 
The Hill

A Paranormal Murder Mystery Thriller (Book One).

'The Hill reveals the world for what it is; a place where the impossible is real, and the dead speak with the living'

Text Copyright © 2014 Andrew M Stafford

Published by Andrew M Stafford at Smashwords.
All Rights Reserved

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to Smashwords.com or your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Please note: This is the first book in a two part series. The story begins with Book One, carries on seamlessly and concludes with Book Two
Table of Contents

Acknowledgments

Poem by John Fairfax

Chapter one

Chapter two

Chapter three

Chapter four

Chapter five

Chapter six

Chapter seven

Chapter eight

Chapter nine

Chapter ten

Chapter eleven

Chapter twelve

Chapter thirteen

Chapter fourteen

Chapter fifteen

Chapter sixteen

Chapter seventeen

Chapter eighteen

Chapter nineteen

Chapter twenty

Chapter twenty one

Chapter twenty two

Chapter twenty three

Chapter twenty four

Chapter twenty five

Chapter twenty six

Chapter twenty seven

Chapter twenty eight

Chapter twenty nine

Chapter thirty

Chapter thirty one

Chapter thirty two

Chapter thirty three

Chapter thirty four

Chapter thirty five

Chapter thirty six

Chapter thirty seven

Chapter thirty eight

Chapter thirty nine

Chapter forty

Chapter forty one

Chapter forty two

Chapter forty three

Chapter forty four

Chapter forty five

Chapter forty six

Chapter forty seven

Chapter forty eight

Chapter forty nine

Chapter fifty

Chapter fifty one

Chapter fifty two

Chapter fifty three

Chapter fifty four

Chapter fifty five

Chapter fifty six

Chapter fifty seven

Chapter fifty eight

Chapter fifty nine

Chapter sixty

Chapter sixty one

Chapter sixty two

Chapter sixty three

Chapter sixty four

Chapter sixty five

Chapter sixty six

Chapter sixty seven

Chapter sixty eight

Chapter sixty nine

Chapter seventy

Chapter seventy one

Chapter seventy two

Chapter seventy three

Chapter seventy four

Chapter seventy five

### Acknowledgements

Thank you to

DC Rob Callaway (Retired) for his advice on matters of the law

Penny Rowe for proof reading

Ian CP Irvine, Claire Herbert and Michael Lewis for their advice and encouragement

For Kerry, Olivia, Sam, Mum and Sharon.

Especially for Dad.

### Poem by John Fairfax

_At Badock's Wood ghostly windmill sails turn and, like a rewound film, spin through history to remote times when this was burial place for Bronze Aged warrior in that landscape wolves prowled and nervy red deer grazed while hogs rooted among trees._

John Fairfax (1930 – 2009)

### Chapter one

Bristol

11.24 am

Sunday 6th September 2009

He'd done it. Ben Walker had only gone and done it.

He fell to his bed, blew air through his cheeks and let his phone drop to the floor. His heart was pounding and his stomach was churning. He found it difficult to take in, but she'd definitely said yes, she really had said yes. He smiled as he blinked at the morning sun streaming in through the blinds.

He wanted to open the window and shout it to the world. But he didn't. Instead he lay on his bed and thought out loud in a whisper. "She actually said yes." He spent the rest of the morning and the best part of the afternoon finding it hard to concentrate on anything else. He felt ill with excitement.

He'd been smitten with Liz Mason for eight months and over the last few weeks he'd been desperate to say something, just a little hint about how he felt about her. But he couldn't. He was just too damn shy. This morning he had made up his mind to not let his shyness get the better of him.

Liz knew how he felt towards her. She'd sensed his jealousy when other boys were around. So it hadn't been a surprise when he'd called. It had only been of a matter of time.

She'd always liked Ben, but lately she'd become more attracted to him. There was something different about him. Something that made him stand out from the other testosterone fuelled boys that buzzed around. He was a quiet person who was a good listener. And with that quietness there was also compassion. He was a good looking lad who was well built, strong and just shy of six foot.

A few hours later they were alone and walking through Badock's Wood on a cool September evening. Twigs snapped beneath their feet and a few of the trees hinted that autumn would soon be here. They weren't quite hand in hand, but Ben was hopeful that they would become closer by the end of the evening.

A robin sang from a branch, but was cut short by a squirrel zigzagging through a nearby tree.

They stopped to watch a pair of Painted Ladies flutter around a crop of dandelions.

"Do you know they're used in medicine?" said Ben breaking the silence.

Liz looked at him puzzled. "Do you mean they use butterflies as medicine?"

Ben laughed and explained that dandelions were used as medicine, not butterflies. Liz giggled at her stupidity.

Liz's naivety was something he loved. He liked the way she would laugh about something that other people wouldn't find remotely amusing. There was no doubt about it, he was falling even further for her.

He loved her imperfections and found the tiny scar above her lip cute.

Liz was barely out of her teens, but had the confidence of someone in their thirties. Her self-confidence was due to achieving a second Dan in Taekwondo and becoming an instructor before she'd hit twenty.

Ben wasn't much older. He'd been a Police Community Support Officer since he was seventeen and now, five years later, he was about to start a new career as a fully qualified police officer. Tomorrow he would be PC Ben Walker.

Ben loved Badock's Wood. It was somewhere he'd played as a boy. He'd climbed the trees and paddled through the stream which ran through the middle. The woods smelt good. It was a smell that brought back special memories of his childhood. He knew Liz would like the place, which is why he chose it for their first date.

They emerged from the canopy of trees into a clearing where the sun was low in the evening sky. In front of them was a small hill. This was his favourite part of the woods.

When Ben was younger, he'd spent weekends with his brother Michael playing on the hill, letting it fuel their imaginations by pretending it was a castle, or a mountain and even the surface of another planet.

It was a Bronze Age burial mound, and knowing this had made the place even more thrilling for the boys. They had been playing upon a hill full of dead people.

Ben and Liz walked towards it and his memories came flooding back. Words could not explain how much he missed his brother, whose young life had been wrenched from him at such an unreasonable age. He hated the C word with a fury. Stupid cancer.

Ben stopped walking and was briefly lost in thought. Liz looked at him from the side and wondered what he was thinking as a look of sadness crossed his face.

"Race you to the top," she shouted as she charged ahead of him.

He snapped out of his stupor and chased after her as she laughed and scrambled her way up the hill.

He was just behind her when he noticed something he had not seen before. As her t-shirt rode up he saw a small tattoo of a butterfly on the base of her back peeking out over her shorts. He wasn't keen on tattoos, but like the little scar above her lip, he thought it was cute.

He heard a yelp. He looked up and saw the tattoo very much closer than it had been a second ago. She had lost her footing and was falling back towards him. She crashed into him and they tumbled down the sloping mound and came to a halt with Liz lying on top.

They lay quietly for second or two until she let out a big huff and launched into an uncontrollable giggle. Ben lay beneath looking up into her eyes. She stopped giggling and looked down at him. Neither of them spoke. She moved closer and put her lips to his. He needed no encouragement. Ben closed his eyes and kissed her.

He wanted the moment to last forever, because if this moment was to last forever, he was sure he would be the happiest man alive.

Ben had no way of knowing what was about to happen next.

### Chapter two

Badock's Wood

Doncaster Road entrance

9.35pm

Danny 'Boy' Boyd entered the woods accompanied by a gang of youths.

Boyd was trouble. Wherever he went something happened. Petty crime, fights, theft....., if he was around, then something bad was bound to take place.

Earlier in the evening he had stolen a Toyota Previa.

The owner of the vehicle had left the keys in the ignition with the engine running whilst withdrawing money from an ATM. The Previa had been only feet away, but he was too busy reading the screen of the ATM to notice Boyd in the shadows putting on a pair of black gloves and then quietly climbing in. He put it into gear, released the handbrake and the vehicle jerked forward. The owner looked round to see his car lurching away. Boyd's dirty grey hoody was over his head. The owner ran to the driver's door and their eyes met. He briefly saw Boyd's face just as his beloved Previa disappeared from view.

Shit! thought Boyd. He saw me, he'll recognise me.

Boyd clumsily handled the vehicle through the back streets of the east of the city, hitting kerbs and cutting corners. He had no licence and had taught himself to drive.

He had taken the thing on the fly, without having any idea why he was stealing it. The Previa had just been there for the taking. He had not thought it through and was worried the owner would recognise him. He blew out a long sigh.

He craned his neck and looked around the vehicle. He guessed he could fit five or six of his friends in the back. Why not? he thought. If I'm going to get caught driving this thing, I may as well not be alone.

He aimed the Previa towards the centre of the city and headed off to pick up as many of his gang of under-achievers as he could.

The theft of the Previa was reported to the police at 8.41pm.

It was a Sunday evening and the streets were quiet. He decided to veer left in the direction of the Foundation.

By day the Foundation was a fantastic place for the community, offering opportunities to the unemployed. But by night it was a different place. After hours, the doorway transformed into a magnet, attracting groups of youths with whom Boyd had become friends.

This evening six bored teenagers were hanging around the entrance. Four boys and two girls.

He pulled up and lowered the window. He knew all of them, with the exception of one of the girls. She didn't look much older than fourteen.

"Oi, you lot, fancy a ride?"

The kids looked up and saw Boyd at the wheel. They glanced at each other and shrugged their shoulders. Without any discussion they apathetically clambered aboard. The only one who showed an air of nervousness was Carla, the young girl who Boyd didn't know.

"Where did you get this thing from?" shouted Mossy.

"Mind your own fuckin' business," snapped Boyd whilst looking in the driver's mirror. "You'd best not ask," he added with a wry smile on his face.

"Where are we going?" asked Greeny.

"I dunno, but don't worry, I'll find us something to do."

He did know where they were going. They were heading to north Bristol and to the adventure playground on Doncaster Road. He was sure that on a Sunday evening there would be a group of young kids who he could intimidate and bully. He knew that his passengers would enjoy joining in.

\-----------------------------

Daniel John Boyd was twenty one years old, long-limbed and thin like an insect. He had a dull pallor which gave his skin the appearance of clay. His hair was so greasy it looked as though it was permanently wet.

He hadn't always been bad, but something happened just after he'd turned fourteen. Whether it was down to puberty or something else no one seemed to know, but he had just changed. He had given up on his studies, given up on his interests, given up on his friends and retreated into himself. Things had gone from bad to worse and he'd been expelled from school.

By the time he was eighteen his parents had turned their backs on him and two years ago he'd walked out of the family home.

Since then he had careered out of control, moving from squat, to park bench and occasionally a friend's couch. He had survived by stealing, dealing and handouts. Although his life had turned to one of crime, he'd never been arrested or charged. He had always been quick enough to not get caught. To this day, Daniel Boyd was still unknown to the law.

\-----------------------------

As the Previa approached Doncaster Road, Boyd shouted to one of the other boys, who was at the back of the vehicle between the two girls.

"Got any Speed, Seb?"

"No, Danny Boy, I'm all out".

"Well, what have you got?"

"Just a bit of crack, mate."

"Come on, share the wealth."

Seb knew it wasn't worth arguing with Boyd as he would have beaten it out of him if he didn't hand over the drugs of his own free will.

Boyd had become dependent on drugs which had increased his paranoia.

He looked at his passengers in the rear view mirror as he inhaled the drug which smelt like burning plastic.

There was Stuart 'Mossy' Moss and Paul 'Greeny' Green, who were sixteen and came from similar backgrounds. Both had alcoholic parents who were never there for their boys. They had begun to hang around with Boyd for the kick. Something always happened with him. They enjoyed getting into trouble and looked up to him as a mentor.

Seb, like Boyd had left his family home and spent most nights either at Greeny's or Mossy's.

John was in the passenger seat next to Boyd. He was the quietest and most violent of the group and nobody knew much about him. He'd just appeared one day and latched onto them.

And then there were the two girls. Charlotte and Carla. Charlotte was Greeny's girl and Carla was Charlotte's best friend.

Carla loved spending time with Charlotte, but felt uncomfortable when the boys were around. She didn't have many close friends and accepted that time spent with Charlotte would mean spending time with Greeny and his friends.

John liked it when Carla was with them and spent most of the time eyeing her up.

As Boyd parked opposite the adventure playground in Doncaster Road he saw that it was empty. Normally there would be a gang of teenagers who he could intimidate, bully and prise cigarettes, drink, cash, drugs and anything else from.

