Josie shut the car door on her mum and sat in the driver’s seat. Her hand shaking a little as she fastened the seatbelt and started the car. Her mum stared, a desperate look of apology in her eye.
‘I didn’t know, Josie. Not until after.’
‘It’s been a long time, Mum.’
‘He needs to know. I should have told him long before now.’ Her mum pressed her hand to her chest. ‘I’ve lived with this guilt for so long.’
Josie turned the key and pulled out of the pub’s car park. The sky was thick and heavy, Nick had been right about the storm, but there was no sign of rain. It just hung overhead like a dark memory, or a new beast.
She remembered that night. She relived it every time she closed her eyes. For years afterwards, she’d felt the dim call of the past through the Priory’s open door. Could still feel the single round eye of Hardacre drill into her back and breathe down her neck when thunder roared.
The locals knew to never wander too close and to avoid the crossroads at all cost. But it had been different, harder, for Josie to keep her distance because Hardacre hadn’t held its. It had stayed close. For forty years, it had remained a part of her. Even now, hidden and overgrown with creepers, the mirror stood. Her mother avoided the subject and left the room when it rose like a demon in conversations. So, it was Josie who remembered, and her father.
She had left Raynham for a while, tried to put it behind her. She had been sent to stay with her grandfather in Devon for the winter; Mum had visited that Christmas. The dreams had ceased a little, dampened by the brisk sea air, she had swallowed them like a bitter taste. Though, when she returned in January, nothing had changed.
Apart from poor Peter Beamish.
Josie had visited him once. Curiosity had got the better of her, and her teen years had given her an extra boost. The sun had shone, the village seemed cheery. She had wandered with a friend to get sweets after school, stood in the short queue and gazed out of the shop window. But then, movement from the solicitors’ window opposite had snatched her eyes. She should have gone straight home, but she had thought of that night, of poor Mr Beamish lying twisted on the ground as the rain poured.
The solicitors’ office had been silent, the room empty, when she closed the door behind her. Mr Beamish had appeared in the end doorway, fidgeting with his tie and his eyes flittering about the place, a walking stick in the crook of his arm. She hadn’t stayed long. He had asked after her mum and how she got on at school. They had skittered around the subject of that night until it crept up on Josie and burst through the pleasantries. She’d cursed herself for it after, but at that moment, she had to know.
‘What happened to Oliver?’ Her mind had wandered back to the day they’d stood at her bedroom window and stared at the mirror through the hedge. ‘What really happened? The truth.’
‘Come sit.’ He’d pulled a chair out from the desk by the window and waved her to continue
She sat. Her eyes hadn’t left his, which held something distant, forlorn, and forgotten. He’d looked different—less sure, less like Mr Beamish. More of a shell.
‘Mum won’t talk about it, but I need to know. Please?’
‘How old are you now, Josie?’
‘I’m thirteen. Fourteen soon.’
He leant on his walking stick. ‘You were the same age.’ The answer was there, etched into every line on his face. ‘Oliver… That poor child.’
‘What happened?’ she’d repeated.
‘You know where he went. He’s with your aunt in Yorkshire.’
She thought about playing along; it was easier for the adults. It was always simpler to play their games.
‘I think you know what I mean,’ Josie said. ‘I’ve always known. I think you do too.’ Josie leant back with an air of defiance. She would have her answers.
‘I’m sorry, Josie, I’m not sure what you mean. Oliver is with your aunt. Is he okay?’
‘Elliot lives with my aunty, not that I’ve seen him. Mum thinks the sight of us might bring back those awful memories, that he’s better off living a new life. Or a lie.’
‘Oh…’
‘He doesn’t remember, you see. Wouldn’t you want to know? Wouldn’t you want to find your twin?’
‘Sorry, Josie, I don’t quite follow.’ He swayed a little as he shifted his weight from foot to foot. ‘Elliot?’
‘Yes, and I think you know that too. I want to know what happened to the other twin. What happened to Oliver?’
