In Darkness, Shadows Breathe Read online

  CATHERINE CAVENDISH

  In Darkness, Shadows Breathe

  FLAME TREE PRESS

  London & New York

  •

  For Colin, who made it all possible

  Part One

  In Darkness…

  Prologue

  Dr. Oliver Franklyn washed the young woman’s blood off his hands, staining the water vivid scarlet. “The spirit needs a permanent home. The work is almost complete. We followed her direction and all is ready for her.”

  Arabella Marsden lifted the unconscious woman’s chin and let it fall, watching the trickle of blood slick down the side of her head, onto her cheek. She wiped it away with an already gore-sodden cloth. No more followed it. Carol Shaughnessy was quite, quite dead. “You said the spirit would enter her at the point of death and that she would rally. I see no sign of life in this woman.”

  Dr. Franklyn dried his hands and rolled down his sleeves. He lifted the girl’s wrist and felt for her pulse. “Have patience, Arabella. The power we are dealing with has her own way of working. She is the One and the Many and has lived a thousand, ten thousand times. We must be guided by her. We have pledged to serve her.”

  “I’m worried. Ever since we entered into this…arrangement…we have ceded more and more control to her. It was better before.”

  Dr. Franklyn gripped Arabella’s arm. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it. We were about to be exposed. We would have gone to prison, or even worse. Do you really want to know what it’s like to be hanged? Because I’m damned well certain I don’t. We were on the verge of a breakthrough. Probably the greatest scientific breakthrough of the century. We were about to find the true source of the soul. All our experiments…all the years of work. They would have been for nothing if the spirit hadn’t come, protected us and removed the danger.”

  “But the price—”

  “Is worth paying. I would do it again.”

  Arabella scratched her throat. “I can still feel her inside me. I thought she would have gone over by now.”

  “Give her time. She has been doing this for millennia. Ever since she was cast out and set to roam, in desperate need of a host. She has gone from body to body. This time she will have a permanent home. One who will not age or die. One who will endure, recharging herself every natural lifespan, with no memory of previous years, merely a set of false memories to satisfy the humanity left in her.”

  A flicker caught Arabella’s eye. “It’s working. Look. I saw her finger move and…I can feel her. The spirit of the One and the Many. She’s leaving….”

  She staggered backward with the momentum as the spirit wrenched itself out of her body. She and Dr. Franklyn stared wide-eyed at the charcoal mist, swirling around the still figure of the woman who had been Carol Shaughnessy. It mingled briefly with a silvery light that seemed to draw itself out of the dead woman.

  “Her soul is departing,” Dr. Franklyn whispered. “And now the One and the Many will give life to the corpse.”

  The light spun and ascended. It vanished from sight as the mist cloaked the body in the chair.

  The woman’s head slowly rose from its slumped position. Her fingers flexed. Her skin grew pinker as blood once again flowed through her veins.

  “It is done,” Dr. Franklyn said.

  Arabella nodded and sank down onto a nearby chair. “I was but a temporary vessel and now she has gone, I feel empty.”

  “Be thankful that the spirit has her new home.”

  Arabella nodded. In the chair, the woman’s eyelids flickered and she opened her eyes, showing no recognition, only fear and panic. She squirmed, straining against her bonds.

  “Who are you? Where am I? What are you doing to me?”

  The doctor smiled. “It is as the spirit promised. She has no memory of who she was. We have succeeded.”

  Chapter One

  Her footsteps echoed along the gloomy corridor. An antiquated light flickered overhead, illuminating the peeling walls and dirt-encrusted tiles in brief, almost surreal flashes. Carol Shaughnessy’s breath quickened as her heart rate increased. She glanced nervously around her. How had she come to this place? One minute she was asleep in her bed and the next….

  She had no idea why, only that she must keep walking, keep moving forward. Surely this corridor led somewhere, but her feet merely took her farther and farther into a building she didn’t recognize. A building where she appeared to be the only inhabitant. Meanwhile, the sound of her footsteps seemed to grow louder.

  A door slammed. She stopped. Listened. Somewhere, not too far away, the tapping of shoes on stone. Approaching. Getting louder. She peered into the darkness. Nothing but the flickering light. And then—

  A face rose up out of the gloom. Pressed close. Almost touching her. Penetrating eyes. A woman’s face.

  A face of madness.

  Carol screamed.

  * * *

  She shot out of bed. Every nerve heightened, her breath struggling in short gasps. It hadn’t been real. A nightmare to end all nightmares but that was all. So why couldn’t she stop shaking?

  It’s not happening. It didn’t happen.

  Trembling uncontrollably, she staggered down the freshly carpeted hall to the kitchen. She opened one of the glass-fronted oak cabinets that lined the walls, only to be faced with stacks of gleaming china she would never use; she would be too frightened of chipping a cup. Carol closed the cupboard. The cheap mugs and plates she had brought with her would suffice for her needs. But where had she put them? She had only moved in today and with so few of her own things to unpack, how could she have forgotten? But the luxury of this place overwhelmed her.

