August 1945
It was so quiet down there. Almost everyone had gone, but Vi could still hear the echoes of voices, some familiar, some she never got to know, others who came and went. Some she lost along the way….
A breeze ruffled through her hair. She caught her breath. Footsteps. Two sets of them.
Long, striding. A man. Behind him, quicker, smaller steps. High heels, she was sure of it. But no one should be down here. Only Vi and a couple of guards along the entire corridor. Maybe someone had forgotten something? Vi crept over to the doorway and peered out. The footsteps had ceased now. She barely breathed, anxious not to miss a single sound. All that wafted toward her were faraway sounds, voices, a man whistling somewhere a long way away.
Vi felt someone close behind her, the touch of fingers ruffling her hair. Out of the corner of her eye, the flash of a smile.
“George?” In her mind, she heard him speak.
Well, cheerio, then, sis. Take care of yourself.
The illusion and the sound vanished. No one would ever believe her, of course. That didn’t matter. She knew. Somehow, her brother had reached out from beyond and touched her soul. Whatever Sandrine had said about him no longer mattered to her. He had been under the influence of Eligos. At least now he was free.
Vi wandered down the corridor toward the PM’s deserted office. She paused at the entrance. On an impulse, she made her way farther along, her footsteps echoing the empty hallways as she drew closer to the far end where the ethereal Room 338 sometimes appeared.
No guards stood to attention, waiting to challenge her presence. It seemed darker, as if someone had turned the lights down. That would have been possible if there had been dimmer switches, but there weren’t.
Vi’s mouth ran dry, but she persevered. She must face her demons.
Something grabbed her attention. She stopped, looked to her left and let her eyes travel upward.
Room 338.
Vi turned the handle. It opened. She pushed it and met a slight resistance, shoved a little harder and it opened. A rush of fetid air choked her. She stepped back, coughing to clear the foul odor and taste. By all accounts this door hadn’t been opened in months, years even. She reached around the wall just inside and found the switch. When she depressed it, a weak central light revealed something horribly familiar in the darkness. A formless, huddled shape that rapidly uncurled itself until it stood. The demon Eligos rose before her.
Frozen to the spot, barely able to breathe, Vi could only watch as the demon shimmered. It morphed. Scales became skin and hair as it transitioned from beast to human – or what passed for it. In seconds, Alex stood before her, all trace of Eligos gone.
“What do you want from me now?” Vi said. She found she could move. And she no longer feared him.
“From you? Nothing more. You gave us what we needed, and, in return, we gave you your life to live.”
“But why did you choose me? And why is it that I still have so many questions but no answers?”
“You were chosen because your line has always been chosen and will be again when the time is right.”
A sharp breeze whistled around her, its chill misting her eyes. She wiped them with the back of her hand and when she opened them, she was out on that plain she had last seen the night she had been violated.
The wind swirled and billowed around ancient stones. Clouds sped through the skies like a film on fast speed. Day became night, became day again. Hooded figures offered supplication to their gods. They ignored Vi. She wasn’t there. Merely a spectator, caught up in some unholy vortex.
The scene before her melted away and she was standing in the hallway of Mrs. Sinclair’s house in Quaker Terrace. The woman herself emerged from the kitchen and Vi felt tangible fear once more. That woman had done her harm.
“Get away from me!”
The woman laughed and, in an instant, Vi saw Sandrine, Alex and Glennister. Each, in turn, took possession of the figure in front of her. Each stared at her before they too threw back their heads, one after the other, and laughed at her.
Finally, Vi understood. And, at that moment of understanding, she found herself once again in Room 338.
Alex stood in front of her. “So, you see, Violet, your brother unwittingly gave us access to you, your thoughts, mind and body.”
“And you stole everything from me.”
“Oh, not quite everything. You have the rest of your life. That will be yours to do with as you will. As long as you don’t try to hurt us, of course. Not that you would be capable of it anyway.”
“You’re not as powerful as you think you are. You never got to Churchill.”
Alex’s expression darkened. “He is protected by strong and powerful forces. You, however, are not. Do not ever forget that.”
The room swirled, drifted out of focus, and Vi rubbed her eyes. When she dropped her hands, she was out in the corridor and facing Rooms 81 and 82. No sign of the room she had just been in.
Vi ran back to her own corridor. Half of it was in blackness. She must get out now or risk being trapped in here.