He sat. His walking stick crashed onto the polished floor; his face whiter than his shirt.
‘Elliot,’ he’d said again, more to himself.
Maybe he hadn’t known after all.
‘Is Oliver one of them now?’
He hadn’t answered her.
Josie drove out of the village. Every other second, she glanced at her mum. The guilt of that day with Mr Beamish would sit heavy in her heart forever. He’d looked at her with glazed eyes as he’d clutched at his chest and pulled his tie loose. As soon as she had realised, she grabbed the telephone on the desk and dialled for an ambulance, but they hadn’t made it in time.
Mr Beamish had lain on the floor, Josie by his side, as his heart surrendered to the attack. The ambulance driver had said it had been quick and as painless as could be hoped for. But Josie knew better. Had seen the agony in his eyes, desperate and pleading. There had been pain. It had sliced through him along with the lie.
‘Then Oliver is lost,’ Mr Beamish said, clutching his chest. ‘Like your dad, Josie.’
She’d seen the dark shadow slither back in the obscure corner of the solicitors’ office. It had lain by the door at the far end, lingered as she tried to focus on it. It knew she wasn’t afraid. She’d faced it on the gallery landing.
Josie pulled up at the crossroads and parked next to Fisk’s car.
‘Well, they’re definitely here then. Part of me hoped he got on a train.’ Her mum unclipped her belt. ‘I suppose it’s best this way.’
‘He had no choice,’ Josie said. ‘We were all there this morning. You saw it as well as I did. If he came back to Suffolk but not here, it would never let him leave.’
‘Will it let him leave anyway?’ Her mum closed the door behind her and stood with her back to the car. She looked up at the oak. ‘In all these years, I haven’t looked at this tree since—’
‘It’s okay, Mum. I know.’
‘She was my friend, and I couldn’t help her. The image of her up there has haunted me all these years. And seeing Oli—Elliot this morning has unearthed everything.’ Gloria sighed, pressing her hand on her chest.
‘That night has haunted us all.’ Josie stared at the oak tree, then at the frosty lane beyond. ‘Do you know how many times I’ve wanted to change the pub’s name?’ She laughed. ‘Every time I did, I thought, no, I won’t give it the satisfaction of winning. This day was always going to come. But now that Elliot and we are here, I don’t know what we’re supposed to do, Mum.’
‘Neither do I, but I know he’ll need us one way or another, this side or the other. I let him down before. I won’t do it again.’ Her mum pulled her coat closer and headed onto the frosty lane.
The Priory’s door was wide open. Gathered on the frozen gravel was a group of friars Josie had seen before. Her mum snatched her arm and pulled her back when they reached them. Her eyes flicked from Josie to them.
‘It’s okay, mum.’ Josie patted her hand. ‘They are from the Priory, the real one; they’re here to help.’
Josie bowed her head as they dispersed, allowing them to enter. They stood just inside the stone porch, the great hall open in front of them, but nothing fitted. It was as it had been that night during the storm so long ago. Josie, stunned by the feel of the stone under her shoes, the light that filtered from the lanterns. But mostly, it was the change in the very essence of the space, which hovered thickly in the air—ancient.
‘Where is he? Not here, either of them.’ Josie searched the rooms that spurred from the great hall while her mum stood within the stone porch.
‘You will find them at the Priory,’ the voice softly echoed.
Josie walked towards her mother and looked past her to one of the friars. A single figure stepped forward a pace, solidifying with clarity. He pointed towards the grounds beyond the house.
‘Brother Nicholas has taken the lord to the Priory.’ He stepped back into the mix of hazy black robes.
‘Come on, we need to find them.’ Josie pulled her mum outside.
The black vapour dispersed as they channelled through. Her mum looked over her shoulder to find them gone, nothing but a soft glow in their stead.
