Charley (3 page)

He was a tall man with a shock of white hair and so thin, his body looked emaciated beneath his gunmetal coloured suit. Harker’s face was long and nets of wrinkles circled his grey eyes. He pulled on the second Wellington boot and stood before me in the driving rain.

‘So what have we got?’ he said.

‘Erm,’ I started, realising that he was hoping for some kind of update from me. But since arriving on-scene, I’d only succeeded in making a donkey of myself and didn’t know any more about what was happening, other than the fact that someone had been struck by a train on the nearby railway tracks.

‘So?’ Harker asked me, raising one of his jet black eyebrows.

‘Erm,’ I mumbled again, glancing at Jackson for help.

Jackson shot a glance back at me, with a smug look on his face. He stepped forward and said, ‘Guv, it’s a one-under. Looks like a young girl.’

‘Looks like?’ Harker asked, doing that thing with his eyebrow again.

‘We’ll there ain’t too much of her left. Poor little cow,’ Jackson told him.

‘What I want to know is, why has uniform called us out on a night like this?’ Harker asked.

‘Is it suspicious?’ DS Taylor asked.

‘Not really,’ Jackson said.

‘Not really?’ Harker snapped. ‘What’s that supposed to mean? It’s either a suicide or it’s not.’

‘What does uniform think?’ Taylor asked, looking at Jackson, then at me.

‘Suspicious, I guess,’ I said, just wanting to add something to the conversation. ‘Or they wouldn’t have called CID.’

‘No shit, Sherlock,’ Jackson said. ‘I’m so glad that we’ve got you around to tell us this stuff.’

‘Knock it off, Jackson,’ Taylor said, yanking the cigarette from his mouth and throwing it away. ‘And stop smoking. This could be a crime scene, for crying out loud.’

‘A crime scene?’ Jackson scoffed. ‘You’re having a laugh ain’t cha? For the last half hour, I’ve stood and watched uniform trample all over the frigging place in their size-twelve boots.’

‘Well perhaps you should have put a cordon in place. You know, protect the scene,’ Taylor said. ‘After all, you’re meant to be a detective.’ Then, turning her back on him, she winked at me. I felt much better.

Harker looked at the both of us and I cringed at the disappointment in his eyes. I regretted wasting my time justifying my existence to Jackson, when really I should have spent my time trying to find out what had taken place down on the railway tracks.

‘C’mon,’ Harker sighed. ‘I guess we’d better go and take a look.’

CHAPTER 4

Charley – Monday: 01:57 Hrs.

I
could feel myself being swept up off the floor. The bathroom ceiling swam from side to side as if the house were caught in an earthquake. A set of strong arms held me and I could smell soap. Dad. The soap smell was familiar; he had been with someone – a woman.

My head beat from the inside out but the flashes had stopped. Now came the feeling of wanting to be sick, the taste of hot bile in my throat like I had swallowed a pint of battery acid. He picked me up and carried me out of the bathroom. I could see my bedroom walls, and the pink lampshade hanging from the ceiling.

I really need to get rid of that
, I thought as it sailed past above me.
Pink
– I wasn’t a little girl any more. Then, the feeling of something soft as I was lowered onto my bed. Those strong arms slipped from beneath me and Dad’s face came into view.

‘Charley?’ he whispered. ‘Are you okay?’

With my eyelids fluttering, I tried to focus on the face hovering over me.

‘The flashes,’ I murmured.

‘It’s okay, I’m here now,’ he said.

My father brushed the hair from my brow. For such a big man, his touch was really gentle.

I felt him move away from the bed. I stretched out my hand. ‘Don’t go,’ I said. My anger and frustration had lessoned a little over the last few days since Natalie’s funeral.

‘I’m just going to fetch a cold flannel, your face is burning up,’ he said. ‘I’ll be back in just a second.’

‘Don’t go,’ I said again, that sense of loneliness I so often felt creeping over me.

Taking my hand in his, I felt the bed dip as he sat beside me. ‘I’m not going anywhere, I’m right here, Charley.’

I held his hand against the side of my face and it felt warm. ‘I had more flashes,’ I whispered as he stroked my hair.

‘You had another fit,’ he said softly.

‘Flashes,’ I whispered and closed my eyes. ‘I don’t have fits. The doctors have all said they can’t find anything wrong with me.’