The crack had kicked in and he was desperate for action.

He jumped out of the car and yelled to the others, "You comin' or what?" With that, the six youngsters followed Boyd towards Badock's Wood which was just beyond the playground.

"What's the plan?" asked Greeny.

"The plan is, my dear boy, we go into those woods and frighten the shit out of the first person we find."

The others looked at each other and grinned, apart from Carla who didn't want to be there and wished that she had stayed at home.

The woods were dark, and although the sun had not yet completely set, the canopy of trees prevented the remaining light from making its way through. The setting gave the place an air of mystery. Perfect thought Boyd.

He led the gang with John lagging behind, admiring Carla's rear.

The group of youths headed towards the woods and walked past a hill which was about a hundred yards to their right.

At the bottom of the hill Boyd saw a couple kissing.

He turned to the others, put his finger to his lips, whispered "sshhhhh" and signalled them to stop.

He whispered, "I'll go over and say hello to our new friends, and when things kick off, you lot come over and finish the job."

They smiled, with the exception of Carla and John. Carla was feeling increasingly uneasy, unlike John who never showed emotion. In fact none of the others had ever seen him smile.

Boyd approached the couple, who were unaware of his presence. He stopped and strained his eyes in the dimming light. Then he realised that he knew who the boy was.

Daniel Boyd and Ben Walker had attended Whitcroft Senior School. They had encountered each other only once during school and it was something that Boyd would never forget. The scenario of their encounter regularly repeated in his mind, like a DVD on loop.

\-----------------------------

Whitcroft Senior School

Bristol

February 2003

Boyd was fifteen and had achieved little since he'd become a teenager. He was someone that others would do their best to avoid.

One dull wet Monday morning he'd been intimidating a small boy called Jason, with the expectation that he would crease up in tears. Boyd was taken aback by Jason's determination to not give in to his bullying. A fight broke out and Jason gave as good as he got. Boyd's nose and lip were split and bleeding heavily. The pint-sized boy continued to battle against him but began to get weary. Boyd knocked him to the ground and continued the assault by kicking him when he was down.

A group of kids had formed a circle and were watching the fight.

Ben Walker walked across the school yard and heard the commotion. He strolled over and peered over the heads of the kids.

He couldn't let a small boy take such a beating. He had no idea why they were fighting, but decided enough was enough. He dropped his rucksack and pushed through the crowd, sending a couple of the kids to the ground. He grabbed the back of Boyd's hood and pulled him back, taking him by surprise. Then he restrained him by twisting his arm behind his back and yanking it as high as he could.

They were similar in height, but Ben was heavier and found it easy to hold Boyd back, allowing Jason to get up and dust himself off.

Ben made it clear to Boyd that he would be keeping an eye on him from then on, and if he was going to pick on anyone he should make sure he chose someone his own size.

Boyd struggled to get out of the arm lock, which was unbearably painful. He saw that the crowd who had gathered to watch the fight were laughing at him.

Many of the kids in the crowd had been his victims and were sick of his intimidation and bullying. Boyd was humiliated.

Ben let him go and gave him a long hard stare. Boyd was expecting Ben to knock him to the ground and was gearing up for this to happen. But Ben made no further moves, for which Boyd was grateful as he had no more strength, and his right arm was hurting far too much to be of any use.

Ben stooped down, calmly picked up his rucksack and slowly walked backwards away from Boyd without taking his eyes off him.

That morning Ben Walker became a minor school hero, but he wasn't interested in admiration.

Since then Daniel Boyd's bullying had diminished but it had not stopped.

That day sparked a hatred in Daniel Boyd and one day, he swore he would get revenge.

At first the need for payback consumed him, but after his expulsion the following month he focused less on what had happened that day. But deep inside a fire burned that was fuelled by a subconscious desire to severely hurt Ben Walker.

\-----------------------------

Boyd watched Ben kissing the girl. He stood in silence and stared. Memories of the fight at Whitcroft made their way to the forefront of his muddled mind as the drugs raced through his veins. He shuddered as anger infused with revenge.

He had one thing on his mind. Payback.

He had become a better fighter since he had left school, but he was no match for Ben. It didn't matter, he was on a mission to right a wrong that had been bubbling under for far too long.

Boyd slowly walked up to the couple, stopped and looked down on Ben whose eyes were closed as he kissed Liz.

He'd waited for this day for a very long time and had created many mental scenarios of how to deal with Ben. Now the time had come and the moment of revenge was minutes away, but he wasn't quite sure how to settle the score.

One thing he knew was that he wanted to see the whites of his eyes.

Would he remember me? thought Boyd. Perhaps Ben would not recollect their encounter back in secondary school.

He took a step closer and his feet were inches from the side of Ben's head. He coughed, as if he was deliberately clearing his throat.

Ben opened his eyes and stopped kissing Liz. He moved his head to one side to get a better view of the tall stranger standing over him.

Boyd had his hoody over his head and Ben had no idea who it was towering over him.

"Can I help you?" asked Ben nervously.

Boyd needed no excuse to fight, but felt he could not just launch into an attack on Ben, without him knowing his motive. He was confused and didn't know what to say and what he said next just came out. It was the sort of thing he would have said back in the school yard.

"Are you doggin' me up?" he asked in his slurred east Bristol accent.

"What?" replied Ben, as he climbed to his feet.

Liz got up and nervously stood to one side.

"You heard me," and he repeated, but this time with elaboration, "you've been dogging me up and you want a fight."

Ben had no intention of fighting. He wasn't scared, it was just a principle thing. He hated fights and always had done.

Boyd was determined to goad him into throwing the first punch. He had contrived a theory years before which was if your opponent threw the first punch, then in the eyes of the law you would be seen as defending yourself and therefore innocent.

Ben and Boyd were eighteen inches apart. Boyd pulled the hood from his head to allow Ben to recognise him.

Ben stared at him. Recognition was not instant as he looked at Boyd's sickly face. His appearance had changed since school. He looked ill, drawn and worthless. He was sporting a lame attempt at a beard which was sprouting irregularly about his face.

Ben was trying to gather his thoughts. Who is this person and what does he want with me?

Again Boyd repeated, "You've been doggin' me up, why are you doggin' me up?"

"I've not been doggin' you up, I've been kind of busy doing my own thing." Ben calmly replied.

When Boyd heard him speak he remembered how composed and unruffled he had been that day at school. And he was the same now.

His rage was escalating, and because he could not get Ben to fight, it was making the matter worse.

Ben stood facing him waiting for Boyd's next move. Ben's fists were clenched waiting in readiness.

Boyd was confused. He wasn't sure what to do next.

He turned to hit Liz. His hurried plan was that Ben would have to retaliate to protect the girl. This would give Boyd the excuse to thrash him.

Boyd swung around to throw a punch at Liz. But before he knew what was happening, Liz had effortlessly blocked his punch which caused him to lose balance. He felt a striking jolt to his solar plexus as she landed a precise hit which brought him down. He was taken off guard.

Ben quickly moved over and sat on him, using his weight to prevent him from getting back up.

It was only now that Ben Walker recognised Daniel Boyd as the school bully whose reputation he had thwarted six years earlier.

"NOW" screamed Boyd at the top of his lungs. His voice was muted because Ben was sitting across his chest.

"NOW, GET OVER HERE NOW" he screamed again.

This time the others heard him. Greeny, Seb and Mossy ran over and started attacking Ben by continuously kicking him. Ben recoiled allowing Boyd to get back up whilst holding his hand against the pain in his chest which had been inflicted by Liz.

Boyd watched as the three boys repeatedly kicked Ben, who had no chance of getting up and was becoming disoriented.

Liz was yelling for them to stop, but they carried on.

John strolled slowly towards the fracas with a disinterested swagger.

Carla had witnessed the boys fighting before, but this was different. She ran towards Liz with an idea that the two of them could diffuse the situation and end the fight.

Liz saw Carla running towards her screaming and when she was close enough she instinctively threw her to the ground.

For the first time John showed emotion. Seeing Carla being thrown like a rag doll incensed him. He walked up to Liz, who in the confusion had not seen him coming, and delivered a sharp blow to the back of her head.

She dropped to the ground and John stood over her.

The next thing she heard was John yelling at her in a rage. He was ranting and raving and making no sense. She lay on her side and helplessly watched the three teenagers attack Ben. All she could see was a blur of feet kicking him. Their eyes met and Ben looked too weak and powerless to defend himself. She tried to get to her feet, but was stopped by John who landed another blow to her head with the sole of his boot.

In the short space of time since Boyd had started the fight, it seemed like so many things had happened. The memory of the school yard fight came flooding back to him. This was the second fight he'd had with Ben Walker and it was the second time that Walker had humiliated him. Not only that, he had been hit to the ground by a girl.

His mind was a mess of confused emotions. He pulled the hoody over his head and walked around with his head down.

He was walking in circles with his hands in his pockets when he noticed a rock on the ground. He picked it up. It was heavier than he'd expected it to be.

The rock was large and he needed to hold it with both hands. He examined it and turned it over. One side was spherical and had a rough texture which made it easy for him to grip. The other side was sharp and jagged. He ran his fingers over the jagged side sensing the sharp and irregular points. He felt a stinging pain as one of the points on the sharp side of the rock cut his hand causing it to bleed.

Perfect, he thought, as a dry smile of anticipation spread across his face.

Boyd turned around and slowly returned to the bottom of the hill where the fights were continuing.

Lost in deep thought, he had not noticed that John was relentlessly attacking Liz by kicking her with slow powerful thrusts as regular as a swinging pendulum. Each time he kicked, her body lurched an inch closer to the hill. If Boyd had noticed, it would not have concerned him as he had his own score to settle.

Seb, Mossy and Greeny stood away from Ben when they saw Boyd move towards them with the rock. Loose fragments of grit irritated the cut on his hand, but it didn't bother him, in fact it enhanced the moment.

Boyd positioned himself over Ben and looked into his tired eyes. Boyd's head moved from side to side as he took time to savour the moment. Ben was conscious after the beating but was too weak to do anything other than look up at Boyd, whose legs were astride him.

Boyd raised the rock above his head and held it firmly with both hands, gripping the spherical side with the jagged side directly over Ben's head.

Ben knew what was going to happen next and there was nothing he could do about it.

Liz was only just conscious when John had stopped his attack on her to watch Boyd. She was aware enough of what was happening to know that Ben was in terrible danger and there was nothing she could do to help him.

Her bleary and tearful eyes absorbed Boyd's features. She looked at his dreadfully haggard face and colourless skin. Boyd stood over Ben with the rock held above his head and she knew what his intention was. She was about to witness the death of a beautiful young person before she'd a chance to really know him.

As hard as she tried to fight it, Liz found herself becoming less aware of her surroundings. It was difficult to focus on either Boyd or Ben. They were becoming a blur and she was falling in and out of consciousness. Slowly her eyes closed as she was robbed of awareness.

Boyd dropped the rock and Ben instinctively brought his left arm in front of his face, deflecting the rock as it crashed onto his wrist, smashing and stopping his watch.

Boyd picked up the rock and assumed the same position. This time he slammed it into Ben's face knocking him out.

He retrieved the rock for a third and final time and held it high above his head. Then, lowering the rock, he moved close to Ben's bloodied face and spat in his hair. He resumed his position, holding the rock above his head. He summoned all the strength he could to deliver the final blow.

The rock crashed down upon Ben's skull like a ball launched from a cannon. The dull thud of the impact could be heard by all who were there. Ben's forehead fractured as the rock and his cranium became a fused mix of bone, blood, stone and grey matter.

Ben's murder was followed by silence. What happened next brought all of them back to their senses.

"Run, it's the police!" screamed Carla at the top of her lungs pointing towards the entrance of the woods.

Seb, Greeny and Mossy ran to the depths of the woods, quickly followed by the rest. Even John was running.

Adrenaline-charged heavy breathing was all that could be heard as seven pairs of feet stampeded, crashing through the undergrowth. It had been fight or flight as soon as Carla had shouted 'police'.

When they reached the far side of the woods by the Lakewood Road entrance, everyone stopped. Seb and Mossy had unbearable cramp and Charlotte was sick on the path.