The grounds beyond the house were barren, maybe more so than the gardens. There were no trees or shrub boundaries here, just acres of bare, frosty lands. As they walked, the Priory rose from the horizon with massive stone arches.
Her mum stopped, her hand on her throat. ‘I can’t, Josie. I just can’t do it.’
‘You don’t need to do anything, I promise. We’re here to help the boys. They need us if only for… I don’t know, moral support,’ said shrugged.
‘What good is that? I couldn’t save Nancy.’
‘No, but I have known since that night that this day would come. I’m doing it for Elliot and Oliver and… for Dad,’ she nodded. ‘Mum, I know.’
‘Know what?’ Her mum held her breath.
‘I know what happened to Dad, even though you didn’t talk about it.’
‘He died.’
‘No, he didn’t. You can tell yourself that if you like—you’ve done it for forty years—but I know it’s not true. For Christ’s sake, he didn’t even have a funeral, did he?’
Her mum shook her head.
‘I saw him that night,’ Josie said.
‘No, you didn’t. You were asleep. You were in bed.’
‘I saw him here. That’s why I’m here now. This place has a lot to answer for, I’m here for those answers. We’ve waited long enough. Now, are you coming or not?’ Josie stood with her hands on her hips. ‘I’m not a little girl anymore.’
‘You saw your dad?’
Josie held her mum tight. ‘He’s lost. They both are—Oliver and Dad. I don’t know how; I just know it. I felt Dad that night in Elliot’s hands.’
‘I don’t understand a word you’re saying.’
‘I sat in the back of the car with Elliot that night, remember. I was with him when you took him away from here. I saw the look on his face. I knew it was him and not Oliver. I could always tell them apart.’
‘Darling, Dad was already gone by then.’
‘Do you remember what Elliot held that night?’
Her mum shook her head. ‘A small thing. Something he wouldn’t let go of.’
‘And did he say anything at all when you found him?’
‘Only Oliver.’
‘Yes, because he was talking about him. He was gripping a mirror—a round wooden mirror. I watched him the whole journey. He wouldn’t look at me because he didn’t take his eyes off that bloody mirror. So, I grabbed it and asked him what was so important.’ Josie closed her eyes to recall the moment. ‘I don’t know how, but Oliver was in the mirror.’
‘Just his reflection, Josie. You were… It was a terrible night. You were exhausted and—’
‘I was holding the mirror mum, if it were a reflection I saw, it would have been me. The mirror came from the Priory, just like that thing that has sat by Dad’s shed all these years—I know it is still there. And we both know that if it belongs to Hardacre bloody Priory, it’s as creepy as the rest of it. Oliver is lost somewhere in Hardacre,’ Josie urged and swept her hand around the air, letting it rest at her throat. ‘Just like Dad.’
They both looked back towards the house. The brothers gathered again and slowly became visible.
Josie pointed to the ruins. ‘We need to get there. Look.’
They hadn’t walked another step though the horizon had grown. The view had developed before them. The Priory was no longer ruins but a vast stone edifice of tall arches.
Josie clutched her mum’s hand. ‘We need to be quick.’
†
We stood beneath a great stone arch, metres above our heads, towering to the sky beyond. I held the relic in my open palms, wondering what the hell I was to do with this thing. I glanced at Nicholas with unspoken questions, too afraid to open my mouth. He slowly nodded before us. I turned to look in disbelief as from the ground grew an enormous altar. In the centre of its surface was a deep gash, surrounded by splintered, fractured wood.
‘This is where I broke it free,’ Nicholas whispered. ‘It was here for centuries. Encased in its seal, set into the wood of the altar. Sacred.’ He inclined his head.
The grey storm clouds split above us, letting a bright shaft of light fall in. I clenched my eyes against its glare. In my ears, the sky roared with the tremendous clash of stones and rocks. The tumbling of rubble and stone, the crackle and chink of glass, was awash with the splintering of wood. Tentatively, I opened one eye to see the impossible. It was building, constructing around us—the Priory, which had once stood yard upon yard high and covered acres of this barren land, was tall and solid. The ground was no longer frozen dirt but hard stone beneath our feet.