‘I’m going to get a second opinion,’ he said.

‘We’ve had six already,’ I said, willing the thudding sensation in my head to go away.

‘It’s not normal,’ he said. I flinched and he quickly added, ‘You know what I mean.’

He meant the fits weren’t normal. He didn’t believe in the flashes.

Then, to my surprise, he said, ‘What did you see this time, Charley? That’s if you want to talk about it.’

My father rarely asked what I saw in the flashes. But since Natalie’s death and our argument at her funeral, he too had seemed to mellow just a little. I guessed he felt guilty about everything he
had said about Natalie when she had been alive. Was asking me about my flashes his way of trying to make amends?

I took a deep breath. ‘A girl,’ I whispered, and although those flashes had long since faded, I could still see her petrified face. I opened my eyes so I didn’t have to see it any more. ‘But it was different this time.’

‘How?’ he asked, resting himself against the headboard, so we lay next to each other on my bed. I liked the way he did that. It meant he was going to stay a while and listen to me, instead of running for the hills like he usually did.

‘The pictures –
the flashes
– were more vivid,’ I told him. ‘More real somehow.’

‘But you know they’re not real, right?’ he asked. And although this was his standard answer, this time he didn’t sound angry or frustrated. He sounded like he was kinda interested in what I had to say for once.

‘They are,’ I whispered, closing my eyes again. I saw the girl’s name. Kerry, the name on her necklace had read, and I could see it swinging before me.
Burn
by Ellie Goulding played in the background like some hideous soundtrack. I opened my eyes. ‘Her name was Kerry.’

‘Whose was?’ he asked.

‘The girl I saw tonight. She was being dragged by someone, a man, up a narrow dirt track. She was about my age and she was calling out for her mum. I could hear the girl’s phone ringing and trains thundering past in the distance—’

‘But don’t you see?’ my father interrupted.

‘See what?’ I asked him.

‘Your friend Natalie was recently killed by a train,’ he said. ‘You’ve been through a very traumatic experience, Charley, and your mind is playing tricks on you.’

‘The girl I saw wasn’t Natalie,’ I said, wondering if it was him or me I was trying to convince. ‘Natalie’s death was an accident, but
the girl I saw in my flashes was murdered.’

‘So what did her killer look like?’ he asked, cocking his eyebrow at me.

‘You know I only ever see the victims,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t see his face.’

‘So how did you know it was a
he
?’

‘I heard his voice,’ I said, closing my eyes and trying to hear it again. But it was gone.

‘So what did his voice sound like?’

‘I dunno,’ I said, opening my eyes and looking at him. ‘It was muffled, like it was coming from behind a wall or something.’

My father looked at me. Was it despair I could see in his eyes?

‘They’re just dreams,’ he said.

Was he trying to comfort me or persuade me?

‘Nightmares,’ I muttered.

‘Them too,’ he added, as if trying to convince me that’s all they were.

‘But I’m awake when I have them.’

‘You were unconscious when I found you.’

I tilted my head slightly so I could look up into his face. His green eyes had lost their sparkle and were now grey. I saw the concern etched in the wrinkles that covered his brow. His once jet-black hair was now flecked with white and he looked tired.

‘You have headaches, right?’ he continued, looking down into my face. ‘You’ve had them for as long as I can remember. I think that has something to do with these dreams you have.’

‘I know what you’re going to say,’ I said. We had been here before – me lying on my bed, my head thumping, while he tried to convince me the flashes were nothing more than my mind conjuring up images to block out the fear that I might have a brain tumour of some kind.

‘I could be right,’ he said.

‘Dad, the flashes come first – not the headaches,’ I said. ‘And
besides, I rarely black out. Tonight the flashes were bad – strong. They came at me all at once, and it was like my brain couldn’t cope with them.’

‘I still don’t believe they’re visions,’ he said softly. His voice had a tone that said he was never going to be convinced. I got that. After all, if the flashes were really visions of some kind, then what would that make me? A medium? Clairvoyant? Psychic? Or just someone who could see people’s deaths? Because that’s what I always saw in those flashes – I saw people dying. Tonight I had seen a girl about to be murdered.

‘I think you’re wrong, Dad,’ I whispered beside him. I caught that faint waft of soap leaking from him again. ‘I think the flashes are visions.’