Carla hadn't seen the police. Shouting 'police' was her knee jerk reaction to end what was happening. Although it was too late for the boy - she knew he was dead - her quick thinking would hopefully save the girl's life.

After regrouping and discussing their options, they agreed to leave Badock's Wood and make their way home separately.

Ben's corpse lay at the bottom of the hill with Liz nearby. She was barely alive. Her almost undetectable shallow breathing was the only sign.

Ben's broken watch had stopped at 9.56 pm, precisely one minute before his young life had so violently and quickly ended.

### Chapter three

Bristol Maternity Hospital

9.31pm

Sunday 6th September 2009

Maria Jameson lay on her back in the delivery suite, and was now in the active labour phase.

She had been admitted forty eight hours earlier, when she was ten days overdue, but felt as though she had been in hospital for a week. This morning she'd been induced.

On Friday her nerves were on edge. Over the past months she'd made herself sick worrying about giving birth and now she was desperate to get it over and done with.

Maria's mother Claire, and her best friend Samreen, were by her side.

She was to be a single mum. Her long term partner Rob had left her the day she'd told him that she was pregnant. She had been devastated when he'd upped sticks. She'd considered terminating the pregnancy, but was talked out of it by her friends. Claire was initially disappointed with how things had turned out for her daughter but now she was happy that Maria had decided to keep the baby.

The initial shock of Maria's announcement soon faded and Claire was looking forward to becoming a grandmother. A new baby would be the perfect antidote to help fill the void left when her husband, and Maria's father, Christopher, had died the previous year.

Maria, a twenty-six year old fiery red head, had a great job with Westhouse Marketing in Bristol.

She'd graduated from the University of York with a first in Business Studies and was quickly picked out by Westhouse during a graduate recruitment drive.

She had slotted into her role of business analysis manager effortlessly, and enjoyed leading her team. She had made many friends since working there and enjoyed the social side of Westhouse.

This was where she'd met Rob, who had been brought in as an IT consultant.

Rob and Maria had become an item and seemed the perfect couple and were even discussing plans to move in together. His contract with Westhouse had been for a year, and although he had been offered an extension, he had decided to move on to pastures new.

Her boss hoped that she would return full time after maternity leave as she had become an invaluable member of his team. But now her priorities had shifted and her future with Westhouse was uncertain. She knew she would have to return at some point because of the agreement tied in with Westhouse's generous maternity package, but her focus was now on being a mum and not working full time.

She'd given up trying to contact Rob months ago when it became apparent that he'd not be part of her future. She had considered herself a good judge of character and had mentally beaten herself up over the last nine months over how wrong she had been concerning her judgement of him.

Maria and her mother were exceptionally close, even more so since they had lost Christopher. They had become more like sisters than mother and daughter.

The pregnancy had gone well. She had decided not to find out the sex of the baby because she wanted it to be a surprise.

The past two days of pacing up and down the corridors seemed to have gone on forever, but now Maria felt everything was happening much too fast. She was excited, scared and worried as those and a dozen other emotions raced around her mind.

Her legs were now in the birthing stirrups and the obstetrician was telling her that her cervix had dilated to ten centimetres. Now was the time.

With the midwife in position, and Claire and Samreen providing the obligatory encouragement, Maria pushed with all her might.

And she pushed and she pushed. She held tightly to her mother's hand, squeezing it so hard that Claire flinched with pain.

"I can see the baby's head," said the midwife in her calm 'I've seen it all before' tone of voice. "Keep going darling, you're doing amazingly."

Claire and Samreen were shouting 'push' in unison. Maria was moaning, joining the throng of other mothers-to-be in the delivery suites along the corridor.

All of a sudden the baby slid out, like a bar of soap slipping from a wet hand. The midwife swiftly cut the umbilical cord. The baby was whisked away to the corner of the suite where all the usual medical checks were done and the weight was recorded.

The midwife looked at the clock on the wall which was showing 9.58pm. She recorded the time as 10.00pm precisely. However, the moment Maria's baby was born was actually 9.57pm. Three minutes earlier than the time noted by the midwife.

Samreen slumped in a chair in the delivery suite. She was worn out. She couldn't imagine how Maria was feeling. She glanced at the clock on the wall and saw that the time was just before 10.

The baby was quickly returned to Maria, as the midwife gently laid it on her chest. The little pink face rolled its tired blue eyes as it quickly adapted to a new world outside of Maria's womb.

Maria held the baby close. She was in a state of emotional bliss. She had never felt so happy, as tears of elation rolled down her cheeks.

"Don't you want to know what you've got?" enquired the midwife. Maria looked at her in puzzlement.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" asked her mother.

Maria pulled back the little blanket which was keeping the baby warm and looked between its legs. She looked at her mother and replied softly, "he's a little boy."

Maria already knew the name she had for him.

Maria beamed as she posed for pictures with baby Christopher. Phone calls were made as relatives and friends were told of the good news. Both Claire and Samreen's phones were pinging as text after text were being sent as the news got around.

Despite all the excitement and high emotion Maria felt a pang of emptiness because of the absence of Christopher's father. As much as she appreciated Samreen being by her side, it was Rob who should be here sharing this moment. She quickly dismissed the thought and focused her attention on her beautiful little boy.

After She had attempted breast feeding, the midwife suggested they should all have something to eat and ordered tea and toast for everyone.

Christopher slept in a little plastic cot alongside Maria as she, Samreen and Claire quietly ate toast. The midwife returned to the delivery ward to collect something she had left behind. She was hurrying to the door on the way to the next delivery when Maria asked her a question.

"Why isn't Christopher crying?"

Since he had been born just under an hour ago he had hardly made a sound, only the occasional whimper like a kitten.

"Don't worry," replied the midwife as she stood at the door, "this happens a lot." Pausing, she looked at her and, with a reassuring smile, said she was sure that Christopher would, without any doubt, find his voice.

No one in the room could know how true her words would turn out to be.

### Chapter four

Badock's Wood

9.54pm

Sunday 6th September

Boyd dropped the rock on Ben's face, which he deflected with his arm. He could barely comprehend what was happening as Boyd stood over him with the rock held high for the second time. He felt no pain as it crashed onto his skull. The impact had instantly knocked him unconscious.

Boyd was not sure whether he was alive, but he was taking no chances so he sent the rock crashing down for a third and final time.

He knew he'd finished the job and Ben Walker was dead. His physical presence no longer had a right to exist in this world.

His body lay at the bottom of the hill, bent and twisted, and his shattered face was barely recognisable.

In the instant that Ben's life had ended, something new began to evolve.

An Awareness started to develop.

An Awareness devoid of physical senses. It could not see, it could not hear, it could not smell, it could not touch and it could not taste ............but it did exist.

The Awareness had a presence and it had a right to belong.......to exist.

The Awareness lasted a fraction of a second........and then it was gone.

### Chapter five

Badock's Wood

6.26am

Monday 7th September

The emergency services had been alerted by a woman walking her dog.

When the ambulance crew arrived they'd assumed they were dealing with two bodies but discovered that the girl was breathing. She was admitted to Southmead Hospital which was just minutes away from where she had been found.

It had been a miracle that she was alive. She'd been found on a September morning and during the night the temperature had dropped unseasonably to six degrees. The paramedics were amazed that she had not died from exposure let alone from whatever had caused the horrific bruises on her body.

The young man's body had made a chill run through those who had seen it. Many had seen a dead body before, but not many had seen the aftermath of an act so brutal. The area was cordoned off and declared a crime scene.

Detective Chief Inspector Markland Garraway was assigned to the case of murder and attempted murder.

Garraway's caseload was already at breaking point. Detective Inspector Tom Strawbridge should have been heading up the Walker murder, but his wife rang earlier that morning to say he wouldn't be working for the foreseeable future. It seemed that Strawbridge had experienced some kind of mental breakdown. A couple of hours after midnight he'd begun rocking back and forth, holding his head in his hands whilst quietly sobbing. His wife had been so worried she'd called the 'out of hours' doctor who eventually arrived and prescribed a sedative. The sedative had the opposite effect and he had become violent towards his wife and the doctor. The doctor had called the police for assistance. Strawbridge had been admitted to hospital at just after four o'clock on Monday morning. When he awoke he had no recollection of what had happened, and had no idea why he was there. The doctors were baffled by what had happened. Tom Strawbridge had a reputation as a level headed, calm and collected Detective Inspector and had never caved in under pressure. He didn't have a particularly large caseload and wasn't under stress either at work or at home. He was desperate to return to work, but the doctor had signed him off until he was fit to return to duty.

Garraway had been a detective for far too long. He had solved many cases and seen so many murders he was almost void of emotion. But there was something about this case which had struck a chord. Something about the murder seemed different. He wasn't sure whether it was two young people that made the difference. Or was it the surroundings? There was something about the place where the young man died that felt strange.

Garraway stood over the forensic scientists who were examining the rock embedded in the head of the body. He placed a foot on the base of the slope and leant forward to get a closer look. As he did so, he felt the urge to vomit. He moved away from the area and was sick behind a tree.

"Are you OK, sir?" asked Sergeant Colin Matthews.

"Yes, I'm fine," replied Garraway. "I've probably eaten too much breakfast."

"If you are unwell sir, I am sure someone else can be assigned to the case."

"No, no Matthews, I'm fine, come on we've a lot of work to do."

The sickness passed, but had left him feeling faint with an aching in his arms and legs.

Garraway and Matthews had worked together for just over eighteen months and made a good team, although at times they didn't see eye to eye and had differing approaches to work. Matthews did everything by the book whilst Garraway was more open minded, some might say maverick.

Garraway was fifty two and Matthews was a mere boy at thirty four. They both wore suits, but Garraway's broad shoulders and sturdy frame carried it off better than Matthews. Matthews' diet of microwave meals and takeaways was beginning to take its toll. He was one of those men who seemed to have an inability to keep his shirt tucked in. Perhaps if he had a good woman in his life, as did Garraway, he would care more about his appearance.

Matthews handed Garraway a tissue which he used to wipe his mouth. They returned to the body and knelt alongside the team who were busy doing their thing.

"What can you tell us?" asked Garraway.

"Not a lot," replied Gillian West who was leading the forensics team. "We obviously have the murder weapon," as she pointed to the rock.

"I'm pleased to see the constabulary are getting their money's worth," he replied sarcastically.

West ignored his comment. "It's about all we do have," she continued. "We do know that there were at least three or four involved because of the multiple bruising on the body and on the girl, also the ground has been heavily disturbed."

"Do they have names?" asked Matthews.

"That's something we do know. The girl is Elizabeth Mason, and the boy was Benjamin Walker...... and there's something else, he was one of ours."

"He was a police officer?" asked Garraway.

"He was a PCSO."

"What a terrible waste of a human life." said Garraway under his breath.

"So whoever attacked them didn't take their ID?" asked Matthews.

"Not only their ID, they didn't take money or valuables."

"So it wasn't a mugging gone wrong."

"No, it doesn't look that way."

"It looks like there were a few attacking the boy." she continued. "There are boot marks all over his body and they are from at least two different pairs of boots."

"And the girl?" asked Garraway.

"We don't know yet, she was rushed to Southmead before we had time to examine her."

"Ahh!" exclaimed Garraway.

It was only eight thirty in the morning but Garraway was frustrated that there was so little evidence. He knew that even if the murderer or murderers weren't wearing gloves, the chances of finding prints on the rock were slim. The rock had no smooth edges where a fingerprint could be left. If the murderer had used a nice smooth piece of granite then it would be covered in prints.

An hour later the woods were teeming with police officers looking for clues. The highly trained search officers were everywhere. Random objects were bagged and recorded, but so far nothing particularly noteworthy had been found.

Matthews organised door to door enquiries. Officers were knocking on all the neighbouring houses.

There was a school two hundred yards from where the murder took place. Garraway decided to pay a visit in case anyone had been working there the night before. He knew it was a long shot as the murder happened on Sunday night or early on Monday morning. He spoke with the deputy headmaster who told him the only one who was likely to have been there was the caretaker, Doug Plummer.

Garraway was introduced to Doug who took him to his little office. Garraway sat in the only chair whilst Doug leant against the wall.

"I was in school yesterday," said Doug, "I was here between about five and seven."

"Why were you in on Sunday?" asked Garraway.

"Because the girls' showers were leaking and they needed fixing before Monday............. and if you didn't already know, today is the first day of the new school year.............are you accusing me, Mr Garraway?"

