Forget Me Not (The Ceruleans: Book 2) (8 page)

The other world is still a mystery. How many of these
Ceruleans are there? Were they all regular people once, like me and Scarlett,
who Became? Do they all live in Cerulea? Is it a massive place, then, with a
government and everything?

I was going to ask Jude, but then I thought: all these
days I’ve been asking questions, and do the answers even matter? They don’t
change anything, and I can learn all this stuff afterwards.

The headaches are worse, and I hit the deck again
yesterday, in the bathroom this time. I’m holding out for Scarlett, but I don’t
know that I can last long enough. Her birthday, August thirty-first, is such a
long way away.

~

Daniel came to the cottage. Not alone. He brought Gabriel
with him.

They wanted to talk about Scarlett.

~

I lost myself. Jude found me. He talked me into getting
away from the cove for a couple of nights. The time away is a blur. At some
point the tears dried up. At some point I stopped shaking. But we didn’t talk –
I couldn’t talk to him. We walked a lot, along the coast. We watched the
sunset. I wanted to cry again, but I didn’t.

~

I misplaced some of the afternoon. It was lunchtime and
then, blink, the sun was touching the tip of the plum tree in the garden.

~

My head hurts.

I miss my sister.

~

I saw Grandad in the garden. He was hoeing the vegetable
patch. He smiled at me, and beckoned.

~

Went to St Mary’s today. Haven’t been there since I was a
kid.

I sat in the pew, and I prayed. I don’t know why – it
seemed the thing to do. I prayed for Scarlett, mainly.

The rev came out and sat beside me. He was kind. I talked
to him. About death. About God.

It helped, a little.

I had never intended to set foot again in St Mary’s church.
I didn’t belong there. The simple, unquestioning faith I’d had as a child had
long since given way to a quiet emptiness. I had stopped believing in the
stories of the Bible. I had stopped believing in Jesus. I had stopped believing
in the deity I’d been brought up to worship. In a house of God, I was an
intruder.

Why, then, when I should have been home packing my bag for
the Newquay trip in the morning, was I pushing open the thick wooden door of
the church and stepping into the cool, silent entranceway?

Because following my reading this morning, only one page
remained unread in my sister’s diary. Just a turn of a page to lay the last of
the truth bare. And then – then I would have to face Jude.

‘You can’t keep running from me, Scarlett. You and I, we
have a future ahead.’

The fear was a rip current, propelling me into darkness,
drowning me. I’d learned the hard way that the only way out of a rip is an
abrupt change in direction. The church had long since ceased having meaning in
my life, but there, perhaps, I may find the very dimmest of lights to follow.

Reverend Helmsley was at the altar, paging through a large
and very old Bible.

‘Scarlett!’ he called warmly as I walked up the aisle. ‘How
lovely to see you.’ He closed the book and stepped down to meet me. ‘How are
you?’

‘Fine,’ I said automatically.

‘Good! And how is your arm after that dreadful accident in the
churchyard?’ He looked at my arm, as if he could see right through the wool to
the skin beneath.

Pulling my cardigan tightly around me, I said, ‘Much better,
thank you.’

‘All better. Good!’ He beamed. ‘So, what can I do for you
this fine day?’

I stood awkwardly, trying to find the words. Above the
altar, on a sculpted crucifix, Jesus watched. His expression was tortured and
his eyes – judgmental, I was sure.

‘Would you like to sit down, dear?’ the reverend offered
kindly.

I nodded, and he gestured to the front pew. I sat in the
middle, and he settled himself down beside me – close enough to pat my hand,
but at a sufficient distance that I didn’t feel crowded.

‘What is it you’d like to talk about, Scarlett?’

‘I don’t know what to say. I don’t know why I’m here. I
read… I have a diary, my sister’s. She wrote that she came here and talked to
you.’

‘Yes, she did.’

‘May I ask… what did you talk about?’

The church fell silent, long enough for me to count five of
Reverend Helmsley’s deep, rhythmic breaths. Then he said, ‘Your sister had many
questions, difficult ones, about the existence of God, and the afterlife, and
the angels.’

‘And what did you tell her?’

‘I told her what I believe: that heaven and earth are
governed by a divine being of love that employs many instruments to guide and
protect us.’

‘Instruments?’

‘Of heaven and earth, and all that falls in between.’