‘Of what, Charley?’ And I sensed the first hint of frustration in his voice. ‘Are all these deaths you see real? Have they happened? Are they about to happen? What?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘You need to get some perspective on this,’ he said, and again I sensed his rising frustration. Or was it fear that his only daughter – his only child – was going mad?

‘Perspective on what?’ I shot back, trying to hide my own frustration.

‘I’ve seen you,’ he said, ‘sitting in front of the laptop for hours on end searching for the names of the people that you see in your vis …
flashes
. And have you found a single one?’

‘No,’ I whispered.

‘See, none of it is real. It’s just your vivid imagination.’

‘I’m not six any more.’

‘And that’s my point, Charley. You’re seventeen years old, for heaven’s sake. When was the last time you went out with a group of friends? Had some fun? Instead you’re sitting in front of the laptop searching for people who don’t exist.’ Dad could sense I was getting angry. ‘Look, Charley, all I’m saying is that perhaps you
should get out more. Make some new friends now that Natalie has gone.’

‘You just didn’t like her because she believed me,’ I said.

‘Now you know that’s not true,’ Dad said, looking hurt. ‘It wasn’t that I didn’t like Natalie. I just thought she encouraged you to dwell on those morbid dreams … nightmares that you say you have. It just wasn’t healthy, the amount of time you two spent discussing what you claimed to have seen. Other girls go out and have fun.’

‘We did have fun.’

‘Okay, look,’ he sighed. ‘I don’t want to get into another argument. I just think it might help you if you got out more. You know, with some friends, instead of hanging around the house looking for ghosts on the internet. You’re seventeen, Charley. You should be having a life.’

‘What, like you?’ I asked, leaning away from him.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ He stared at me.

‘Nothing.’ I looked away, knowing that perhaps I had said too much.

‘No, go on, Charley,’ he said, sounding a little pissed off with me now. ‘If you’ve got something on your mind, let’s talk about it.’

‘I know you have women
friends
,’ I said, still unable to meet his stare. ‘Why don’t you ever bring them back here?’

‘This has nothing to do with you,’ he said firmly.

‘At first I thought it was because you were ashamed of me,’ I said, ignoring him. ‘I wondered if you were worried that I might start talking about my flashes – my head might start aching, or worse, I might throw a fit. But then I realised why you never brought your lady friends home.’

‘I’m not ashamed of you—’

‘It’s because of Mum, isn’t it,’ I said, and now I did look at him. ‘It’s been like twelve years since Mum died, I really don’t think she would mind you sharing your bed with someone else.’

‘Charley, don’t say something you might regret later,’ he said, and now it was his turn to look away.

‘All I’m saying is that Mum wouldn’t have expected you to spend the rest of your life on your own. You’re only forty-five. She would understand.’

‘It has nothing to do with you, Charley,’ he said. ‘And nothing to do with your mum.’

‘No?’ I said. ‘So why then do you sometimes come home without your wedding ring on? I mean you always wear it, even after all this time. You take it off when you’re with them. It’s like you have to break the connection with Mum. You feel as if you’re cheating on her when you’re with those women. You always smell of soap, like you’ve had to wash them off you – destroy the smell of their perfume. I thought at first it was me that you were trying to hide their smell from. But I was wrong. It’s Mum.’

‘You’re wrong,’ he said, a grim look on his face.

‘Am I?’ I said, trying to keep my anger and confusion from boiling over. ‘Christ, Dad, I’ve even seen you out on the drive scrubbing down the back seats of the car. What, have you had them in there too?’

‘I’m a taxi driver, for crying out loud!’ he said. I’d never heard him sound so upset before. ‘You should see some of the people that I have to ferry around. I have to put up with people puking their guts up, smoking, ramming kebabs down their throats! Of course I keep the car clean and tidy. It’s where I work – it’s my job!’

I knew I’d said too much, but however much I wanted to take it all back, I couldn’t. Those words were already out there. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said.

‘Yeah, so am I,’ he whispered and went to the bedroom door.

‘You don’t have to hide stuff from me. I’m not a little girl any more.’

‘Then stop acting like one,’ he said, leaving my room and closing the door behind him.

His last comment made my stomach ache even more than it already did. I was feeling bad about what I had said, and now I felt even worse. It had never been my intention to upset my father. Lying on my side, with my iPhone gripped in my hand, I got one last lingering flash of that girl, Kerry, gripping her phone.