while, and Alex didn’t find that at all surprising. Because he didn’t run away, did he?
He just disappeared. That’s what figments of the imagination do—vanish like a puff of smoke.
Crouching to duck under a branch, something caught her eye. “Simon, look. The church door is open. Why would Reverend Barker be in the church at this time in the morning?” Ahead she could see the wood swinging backward and forward with the growing wind. “And why would he leave the door open in this weather?”
“There’s only one way to find out. Come on, let’s go and take a look.” He smiled at her. “At least it’ll get us out of the rain for a couple of minutes.”
Fighting past the last of the grasping limbs of the trees, they emerged on the lawn, which covered the sides and front of the quiet fourteenth-century chapel.
Both their trots slowed to walks. The door banging in 63
the wind sounded like an untamed heartbeat, or a death knell; the two were one and the same thing— markers of precious time being lost. Alex shivered. This didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem right at all.
Simon jumped up the worn steps and held the solid wood open, letting the yellow, dim light from inside reach out to them. Watching him waiting for her, Alex bit back the urge to turn and run back to the farmhouse and stepped hesitantly through the archway, before Simon shut the door quietly behind them. Atheist that she was, she had still always felt some serenity, some inner peace in this church. But not now. All she was feeling now was unease. Whatever sense of sanctuary that had existed here was gone.
“Reverend? Reverend Barker? Are you in here?” Stepping forward down the aisle, her feet echoed as she glanced down the rows of pews. Simon followed her, peering under the benches for any sign of the boy or the vicar. Alex wasn’t quite sure what they were looking for, but the two of them moved slowly side by side, she searching the shadows and light to the left, and he to the right.
After the constant noise of nature’s angry rage outside, the quiet of the church was eerie. Every drip of water that slid from their clothes or hair to the floor seemed to chime out their presence. She sniffed and the sound came back at her from every corner, taunting her. Despite the gloom that seemed to eat at the cold stone walls and alcoves, the lights directly above Alex and Simon seemed almost too bright, like spotlights scrutinizing their every breath as they walked side by side in a parody of a wedding march.
“Look.” Alex’s heart thumped in her ears as she whispered, drawing Simon’s attention toward the altar. He
64
nodded silently, and as she got closer she wondered why she hadn’t noticed it as soon as they came into the church. The beautiful gold and red tapestry that normally covered the aged surface had been thrown carelessly to the stone floor, and beside it a dark, oozing patch spread out where a large vase of flowers had been knocked over, some of the buds now dying on the steps by their feet. All that was left on the large space was a candlestick, the candle burnt right down.
But something had been written on the altar. Scrawled in hot wax, which had now set.
“What the hell does that mean?” Simon sounded confused, and for the first time, Alex heard uncertainty in his voice. She stared down at the abused altar.
The words stared back at her, her throat tightening. She’d heard those words somewhere, she knew she had. When?
I couldn’t move my legs. Look how they move now!
“What did you say, Alex?” Simon was staring at her, and she dragged her eyes away from the altar.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes, you did. You muttered something about your legs. And then said ‘Look how they move now’ Do these words mean something to you?”
Alex stared at the words. Did they mean something to her? Should they? Fear bit at her insides. This writing was real, not just something in her head brought on by the
He just disappeared. That’s what figments of the imagination do—vanish like a puff of smoke.
Crouching to duck under a branch, something caught her eye. “Simon, look. The church door is open. Why would Reverend Barker be in the church at this time in the morning?” Ahead she could see the wood swinging backward and forward with the growing wind. “And why would he leave the door open in this weather?”
“There’s only one way to find out. Come on, let’s go and take a look.” He smiled at her. “At least it’ll get us out of the rain for a couple of minutes.”
Fighting past the last of the grasping limbs of the trees, they emerged on the lawn, which covered the sides and front of the quiet fourteenth-century chapel.
Both their trots slowed to walks. The door banging in 63
the wind sounded like an untamed heartbeat, or a death knell; the two were one and the same thing— markers of precious time being lost. Alex shivered. This didn’t seem right. It didn’t seem right at all.
Simon jumped up the worn steps and held the solid wood open, letting the yellow, dim light from inside reach out to them. Watching him waiting for her, Alex bit back the urge to turn and run back to the farmhouse and stepped hesitantly through the archway, before Simon shut the door quietly behind them. Atheist that she was, she had still always felt some serenity, some inner peace in this church. But not now. All she was feeling now was unease. Whatever sense of sanctuary that had existed here was gone.
“Reverend? Reverend Barker? Are you in here?” Stepping forward down the aisle, her feet echoed as she glanced down the rows of pews. Simon followed her, peering under the benches for any sign of the boy or the vicar. Alex wasn’t quite sure what they were looking for, but the two of them moved slowly side by side, she searching the shadows and light to the left, and he to the right.
After the constant noise of nature’s angry rage outside, the quiet of the church was eerie. Every drip of water that slid from their clothes or hair to the floor seemed to chime out their presence. She sniffed and the sound came back at her from every corner, taunting her. Despite the gloom that seemed to eat at the cold stone walls and alcoves, the lights directly above Alex and Simon seemed almost too bright, like spotlights scrutinizing their every breath as they walked side by side in a parody of a wedding march.
“Look.” Alex’s heart thumped in her ears as she whispered, drawing Simon’s attention toward the altar. He
64
nodded silently, and as she got closer she wondered why she hadn’t noticed it as soon as they came into the church. The beautiful gold and red tapestry that normally covered the aged surface had been thrown carelessly to the stone floor, and beside it a dark, oozing patch spread out where a large vase of flowers had been knocked over, some of the buds now dying on the steps by their feet. All that was left on the large space was a candlestick, the candle burnt right down.
But something had been written on the altar. Scrawled in hot wax, which had now set.
“What the hell does that mean?” Simon sounded confused, and for the first time, Alex heard uncertainty in his voice. She stared down at the abused altar.
The words stared back at her, her throat tightening. She’d heard those words somewhere, she knew she had. When?
I couldn’t move my legs. Look how they move now!
“What did you say, Alex?” Simon was staring at her, and she dragged her eyes away from the altar.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Yes, you did. You muttered something about your legs. And then said ‘Look how they move now’ Do these words mean something to you?”
Alex stared at the words. Did they mean something to her? Should they? Fear bit at her insides. This writing was real, not just something in her head brought on by the
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