The Last Witness Page 7

  “You were going to tell me about the cairn,” he prompts when it’s clear I’m not going to acknowledge his apology.

  No, I wasn’t.

  I set my lips, stare at him. I don’t blink. I’m good at this, the silent treatment; I’ve been doing it to my mother since I was six years old. I can keep it up for a long time, easily long enough to see out the hour.

  “Do you want to talk about it today?”

  I can hear the oh-so-slight emphasis he puts on the word today, and I know we’re about to take a trip through my previous transcripts. Back to the days when I actually tried to talk to him, tried to explain. Back when I thought he was here to help me, when I believed his bullshit.

  “Do you remember telling me about the burial site, Heather? Do you remember what you said about the thing you took from the cairn? The artifact?”

  Not my exact words, no, but I’m sure you’re going to tell me.

  He rifles in a drawer in his desk and comes up with a huge folder, papers spilling out. It’s my old file. Crazy Heather’s back catalog. Spreading it out on the desk, he begins to flip through page after page. I can’t read what’s written there, but I can see row upon row of spiked calligraphy. Dr. Petersen’s notes. All about me. I don’t want to read it, but at the same time, I’d love to know what ludicrous theories the man has come up with about my “deluded” state of mind.

  “Ah, here it is. You told me the cairn housed the spirit of a druid, an ancient being. Sent back to wreak havoc and vengeance. Do you remember saying these things?”

  I stare at him steadily. It’s subtle, just the merest hint, but I know he’s mocking me. He may as well say, “Do you remember when you were out of your mind, Heather? Does that ring any bells?” No, Dr. Petersen, I can’t say I do remember talking to you about that. But I remember having my arms hauled back so hard I thought my shoulders would dislocate. I remember the needle that was jammed into my arm. And I remember waking up with a pounding headache and a horrible sense of hopelessness. Tied down, trapped. Terrified. Not of the room, but of something I could never outrun.

  He waits. Just in case I’ll suddenly and miraculously open up to him. Sorry, Dr. Petersen. No miracles today. He sees that in my eyes.

  Searches for another angle.

  “Druids, Heather.” A pause. “The occult. It’s something that interests you, isn’t it? Fascinates you, even?”

  I shake my head in disdain, and Petersen mistakes it for denial.

  “No?” He raises his eyebrows in apparent surprise. “You aren’t? I’ve been to your house, Heather. Some of the books you’ve collected are quite…unusual for a young lady of your age.” He rifles through more notes. “Ah, here we are: Sickles and Mistletoe: The Druid Way. Not exactly light reading. And Blood and Dust: The Dark Rites of Human Sacrifice. Why would you have these books, Heather? If you aren’t drawn to the arcane, to dark magic?”

  Staring at him stonily, I clench my teeth. I do not like that he’s been in my home, my room. He probably had a cup of tea and a piece of cake with my mom, holding her hand sympathetically while he reassured her about how insane I was.

  The books I’m not bothered about. They aren’t mine; they’re Dougie’s. He loaned them to me when I put in my application to major in archaeology in college, along with a host of other titles. Preliminary reading so that I could get a step ahead. But I don’t see Petersen mentioning Introduction to Archaeology and The History of the British Isles that are also taking up space on my bookshelf. They wouldn’t fit with the little scenario he’s creating in his head.

  And he thinks I’m crazy.

  “Okay.” He gives in after several long moments, shoves the file back down onto his desk. “Okay, let’s try something else.”

  Like what? Electric shock treatment? No, it’s worse.

  “Let’s talk about your friends. Let’s talk about Martin. Now, in your initial statement to the judge you said he disappeared—”

  “He did disappear,” I hiss through clenched teeth.

  This is one topic I will not be silent on. I don’t even care that Petersen is all but beside himself with self-congratulation that he’s finally got me saying something. I will not let them accuse me of… I can’t even bring myself to think it.

  Because I didn’t.

  I. Did. Not.

  Nine

  Then

  The beach was empty when we returned. Emma and Darren had disappeared, leaving all our gear unprotected. We increased our speed, practically jogging down the narrow dirt path to the beach—which was fine by me, as the rotting fish was still there, still stinking—but a quick inventory showed everything was accounted for.

