With that we left the café and slowly made our way back to Ashworth House – I emphasise the word ‘slowly’ because I was having to hobble on half a heel, aside from which I still wasn’t feeling 100%. Connie must have picked up my discomfort because she led me to a nearby wooden bench, urging me to take a seat. I gladly leant back on the bench, removed the offending shoe and began rubbing my painful heel. Gradually the soreness disappeared and I was able to continue our conversation from the café.
“So tell me, Connie – I don’t want to sound insensitive - but what exactly is this shit intending to do to you if he does find you?”
“I’d have thought that was obvious,” she said, disarmingly. “Kill me, of course!”
“Bloody hell, Connie! I’m sorry. I didn’t want to put that thought in your mind. It’s just that he always seems to be ahead of the game – not that I know exactly what his game is.”
She was quiet for a moment before commenting, calmly, in that small but determined voice, “I don’t think you understand, Angie, do you? At the moment he hasn’t got a game. He’s been forced to call a time-out because his game’s been interrupted by my unintentional vision. He knows now that I see him – and at first he thought he could control that. Only it’s even worse than that now; now he’s realised I can see him even before does anything. And he can’t have that, because it means he’s totally lost control; it also means, to him, that the next stage has to be that my memory will return and then I will know him. And since he can’t allow that to happen it stands to reason he’s got to get rid of me.
“What do you think he was trying to do the other night at Ashworth House? And, I agree with you, it was him alright.” She went on, again in that matter-of-fact voice that sounded totally surreal to me. “He certainly wasn’t paying me a social call, was he? And I think there’s something sort of symbolic about him attacking you like that. Oversimplifying it, if I may:” (“Fucking hell! Where did she get all these fancy words from?” I thought to myself) “he was after me; you were in the way, frustrating him; and so you became a substitute target. Surely, you’ve worked that one out, Officer?” she said, laughingly.
“Not as coldly or as calculatingly as that – no. I hadn’t realised, for instance, the extent of the rapport you have with him. It’s a kind of empathy that goes beyond anything I’ve ever known. And it’s almost as if, at the beginning, it was something you shared with him, but now you’re the one who is starting to dominate this – what shall I call it? – this fucked-up relationship. Does that make any sense to you?”
She laughed. “Perfect sense. You’ve described it far better than I could.”
The conversation paused there – principally because I was trying to sort out my thoughts. The more I tried the fuzzier my head became.
“Are you okay, Angie? Do you think we should go back and let you rest?”
“No. It isn’t that – mind you I don’t think it’s a bad idea. It’s just that I’m trying to get my head round this bastard, but I’m not thinking clearly yet. Let’s just rest here a while, shall we?
“I was going to ask you, though, if you remember, more or less, when you had your first psychic insight into the children?” Oh, Christ! I’d completely forgotten she’d erased the incident of the forest from her consciousness. “No, don’t mind me, Connie,” I said, attempting to make a hasty recovery.
She gazed at me for what seemed to be an even longer interval before responding. Then she said, hesitantly, “Angie; I’ve got a confession to make...”
I found myself giggling, for some unknown reason. “You know what they say about confessions, don’t you? If you’re planning to make one to the police, be sure to have your solicitor present.”
She glowered at me, obviously not finding it the least bit funny. “I’m trying to be serious here,” she snapped.
“Sorry. Poor taste. Please, Connie, go on; I’m listening.”
“Well, I’ve been afraid to tell you this before now because I thought you’d expect me to give you information I don’t have. But I do remember something about the children in the woods; I remember leading you there that night, for instance. But everything else is hazy. I have no memory of the actual events, although instinct does tell me that this man was involved. So, please, don’t ask me for any details, will you? Because I don’t think I’ll ever recapture a clear picture of that night, except, perhaps, when I’m able to convince myself that I’m completely in the light. Maybe, when I’m really better, then I’ll find the answer. Then I’ll know him; but all I sensed when the vision came was that he’d come after me. It was that that finally made up my mind to get out of Forest Hills.”
Then she raised a hand in the customary manner to stop me from interrupting. I was about to ask her how long she had been remembering the journey through the woods. “Please, Angie. I haven’t finished. I just think it would help me if I were to tell you about myself…” She gave a shake of her head, as though she was clearing her thoughts. Then she went on, “What I mean is, we’ve had lots of discussions while I was in Forest Hills, but I’ve never really told you how I feel – you know, what’s really been happening inside me.”