I stared at him and his watery brown eyes met my gaze. I saw
no hint of agenda in them, just compassion.

‘Would you like to talk about those things with me,
Scarlett?’

‘No!’

He was a kind man who doubtlessly knew the Bible inside and
out. But what did he know, truly, of life and death? There was only one person
who could give me answers, and I would see him soon enough.

‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘that sounded rude. But… no.’

He smiled. ‘Not rude, Scarlett, but honest. Thank you for
being honest. I wonder, do you feel able to share with me why you have come
here today? Not for answers, clearly, but for something. What do you need?’

I thought about it. ‘Courage, I suppose.’

‘To do battle?’

‘No. I’ve been fighting. Every day.’

‘Ah. Then perhaps it’s time to do the opposite.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Surrender.’

‘Give up?’

‘No. Accept what you cannot change.’

‘That’s… hard.’

‘It is. Especially when it comes to death.’

I flinched at the word.

‘That is what we are talking about, isn’t it, dear?’

‘Yes.’

Sienna’s death.

My death.

‘I wonder…’ The reverend drifted off, staring at some point
in space or time that was far beyond me. ‘Yes,’ he said, coming back to the
moment. ‘I would like to share with you, if I may, my first encounter with
death. It’s not an easy story to tell, and it’s not an easy story to hear, but
I think, I hope, it will help.’

His whole demeanour was so grave – I didn’t want to hear a
story that made him that way. Not at all. But I’d come here for help, and he
was offering it. I nodded.

‘It was many years ago,’ he said, ‘when I was only just
ordained. The woman was not herself, not at all. These days I suppose the
hospital may have picked up on her illness. But they didn’t then. Nor did they
notice her leave the ward on which she’d been staying.

‘It was late at night, and I was locking up the church to go
home when I noticed her. They could never work out how she got from the
hospital to the cove in a dressing gown, but she did, and because the gown was
white it stood out in the darkness. I saw her on the cliff, standing at the
edge of the path.’

He paused to clear his throat, and I asked, ‘Which cliff?’

‘The west cliff.’ He left the remainder of the sentence hanging
heavily in the air:
near your grandparents’ cottage
.

‘I ran,’ he said. ‘And I got there just before... She was so
unwell. God bless her, I don’t think she wanted to do it, but she could find no
other way to escape the demons inside her. There was no time. I reached for
her. Her hands touched mine, so briefly. And then she let go. She just… fell.’

I squeezed my eyes shut, to block out the terrible scene
that was in my mind, but it didn’t work. I saw the woman fall, as I so nearly
had. I saw her fall, and no one save her.

‘Scarlett,’ said the reverend gently. ‘That isn’t all of the
story.’

I opened my eyes, and even the dim light in the church was
dazzling.

‘That poor woman,’ he continued. ‘Postpartum psychosis; they
said that was what drove her to it.’

‘Postpartum? You mean she –’

‘– was a mother, Scarlett, yes. A very new mother. She’d
taken her baby from the hospital. She intended to take him with her. But in
that final moment, she put that tiny child in my hands. Though life was too
painful for her to bear any longer, she had enough faith left to believe it
could be better for her son. She entrusted him to me. She gave him life. And
then she gave up her own life.’

I shuddered, and a tear that had been teetering at the rim
spilled over and trickled down my cheek. The reverend produced a packet of
tissues from his pocket and offered me one before continuing.

‘I cried too, Scarlett. Many times. I was so glad that he
lived, that boy, but so utterly devastated that his mother had died. It took me
time to make peace with what happened that night. To accept the woman’s death,
and my futility in the face of it. Like you, I thought it was courage I was
lacking. It wasn’t, though. Tell me, are you familiar with Reinhold Niebuhr’s
prayer?’

I shook my head.

He stood up, his knees creaking with the effort. ‘Come and
see,’ he said.

The reverend led the way up the aisle to the back of the
church, and stopped by a cork noticeboard by the door on which were pinned
various posters and notices. At the bottom several prayer cards had been slid
between the frame and the board. He pointed to one, and I read silently:

O God, give us the serenity to accept what cannot be
changed,

The courage to change what can be changed,

And the wisdom to know the one from the other.

‘Serenity,’ said Reverend Helmsley. ‘I think that’s what you
really came here in search of, Scarlett. Courage won’t serve you now – you
can’t change what you wish you could change. But with serenity, you can reach
acceptance. And that’s the foundation for moving forward.’