  “Where do you think they’ve gone?” Martin asked, glancing around at the empty landscape. “Think they went for a walk as well?”

  “No.” I shook my head, my expression amused at the thought of Emma and exercise. Now that I was thinking clearly, it was supremely obvious where they were. “I think they’re taking a ‘nap.’” I used my fingers to add air quotes to the final word.

  “Oh!” Dougie huffed an uncomfortable laugh. Then he raised his voice. “Darren?”

  “What?” The response was muffled and accompanied by a high-pitched giggle.

  “Nothing. Just making sure you’re not dead.”

  “Not dead.” More laughter, this time abruptly cut off.

  I grimaced as Dougie shook his head indulgently. “Lunch?” he suggested to Martin and me.

  “Lunch?” Darren’s supersensitive hearing was not just limited to conversations involving alcohol, it seemed. He emerged from the tent—fully dressed, much to my relief—with Emma trailing behind him looking both sheepish and smug. “Did I hear someone mention lunch?”

  We ate a meal of cheese, cold meat, and crackers, knowing that our supply of ice and ice packs was thawing rapidly and the cheese at least would go bad if left out in the heat. The hike had reinvigorated our appetites, and I was stuffing food into my mouth like I hadn’t seen a decent meal in days.

  “So how was your walk?” Darren asked, his mouth full of food. “Exciting?”

  Emma snorted into her can of juice, and I knew they must have been having a laugh at our expense. Not that I cared. In fact, I was having a chuckle of my own at the scarlet-red patches on Emma’s knees, arms, and nose. She’d given herself a wicked sunburn lying out, and if it wasn’t already stinging like crazy, it soon would be.

  “It was pretty cool, actually,” Dougie replied, not rising to Darren’s dig. “We went up to my dad’s ruins; it’s really a cairn. Found something funky.”

  He dug the disk out of his pocket and tossed it over. Darren caught it deftly, then turned it in his fingers.

  “So what am I supposed to be looking at, loser? I haven’t seen as many episodes of Time Team as you.”

  Dougie lifted one shoulder in a half shrug.

  “Don’t know. An offering, maybe? I was going to try cleaning it up in the sea.”

  “Go on, then.” Darren tossed the object back. “I’m curious.” Dougie reached out to catch it, but his fingers clipped the edge and sent it spinning away from him. It landed neatly in my lap. I stared down at it, and my fingers moved of their own accord to trace the strange etchings scratched into the surface, still impossible to see clearly under the dirt and rust. Despite having being in Dougie’s pocket, and the midday sun beating down on us, the metal was still cold to the touch. The pads of my fingertips started to tingle, and I snatched them away. Did some metals emit nasty chemicals as they corroded? I wasn’t sure.

  “Pass it over,” Dougie said, reaching his hand out.

  But for some odd reason, I didn’t want to. Like Darren, I was curious to see what lay hidden underneath the filth.

  “It’s okay.” I smiled at him. “I’ll do it.”

  The soft sound of footsteps dogged mine as I paced toward the wat
er. I looked around to see Emma just behind me. Still a little bit annoyed at the way she and Darren had laughed earlier, I didn’t say anything but turned my back and continued to the seashore. Just a few feet away, where the sand became compacted and wet, I kicked off my sneakers and socks and padded the final distance into the surf.

  “It’s freezing!” I exclaimed involuntarily.

  Freezing wasn’t really a strong enough word. The cold instantly penetrated down to my bones, making the nerves in my feet throb and ache. Goose bumps erupted, and a shiver ran the length of my body.

  “Freezing,” Emma agreed, suddenly beside me. “I can’t believe Darren went all the way in last night!”

  She sighed as she said it, her admiration clear. I rolled my eyes as I bent over, ready to dunk the disk into the water.

  Emma splashed deeper, looking like she was going to try to repeat Darren’s daring exploits.

  “I wouldn’t,” I warned.

  “Why?” she asked, though she stopped when the water reached halfway up her shins.