‘You’ve returned the relic,’ Nicholas said, casting his eyes around the grand stone edifice in which we now stood. ‘You have restored the Priory. And, in turn, we have the power to expel what has wreaked havoc on your ancestral lands.’
‘But these were your lands long before they belonged to a Hardacre.’
‘The loss of faith here was not always so easy. Your first ancestor here was a good man who held his faith firm. It was those who came after him whose grip was not so tight. They were easily enticed by the evil that lay here. It has fed on the sins of man, their greed, their hatred. It feeds on weakness. You know your history as well as I do.’
‘They have visited me for as long as I can remember. But where is my family now? If those who are long gone can pester me, then why is my family lost?’
‘I wish with all my faith that you will find the answer.’
‘I lost my brother that night. It was my fault.’
‘I do not believe that. He has been with you these past forty years. You know that much.’ Nicholas pressed his hand to my shoulder. ‘Who brought you here? Think about the letter.’
I didn’t answer him. The relic was scorching my palm. I realised the roaring of stone upon stone was starting to ease.
‘We are now gathered. It is time, Brother Nicholas. We have visitors.’ One of the friars stepped forwards from the gathering around us in robes of watercolour black, not solid or transparent, but fluid and hypnotic. Their existence was strong. I could feel every heartbeat drumming through my skull. Beyond them, I saw a flash of red hair.
Josie ran over. She dispersed the gathering as she flung her arms around my neck.
‘What the heck are you doing?’ Hesitantly, I hugged her.
‘We couldn’t let you do this alone.’ She turned to point at Gloria, who faltered behind her. ‘We’ll do this together.
‘I don’t know what to say. I don’t think you should be here, either of you.’
‘Oliver…’ Gloria paused. ‘Elliot, I failed your mum that night. I’m sorry.’ Tears collected in her eyes. ‘She was my friend, and I couldn’t help her.’
I said nothing but nodded.
‘Where’s Mr Fisk?’ Josie looked around. Her eyes met Nicholas, who bowed his head in return. She gripped my sleeve, her eyes wide.
‘It’s okay.’ I stepped a little closer and took her hand.
The ground trembled. A split travelled along the open stone floor in a long, jagged crack. I fell to my hands and knees. The relic rolled along the ground and tumbled into a crevice.
‘Quickly. It knows we are here.’ Nicholas jumped forwards, his arms elbow deep in the crevice, and seized the relic from the hole. ‘It must be now, Elliot.’ He threw it to me.
I reached forward, taking one step, then another. With a deep breath and trembling fingers, I plunged the relic into the altar, pushing it into the hole, pressing my hand over it. Growing hot on my palm, it melted into place. The amber resin casing settled as every splinter fitted into its gouge. The altar and relic of Saint Augustine became one as if they had never been apart.
The air shook around my shoulders. My ears filled with earth-shattering judders, which bought me to my knees. ‘Please, God, I prayed. Please. If there is a god, help me.’
We were in the centre of what I imagined a bomb explosion felt like. Not only debris flew around the air—an onslaught of emotions and sensations swirled with every spiralling stone splinter. Voices—words and chants—filled the air and grew into agonising screams. I didn’t know any of them, but all were familiar—generations of Hardacres, their pleading cries rang through me. Lost souls caught up in a whirlwind, which shook the Priory’s ancient stone walls.
I covered my eyes but caught a glimpse of Josie and Gloria huddled together on their knees. I crouched into a ball, my arms about my head. The deafening thud of the earth rumbled under the stone floor. If the priory fell again, we’d be lost, dead, beneath a massive pile of rubble.
‘We need to get out,’ I shouted.
Squinting, I peered through a half-opened eye against the stone dust and wiped my face with the back of my sleeve.
I found nothing.
They weren’t there.
I was no longer there.