‘But how do I find it, this serenity?’

He smiled. ‘You don’t, Scarlett. It’s a gift from above. All
you need do is ask for it.’

*

I sat in the garden that evening. For a long time I remained
motionless, curled up in the patio chair and staring out into the cove. The
lowering sun was concealed beneath thick, oppressive clouds, the sea was murky
and restless and the breeze was on the brink of wind. It was not a prayer, my
stillness; it was not a plea to a god I was still not convinced existed. But it
was my attempt to open myself to serenity.

Finally, when the light of the day had leaked away and I was
numb, whether from cold or calm I didn’t care, I picked up my sister’s diary
and I turned to the last page.

~

I always thought the question was, ‘What do you live
for?’ I was wrong. This is what really matters: ‘What would you die for?’

~

Gabriel swears he won’t send Daniel for Scarlett. He’ll
have me, and that will be enough.

Scarlett will be safe. With Jude. He’s good. He’ll be
good for her. She’ll be happy in his world.

~

Not long now.

Daniel gave me this old poem, ‘Invictus’. I don’t
understand most of it, but I like how it ends:

I am the master of my fate: I am the captain of my soul.

~

Daniel will take me tonight – in the water. They say
drowning is the most peaceful way to go. You just surrender.

I never did manage to write to Scarlett. I don’t know how
to say goodbye.

I will leave her this. And the rock that Jude gave me.
Because the blue of it makes me think of that field of flowers behind the house
where we played as children, when it was just me and her against the world.
When she was my everything.

The End.

I don’t know how long I sat there before I called Jude. It
seemed barely a moment elapsed between my closing the diary and him appearing
at my side. But once he was there, standing over me, and I looked up at him, I
could hardly see him because the light was wrong: it was so dark.

‘Scarlett?’ He crouched down on the grass at my feet. ‘What
is – hey, you’re freezing!’ He shrugged off his zippie and wrapped it around
me. It was soft and smelt like wood smoke.

‘Thank you,’ I whispered through lips I couldn’t feel.

‘How long have you been out here?’

‘A while.’

‘Let’s get you inside.’

He coaxed me to my feet.

‘Wait.’

He stilled, but he didn’t drop his hands from my shoulders.

‘I finished the diary, Jude. I read it all. To The End.’

In the dark, his eyes were fathomless, but I knew what was
in them: regret.

‘I’m sorry, Scarlett.’

‘For what? You saved Luke. You saved me. You tried to save
Sienna.’

‘But I failed.’

His voice, so wretched, broke down the last barrier inside
me. I stepped forward and put my arms around him. For a moment he stood rigid,
and then I felt his hands press against my back. There we stood, two strangers
holding on to each other in the darkness, and when the heavens opened, they
cast down raindrops onto faces that were already wet.

*

We sat at the kitchen table. The brightness of the ceiling
lights and the warmth from the Aga and the aroma of our coffees were reassuring
for their familiarity and normality – the perfect setting to ground the
conversation we were having.

‘What I don’t understand is why she went with Daniel,’ I
said, stirring sugar into my drink. ‘Why not you?’

Jude, grim faced and cupping his mug with both hands, said
simply, ‘Daniel is very convincing.’

‘But my sister was –
is
– unswayable. She’s
headstrong, stubborn, impossible to talk around about anything.’

‘I thought so too. Otherwise I’d have been more careful. I
thought she saw through Daniel. I didn’t know until it was too late that he’d
got to her.’

‘You found out what she meant to do the night of the party,
the night she died?’

‘No. All she told me that night was that she’d chosen his
way over mine. Which made no sense at all.’

‘“His way” – what do you mean?’

He was immersed in using a thumbnail to scratch at a knot in
the wooden table.

‘Jude? What way?’

‘Daniel and Gabriel and the others, they live separately
from the rest of us.’

‘Why?’

‘Because they’re outcasts. Gabriel was cast out years and
years ago, and we have nothing to do with him and everyone who’s followed him
since. Daniel included.’

‘Why?’

The knot on my grandmother’s kitchen table was fast
developing into a hole.

‘Jude,’ I said. ‘Aren’t we past all this by now?’

He looked up. ‘What?’

‘I don’t need the careful buildup. Just out with it: what’s
the deal with these outcasts?’