  “The salt water on your sunburn will sting like crazy,” I replied, pointing to her blotchy pink knees.

  “Oh, wow.” Emma gazed down at her scalded skin, shocked. “Whoops! Who’d have thought you’d need sunscreen in Scotland!”

  “Yeah,” I agreed half-heartedly. I was concentrating on the thing in my hands, half worried I’d lose it in the tiny waves lapping around me. The dirt came off easily enough, but as I rubbed, I was also flaking off layers of bubbled and rusted metal. I hoped the disk wouldn’t fall to pieces on me.

  “So what is it?” Emma asked, gazing across the water. She looked down when I didn’t answer. “Hey, it’s shiny!”

  It was. Underneath the outer coats, the metal gleamed. As more and more of the tarnished stuff came off, the artifact was regaining shape. The edges smoothed out, and the surface was satiny. Almost like new. I frowned down at it, confused. I was no alchemist, but I was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to do that. “It must be modern,” I told Emma, standing up.

  Now sparkling in my hands, the object looked perfect, as if it had just come out of the shop. I could see what it was after the cleanup too—a brooch. The line across the center was the pin, designed to hold it in place against whatever fabric it was attached to. I’d never seen anything like it before. It wasn’t gold, but something a little pinker. Copper, maybe. And it wasn’t a perfect circle. It looked more like a horseshoe, although the ends had been connected to make the rounded shape. I could now see the engravings clearly, but I had no idea what they were. They seemed to be a mixture of symbols and creatures, but exaggerated. Artsy-fartsy. I didn’t recognize anything. Maybe Dougie would; he’d studied art.

  “Let’s go show the boys,” I suggested.

  But back at the beach, the enigma of the brooch was driven from my mind. It was obvious before we got close enough to hear the words that something had kicked off. Darren and Martin were standing several yards apart, with Dougie in between them—once more monkey in the middle. But instead of a ball, a barrage of insults was being tossed back and forth. Darren’s voice reached us first.

  “…Mister Goody Two-Shoes. Can’t do a thing unless Mommy and Daddy say it’s all right. Why don’t you grow up? You’re a big boy now.”

  “Grow up? Like you, you mean? Be the big, hard man, all fists and no brain? Did the steroids melt what little sense you had?” Martin’s response was steel. He wasn’t standing the way Darren was—fighter’s pose, arms up and fists clenched—but his mouth was set in a thin line, and his eyes were flashing angrily.

  “Guys—” Dougie tried to interject, but neither Darren nor Martin even glanced at him.

  “You don’t know how to have fun. That’s your problem!” Darren spat out.

  “Fun?” Martin laughed, but it was a black sound. “Getting shit-faced and making an ass of yourself? I’d hardly call that fun.” We stopped a distance away and lingered just within earshot.

  I didn’t really want to go any closer, but Dougie turned and caught sight of the pair of us out of the corner of his eye. The relief on his face was clear. Immediately, I felt obliged to help him, though it was with reluctance that I licked my suddenly dry lips.

  “What’s going on?” I asked, stepping forward.

  “Nothing. It’s fine,” Dougie said.

  “Yeah, fine,” Darren added bitterly. “Just misery-guts over here trying to ruin the party.”

  “Darren—” Dougie flashed him a warning look.

  “What? He’s only here because he’s hoping to—”

  “Shut up!” Martin barked, making me jump.

  Darren grinned slyly, pleased that he’d ruffled Martin’s feathers. “What’s the matter, scared to say it?”

  “Darren, leave it.” Dougie was angry now, turning his back on us to glower at him.

  “You’re not much better, kiddo. The pair of you are pathetic.” Darren dismissed both of them, shouldering past Dougie and throwing Martin a filthy look. He paused halfway to the boys’ tent and glanced over his shoulder. “Emma, you coming?”

  There was an awkward moment’s pause; then Emma scampered after Darren self-consciously. When she reached his side, she looked back at us guiltily, but as Darren continued toward the beer cooler, she followed him, drawn like metal to a magnet.