"No, no, not at all. Did you see or hear anything suspicious yesterday?"

"No, not a thing, other than the kids in the adventure playground I don't recall seeing anyone and the kids had gone by the time I left the school."

Garraway thanked him, gave him his card asking him to call if he did remember anything.

"I think it's disgusting," said Doug as Garraway turned to leave the cramped office.

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said I think it's disgusting that the school should open when such an awful thing has happened. The kids can see everything from their classrooms."

Garraway nodded and sighed. "As you say Mr Plummer, it's the start of the new school year."

He thanked him again and left the school.

The door to door enquiries carried out by the police officers yielded no significant information. The locals were scared, and worried that this had happened on their doorsteps. Only one person had reported something that might be of use. A woman walking her dog had seen a group of youths walking away from the Lakewood Road end of the woods. She had taken little notice and wasn't able to give a good description.

Just after ten, Matthews and Garraway met in a nearby cafe and discussed whatever information they had found. Both agreed they had nothing to go on.

"How's the girl?" asked Garraway.

"Not good, she's critical and in intensive care. I doubt if she'll be much help for the time being."

Garraway's phone rang. It was Gillian West calling from the forensics lab.

"I think I might have something."

"We're on our way," he replied, as he and Matthews grabbed their jackets and left the cafe.

Twenty minutes later they were waiting for her in her office. She entered the room with three mugs of coffee. Garraway and Matthews were grateful for the drinks as the two they had ordered in the cafe were left to go cold in the rush to get to her lab.

"What's the boggle?" asked Matthews. West looked at him blankly.

"He means what can you tell us?" explained Garraway.

She smiled, "as you may remember, the rock found embedded in Ben Walker's head had a jagged side, which was the section of the rock that laid to rest in his skull, the other side of the rock was rounded and fairly smooth. The smooth side was the part of the rock the murderer was holding."

"Are there any fingerprints on the rock?" asked Matthews.

"No, but there is a blood stain."

"Interesting," said Garraway.

"I'm waiting for Collins to call me with the results but I'm pretty sure that the stain on the smooth side of the rock won't be Ben Walker's blood."

"If you're right Gillian, it doesn't necessarily mean it's the murderer's blood, but at least it's something, as we have very little to go on just now."

Matthews stretched, yawned and was just about to speak when Gillian's phone rang.

"That was Collins from the lab, and he's confirmed the blood stain isn't Ben Walker's."

"Good work," said Garraway, "but as I just said, it could be a blood stain belonging to anybody. Let me know when you've run it through the DNA database."

"Collins is already on it."

"Is there any news from the pathologist?" asked Matthews.

"Not yet," replied West. "We won't know the outcome of the autopsy for a while."

Garraway stood up. "OK, I'm off to do some thinking. Matthews you head over to Southmead Hospital and see if you can find out anything about the girl, and Gillian, I'll speak to you tomorrow, unless you have any more news this afternoon."

\-----------------------------

Markland Garraway was born in Kilchoan, a tiny village on the west coast of Scotland. When he was two his family moved to Ullapool, where his father worked as a fisherman. After eight years his father started working in the construction industry and had to go where the money was. For the next few years, Markland and his parents moved around Scotland and England from one building contract to the next, eventually ending up in Bristol where his father found steady and well-paid work. Because of constantly being on the move Markland found it difficult to make friends which made him something of a loner for the rest of his life.

He married Joan when he was twenty six, the same year he became a police officer. They soon started a family and were blessed with two daughters.

When he became a detective, Joan considered herself a police widow because of the long and unsociable hours, but stood by her husband like the loyal wife she was.

He didn't have much time for hobbies, although he enjoyed cricket and had a fascination for UFOs ever since seeing something amazing over the skies of Ullapool when he was nine. Since then he had read book after book on the subject and the fascination was still with him today. Perhaps this was the reason he was so open minded. Having an open mind had helped him solve cases which otherwise may have ended up on the 'pending' pile. Behind his back some of his colleagues referred to him as 'spooky' Garraway, but never to his face. At six foot three inches tall, few would want to see his angry side.

\-----------------------------

Garraway made his way back to the crime scene. When investigating a murder, he often found that spending time at the scene on his own cleared his mind and allowed him to concentrate.

He made his way to the hill and saw PCs Carter and Fleming patrolling the area making sure that nothing was disturbed. The hill had been cordoned off with police tape. He ducked under the tape and stood where Ben Walker's body had been found. It was three thirty in the afternoon, but it felt a lot later.

Small talk was exchanged between Garraway and the constables. He preferred them not to be there as their presence interrupted his thoughts. He scrambled his way to the top of the hill to survey the area. For the first time he was taken in by the beauty of the woods. He listened to the sound of the trees swaying in the gentle breeze. A few birds were calling and he could hear the children in the nearby school. Perhaps Doug Plummer was right when he said the school shouldn't have opened today.

He sat his large frame down and closed his eyes. All of a sudden he was overwhelmed with a feeling of nausea. He held his head in his hands and waited for the feeling to pass. Unlike this morning, he wasn't sick. The nausea began to fade and was replaced by something else. He lay flat on the hill, with his eyes gently closed and the feeling turned into a sensation like something was trying to get his attention. It was the same feeling when he knew someone was watching him. It wasn't a bad feeling, but it was unsettling. The feeling slowly left him and he sat up. Opening his eyes he saw the two officers looking at him. Perhaps this was why he'd felt the sensation of someone looking at him.

"Is everything alright sir?" asked Carter.

"Everything's fine thank you," replied Garraway as he made his way down the hill.

"I was just taking a moment."

"If you ask me, this place gives me the willies," added Fleming helpfully.

"Yes, I know what you mean."

Walking back to the car he felt a crunching in his neck. He massaged the back of his head and thought about what had just happened. Shaking his head he continued back to his black Audi A5 which was parked nearby on Doncaster Road. He climbed in, started the engine and pulled away, carefully avoiding a badly parked silver Toyota Previa.

### Chapter six

Southmead Hospital

Monday 7th September

Earlier that day

Matthews had been waiting in the reception area of the Intensive Care Unit for half an hour. He was fighting a losing battling with a vending machine. The machine had been happy enough to take his money, but was not so forthcoming with the goods. He was starving and could have walked to the café at the hospital, but he didn't want to risk the chance of missing the intensive care consultant who had been dealing with Elizabeth Mason.

Just as he was about to tilt the machine, Dr Robert Clarke entered reception.

Clarke offered his hand. "Sergeant Matthews, sorry to keep you waiting, it's been a rather busy day."

"Can I see Elizabeth?" asked Matthews.

"I would prefer if you didn't, sergeant. She's not awake, so there's nothing she can help you with right now, plus her parents are at her bedside and as you can imagine, they're rather distraught."

"Is there anything you can tell me?"

"Only about her injuries. When she was brought in, she was suffering internal bleeding, she has a number of broken ribs and has taken a severe beating to her head." Clarke paused for a second and then continued, "she is suffering an intracranial injury and so as you may appreciate, it may be some time until she is able to talk to you."

Matthews nodded. He removed a card from his wallet and handed it to the consultant.

"I would be grateful if you could call me as soon as she comes round."

"To be honest with you, after what this girl has been through, I think she would prefer to forget whatever took place last night."

Matthews thanked the consultant and turned to walk out.

"Sergeant, I almost forgot," Clarke walked behind the reception desk and came back with a neatly folded pile of clothes wrapped in polythene.

"I thought your people would be needing these," he said as he handed the package to Matthews.

"It's the clothes she was wearing when she was admitted this morning."

"That's very forward thinking of you," said Matthews as he took the clothes from the consultant.

"I am very surprised one of your highly paid detectives didn't think of asking me for these earlier."

Idiot thought Matthews as he walked away.

### Chapter seven

Avon and Somerset Police

Kenneth Steele House

The Incident Room

4.12pm

Monday 7th September

Garraway parked his car outside the newly opened building which housed the incident rooms. The red brick building nestled amongst nondescript office complexes on a business estate. The building boasted four fully-equipped major incident rooms, briefing facilities and meeting quarters.

Garraway entered incident room number two. The large office was teeming with detectives, police officers and civilian staff. He strolled the thoroughfare between desks and chairs, at the same time stepping over files which littered the floor. Health and Safety would have a field day he thought. He walked up to Sally Johnson and Andy Warrington, the Major Crime Investigation Officers, who were busy collating the information they had.

"The board's pretty empty," said Garraway.

"We know," replied Warrington, "there's not much we have to put on it yet, it's early days."

Garraway knew he was right. The crime had been reported less than 12 hours ago, but he was secretly hoping that by now they would have found someone who had seen or heard something.

Garraway spotted an early edition of the Bristol Post on a desk. As he'd expected, the case had made front page news. There had been requests for him to talk to the local media, but he didn't want to speak to the public just yet. It was far too early. The requests had been deftly dealt with by the Police Department News and Information Team. He knew that before long there would be a press conference. He hated those things, but appreciated how important they were, as a well written announcement to the public often yielded useful information.

He felt tired. It had been a long day and feeling sick earlier didn't help. He slumped in a chair and picked up the newspaper. The front page had a colour photograph of the crime scene. PCs Carter and Fleming were in the picture looking expressionless and the forensics team were in the rear of the image doing their thing. Dominating the picture was the hill. He stared at it and thought about the strange feeling that came over him earlier.

He rubbed his face and yawned.

"You look knackered, if you don't mind me saying, sir," said Warrington.

Garraway looked at him and smiled. "I'm not feeling my best."

"Why don't you head home?" suggested Johnson.

"I think maybe I will. Call me if anything comes up." He stood up, looked around and then left the office.

### Chapter eight

The Foundation

7pm

Monday 7th September

Daniel Boyd had called a meeting. He'd sent texts to Seb, Greeny and Mossy and asked them to contact John, Carla and Charlotte so all would be present. Seb replied saying that no one had John's number. In fact no one had ever seen him use a phone, so perhaps he didn't have one. Greeny had sent a message to Charlotte, but it had been pending delivery and eventually returned unsent. Her phone must have been turned off. Greeny didn't have Carla's number, he had never needed to contact her.

No one spoke as the four of them stood in the doorway of the Foundation looking tired and scared. Eventually Mossy turned to Boyd and asked him what the plan was. Boyd had been thinking hard about what to do. All he cared about was not getting caught.

"The plan is, if any of us get picked up by The Bill, then we don't grass on each other."

"Is that it, is that the plan?" shouted Greeny. Boyd stared down at him.

"That works well for you" Greeny continued, "you're the one who bloody killed him and why the fuck did you do that any way, what's the matter with you?"

Boyd pinned him against a wall. "How do you know it wasn't you kicking the shit out of him that didn't kill him in the first place?"

Greeny stared at Boyd and said nothing.

"You two need to keep your voices down. If anyone hears you shouting your mouths off, then we've all had it," said Mossy.

Boyd let go of Greeny who slumped against the wall.

"Danny's right," said Seb. "We all need to look out for each other and if any of us get picked up we gotta keep schtum."

"I'm scared," said Mossy, "I mean really scared." He was the first to admit it. "I don't know how I got myself mixed up in all of this."

"Well you seemed happy enough kicking seven bells of shit out of him last night," said Greeny.

"Look," said Seb, "the best thing to do is lose contact with each other, like we never knew each other. Delete all contacts from our phones, block each other on Facebook and never see each other again."

Seb waited for someone to say something, but no one did. "It's the only way."

"What about the girls?" asked Boyd.

"Well I don't think Charlotte will want anything to do with me again and I don't suppose Carla will either."

"Why did Carla shout 'police' last night? There were no police." asked Seb.

"Dunno," said Greeny, "I guess she thought she saw them."

It seemed a simple enough plan and they had convinced one another that nothing could go wrong. They had seen no one in the woods and the nearby adventure playground had been empty, so there had been no witnesses. If Carla had seen the police then it would have been 'game over' by now. They hoped that the girls were as scared as they were and would keep quiet about the whole thing. Greeny said he would keep trying to contact Charlotte to let her know about the plan.

As for John, they just had to hope for the best.

And that was it. They went their separate ways and wouldn't see each other again for three years.

### Chapter nine

The Incident Room

9.30am

Tuesday 8th September

Garraway answered his phone when he saw it was Gillian West calling.