  She peered through the glass door of the second cupboard. There, an array of lead crystal glassware glittered and sparkled. That lot would have set her back at least a month’s wages, probably more. The third cupboard, more sparsely filled than the previous two, contained her own tableware. At last! She settled on a chunky tumbler that had cost her a few pence in a charity shop a few weeks earlier and grasped it in both her trembling hands, concentrating on not dropping it.

  Carol half-filled the glass with water, downed it, then topped it up. The cold drink revived her and she took deep breaths, holding each one for five seconds before releasing it. That was supposed to help when you had a panic attack, wasn’t it? Though she couldn’t remember where she had heard that.

  Gradually her heartbeat slowed to normal and she made her way through the double glass doors into the spacious living room. The central heating had gone off a few hours earlier, leaving a distinct chill in the room, so she moved over to the fireplace and lit the gas fire. Not wanting a bright light, she settled for two wall lamps and sat on the edge of the comfortable, and no doubt expensive, settee.

  Such a lovely apartment. Small as it was, it had not only a fully fitted bathroom, but also a smaller one, comprising a toilet, washbowl and shower, accessible through – and designed for the sole use of the occupants of – the master bedroom. A proper ‘en suite bathroom’. Carol had never lived anywhere this fancy and had really fallen on her feet here. Not that she could ever afford to buy anywhere remotely like it or even rent one, except that this arrangement was different. Even if it could only be for a limited time. The owners were in Dubai on a six-month contract. They would return and that would be that. In the meantime all she had to pay was a peppercorn rent in return for maintaining the apartment and all its contents in the perfect condition she had found them.

  Feeling calmer, Carol became more aware of the increasing chill in the room. She set her glass down on a co
aster on a small table and retrieved her dressing gown from the bedroom. Wrapping it around her, slippers warming her chilled feet, she settled back and sipped more of the refreshing water.

  Six months would be long enough. Long enough to decide whether she wanted to stay in this town at any rate. If it worked out, she could look for somewhere a bit more permanent. Permanent. Now that was a novel concept. She let her mind wander where it willed. Back to her childhood in one foster home after another, until…. No. Best not to dwell on that bit. Anyway, there were always so many gaps in her memory and sometimes she seemed to remember things she couldn’t possibly. Things that had happened to another version of her, in another time and place. But how was that possible? No. She had a vivid imagination and particularly realistic dreams, nothing more.

  Fast forward to age sixteen. Out in the world on her own and already old enough to know that trusting anyone inevitably led to disappointment, hurt and sadness. She had never forgotten that lesson. In fact, as she sat in this quiet, spotless room with its white walls and expensive furnishings, she realized she couldn’t name one person she did trust. Not after…. There had been a school-friend, many years ago now. Becca had betrayed her, and taunted her for being an orphan with no knowledge of either of her parents.

  No, she was better off on her own. This way no one could get too close. Besides, she was never really alone. Not really. There was always…well, she was always somewhere on the edge of her vision. Just out of sight. Was it her in the dreams? An extension of herself perhaps, or some form of alternative consciousness. Carol smiled to herself. Where on earth had she come up with that load of pretentious-sounding twaddle?

  The figure, entity or whatever it was, never fully showed herself but Carol sensed her as a female. And one firmly attached to her as well. She existed in shadow, or at least most of her did. It had always been that way. Over the years, Carol had imagined her as being an older woman, a sort of fairy godmother, or grandmother. Did having such an ethereal companion make her different or did other people have someone like that? Her school-friend Becca hadn’t – or so she claimed. Confiding her secret to the girl had merely set her off on a new wave of taunts. She could hear the familiar sneering voice in her head.

  You’re crazy. Everyone says so. You’re only called Carol because you were found at Christmas. You haven’t got a name of your own. They had to give one to you. Crazy Carol No Name. Crazy Carol No Name….

  The other kids would pick up the chant. Carol slammed her hands against her ears, trying to block off the noise in her head. Still it came, louder and louder, dragging itself up from the past like some unwelcome specter.

  Crazy Carol No Name

  Crazy Carol No Name

  Crazy Carol—

  A sudden noise. Like plastic snapping. A crackling, like static electricity.

  The shadow flickered at the corner of her eye.

  She was back.

  * * *

  When Carol awoke, she had no recollection of getting back to bed although clearly she must have. It didn’t feel as if she had even slept, but the alarm had woken her.

  Carol showered, dressed, dried her fine, dark blonde hair and put on black trousers and a gray sweater. She would cover this with her tabard when she got to work at the supermarket. This week she was on the checkouts but other times she would serve on the bakery, deli or fish counters, or behind the customer service desk. Carol welcomed the variety. She had worked there a month and her boss seemed happy with her progress. Moving around as much as she had in her life, she had become used to picking things up quickly and getting on with it. In her private, honest moments she recognized she would prefer not to work with food that stared back at her, so the fish counter had become her least favorite.

  As usual, she arrived at work in plenty of time and her line manager, Sarah, greeted her. “Hi, Carol, how’s the new flat?”

  Carol liked her. Not enough to get to know her socially or anything but she found her pleasant, easy to get on with and she didn’t pester her. Carol appreciated that. Being left to get on with it was exactly how she liked to work. She wouldn’t let her boss down. “It’s lovely, thanks.”