She picked up her small suitcase with her few personal belongings and, without a backward glance, made for the stairs to take her back up into the daylight.
* * *
The blaring horns, the clip-clop of horses’ hooves from the brewery drays and all manner of delivery vehicles, did much to restore her equilibrium. Vi made her way through crowds of excited people, celebrating the end of the war in the Far East. With the war in Europe already won, it was truly over at last.
As she was about to turn the corner into Quaker Terrace, Vi stopped and changed her mind. On a whim, she walked back the other way, in the direction of what she had always thought was Boscawen Walk. The streets seemed familiar. Further bombing had destroyed more houses, rubble lay everywhere; ragged, but happy children played with old tires, creating makeshift and ramshackle toys out of bits of unrecognizable debris.
She crossed over, negotiated yet more rubble, turned a corner and prayed she wouldn’t see the sign for Bottomley Way. Vi looked down. The house on the corner had been demolished or blown up. There was no street sign. She looked around and then found it, upside down, a rectangular enamel sign, rusting at the edges. Vi picked it up and read it. Boscawen Walk. She could have simply left it where she found it, but suddenly its existence seemed the most important thing in her world. Something tangible to hold on to. Whatever else had been a lie, this hadn’t. Even though Tilly still could not remember ever having lived there.
Tucking the sign under her arm, Vi pressed on, past the silent shattered houses and fluttering, tattered curtains, until she found what she was looking for. Except….
She checked again. Number Twenty-three. Mrs. Harris’s house. There it was, standing there, barely marked. The only one in that part of the street.
But that’s impossible. I saw it with my own eyes. Demolished by that plane.
She looked around at the scarred and ruined landscape. Sure enough, there were still bits of twisted aircraft, although the piece of wing emblazoned with its swastika had been pilfered. Last time she had seen it, the entire house had lain in ruins, barely two bricks still attached. Now she stared up at the house that looked as if its owner had left it for a few minutes to go to the corner shop. If there had still been one.
What now? Walk away and get on with her life? I have to know….
Vi marched up the path and knocked on the door. A few seconds went by. Should she knock again? She raised her hand and the door opened.
She knew it wasn’t possible but there was the woman, standing there.
“Mrs. Harris?”
Instant recognition. The woman beamed. “Violet. Oh, how good to see you. Come in, come in.”
It felt comforting to smell the familiar aroma of polish. The hall and living room were exactly as she remembered them. Time had stood still here. Vi had no explanations. She could only play out this scene by its own rules, and that meant forgetting the ruined house, and the dead woman. For now, at least, the normal rules of nature didn’t apply. All she could do was see where it led her.
“You were lucky to be left standing here,” Vi said as she made herself comfortable in her usual chair. It seemed like the most appropriate thing to say in the circumstances. After all, the neighborhood was all but wiped out.
“What, dear? Oh, yes, the bombing. Yes, very lucky, but tell me, where have you been, what has been happening to you and Tilly?”
“Tilly is fine. She’s joined the WRNS. I almost did as well but I decided life in the services wasn’t for me. They’re sending her off to the Pacific soon, and she’s met such a nice sailor. There’ll be wedding bells one of these days.”
“And what about you, dear? Have you found a nice young man yet?”
“Well, there is someone. But it’s early days. We’ll see.” Despite the incongruity of what was happening to her, Vi felt an excited tingling she always experienced when she thought of Ron Scott and his warm brown eyes. Twice he had taken her to a dance, dressed in his smart army captain’s uniform. “How about you, Mrs. Harris?”
Mrs. Harris blinked a couple of times as if she didn’t understand the question. “Me? Why nothing, dear. I’ve just carried on. Like Mr. Churchill told us to. I go out to the shops every day and queue. I come home, dust and polish. Cook a meal. The usual, normal things.”
Maybe this version of Mrs. Harris could answer some of her questions. Vi plunged in. “Have you ever heard of a street nearby called Bottomley Way?”
Mrs. Harris looked thoughtful. “The name’s familiar…. Oh, yes. I remember. This street used to be called Bottomley Way before it was rechristened back at the turn of the century. The man it had been named after was discredited for something and the local council took it upon themselves to change anything with Bottomley attached to it. Oh, I see you have our street sign.” She pointed to the plaque which Vi had leaned up against her leg, hoping no rust or dirt got onto Mrs. Harris’s clean carpet. Why on earth hadn’t she left it in the hall?