"What have you got for me?"

"Good morning to you too," replied West sarcastically.

Garraway apologised and she continued. "It's not great news. We've heard back from the lab and we can't match the DNA from the blood on the rock to anyone on file."

"So perhaps the rock was handled by someone before the murder, someone else who inadvertently got their blood on the rock and was nothing to do with what happened," suggested Garraway.

"I think not, there's something else. I've seen the pathologist report and there aren't any great surprises about how Ben Walker died, it was definitely the rock that killed him, but the pathologist found something we didn't expect."

"Carry on," said Garraway in an inquisitive tone.

"The pathologist found saliva in Ben Walker's hair."

"Saliva?" replied Garraway, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, saliva,"

Garraway said nothing, pressuring her to continue.

"The pathologist took it upon himself to get a DNA report on the saliva and unfortunately it doesn't match anyone we know but.......... it does match the blood found on the rock."

Garraway stood in silence and thought about what she had just told him.

"Thank you Gillian, how extremely interesting." He asked her to email the pathologist report, thanked her again and hung up.

Just as Garraway finished the conversation, Matthews entered the incident room with a package under his arm.

"Good morning Matthews, late night was it?" asked Garraway as he looked at the clock on the wall. Matthews ignored his remark and sat down at the desk. Garraway told him the news he'd just heard from West.

"Excellent sir. So we definitely have DNA to match to the killer."

"Yes we do. The only thing is we don't have a killer to match the DNA."

"Well that could all change sir, I've just been informed of a stolen vehicle, a Toyota Previa which was taken on Sunday night from the High Street in Kingswood."

"And, how does the stolen Previa help us?"

"It's been found sir, and it's been found on Doncaster Road. A resident was suspicious as she didn't recognise it, and it had been badly parked......... the resident is part of The Neighbourhood Watch."

"Thank the Lord for The Neighbourhood Watch!" exclaimed Garraway with his hands in the air.

"And, the owner of the stolen car said he saw the thief drive off in the vehicle," continued Matthews.

"Did he get a good look?"

"Apparently no, not a great look, the thief was wearing a hoody so most of his face was concealed."

Garraway nodded thoughtfully.

"Forensics are dusting it for prints and after that they'll be over the vehicle with a fine tooth comb."

"Perhaps now we're getting somewhere," said Garraway hopefully.

Matthews smiled.

He put down the package given to him by Dr Clarke the day before.

"It's the girl's clothes."

"Thank you Matthews. Let's hope Gillian's team can find something useful."

"What's the name of the owner of the Previa?" asked Garraway.

Matthews looked in his notebook, "It's a Mr Paul Jackson, sir."

"I think we need to speak with Mr Jackson, see if there is anything else he can remember about the theft."

"I'm on it," replied Matthews.

Later that morning Garraway and Matthews were in Paul Jackson's office. Jackson was an accountant running a small business in Fishponds in the east of the city.

"So, two detectives are interested in my car, eh?" said Jackson. "I wish the police were more interested in dealing with it when I reported it stolen," he continued.

"Perhaps it wouldn't have been stolen in the first place if you hadn't left the keys in the ignition and the engine running," replied Garraway in a calm, yet smug tone.

Jackson looked embarrassed, "I was in a bit of a rush, and I wasn't thinking," he replied, knowing how stupid he had been.

"Anyway," continued Garraway, "as you have probably heard there was a murder close to where your vehicle was found. This may be coincidence, or the murderer or murderers could have stolen your car and driven it to Badock's Wood."

Jackson sat in silence.

"Is there anything you remember about the person who stole your car?" asked Matthews.

"I've already been through all of this with the police officer earlier this morning."

"We know," continued Matthews, "but the police officer was taking a statement because your car had been stolen, whereas we're investigating a murder and there is a possibility you saw the murderer."

"OK, but I can only tell you what I told him."

Jackson went over the whole story again, trying his hardest to recall the thief's face, but his description was as vague as it had been when he'd described Daniel Boyd to the officer earlier that day.

Garraway and Matthews had no further questions for Jackson and stood up to leave.

"When do I get my car back?"

"That depends," replied Matthews, "forensics are currently checking your car for fingerprints and anything else they can find, and if it can be linked to the murder of Ben Walker, we may need to keep it for some time."

Jackson looked dispirited. "Good luck with the fingerprints."

Garraway and Matthews stopped and looked at him.

"My Previa will be teeming with them, I've just returned from the New Forest with a group of Boy Scouts, their fingerprints will be everywhere."

They thanked him and left the office.

As they walked to the car park behind Jackson's office, Garraway's phone rang.

"It's Gillian West," he said as he looked at his phone.

"Hello Gillian, good news I hope," said Garraway in a mock cheery voice.

"It's the girl's clothes, we've had a chance to check them over and the first thing we know is that whoever was kicking Ben Walker, and we know there were a few involved, were not involved in kicking Elizabeth Mason."

"How do you know this?"

"The boot marks on the girl's clothes are different to the ones on the boy's, also there are only one set of marks on the girl's whilst there are at least three sets of boot marks on the boy's."

Garraway stood beside his car and took in what West was telling him.

"So it looks like the killer and the person who attacked Elizabeth are two different people."

"Unless, the killer's boot marks weren't on Ben's body, but for some reason he decided to lay the boot in on the girl," replied Gillian.

"It doesn't add up. Why would so many different people attack and kill one person, whilst only one person attacked the other?"

"I've no idea, that's your job."

"Thank you for reminding me of that," said Garraway as he ended the call.

More useful information was turning up, but there was nothing concrete.

Garraway decided to visit the adventure playground on Doncaster Road. Doug, the caretaker in the nearby school had told him that he had left the school around seven o'clock the night of the murder. Garraway knew that the murder had probably happened closer to ten, which was the time Ben Walker's watch had stopped.

So if Doug Plummer had left the school when he did, he wouldn't have known if there were any kids in the playground at or around the time the murder happened.

He parked in the same place as he had the previous day.

It was 4pm and there were youths hanging around the adventure playground.

Garraway walked into the play area which was well equipped with climbing frames, Tarzan ropes and sandpits. It looked as though the council had pumped a lot of cash into the playground and most of the equipment looked new.

He stopped and surveyed the area. There were around 20 kids, all boys, who looked to be between 14 and 19. Some were hanging around in groups chatting, others where smoking, one or two were drinking cans of beer and one was on his own by the fence playing keepy uppy.

The youths looked at Garraway warily. The boys who were drinking put down the cans and shuffled awkwardly. Garraway had no interest in underage drinkers.

He walked towards the largest group of youths. There were five of them who were slowly turning on a roundabout looking particularly aloof.

"I imagine you all know about the incident which took place on Sunday evening."

Some of them nodded, one grunted and the other two just stared at him with a look of indifference.

Garraway raised his voice so he could be heard by the other groups dotted around the playground.

"Were any of you here, or near the woods on Sunday night, say between nine and ten pm?"

No one replied. Garraway stood moving his head slowly around the playground to emphasise that he was talking to all of them.

He felt his authority amounted to nothing as the entire group of youngsters' perused him with little regard to his position as a detective.

"We're good boys mister, and we're all home and in bed by eight thirty," said one cocky lad with a smirk on his face.

Garraway nodded slowly. "Very well, but if any of you did see or hear anything, and I mean anything you think could help us with our investigations, I'd be grateful if you would get in touch."

As he walked out of the playground he could hear them quietly sniggering and mocking his Scottish accent.

Little shits, he thought to himself.

He left the playground and glanced towards the hill. The search patrol officers were busy examining the area. The immediate vicinity where Ben and Liz had been found was cordoned off. The public wouldn't be setting foot anywhere near the place for at least the next week.

Garraway had a great deal of confidence in his team but was impatient that nothing much was turning up.

Focusing on the hill, he slowly began to walk towards it without realising he was on the move. There was something about the place which fascinated him. He always became gripped by being in the vicinity of a murder site, but this was different.

He found himself at the bottom of the hill which was covered in stubbly grass and a few wild flowers. He walked slowly around its perimeter with his hands in his pockets and subconsciously disturbed the loose soil with his feet.

He sat down on the smooth slope and looked towards the autumn sky. Again, without warning, he was consumed by an overwhelming feeling of nausea. He closed his eyes and began to gag, but as quickly as the feeling came, it went.

When he opened his eyes, things were totally different. He was surrounded by hundreds of figures moving silently around him. They passed through one another and none of them were distinct. As his brain processed what he was seeing, he felt no fear and instinctively knew that the figures could not harm him.

They were blurry and seemed to ebb and flow, backwards and forwards like the sea washing over the shore.

They were wearing clothes of varying fashion. Some looked up-to-date and some looked old. The figures in old fashioned clothing were the hardest to focus on. Some were walking dogs, some were riding bicycles and a few were lying down motionless.

One thing the figures had in common was that they didn't last for more than a few seconds before fading away, only to be replaced by others.

The vision began to fade and soon everything was back to normal. The apparitions were there for less than a minute, but it seemed a lot longer.

He slowly stood up and was shaken by whatever he'd just seen.

His arms ached as if he had been carrying a hod of bricks and his legs burned like he had run a mile.

When he had composed himself he saw that he was being watched. This time it was by a real person and not an apparition.

Doug Plummer, was watching him from the other side of the fence which ran around the perimeter of the school. Garraway made his way over.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," said the caretaker, remarking on how shaken Garraway looked.

"Perhaps I have Doug, perhaps I have," replied Garraway. "Tell me, what do you know about this place?"

"What would you like to know?"

Garraway pointed to the hill. "What's the story behind that thing?"

"That thing? That thing is a Bronze Age burial mound, it's over five thousand years old."

"Is it really?"

"That's what they say. It was excavated by archaeologists about a hundred years ago."

"And what did they find?"

"You know, the usual things, bones, stone tools, bits and pieces."

"I presume the bones were human and not animal?"

"A bit of both I reckon," said Doug. "I'm no expert, if you really want to know, ask an expert, or even better Google it."

"I will, thanks for your advice."

"One thing I can tell you, this place has always attracted nutters."

"How do you mean?" asked Garraway curiously, "what kind of nutters?"

"You know, all types."

Garraway shrugged his shoulders encouraging Doug to continue.

"You get couples at it on that hill."

"At it, at what?"

"You know, sex, they have sex up on that hill."

"And who exactly are 'they'?" asked Garraway, in a mocking tone.

"I don't know who they are, but couples who are having problems conceiving do it on the hill because they think the place has special properties, like its magic or something."

"Anything else?" urged Garraway.

"You get your druidy types, you know, in their funny outfits and everything."

Garraway continued to say nothing, forcing Doug to keep talking.

"I've even seen oddballs up there charging their divining rods, all very strange if you ask me."

"And what do you think, what do you believe?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe," he replied, "all I know is this place can be strange and what happened here on Sunday night is going to make things even stranger."

Garraway smiled and thanked him through the wire fence.

"Perhaps I'll Google it when I get a chance," said Garraway.

And that's exactly what he did.

### Chapter ten

Carla's house

7.30pm

Tuesday

Carla Price was curled up under her duvet. Her room was a mess. Her clothes were strewn across the floor and her wardrobe door was wide open with a jumble of shoes spilling out of it. The photograph of her mother and father in a pink heart shaped frame was face down on her bedside table.

Carla had hardly left her bedroom since getting back to her house on Sunday night. The only time she ventured out of her room was to stumble across the landing to the bathroom to be sick.

She had told her father that she had a stomach bug mixed with a heavy period. Any mention of the word 'period' sent her poor father, Richard, scurrying away.

She was in a state of emotional turmoil and could not get the horrific images out of her head of that poor girl being so violently kicked by John and the vision of Boyd slamming the rock into the boy's head. She had been crying continuously for almost two days.

Carla was fifteen and should have started her final year at school that week. Her father had contacted her school and let the secretary know that she wouldn't be in as she had a bug. She couldn't stay away from school forever, but felt that she would never be able to face the world again.

She was scared and had no idea where to turn. Carla couldn't tell anyone what had happened as she feared that she would be accused of murder and spend the rest of her days in prison. She wanted to disappear, to where nobody would know who she was.

She hadn't switched on her phone since Sunday. In her bedroom she had found temporary sanctuary. The only contact with the outside world was a small television in the corner of her room. She turned it on and saw that the regional news was reporting from Badock's Wood. Carla turned off the television and was sick again.

