The Book: Chapter 21

Alice sat in the staffroom, staring at the book. It rarely used her name directly. It was a bastard, using cryptic rhymes and twisted riddles. Sometimes, new words bled into the margins, dark and fresh—vanishing when she looked again.

She read the latest entry and tried to make sense of it. Jesus Christ, it was playing with her in verse. Whatever it meant, it wouldn’t lead her to a rainbow’s end with cream cake and ice cream sprinkles, that was for sure.

West winds whisper. East winds wail,

Children’s laughter, chase your tail.

Those who take, will they dare

Drag her down into their lair?

Alice shivered, running her fingers over the margin. The ink was still damp and imprinted the word chase on her finger. It took her back to her dream of waking with the book’s ink on her hands. The verse wasn’t there before, and its meaning could be the difference between life and death.

They who dare could relate to Solène. Was it trying to send her back to the university? She’d already read the chapter about the book making the anthropologist ill, forcing her to return the book in desperation. It could have caused more harm.

It was bluffing. She wouldn’t fall for its tricks.

‘I know what you’re doing,’ she said. ‘You won’t beat me.’

She felt its fury in the silence. ‘Hah, can’t answer me, can you? I bet there are lots of things you’d like to say to me. You poor afflicted inanimate object. Where’s your power now, dude?’ She was goading it, but she couldn’t stop talking. The words came to her without thinking. It was as though the book was using her as a vessel against itself in self-flagellation. She didn’t want to make it angry. ‘Come on pussy. Do something.’ She clamped her hand over her mouth and made a humming noise to try and overrule the words. ‘You can’t hurt me, can you? You’re weak and powerless. Worse, whatever you are, and whatever form you used to take, you’re stuck. You’re trapped in the pages of a book.’ She wasn’t the force behind any of the insults. The book was fighting against itself, using Alice as the conduit and its temper flared.

There was an almighty crack and Alice jumped out of her seat, thinking the window had come through. A bough of the hundred-year-old oak tree outside her window thrashed in a violent wind. West winds whisper, and east winds wail.

She understood.

The book was creating raw energy. She felt its anger and the power built within the pages. The book vibrated and moved along her desk, inching towards her hands and she stepped backwards. Its writing was subtler now, more cunning, but its power grew. It fed from the people around it. She didn’t want to move but it compelled her. She opened the book, powerless to resist, and the next set of words appeared as she watched in horror.

A mother weeps, a father fears,

A child’s cries fall, around deaf ears.

She fights, she screams, she won’t let go,

Before the night, it will be so.

Alice’s breath hitched. This wasn’t like the others. The words pulsed on the page, darker, heavier. It was a more immediate prediction. Or a trap. ‘Before the night,’ she read to the walls of her office. Whatever was coming next, it would happen before sunset. ‘A child? What are you going to do, you bastard?’

She was on edge for the rest of the day and couldn’t concentrate. Her work suffered.  She warned colleagues to be vigilant around their children and had to back off when she saw their faces.

 They didn’t have minors in the unit, so if she had direct involvement, it would happen after she left work. And it had warned her—it was coming for a child before the night.

She’d worked it out. It had to be. The book was going to make her run a child over. It didn’t bear thinking about. A mother weeps, a father fears. Her hands trembled and she wanted a drink. She laughed out loud when the thought came to her again as she walked across the car park. The wind hadn’t let up and she pulled her jacket around her ears as it tried to force her backwards. She’d never been a big drinker—as if that would help when she was about to get behind the wheel of her car. ‘Hah, see. I’m one step ahead of you, arsehole. I’m not going to a bar, and you can’t make me.’

Louis, the porter, walked out from behind a car making her jump, but he looked more frightened than she was. ‘You’ve got it, Dr Grant. No bar. Not tonight, No sir. Old Louis’ just going to take himself off home to his lovely wife.’ He got in his car and fumbled with the key before leaving the car park as though she was about to sprout wings and chase him.

Shit.

The more she thought about it, the more she knew a child would run in front of her car. She played the scene in her mind and saw the book forcing her foot on the accelerator so she couldn’t stop.

She’d taken the keys out of her bag and was about to press the fob and open the car door when she decided to walk. ‘Not happening, mate. You can’t control me.’ She looked around to see that nobody heard her this time. She was talking to a book like a total lunatic, but it made her feel good. Speaking the words out loud empowered her. And as that thought came into her head she imagined throwing her head back and howling into the tea-time wind. The feeling was strong and it wasn’t her will. She fought it.

The scream sliced through the air, shattering her thoughts. It threw her off. It was sudden, piercing and it sent a jolt of fear through her spine. She spun around to see a man wrestling a struggling child and forcing her into a car. The child kicked out, screaming as she clawed at the door frame.

Alice fumbled for her phone. She pressed the power button. Nothing. It was dead.

The Book had cut off her means to call the police. She couldn’t waste time running back inside—it would be too late. ‘Help,’ she screamed, running across the car park. Then she remembered from her self-defence classes that people don’t respond to the word help. ‘Fire,’ she shouted, ‘Fire.’