“I’ll move it straight away,” Vi said.
“Probably best, dear.”
Vi stood and carefully picked up the sign, before taking it into the hallway. She went through the living room door.
Out into the street.
Vi spun round. She was standing on a mound of rubble that had comprised the front of the house.
“Oy, you. Miss!”
An ARP warden in uniform and tin helmet was waving wildly at her. “Get off there. It’s not safe. The whole lot could come down at any minute.”
As if on cue, a low rumbling began, and the earth trembled beneath her feet. Vi clutched her sign and scrambled off the rubble. The ARP warden put out his hand to steady her. The rumbling stopped.
“That was a close call, miss. You shouldn’t be wandering around here. The army bomb disposal people haven’t had time to check it yet.”
“When did this happen?” Vi asked.
“Can’t remember exactly. Sometime in ’41, I think. It’s going to take years to sort London out. And it doesn’t help the rest of us when young women who should know better go scrambling about in the ruins as if they’re some kind of playground.”
“I’m really sorry. I used to live there and….”
“Well, I’m very sorry you lost your home. I lost mine as well, so I know the feeling. At least we got out of this mess in one piece, though. We’re the lucky ones.”
Vi smiled. “Yes, you’re right. We’re the lucky ones.”
* * *
Vi wandered back to Quaker Terrace, where she had lived on her own since Tilly had moved out. She unlocked the door and let herself in. There were too many echoes here, in its hall, its rooms and the stairway. Today it seemed emptier than ever.
So many times, alone here with only her thoughts for company, Vi didn’t know what had been true and what had been somehow created. Maybe none of the peculiar events had actually happened. Perhaps that creature she had given birth to had all been a nightmare. But George had been killed. That wasn’t a bad dream, and not a day went by without her missing him and feeling as if a part of her had been ripped apart. No one else might believe her but Vi knew he had finally said goodbye to her today and his spirit had moved on, hopefully to eternal rest, whatever that might be, or wherever. Surely, she should be happy for him? But the truth was her body felt emptier than ever.
Vi made her way upstairs to her room. She opened the door, reached up to the top of her wardrobe, lifted off her suitcase and carefully packed her clothes, books and toiletries.
She emptied the drawer of the bedside table and a photograph fluttered to the floor. Vi bent to retrieve it.
The face of Sandrine Maupas di Santiago stared back her. Vi brought the photograph closer to her eyes. There it was. Difficult to see, especially in black and white, but it was there, in her eyes. The strange light from the extra presence that inhabited the woman’s body. Eligos. A voice inside her told her to rip the picture up. Destroy it forever. But Vi stopped herself and slid the photograph into her case before closing and locking it.
She must keep that picture. One day, if she was fortunate enough, she could have children of her own. Real children she would birth, raise and love with all her heart. Alex’s warning rang in her ears. Maybe she was alone now, but they could always return. Wherever she went, whatever her life turned out to be, they could always find her and if they could find her, they could find her family. After all, they already had, and her brother had paid for it with his life.
With a force like theirs, there was little enough Vi could do to protect herself, but at least if her children knew what to look for, they could protect themselves. A little knowledge could put them on their guard right at the time they needed it most.
Downstairs, she took one last tour of the rooms. In the kitchen, the tap dripped rhythmically. It had done so ever since Vi could remember. For the first time she wondered why she and Tilly had stayed on here after Mrs. Sinclair – or whatever her name was – had disappeared. No mail had ever come for her. They had paid the utility bills, but no one ever asked for rent or questioned their presence in the house. Vi had thought that strange at first but, after a few months, she forgot about it as she and Tilly concentrated on getting through the rest of the war as best they could. Now it was all over, there was no point in staying. With Tilly starting her new life and her own job ending, there was nothing to keep her here. Her parents had finally been rehoused, in a flat near her sister’s, and, for the time being, Vi would sleep on Lilian’s settee until she found a job and a place of her own.
Vi checked out the photograph of Sandrine once more. The woman’s eyes seemed alive. Did her lips move just then? She seems about to speak. Vi hurriedly thrust the picture deep into her handbag and closed it with a resounding click.
When she got to Cheltenham, she would buy a small photograph album to house that picture. No other photos would join it. She didn’t want them contaminated. But, one day in the future, she would open that album and tell of the evil that had been Sandrine Maupas di Santiago.