Until now, Carla had been a happy soul and was doing well at school. She spent most of her time with her best friend Charlotte, but lately she had seen less of her since she had started dating Paul 'Greeny' Green. Carla had other girls to hang around with, but missed spending time with Charlotte, which was why she had started hanging around with Paul Green and his friends so she could be with her.

She'd never felt comfortable around the gang of older kids, but if she wanted to hang around with Charlotte she would need to accept the others into her life.

Carla's home life had been traumatic. Her mother had left in 2007 after Richard had discovered she'd been having an affair with her boss. Even before this, her family life had not been brilliant because of the tension created by the affair.

It had come as a shock to Carla's father when he had found out his wife had been having an affair, but in fairness all the signs had been there and he should have known something was wrong. Carla's mother had been getting in late from the office, was acting aloof and for most of the time was unapproachable. Carla and her mother were not communicating, which was upsetting and Carla felt unloved.

This had brought her closer to her father and their bond deepened after her mother had left home.

There was more trouble ahead as Richard lost his job two months after they had separated, and since then he had been living on benefits.

In spite of the difficulties of the past two years, Carla had been able to remain cheerful on the outside, only letting her emotions show to a few friends, including Charlotte.

She hadn't seen her for almost two days. Normally Charlotte would be the first friend she would turn to if she had a problem, but now she never wanted to see her again. If it hadn't been for Charlotte seeing her stupid boyfriend, then none of this would have happened, or if it had, Carla would have had nothing to do with it.

But it had happened, and she was stuck in the middle with no idea of how to escape.

Carla pushed her face into her pillow, when she heard a knock on her door.

"Carla honey, can I come in for a minute?" called Richard softly from outside her room. Carla sat up and grunted an indistinguishable response, which her father took as 'yes'. He slowly entered her room and was taken aback by a stale smell as the warm air of her dark bedroom hit him.

"Are you feeling any better?" he asked as he gently sat beside her.

"Not really daddy, I still don't feel very well."

"Perhaps I should call the doctor."

"No daddy, please don't," she retorted.

Richard moved back slightly as Carla snapped at him. He assumed her hormones were getting the better of her.

"OK, but let's see how you are in the morning," he replied. Carla nodded and put her face back into her pillow.

"I've got some news for us, and I thought you might like to hear it," said her father.

He held a letter and ran his fingers over it, as if it was something of great significance.

Carla rolled over and looked at her father.

Richard continued, "I've got some good news and some not so good news." She pulled herself into an upright position and looked at him.

He was shocked to see how pale she looked, but put it down to her upset stomach and period pains.

"The good news is that I've got a job," he said as a beaming look of pride spanned his face. Carla smiled back. This was the first time she had smiled in two days.

"That's great news daddy, I'm really pleased for you," she half-heartedly replied.

"But there is some news which isn't so great. The job is in Darlington, which is too far away for me to travel to and from Bristol every day, .......sooooo, I am afraid we are going to have to move up north."

Carla put her hand on her father's and looked into his eyes and replied with a weak voice, "Don't worry daddy, that's OK. I'm just pleased you have found some work......... when do we have to move?"

"I start my new job in early October, so we'll be off in about three weeks."

He kissed her on her forehead and left her room.

As he closed her bedroom door, he was pleased at how well she had taken the news, but was concerned that she wouldn't be seeing her friends anymore. The change in school at such a crucial time in her life bothered him. He assumed if she had been feeling better she would have put up a fight over the whole thing.

Carla lay back on her bed and let out a big sigh. Perfect she thought. Now she had a reason to get out of Bristol. She wanted to get as far away from this place as possible.

She closed her eyes and tried to escape the memories of Sunday night, but couldn't.

### Chapter eleven

The Incident Room

10.30am

Wednesday 9th September

Matthews's phone was ringing.

Dr Robert Clarke was calling with some bad news. Liz Mason's condition had deteriorated overnight and she was now in a coma. Clarke could not put a timescale on how long it might be until Liz would be in a position to talk. The brain injuries she had sustained were severe. Should she come round Clarke could not promise that Liz would be able to communicate. Even if her speech had not been affected by the injuries, he could not guarantee that she would remember anything about what happened.

Matthews slumped in his chair, he had a habit of slumping when things were not going to plan. Whenever he slumped, his dishevelled appearance was accentuated. Three days into the investigation and he was getting frustrated. If only Liz was conscious, the whole thing could have been done and dusted by now.

It was times like these when Matthews wondered if he was cut out for this line of work.

Gillian West entered the room.

"Ah Matthews, just the fella," she said, smiling as she sat down beside him. Her smile did not last very long.

"What's the boggle?" asked Matthews.

"The boggle is, Mr. Matthews that my good friends in forensics have finished dusting Paul Jackson's Previa, and he was right, the thing was rammed with fingerprints, and as you may have guessed none of the prints match anything on police files."

Matthews grunted as he pushed a pile of files away from him.

"Colin, I can only tell you what forensics have told me. I can't polish a turd. This is what we have to work with and it's up to you and Garraway to work your way through all this crap and get a result..... It's what you do."

Matthews half-heartedly nodded and pulled the files back towards him. "Yeah, yeah, I know, it's just that sometimes, it gets a bit......."

"Frustrating?" said Gillian, completing the sentence for him.

Markland Garraway entered incident room number two and was greeted by Matthews and West. He could tell by Matthews' expression that Gillian hadn't given him any better news than she had done over the last couple of days. He looked at Matthews with the look a father would give a son who'd come last in the egg and spoon race.

"It's the Previa," said Matthews, "the prints are useless sir, just like everything else, nothing matches anything we have on file."

"Forensics haven't quite finished," added West, "We haven't yet completed the task of going over the vehicle for fibres, hairs and anything else that could help us identify anyone."

"Sorry to sound pessimistic," said Garraway, "but if the evidence we have from the scene and the prints in the vehicle are not coming up trumps, then I don't hold out much hope of there being anything of any use in the Previa."

The three of them sat in silence. Matthews was pulling at his bottom lip whilst gazing into the middle distance, Gillian thumbed through the files she had in front of her whilst Garraway let his mind wander and thought about what he had experienced yesterday on the hill.

Garraway jumped up. Breaking the silence he announced he had things to do. He moved to another desk and logged onto a computer and turned the monitor for privacy.

The previous evening he'd intended to research the history of the hill, but had felt too tired. The only thing he had felt fit for was relaxing with a glass of whisky and gazing at the television until falling asleep in the armchair.

He fired up Google and typed 'burial mound Badock's Wood'. The first results brought up news reports on the murder of Ben Walker and the attack on Liz Mason. He scrolled down until he found a result from a local archaeology website. He clicked the link which opened up a badly designed website which looked like it had not been updated in years.

There was brief mention of the burial mound which sketchily detailed an excavation which took place in 1878. Bronze Age tools and small fragments of a human skull and other human bones had been found. This wasn't what he was looking for.

He typed another search into Google, this time he entered 'burial mound Badock's Wood strange sightings', this search didn't help him find what he was looking for. He tried again, this time he decided to search using 'burial mound Badock's Wood mystical happenings', but before he finished typing it, Google finished the search for him and suggested 'burial mound Badock's Wood mysterious qualities'. Garraway clicked the link which opened up www.mythicaluk.net.

The home page of Mythical UK welcomed visitors to the site and explained how anyone who had a 'story to tell' about anywhere in Great Britain that had a paranormal history could submit a story and attach photographic evidence to accompany the submission. There was also a search bar which allowed visitors to the site to search www.mythicaluk.net. Garraway typed in 'Badock's Wood' and hit search.

The screen jumped to a section of the site which showed an image that Garraway recognised instantly. It was the hill in the woods. Alongside the image were two paragraphs of text which had been submitted by Polly Ellis from Bristol. According to Polly the burial mound had very potent qualities comparable to the Rude Man of Cerne Abbas in Dorset. What Doug Plummer had said was true, couples tried and successfully conceived on the burial mound. It mentioned that at summer solstice the burial mound was visited by a small group of druids who believed the place to be more significant than Stonehenge.

The second paragraph explained how Polly had personal experiences of the burial mound's mystical qualities. Unfortunately, Polly did not elaborate on what her experiences were. Garraway was intrigued.

The website gave those who had uploaded a story the option of providing contact details and Polly had left her email address.

Garraway bookmarked the website, noted her email address and logged off from the computer.

Matthews walked over to Garraway and put a fresh cup of coffee on his desk.

"Thank you Mr Matthews," said Garraway as he gratefully took the drink.

"I've just spoken to the guys over at News and Information and they say its show time sir," said Matthews.

Garraway disliked press conferences. He hated to see his face on TV and in the papers, but even more, he loathed the sound of his own voice. Perhaps it was hearing how different it sounded amid the West Country twang. Even though he had left Scotland many years ago, he still had a distinct accent. It wasn't as if he was embarrassed by his Scottish roots, in fact he was very proud to be a Scotsman, it was just he didn't like to stand out from the crowd - he didn't like to be seen (or heard) to be different. But as he was the senior detective he had to make an appearance.

Both Ben and Liz's family had agreed to take part in the press conference, but only Liz's father, Terry, had felt strong enough to speak and he'd agreed to say a few words on behalf of both families.

The press conference had been arranged for one fifteen and would be broadcast live. This would place it conveniently in the middle of the regional lunch time news programmes. It would also be repeated throughout the next few days, unless there were any further developments. If there were any new developments Garraway would need to make further television appearances.

The press conference was broadcast and as far as News and Information were concerned, it had been successful. Garraway had delivered the facts and appealed to anyone who had any information which could help with their enquiries to come forward, no matter how trivial the information may seem. He also asked if anybody noticed anyone returning home on Sunday night/Monday morning with bloodstains or anyone acting out of character, to please contact the police.

Liz's father had spoken next. He mirrored mostly what Garraway had just said, but his added emotion and the strain in his voice reinforced Garraway's words. As he spoke he held his arm around Liz's mother, whilst Ben's family sat beside Garraway. They were motionless and silent, looking ashen and tired.

Carla Price caught the press conference on the Wednesday evening edition of BBC Points West. She watched from the darkness of her bedroom. The curtains had not been opened since they were drawn closed on Sunday turning the room into a state of constant night. After the conference had finished her stomach began to wretch, but there was nothing else to bring up other than sour tasting bile. Her father was downstairs and had walked into the lounge just as Liz's father had finished speaking. He stood staring at the television and saw the pain in Terry Mason's face as he held his wife. As Richard Price turned off the television to concentrate on some paper work for his new job, he heard Carla retching in her room. If she's no better tomorrow I will take her to the doctor he thought. This had gone on long enough.

In the press conference Terry Mason had said if anybody noticed anyone acting out of character they should call the police. This did not register with Richard Price, and why should it? He would never suspect his daughter to have any association with such a crime.

She was a good girl.

### Chapter twelve

Maria Jameson's home

7pm

Wednesday

Maria had returned home from the maternity hospital with her beautiful baby boy on Monday evening. Everything had gone smoothly. Baby Christopher was feeding well and he'd even allowed Maria four hours of uninterrupted sleep every night since they had returned home. Admittedly they had only had two nights together at home since leaving hospital, but Maria was very happy. Exhausted, physically and mentally, but very happy.

This was the first night she would be spending on her own with Christopher. Her mother had stayed on Monday and Tuesday and had slept on the couch, but had not been needed. Maria was quickly adapting to the life of a mother.

Maria couldn't take her eyes off Christopher. She watched over him as he slept in her arms. She could hear the faint sound of his tiny breaths which were occasionally punctuated by a quiet yawn or whimper. Even without Rob in her life to share this wonderful time, she felt complete. More so than at any time in her life.

She put Christopher in his Moses basket and covered him with his little blue blanket. Sitting beside him she found herself dozing and soon was fast asleep on her couch.

She was rudely awoken at nine thirty. Christopher was awake and crying for his feed. Maria rubbed her eyes, gently lifted the tiny bundle and began to breast feed him.

As Christopher fed, Maria stroked his down-like hair, which was so white it was as if it had been artificially dyed. She didn't expect Christopher to have such white hair. She was a red head and Rob had a thick mop of dark brown hair.