  “Waverley Court is a beautiful place to live.”

  “I’m very lucky, but I can only stay there six months.”

  “Enjoy. Make the most of it while you can. You never know, if they’re happy with you, they may let you stay there again if they get another contract abroad.”

  Carol smiled. Stranger things had happened. Mostly to her.

  She hopped up onto the swivel chair and logged in to her till. Within seconds, the first customer was emptying the contents of a trolley onto her conveyor belt.

  “Good morning,” Carol said automatically, remembering to smile.

  “Hello, dear. That’s a happy face to brighten up my day.”

  “Thank you.” Carol scanned item after item, ensuring she placed the items within reach of the customer, an elderly woman of, she gauged, around eighty. This was not a supermarket that attempted to break speed records for scanning and chucking items at the customers. Any such attempt would bring the normally affable Sarah down on her like a pile of smashed concrete.

  The woman paid cash. Carol waited while she fumbled in her bag for her purse and fiddled with the clasp. The queue was lengthening and a few people were shuffling their feet and glaring impatiently at the customer before pointedly examining their watches. The woman saw them and became even more flustered. She thrust the purse at Carol, who made eye contact with her for the first time.

  I know her. I’ve seen her before. Can’t remember where, or when….

  The woman was speaking. “Will you do it please, dear? My arthritis is playing me up today and I can’t seem to open the wretched thing.”

  “Don’t worry,” Carol said, focusing once more on the job in hand. “I’ve got it.” She opened the purse and handed it back to the customer, who dropped it on the floor. Coins scattered and a few people in the queue darted after them, picking them up. Someone muttered something about ‘old biddies’ who ‘shouldn’t be let out on their own’.

  Carol left her position and came around to join the hunt for the scattered cash when Sarah appeared as if from nowhere.

  “It’s okay, Carol. I’ve got this.” She collected the coins from the more helpful customers. The grumbler had joined another queue.

  “Oh dear,” the woman said, tears beginning to spill over her eyelids. “I’m so sorry. How embarrassing.”

  “Don’t worry,” Carol said. “It could happen to anyone.” I wish I could remember where I knew you from. But the woman gave no sign of recognition.

  Sarah pressed Carol’s bell for assistance and summoned more staff to the checkouts.

  “Would you like me to sort the money out for you?” Carol asked.

  The customer looked as if Carol had just offered to save her life. “Oh would you, dear? That’s so kind of you.”

  Carol counted out the cash, making sure the customer could see she was only taking out what she needed to cover the cost of the goods. She was aware of Sarah’s eyes on her and met her gaze. Sarah smiled.

  “Here’s a little for your trouble,” the customer said, handing Carol a five-pound note.

  “Oh no, please, that’s not necessary. I couldn’t possibly….”

  But the woman had already moved away, wheeling her shopping trolley toward the exit. Obviously she couldn’t get out of there fast enough. The customer had given no indication that she recognized Carol so she must have been mistaken. Odd though.

  Sarah touched her arm. “You handled that well. She’ll tell all her friends how helpful you were.”

  “I couldn’t take her money. She didn’t look that well off and, besides, it’s not allowed for staff to accept tips.”

  “Oh you’d be surprised. Sometimes it’s the ones who look the poorest that have
the most. How about you put it in the charity collection box?” She indicated a plastic bucket at the end of Carol’s station.

  Carol picked up the note, folded it and shoved it into the slit on top of the bucket.

  “There you go. Cancer Research will benefit from your excellent customer service.”

  Carol returned Sarah’s smile and served her next customer.

  * * *

  The rest of her shift passed uneventfully until it came time to hang her tabard up in her locker and walk the short distance home. With no plans for the evening, as usual, Carol settled in front of the television. A soap opera that had been running far longer than Carol’s twenty-eight years on the planet droned on, its characters mixed up in increasingly bizarre plots that bore little, if any, relation to real life. It seemed every time she switched on, the pub in it had changed hands. Their solicitors appeared to have a passport to fast track every kind of property law for each of their supposedly impoverished clients. Impoverished! That was a laugh. Most of them had plenty of spare cash. They were always skipping off on foreign holidays or going out for meals in the local fancy bistro two or three times a week.

  Her patience exhausted, Carol switched channels. A quiz show. The questions so absurdly simple as to make, “Who wrote Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony?” look intellectual.

  She switched channels again. A rom-com. Half an hour later, Carol had figured out the entire last hour of it, including the impossibly beautiful couple reuniting again after a series of predictable traumas. The credits would roll while they sat together, watching the setting sun on a Caribbean beach. The End.

  Carol yawned and switched off the television. Lack of sleep last night was catching up on her. Maybe an early night. She made to stand up.

  Out of nowhere, the familiar shadow flitted across the edge of her sight.

  This time, she almost saw her face.

  Chapter Two

  Shadows flickered in the bedroom. Where the fitted wardrobes should have been, a whitewashed wall had appeared, with a painted dark stripe running lengthwise halfway down it.