  As soon as they were far enough away to be out of earshot, Dougie blew out a breath. His shoulders slumped back down, and he grimaced.

  “Sorry,” he muttered.

  “It’s not your fault,” Martin conceded, though he still looked furious.

  “What was that about?” I asked hesitantly.

  “What do you think?” Martin glowered over to where Darren was releasing the tab on yet another beer, and I had my answer.

  Dougie swung his arms back and forth, looking around uncomfortably. I bit my lip as I stared at him. The tension between Martin and Darren was putting a damper on the trip. If things continued as they were, it wouldn’t be much of a birthday for Dougie to look back on. “How about a swim?” he suggested, gazing at the water. “Help us cool off?”

  I gave a nervous laugh, and he smiled at me tightly.

  Martin seemed to consider it for a moment, but then he shook his head.

  “I think I’m going to go for another walk, get away from here for a little bit. Heather, what are you doing?”

  Both boys looked at me. Martin’s expression was hopeful, and I realized he wanted me to go with him, most likely to bitch about Darren. I could probably calm him down too, I thought. Persuade him just to ignore Darren’s snide remarks and superiority complex, and his constant drinking.

  On the other hand, it was Dougie’s birthday trip. It didn’t seem right to abandon him. And if I had to choose, he was the one I would rather hang out with.

  “I’m going to swim with Dougie,” I mumbled, guilt stealing the volume from my voice.

  “Right, fine.” Martin’s expression didn’t alter, but I sensed his disappointment. I almost changed my mind, but then Dougie grinned at me gratefully and I decided to keep my mouth shut.

  Martin headed off in the opposite direction to the trail we’d taken that morning, walking the length of the beach to avoid going past Darren and Emma, who were sprawled on two of the folding chairs. Dougie and I watched him shrink as he walked away until finally he clambered over the rocks and out of sight. The suddenly empty beach made me feel guilty, but it was too late to change my mind.

  “Are you serious about swimming?” I asked Dougie as he led me back to our tents. “It’s really cold.”

  “You chicken?” he challenged.

  “Yes.”

  He laughed, just as I’d hoped he would.

  “Come on, you can’t bring your swim stuff and not use it. It’s unlucky!”

  Swimwear. My blood ran cold at the same time my cheeks flooded with heat. T
hat was more naked than I’d intended to be this weekend—and more naked than I ever wanted to be in front of Dougie. Well, in public. In private, there were the fragile fantasies that I was trying very hard to keep a lid on because they were never going to happen.

  “It’s not unlucky. You made that up,” I accused, stalling while I looked for a way, any way, to get out of removing my clothes. The prospect was made even worse by the fact that he’d been eyeing Emma’s scantily clad form last night. I was blisteringly aware that I did not compare well.

  Dougie wiggled his eyebrows at me. “Are you willing to take that chance?” he asked. “To spend the rest of your life haunted by the Speedo specter?”

  I gave in, smiling though my teeth were clenched together. “I guess not.”

  I disappeared into my tent to change. At least I could be grateful that my suit covered a lot more than the string bikini Emma had brought with her. My suit was utilitarian, made for purpose, high-cut at the legs and with a neckline than only dipped two inches from the hollow of my throat, completely black apart from two vivid blue stripes up my sides. I was in my local swim club, and the coach warned us to pick swimwear that would make us faster, not win us any fashion awards.

  At least I knew I wouldn’t make a fool of myself in the water. “You ready?” Dougie’s voice right outside the tent made me jump.

  “Just about,” I called back.

  Giving myself a shake, I grabbed a hair tie and pulled my hair into a ponytail. I ignored my goggles and my swimming cap, sure that we were just headed in to splash around rather than do any serious swimming. Then I took one deep, steadying breath and stepped back out into the heat of the sun. Dougie had his back to me as I emerged, blinking against the brightness. I was glad I hadn’t tried to hide by wrapping myself in the huge beach towel I’d brought, because he was clad in nothing more than a pair of shorts-style trunks. I had three seconds of sweeping my eyes across the broadness of his shoulders before he turned and I had to rake my gaze up to his face.