A car door slammed and then the driver’s door. The car peeled out of the parking space, and Alice bolted for hers. She didn’t get the registration number. She barely even noticed the colour before she was in her driver’s seat, tyres screeching as she tore out of the hospital grounds. It had happened fast. She turned at the junction and managed to get behind him, she was going to push on her horn, but realised it might be best not to draw his attention. Alice watched the girl’s hands flailing as she fought to free herself from the car seat. She saw the driver twist and his arm come back to stop her. The child, a girl of about four, had knelt on the back seat. She had her hands pressed against the window and she was crying with her mouth wide open in hysteria as Alice followed. She tried to memorise the number plate, but the little girl was banging on the glass.

A child’s cries fall around deaf ears.

The little girl turned around and sat down. The man must have shouted at her.

‘I’m coming sweetheart. Hang on,’ she whispered. In her mind, the car sped onto the road, speeding to escape. But Alice’s reality had distorted. She realised the car rolled through the hospital grounds at a strict ten miles an hour. She was the one driving like a maniac to catch up. She hit the break. Dropped back. And breathed.

Gritting her teeth until they ached, she followed at a distance. The A590 stretched ahead, leading them to Ulverston. She followed it all the way. The car slowed, pulling into the drive of a well-kept home on Birchwood Avenue. Alice slammed on her brakes and pulled in a few houses down, fumbling to turn her phone back on. This time, it worked. She must have outrun the book’s power. She punched in 999, her voice shaking. ‘Police.’

The operator kept her on the line as officers were dispatched. ‘It’s okay, we’re on our way. Where are you now?’

‘I’m outside the house. He’s just carried her inside. She’s not crying. I can’t tell if she’s conscious. Please hurry.’ Her voice rose with fear and she concentrated on breathing to bring her tone down. Panic wouldn’t help and the dolphins would thank her. She was trained to keep a clear head, but it was a little girl dammit. ‘Why are they taking so long?’ she asked the operator. She’d been on the phone for an hour. Looking at the dashboard clock, she saw it was less than ten minutes. Then she thought of all the things that could happen to a child in ten minutes.

She couldn’t stand it. ‘I’m going to knock on the door. Perhaps I  can distract him until you get here.’

‘No. Do not go near that house. Stay put, Mrs Grant. Officers are on their way.’

‘It’s Doctor Grant. I’m not stupid and I can’t just sit here and do nothing.’

The woman ignored the reference to Alice’s position and stuck strictly to the script. ‘That’s exactly what you have to do. I urge you to stay clear. Alice, was it? Alice, you aren’t just putting yourself in danger, it could make him turn on the child. I’ve got the police vehicle on my screen. They are almost there. Sit tight,’

‘I hear them.’

But she couldn’t wait. Seconds cost lives. She climbed out of the car, gripping her phone, and went to the house, hammering on the door.

The man opened it, rubbing a towel over his damp hair. He was wearing a dressing gown.

‘Can I help you?’ he asked.

‘Where is she?’

‘Who? What’s the meaning of this?’

‘The child you forced into your car, dickhead.’

The officers pulled up, charging out and leaving their car doors open as Alice tried to barge through the door.

She pushed past the kidnapper and ran into the house with the police behind her. ‘Stand back,’ one shouted, but it was too late. She was in. Her gaze darted around the living room.

The little girl was sitting cross-legged on the sofa. She had a sandwich in her lap and was watching cartoons. There was no blood.

Alice froze, confused.

The man glared at her. ‘What’s wrong with you?’

The girl looked up, startled and her eyes filled with tears. ‘Daddy?’ Her lower lip trembled and she raised her arms to be picked up. ‘Get out of my house,’ the man said. Alice’s eyes followed the falling plate from the child’s knee to the carpet where a slice of tomato fell onto the cream pile. The little girl wailed.

The man cradled the frightened child and turned to the officers. ‘What’s going on? Who is this woman?’

‘Is everything all right, sir?’

‘Yes. Well, it was.’

‘I think there may have been a mistake sir. We had a report of  a child being in danger.’

 ‘In danger?’ He glared at Alice. ‘I’ve just brought my daughter home from the hospital. She didn’t want to leave her mum and new brother, so she threw a tantrum. Kids do that, you know?’

Alice’s face burned hot with shame. The book had done it again. It had made her chase shadows.

‘I’m sorry. I thought you were forcing her,’ she said.

‘You thought what?’ The man’s voice was sharp with anger. ‘That I kidnapped my daughter? That I’d drag her screaming into a car in broad daylight, in front of an entire hospital? I’m full of tricks like that.’

One of the officers stepped between them. ‘Sir, I understand you’re upset, but let’s keep things civil. This lady thought your little one was in danger and followed you all the way from Barrow.’

Alice nodded. ‘I was trying to help.’

The man let out a humourless laugh. ‘Yeah? Next time, maybe check the facts before nearly getting me arrested. My son was born two hours ago and I can do without this.’

Alice smiled at the little girl. ‘I’m sorry I scared you, sweetheart.’

The child buried her head into her dad’s shoulder and Alice wanted to crawl into a hole. ‘I made a mistake.’

The man ran his hand through his hair and sighed. ‘Look, no harm done. I’m sorry too. It was a shock. I’m not normally so hostile. I suppose I ought to thank you, if Rosie had been in danger, I’d want somebody like you tearing around the streets after her.’ He managed another laugh and it was warmer this time. Alice made another apology, barely able to look him in the eye, before leaving.

The book was breaking her, piece by piece. It dismantled her, one mistake at a time, eroding her credibility until she was nothing more than a cautionary tale.

 

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