She marvelled at Christopher's little 'scrunched up face' and the way his eyes were tightly shut as he fed. She put her finger in the palm of his tiny hand which Christopher instinctively gripped.

"You're a strong little boy aren't you darling?" she whispered to him.

It was a rhetorical question and she was not expecting an answer, but as she looked down at his sweet face his eyes suddenly opened and he seemed to look right at her as he took a pause from feeding, then continued to suckle.

She smiled and said, "You've been here before little boy, haven't you!"

Christopher had begun to suckle less and his little eyes began to close. Maria rocked him gently and listened to his gentle breathing as he lay happily in her arms.

Her lounge seemed so quiet, only to be filled with the wonderful sounds Christopher was making.

Her mother had bought him a little Jelly Cat soft toy which was on the arm of the couch. Maria gently reached for it and put it under Christopher's arm. The small cuddly toy seemed huge compared to Christopher. This was his first toy and she hoped he would want to keep it for ever as she still had the same fluffy dog that her mother and father had given her the day she was born.

How she missed her father and wished so much that he could be sharing this moment with her and her mother.

A tear appeared and slowly made its way towards her soft cheek picking up momentum as it progressed down her pretty face and eventually abandoning her to finally settle upon Christopher's forehead.

She sadly wiped it away from above his eyes. More tears followed and then more until she found herself crying uncontrollably.

All the emotions which had been pent up over the last three days suddenly erupted.

Eventually she stopped crying. She felt better and was certain there would be more tears to follow over the next days and weeks.

When she had composed herself she noticed that Christopher was fast asleep. She put him back in his Moses basket and made him comfortable.

She looked at the time which was just after ten o'clock. She'd realised that she had lost all contact with the outside world since returning home on Monday. She hadn't listened to the radio, looked at a newspaper or had even turned on the television.

She reached for the remote control and turned on her TV whilst keeping the volume low as not to wake Christopher. She punched 82 into her remote to bring up the Freeview channel for Sky News and catch up with the national headlines.

As the news channel came up she could see there was some kind of press conference with some very sad looking people who were consoling one another whilst a smartly dressed man was talking into a microphone. Beneath was some text.

She fumbled for her glasses which were next to the TV remote. The text was referring to a Bristol murder.

Maria turned up the volume a little so she could hear what was being said.

The man who had a softly spoken Scottish accent was explaining how a brutal attack which had taken place on Sunday 6th September in Badock's Wood in Bristol had left a young man dead and young woman critically ill.

Maria increased the volume and was straining to catch what the Scottish man was saying.

He explained that the police were pretty certain they knew the exact time that the young man had been killed as his watch had been smashed during the attack recording the time that the assault had happened. The murder had taken place a few minutes before ten pm.

A shiver ran down her spine as she considered that when Christopher was being born, the poor boy was being murdered. She remembered that her grandmother used to tell her that whenever someone dies another is born at the same time.

She slowly stood up and picked Christopher up in his basket and gently carried him into her bedroom. She undressed and got into bed. As she lay there absorbing the quietness she could not get the thought of what she had just heard out of her head. Her mind was swapping between the happy memories of giving birth to the vicious attack on that poor young man. Both were happening at exactly the same time and less than two miles apart.

She began to cry again, letting her emotions run wild and only stopping after she had cried herself to sleep.

### Chapter thirteen

Markland Garraway's home

10.38pm

Wednesday

Markland Garraway had just switched off the television. The press conference had been repeated several times and he was surprised that it was being broadcast on national as well as local TV. It must have been a slow news day, he thought. He'd seen and heard enough of himself on the television for one day.

He sat at his laptop. His wife Joan was in bed and now was a good time to compose an email to send to Polly Ellis, the girl who had a 'personal experience' on the hill.

He stared blankly at the screen and had no idea where to begin. Should he introduce himself as the detective in charge of the investigation of the murder that happened in the woods? Although he was about to email Polly because of personal reasons, he understood that he had a professional obligation to fulfil. Fuck it he thought to himself. I've just had a scotch and I'm definitely 'off duty'.

He decided to email Polly from his Hotmail account and not his work email address, as he thought she may decide not to reply if she thought that Garraway was contacting her because of the murder.

He rolled up his sleeves, closed his eyes, took a breath and began to type.

\-----------------------------

Subject: Burial mound at Badock's Wood

Dear Polly

My name is Markland. I hope you don't mind me contacting you out of the blue.

We don't know each other, but I came across something you had posted on the Mythical UK website about the burial mound at Badock's Wood.

You mentioned that you had a personal experience relating to the mystical qualities of the hill. You didn't go into very much detail and I would be grateful if you could elaborate on the experience you had.

The reason why I am interested is that recently I have been to the same place and have experienced something strange and this has happened a few times and I wondered if we were experiencing the same thing.

I fully understand if you wish not to tell me what happened and won't be offended if you decide not to reply.

Kind regards

Markland Garraway

\-----------------------------

He sat back, re-read the message and hit 'send'. He had Bcc'd himself into the email to make sure he had a copy. He watched the little 'sending icon' spin for a few seconds and then the message disappeared into the ether.

He got up, walked to the kitchen, poured another home measure of scotch and buttered some crackers. He wondered whether Polly would reply or just ignore his message. He was doubtful whether she would want to discuss her 'experience' with a total stranger. He reached into the freezer, grabbed a couple of ice cubes and plonked them into his drink. He looked at the kitchen clock. It was almost eleven o'clock, he really should be climbing the wooden hill.

He sat back down in front of the laptop and was just about to close the lid when he noticed that he had received a reply from Polly. My god he thought, she must be keen.

He felt a rush of excitement mixed with anticipation as he clicked her message which was taking a few seconds to load. Whilst the message was loading he took a sip of scotch. Eventually her reply loaded.

\-----------------------------

Re: Burial mound at Badock's Wood

Dear Markland,

I would very much like to speak with you about the thing you experienced in the woods.

I could share with you my experience.

Please message me your number and I will call you tomorrow if this is convenient.

Polly

\-----------------------------

And that was it. Brief and very much to the point. He replied, giving her his mobile number. He told her to leave a message if he could not pick up and he would get back to her.

He closed the lid of the laptop, stood up and drank the last of the scotch and was a little unsteady on his feet. The alcohol mixed with tiredness left him feeling giddy. He took his empty glass to the kitchen and left the uneaten crackers on a plate next to the glass. He removed his tie, threw it over his jacket which was hanging on the back of a chair and headed up to the bedroom.

As he lay next to Joan, listening to her sleeping peacefully, he turned to look at the orange glow of the streetlamp outside his bedroom window. He pondered over how quickly Polly had replied to his email and hoped she had something which could explain the strange thing he saw on the hill. As he began to drift away he thought about the press conference earlier in the day and how Liz's father had bravely spoken. He was determined to solve this case no matter how long it took.

\-----------------------------

His alarm woke him at six forty-five. He had slept well. Joan was still sleeping and had not heard the alarm. He decided not to disturb her and quietly got out of bed. As he stood up he felt the effects of the larger than normal glass of scotch he had consumed the night before. Rubbing his forehead he made his way to the bathroom and had a shower.

Downstairs he sat at the breakfast bar and dreamily held his coffee mug. Garraway didn't often eat breakfast. He found it got in the way and slowed him down in the morning. He definitely wasn't a morning person and the idea of preparing something to eat, no matter how basic, was too much for him. He would normally pick up something midmorning, either from the canteen, or if he was on the road, he would get a bread roll from the bakery.

As he waited for the caffeine to work its magic he flipped the lid of his laptop to see what the world had in store for him. He opened his email account and was surprised to see that there was another message from Polly. He clicked the message.

\-----------------------------

Re Re Re: Burial mound at Badock's Wood

Hi Markland,

Thanks for your phone number. I hope you don't mind if I call you on Thursday morning.

Can I call between eight and nine o'clock?

If this is not convenient please let me know.

Best,

Polly

\-----------------------------

She is keen he thought. He was surprised that she was so eager to talk to him and he wondered if the woman was some kind of nut. He didn't reply to her last message and expected to hear from her.

His original plan that morning had been to drive straight to the incident room, but he didn't want to take Polly's call with his colleagues nearby listening in. They were a nosey bunch in that room - he would be amongst half a dozen detectives, so what was he to expect! Although speaking to Polly would be police business in a way, the call would, in truth, be a personal one.

Garraway rang Matthews and left a message on his voicemail letting him know he would be at the incident room a little later than normal and to ring him if anything came up. He shouted up the stairs to Joan to let her know he was leaving. He heard no reply, that woman could sleep for Britain, he thought. He gently pulled the front door shut and got into his car. He decided to buy a newspaper, find a quiet café and wait for Polly's call.

He parked outside the Regency café which was halfway between his home and the incident room. As he entered the café he was viewed by the clientele with an air of suspicion. Most of those who were tucking into their 'Monster English' were unshaven with double chins and wearing baggy fitting jogging bottoms covered in paint and plaster from the previous day's work. He ordered a bacon sandwich and cup of tea. Glancing at his watch he saw it was just before eight. He sat at the only empty table and opened his newspaper. The tall thin man who had taken his order brought him his tea and told him his sandwich would be over in a few minutes. Garraway didn't often visit a café before he got to work but thought he could probably get used to it. Although he didn't often bother with breakfast at home, this was different. He dismissed the thought, as he didn't want to end up looking like 'podgy' Sergeant Matthews. He supped at his tea and skimmed the pages of the newspaper just as his bacon sandwich arrived. He was about to take his first bite when his phone rang. It displayed a number he didn't recognise.

"Is that Markland," said a female voice.

"Yes it is," he replied, "and you must be Polly." This was followed by an awkward few seconds as neither knew what to say. Garraway broke the silence.

"So I understand you've had some kind of experience to do with the burial mound in the woods".

"Yes, I have, and can I assume you also have experienced some kind of happening?"

Garraway didn't want to give too much away and neither did Polly. They didn't know each other and were only voices on the end of a phone. They both felt vulnerable, neither of them wanted to open up.

"To be honest Polly, I've been looking forward to talking with you, but now you're on the phone I'm feeling a little foolish, because some of the things about that burial mound and how they have affected me have been bothering me."

"So the reason you wanted to speak to me was nothing to do with the murder that happened the other day?" said Polly, taking him by surprise.

"No, no," he replied. "How did you know I was involved in the murder case?"

"I watched the press conference yesterday, and I don't suppose there are many other Marklands' with a Scottish accent who have an interest in that area of Badock's Wood."

Garraway sighed. "Sorry Polly, I should have remembered, I hate doing those press junkets and choose to forget them quickly".

Polly laughed. "So, if this is nothing to do with the murder, there must have been something pretty extraordinary that happened to you in the woods?"

"Maybe," he replied. She could sense his wariness.

Polly was as keen to know about what happened to him as he about her. The telephone conversation wasn't going as well as either of them had hoped. Polly suggested that it may be better if they meet up over a beer to discuss things. After a pint they would probably loosen up a little and be less inhibited. Polly suggested meeting up in a cheap and cheerful Weatherspoon's bar in Clifton the following evening.

"How will I recognise you?" asked Garraway.

"Don't worry," replied Polly, "Remember, I already know what you look like, I'll introduce myself when I see you."

### Chapter fourteen

Southmead Hospital Bristol

10.30am

Thursday

Terry and Anne Mason walked slowly to the entrance of the hospital where their daughter was being cared for. Terry's face was strained. He had hardly slept since his daughter had not come home on Sunday evening. Agonising worry beyond belief did not sum up what he and Anne went through that night. When Liz didn't answer her mobile they called Liz's friends, none of who had any idea where she was. They had also called Ben Walker, but had no answer. Liz had decided not to tell anyone about her night out with Ben, preferring to keep it a secret. She loved her friends dearly, but they did have a habit of jumping to conclusions and gossiping.

She was expected home around eleven o'clock and when she was not there by midnight her parents began calling anyone who may have known her whereabouts. By one o'clock they called the police who asked lots of questions and said they would send an officer to take some details. The officer had arrived an hour later. He took further details and a photograph of Liz.

Neither of them had slept that night. Until then it had been the worse night of their lives.

When Liz was younger Anne would always ask who she was going out with, where she was going and what time she would be home. As Liz grew older her parents enquired less and less. They had no idea where she was going on Sunday night. The last words Anne heard her daughter say was "Love you mum, see you around eleven......Bye."