I took hold of her hand and squeezed it gently. “I’ve never asked you before, sweetheart, because the last thing I wanted was to pry – intrude on a part of your life that I realise must be very painful for you. If you feel you’re ready to talk about it now, you’ll find I’m a very willing listener. And, if you think it’ll help you I’ll do everything I can to support you.”
She looked away, evidently not sure where to start, which prompted me to say: “Why don’t you say whatever comes into your head? ...Don’t try to think about it; let it flow naturally.” I really had no idea what it was she wanted to unload, but if it could act as a kind of catharsis then it had to be beneficial.
Connie followed my example and leant back on the seat, closing her eyes as she did so. “I’ve never talked to anyone about how I felt – not even to Dr Simmons. Oh, he was always asking me, and I know it was because he was trying to help me, but something stopped me.” She turned to look at me. “You see, Angie, for years I lived inside a dark room; there was no light, only this kind of… deep blackness. And there were no distinguishable sounds. Sure, I could hear voices and I could make out the odd visual image, but I never knew what they meant.”
“You must have found that very scary,” I commented.
“No. You’re wrong. I didn’t find it all frightening. Quite the opposite, in fact; I welcomed it. I know you can’t possibly understand, Angie; no one can. But I was safe in that dark room; the blackness wrapped itself around me and protected me from all intruders. I never wanted to come out, and I wouldn’t allow anyone to come in. It was my shelter from reality. Am I making any sense?” she asked with an innocence that touched my heartstrings; there was a part of this young woman that would forever remain a child. It was all I could do to nod, even though I only partly understood what she was saying. It didn’t seem to matter, because she continued with her story. “The only time I had a visitor was when my mother died, and I had no control over that. She just sorta let herself in. All she said was that she was sorry she’d died but I wasn’t to worry because there’d always be someone to look out for me now she was leaving…”
“Did she say why she’d chosen to die, Connie?”
“No. That’s all she said, except that she was on her way somewhere, going on a journey, and she’d be waiting for me. It was all kinda weird, but, at the time, even though I was very sad at losing her, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. But it was a long time after that before I could bring myself to let the light come in; I was far too scared.”
“What was it you were afraid of? Did you know?”
She shook her head. “Not at the time, no. It was only when you helped me find the courage to come out slowly, and I managed to get almost fully back to reality, that I realised what it was that frightened me so much.” She turned to me, an earnest expression on her face. “It didn’t happen suddenly or anything, Angie. I remember it was a slow process and it took many years before I felt I was getting better. That’s partly what swayed me into deciding to leave Forest Hills and try to make a life for myself.
“And that decision coincided with the terrible vision of the man – the one in my nightmares. You see, as long as I stayed in my dark room that’s all he was, a nightmare, and he couldn’t harm me because the darkness protected me from him. That was why I was so afraid. And then, in the light, he became a real person, not just an image from a scary dream. That was when I saw him, clearly, snatching Josephine from her school…
“And please don’t ask me to explain how it works, Angie, because I’ve got absolutely no idea. In a way, it’s a bit like asking me why I’m a psychic: the answer is I don’t know and I doubt I ever will. Sometimes I have visions where I ‘see’ things; I don’t look for them – they just happen. And other times, like when I touched Reg, the artist, I can ‘feel’ things. I felt his death that day, and if you gave me a million years I couldn’t explain it.”
She leant her head against my shoulder, and simply said, “Sorry I can’t be clearer, but I’m so glad you listened. Thank you, Angie, for being you.”
I kissed her forehead, quite astonished at her admission, and yet at the same time I was heartened by her decision to open up to me the way she had. It was also tremendously encouraging that, somehow, I had played a part in her recovery – especially since for so long I had blamed myself for causing her breakdown. “Did the talking help you, Connie?” It was all I could think of to say.
She smiled. “Yeah; you’ve been a big help. But I guess I’ll always be a bit strange, won’t I?”
It was my turn to smile. “Sure you will; that’s why I like you so much. But you are getting there, believe me. We couldn’t have had this conversation before now – you really weren’t well enough. But now” -it was my turn to shrug- “ well, look at you; you’re so much better, and I’m convinced you’re going to come through all the bad times. Now, are you up to making a move? The rest has helped me, and I’m beginning to feel quite hungry.