, I've moved past it, I'm completely well again. I didn't kill anyone. I genuinely don't remember what happened that night, but I'm not a murderer. They wouldn't have let me out if they thought there was a chance I might be dangerous.”

He stared at her.

“Let me prove myself,” she added finally. “That's all I ask. Give me a chance. Can you do that?”

Silence.

“I thought I saw someone out the back,” he said finally, his voice still filled with reservation and doubt. “It was probably nothing, but I'd be grateful if you could go and take a look around.” He paused. “When you're done with that, come back and I can fill you in on a little more of the history of Barton's Cross. If you're interested in that sort of thing.”

She nodded, feeling as if she was finally making a little progress. She wanted to hurry over to him and give him a hug, but she felt that would probably be an overreaction. “Thank you,” she said instead. “Thank you so much.”

“Well, then... Off you go.”

Getting to her feet, Alice felt as if they'd at least reached some kind of understanding. There was a part of her that wanted to press her case a little more, but she figured she shouldn't push too hard, too fast. Grabbing a flashlight from the table, she turned and headed to the door. When she glanced back at Donald, to thank him for giving her a chance, she saw that he'd already started filling in new job applications again. Still, she felt certain she could prove herself to him. He'd given her a chance, and now it was up to her to impress him.

***

A cool breeze was blowing through the night air as she reached the rear of the building, where several temporary metal fences had been set up long ago with their bases in concrete stands. One of the fences looked to have been moved aside slightly, which in theory meant that someone could have gained access to the shopping mall's rear door, although when she shone her flashlight through Alice saw that the door was still shut. She slipped through and checked the padlock, finding that it was secure.

Heading back past the fence, she was about to continue her tour around the perimeter of the building when she happened to glance out across the barren wasteland that stretched to the rear of Barton's Cross. Stepping over to the edge of the old gravel delivery road, she shone the beam of light out across the knee-high grass and saw that like the mall itself, the surrounding area had been abandoned, although a development company had erected a sign in the distance promising changes soon. Flicking the flashlight off, she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness and after a moment she was able to see the lights of Central London in the distance, glittering so bright against the night sky that they shut out all the stars and tinging the horizon with a faint orange glow. For a moment, the scene felt strangely peaceful, and Alice found herself watching her own shadow as it fell across the grass, lengthened by the low lights that ran around the base of the shopping mall behind her.

“It's okay,” she remembered the police officer telling her all those years ago. “Alice, help's on its way, we're going to -”

She remembered the pain of pulling the stitches from her mouth.

She remembered shouting at him, begging him to run as tears streamed down her face.

He'd used her name.

“Run!” she'd screamed, but it had been too late.

She remembered seeing a shape behind the officer, and then she remembered him turning and -

He's screamed. Just briefly, before his throat was cut.

There had been another voice too, echoing all around her.

The wind picked up for a moment, rustling the grass.

“Do you still not remember what happened that night?” she remembered Doctor Carmichael asking.

“Bits of it,” she'd told him. “Sometimes...”

“I need you closed now,” she remembered the echoing voice telling her, as a dark figure had stepped over the dead officer's corpse. “No more interference.”

The memory – and she wasn't even sure it
was
a memory, she thought it was most likely the trace of some old nightmare – trailed off, and she watched as the dark, moonlit grass was blown by a cool wind, while her shadow lay on top of it all, shifting slightly at the edges. Her shadow always soothed her, as if it was a reminder that she was still alive. And then, slowly, she saw a second shadow appear, as if someone had begun to step out from behind her. She knew there was no way anyone could have been so close, that it was most likely a trick of the light, but she kept watching until the other shadow began to get further away, and then she turned and saw that – as expected – there was no-one around. Taking a few steps back toward the building, she flicked her flashlight on and shone the beam all around, but there was still no sign of anyone. Just as she was about to turn away, however, she spotted something dark on the shopping mall's rear wall, and when she shone the light up she realized that a word had been tagged across the wall in large, rough black letters.

“Hannah,” she whispered.

She paused.

“Hannah?”

Hannah. The same name as the girl who'd apparently knocked on her door the night before, while she was out. She tried desperately to work out where and how she'd encountered someone named Hannah before, but the information seemed blocked somewhere in her mind. Sometimes, she felt there were so many of those blocks, she'd never be able to push past them. She was certain that there had been no such graffiti on the wall just a few minutes earlier, but at the same time she knew there was no way anyone could have written it up there without her having spotted them. Turning, she looked toward the grass again, before starting to make her way back around the building, heading to the porta-cabin. She felt as if she was being watched, and no matter how much she kept telling herself it was all in her head, the feeling was getting stronger.

“Get a grip,” she told herself, stopping next to the porta-cabin and taking a deep breath. “Don't fall apart now. You're fine, you're well, there's nothing wrong with you.”

She waited.

Silence.