Silencing the Dead by Will Harker (ereader ebook .txt) 📕

traces. “I’d kept the memory of what I did at bay. Pushed it away for ten long years. If I didn’t acknowledge it then it wasn’t real. But then this person comes back into my life.” He leaned forward and kissed my brow. “This clever, infuriating, moody, messed-up, big-hearted idiot, and with him comes all these memories. The good and the bad. And suddenly I’m facing the thing that ripped us apart all those years ago, and it feels fresh and raw and terrible.”

“Harry, you saved him so much pain.”

“I did. But I killed him, too. I took a life, and that is a huge, huge thing, Scott. I needed to find a way to deal with that. To come to terms with it. Then one day, I found myself outside the cathedral in Aumbry and before I knew it, I was at the altar, lighting a candle, writing a prayer card. Just the simplest thing, but it brought me peace.”

A splash of wax, the stub of a pencil dropped absently into his music bag after filling in the prayer card. I squeezed Haz’s hand.

“I didn’t think you’d understand,” he said. “I know all that stuff is just mumbo-jumbo and wishful thinking as far as you’re concerned. But it started to mean something to me. Just those visits every Tuesday and Thursday evening, to light my candle, to write my prayer, to sit in the church and be with my thoughts. To think that maybe part of him had survived and that he could forgive me.”

“Haz…”

“And I couldn’t have you picking at that belief,” he said. “Probing me and questioning me about it the way you do. So I lied about where I was going, what I was doing. Do you understand, Scott?”

I nodded. Something Genevieve had said echoed in my mind, “It can be a dangerous thing, you know, to systematically strip away a person’s certainties. It can leave them with nothing to hold onto.”

“And I need to tell you,” Haz sighed. “I’ve met someone who understands.”

I closed my eyes. I would rather the meds be turned off and feel every scrap of pain from my tortured leg and burned skin than experience this agony. I’d only just found him again, and in my arrogance and stupidity, I’d lost him already.

“I know,” I said. “I saw you together. Haz, I’m really happy that you’ve found someone who—”

“Oh, but you are the biggest idiot!” he said, framing my face with his hands. “Scott, look at me. Look at me. The man you saw me with? That’s David Yarrow. I met him at the cathedral while I was lighting my candle. He was doing the same and we started laughing because we’re both so clumsy and always spill the wax. David lost his wife last year to ovarian cancer. Anyway, we got chatting and it helped, you know. To talk about stuff. He’s a lovely, lovely man, and quite possibly, the straightest person I’ve ever met.” Haz’s expression twisted. “Scott, why would you ever think I’d cheat on you?”

I took a breath. “Because why wouldn’t you? Harry, I’m a mess. Fucked up.”

“Yes, you are.” He prodded my nose with his finger. “Welcome to the club.”

We sat in silence for a moment, Haz stroking my hair. When at last I thought I could speak without breaking down, I said, “I don’t believe in the things you believe in, my love. At least, I don’t think I do. But I want to support you. I want to try. I’m so sorry.”

He gave a determined nod. “And I want to support you too. You’ve been coping alone with what happened in Bradbury End. So tell me.”

“You’re sure?”

“No. But maybe we can be brave, together.”

“Then I will. But not today. Bradbury End is history and I want to talk about what comes next.” I laughed and threaded my fingers between his. “Do you know the last thing Aunt Tilda ever said to me? She’d read our cards—the Star and the Lovers combined. Faith, hope, rejuvenation.” I pressed my lips to his. “All will be well.”

“She saw a lot, that old lady.” Haz smiled, pulling out his phone and holding it up so that we could both see the screen. “Maybe even further than you think. This started hitting the headlines about an hour before you came round.”

He thumbed the screen and a news clip started to play. A couple was standing outside the entrance to a hospital, tired but euphoric, caught in a blaze of flashbulbs. John and Anne Chambers clutching at each other as if desperate to confirm that this wasn’t a dream.

“It’s a miracle,” Anne said in a strong, measured voice. “A miracle that was promised to us. Debbie, our little girl, has found her way home. She’s being treated here at St Giles’, but it seems that the person who abducted her has treated her well. A woman who couldn’t have children of her own. A poor, lost soul who didn’t know what she was doing. But she kept Debbie safe and hasn’t harmed her.” A babble of questions from the journalists was met by Anne’s raised hand. “We won’t be making any further comments today. We just want to get back to our little girl—there are lots of cuddles we need to catch up on. But I want to say one last thing. Thank you to the late Tilda Urnshaw. You told us Debbie would come back to us on All Hallows’ Day and she has.”

The screen switched to a reporter standing at a rural roadside, behind him, the glowing sign of a small petrol station.

“It was here, at six o’clock this morning that little Debbie stumbled into the kiosk of this family-owned business. She was tired, soaking wet from the rain, and scratched from her dazed walk through the surrounding woodland. The owners immediately called the police, ending what had been a six-month nightmare for the Chambers family. People in the area are—”

“Pause it, please,” I said.

Haz touched the screen.