‘The Fallen, that’s what we call them.’

‘As in fallen angels.’

He nodded.

‘I thought Ceruleans weren’t angels.’

‘We’re not! We may have some of the power, but we’re
woefully human – riddled with faults and weaknesses. But the Fallen aren’t just
fallible. And the name’s too kind on them. They didn’t fall into what they are.
They jumped willingly. They
want
to be that way. It’s… it’s…’

He picked up his mug and took a gulp, as if the drink would
obliterate the distaste written all over his face. Judging by his wince, my
particular brand of coffee was not up to the task.

‘So…’ he said grimly. He looked at me, and I got the sense
he was waiting for some realisation to dawn.

‘Jude, it’s –’ I checked the clock above the Aga –
‘midnight. My brain is mush. You’re going to have to spell it out.’

‘Power,’ he said. ‘That’s what it comes down to. Remember on
your birthday, the day we talked, when you asked me what I am, what you are? I
told you then what a Cerulean can do.’

‘They heal.’

‘We do, yes. But our light makes us capable of more.’

More? Jude healed. Sienna healed. I healed. Ceruleans
healed.

‘A Cerulean can preserve life, Scarlett,’ said Jude. ‘But he
can also
take life
.’

I’d heard the words before. He had told me. But it had got
lost in the revelations – Sienna, out there; me, dying,
dying
. Now, I
couldn’t take my eyes off his hands. Ordinary enough, but I had seen them
alight with power. Had they –

He saw my expression and his chair shrieked on the tiled
floor as he shot up. ‘I can, but I do
not
, Scarlett! I have never…’

‘Okay.’

‘I
will
never!’

‘I believe you.’

‘You should!’

‘I do!’

He let out a breath and collapsed into the chair. ‘Sorry,’
he said. ‘It’s just –
you shall not kill
. We of Cerulea hold that law as
sacred. The Fallen, not so much.’

‘You’re talking about euthanasia, right? Ending pain and
despair for people who are suffering.’

Jude’s face twisted. ‘No, Scarlett. There’s nothing merciful
in what they do. They maim. They torture. They violate. They
murder
. And
sometimes, when it suits them, they abuse the ability to bring life as well.
They resurrect the dead – those who aren’t meant to walk the earth.’

‘Why, though? Why would they do any of that?’

‘Because they can. Because they’re drunk on their own power.
Because they lack any respect for the natural laws. Because they think
themselves gods.’

‘But –’

‘Remember the story in the news recently, about the man
found dead in an alleyway in Exeter?’

I balked as I recalled the headline – the poor man had been
decapitated.

‘And the woman in Bodmin, who was found torn apart? No Beast
of Bodmin did that.’

‘That’s sick! Daniel is –’

‘A killer. They all are.’

‘But Sienna!’

My sister’s name shook the disgust out of Jude. Now he was
just pale and still and sad.

‘She’s with Daniel! She can’t have known.’

Jude shook his head. ‘She did know. When we argued, that
last night, when she told me her decision, she said she knew what the Fallen
were, and she wanted to be one of them.’

‘I don’t believe it!’

‘Neither did I. But there was no arguing with her. When she
stormed off, I went straight to Cerulea for help. By the time I got back, though,
Luke had raised the alarm and they were on the beach, searching for her. I was
too late.’ He dropped his head. ‘I found the diary here, on her bed. There was
a note to me stuck to the front. She told me to give the diary to you. But I
read it first. And then I understood.’

‘Well, I’m glad you do, because I don’t
at all
! Why
would she choose the Fallen?’

Jude reached across the table and picked up the notebook. He
opened it to the last page and read:
‘Gabriel swears he won’t send Daniel
for Scarlett. He’ll have me, and that will be enough. Scarlett will be safe.
With Jude… She’ll be happy in his world.’

The kitchen went very still, as if someone had leaned on the
universe’s pause button, and then I dropped my coffee. The mug slammed on the
table and pitched sideways, sending a brown rivulet across the wood and over
the edge. Neither of us moved to stop the flow.

‘She cut a deal,’ said Jude. ‘With Gabriel. She went
willingly with Daniel on the condition they wouldn’t come for you. She chose a
future with death to give you one with life. She sacrificed herself for you,
Scarlett. She died the way she did for you.’

This is what really matters
, my sister wrote:
‘What would you die for?’

The answer: to protect the person you love the most.