There was a knock at their door at seven fifteen on Monday morning. Two police officers were standing outside their porch. Terry let them in hoping for good news. Anne was standing in the lounge looking tired and scared. Her short dark brown hair was a mess. She'd run her fingers through it so many times it was standing up. One of the officers, WPC Johnson looked at Anne. The officer's face suggested that the news was not good. Terry walked over to his wife and put his arm around her.

PC Taylor spoke first. "We have some news about your daughter."

As he explained the circumstances in which Liz had been found Anne broke down and cried into the arm of her sofa. The officers had decided now was not the right time to tell them about the murder of Ben Walker, that could wait until later. Terry asked if they could be taken to Liz. Anne went up to the bathroom to wash her face and put on some make up. If Liz was awake when Anne was at the hospital, she didn't want Liz to see her looking like she did at that moment.

The neighbour's curtains twitched as WPC Johnson led Anne out of the house whilst Terry locked up behind them. Anne made her way to the rear door of the police car and PC Taylor opened it and guided her in. Terry followed and slowly climbed in and sat beside her. They held hands as they were driven to the hospital. No one said a word during the twelve minute journey from the Mason's home to the hospital.

When they arrived at Southmead Hospital early on Monday morning they were taken into a small consulting room where they were introduced to Dr Robert Clarke who had been caring for Liz since she had been admitted an hour or so earlier. He asked if they could wait whilst his team worked to stabilize her condition. Terry and Anne knew that Liz wasn't conscious, so she wouldn't be aware whether they were there or not, but they wanted to be with her. Anne just wanted to put her arms around her beautiful, amazing daughter and hug her. She began to cry. This time her tears were uncontrollable. Terry put his arms around her, but found he'd lost the strength to hold his wife. He joined her in a cacophony of bawling tears. Dr Clarke left them to their grief and shut the door behind him. Both police officers stood sentry outside the room to ensure a small amount of privacy for the grief stricken parents.

Later that morning Terry and Anne were allowed to sit beside their daughter. She was attached to drips and was wearing a clear plastic mask over her mouth. Her face and head were badly bruised and cut. There were stitches visible where her hair had been shaved to deal with a severe cut to the top of her head. More tears flowed.

That was on Monday and now it was Thursday. Anne and Terry had been by Liz's side almost the entire time, leaving to go home to catch a few hours' sleep at the insistence of the hospital staff. On Tuesday they had been told of the death of Ben Walker.

They were existing in a world of numbness and monotony which was running on an endless loop of holding Liz's hand, journeys to the toilet, vending machine coffee, half eaten sandwiches and being driven home by Terry's brother for an attempt at sleeping. The last four days felt more like four weeks.

Terry Mason was a wealthy man. He was the managing director of TM.IT. A business he created in the dot com era and one of the few to have survived and prospered. He had a good team of managers and could afford to not always be in the office all the time. He would be neither use nor ornament to his business and was grateful that his company could carry on, at least temporarily, without him.

As they entered the hospital corridors on Thursday morning they sensed a difference in the attitude of the hospital staff. Since Monday they had been greeted by cheery and encouraging smiles, today was different. Everyone seemed to have their 'heads down' in an attempt to avoid eye contact. Anne put it down to yesterday's heart wrenching press conference. Anne had been so proud of her husband and the way he'd conducted himself on television. His words had really struck a chord with those present in the room, and also the entire city of Bristol. This was why Anne thought the staff at the hospital found it difficult to engage with the two of them this morning, it was just too hard for them. She squeezed her husband's hand and in return he kissed her on her head as they continued the trek to their daughter's ward.

Dr Clarke was in reception when Anne and Terry turned the corner to enter Intensive Care. He nodded at them and they reciprocated with shallow weak smiles. Dr Clarke never wished them good morning as he knew there was nothing good about any of their days since what had happened to Liz. He was hoping that one day soon there would be a reason to wish them 'good morning' or 'good day' or 'good anything'. Since Liz had slipped into a coma, her deep state of unconsciousness was very difficult for them to accept. Where had all that boundless energy gone? Where was the girl with the infectious laugh? Where was the girl that had the gift of making everyone happy by just walking into the room? Anne was hoping she was still there somewhere.

She had asked Dr Clarke how long it would be until Liz would come round. Clarke was one of those who delivered the news as it was without dusting it with a coating of icing sugar. He believed that although it was important to remain positive, it was his duty to deliver the facts as they were and to avoid any false expectations. He had told Anne that comas generally do not last for more than a few weeks. Anne and Terry knew it would be quite a few days until they would see Liz open her eyes. They were prepared for her to recover one step at a time. Dr Clarke had advised them that her brain trauma had been so severe it was hard to tell how she would respond when she regained consciousness. Anne and Terry would be ecstatic even if they saw a flicker of an eyelid or a twitch of that beautiful nose, because right now the only movement was her chest slowly rising and falling as she gently continued to breathe. Anne had asked Dr Clarke whether Liz would be dreaming. He told her that nobody really knew. When a person comes out of a coma they usually don't remember much, but some patients do seem to recall vague memories of dreaming. He had added that she would not be experiencing any pain or discomfort.

Anne and Terry resumed their positions dutifully next to Liz as she silently lay in the hospital bed. Visitors came and went. Her friends from Taekwondo brought cards and sat with her for an hour or so before leaving to continue with the rest of their lives. The hospital usually had a limit to the amount of visitors a patient can have, but in cases like this the hospital staff exercised a level of flexibility. Terry's secretary, Sally, who was also Liz's godmother, called in on Tuesday and Wednesday. Sally had been a welcome distraction for Terry because there were things he needed to attend to in the office. Although there was no way he would be going back to work for the foreseeable future, Sally was able to help tie up a few loose ends and, with his recommendations, she was able to delegate some of his work to his senior managers. After Sally had left he and Anne returned to their quiet vigil over their uncomfortably peaceful daughter.

### Chapter fifteen

Weatherspoon's Bar

Clifton, Bristol

9pm

Thursday

Polly Ellis sat near the doorway of the busy Clifton bar. She specifically chose this bar as she knew how busy it would be. Although she knew Markland Garraway was a detective and was probably a very decent man, she had decided not to take any chances by meeting him somewhere quiet and 'out of the way'. Better to be safe than sorry she thought.

Polly was an attractive girl in her late twenties. She had short blond hair and wore glasses. She had a ruddy complexion and suffered slightly from acne rosacea, which became apparent whenever she blushed or was nervous. Tonight she was glowing like a beacon.

She had posted her small feature on the Mythical UK website in an attempt to find out whether anyone else had a similar experience to her when visiting the burial mound. In the eighteen months since it went up on the website, she had only had one response and that was from Markland Garraway. This would explain why she was so keen to meet him.

Polly was a lecturer in Economics and Finance and had lived in Bristol for around eight years. In the time she had lived there she had accumulated a lot of friends, but didn't feel comfortable sharing her experiences on the hill with them. She was hoping that Markland would be forthcoming when describing what had happened to him and she hoped they would be sharing similar experiences.

Polly knew about the murder of Ben Walker and thought it was odd that the senior detective on the case would want to talk to her about the hill and not the murder. She began to worry whether she was considered a suspect due to her posting on the Mythical UK website. Anyway, she had plenty of friends who could confirm her whereabouts on Sunday night.

Whilst nursing a gin and tonic she watched everyone who entered the bar. The windows were huge which gave her a good view of everyone passing by. Outside the main window she noticed a tall man, wearing a grey suit and a red tie. He stopped and peered through the large window raising his hand above his eyes to reduce the glare of the spotlights illuminating the glass to get a clearer view of who was in there. She recognised him from the press conference. Polly and Garraway were about eight foot apart and separated by the window. He looked right over her head as he tried to focus towards the back of the bar. He walked in and stopped just by the doorway and viewed the middle distance of the bar. Polly sat at her table just six foot away from him.

"Mr Garraway!" called Polly, raising her hand above her head.

"Polly, hello!" he said stepping over to her table. He offered his hand and as her palm touched his they flinched as a blue electric spark jumped from his hand to hers which made an audible crackle.

"Yow," said Polly as she quickly snapped her hand away from his.

"What on earth was that?" she asked.

"I'm not sure, but I felt it too," said Garraway. "It felt like a static shock, the sort you get sometimes when you touch a car door," he continued as he rubbed his palm with the thumb of his other hand.

"Would you like a drink?" asked Garraway.

She pointed to her three quarter full glass of gin and tonic and shook her head.

"No, I'm OK thank you."

He nodded and headed to the bar and quickly returned with a pint of lager.

For a moment they said nothing until Garraway broke the silence.

"OK, then.....where do we begin?"

"Do you mean if you show me yours then I'll show you mine?" she replied smiling. This brought a smile to his face.

"Well if you put it like that I suppose I do."

She had broken the ice and Garraway was now grinning from ear to ear.

He told her about the first couple of times he was at the burial mound, how the first time he was sick, and how the second time he'd felt nauseous and dizzy and he went into detail when he described what had happened the third time he'd had a strange experience on the hill.

"It was all very strange Polly," he said pausing for a sip of his pint. "I lay on that hill and just phased out, I mean I really phased out".

"Tell me what happened when you 'phased out," asked Polly eager to hear more.

"Well, this is when it started to become really odd. I had put the first two episodes down to feeling tired, or a jippy stomach, but this time Polly, I swear to you, I could see the most vivid things around me". Polly was all ears and was staring at him intently, waiting for him to continue.

"What happened next, seems unbelievable, so please bear with me. What I saw next I shall never forget. I was surrounded by thousands of figures all walking around the burial mound. None of them were with me on the mound, they were walking around the mound."

"Were they Bronze Age characters?" asked Polly.

"I don't think so," he replied. "There were just so many people going about their day to day business, you know, walking their dogs, strolling along, some with children and some on their own".

"What were they wearing, what style of clothes did they have on?"

"I do remember what they were wearing varied in style, it's hard to say though as the characters were very clear on one hand, but on the other they were not, and they had what I can only describe as ghost like qualities". Polly stared at him and he continued.

"The characters who were the clearest and who I could easily see what they were wearing, just seemed like you and me, but the ones which were harder for me to focus on seemed to be wearing older style clothes, you know the sort of suits men would wear in the fifties". He paused for reflection, as he stared into his pint glass.

"And there were some very, very soft focus characters who seemed to be wearing even older styles of clothing and these were the ones on which I was having difficulty focusing."

"What happened next?" asked Polly.

"What happened next was........ it all just stopped."

Polly looked at him for a second, resting her chin on the palm of her hand.

"Wow!" she said, "that's nothing like what happened to me."

"So you mean I've just spent the past couple of minutes sounding like a fool?" he said.

"No, not at all," she replied, "it's just so very different to what I see. Did anyone see you on the hill, did you speak to anyone?"

"Well, there were a couple of officers there, but I don't really think they noticed me," he paused as he remembered what happened next.

"The next thing I remember was chatting to a guy called Doug Plummer. He seemed to know about the area. He was the one that told me that the hill attracted nutters, his words, not mine, I hasten to add".

"Who's Doug Plummer?"

"Oh, sorry, he's the caretaker at the school a couple of hundred yards behind the hill. Do you know him?"

"No, but I think I know of him. I've seen a man working in the school when the kids have gone home, and I think I may be one of the nutters to which he likes to refer."

"How do you mean?" asked Garraway.

"Well, like you, I've sat on that hill and have been a million miles away in my thoughts and I have come around back to the 'real world' only to find his face scrunched up against the fence staring at me. We've never spoken and, to be honest, I think he's a bit creepy."

"I know what you mean," he replied and added, "I think he's harmless enough."

Garraway stood up and finished the rest of his beer.

"I'll tell you what, I need the little boy's room, but when I come back I'll buy us another drink and then you can tell me all about what happened to you".

Polly nodded and smiled and Garraway went about his business.

When he returned to the table with their drinks she had gone. Typical he thought. He sat alone at the table feeling stupid after opening his heart to a complete stranger, only to find that she hadn't kept her side of the deal. He wondered what to do next. If he went now he could get a bus home. He'd decided not to drive as he wasn't certain how many 'stiff drinks' he may have needed before he told Polly what had happened to him. He was expecting to stay out late and get a taxi home. He looked out on to the pavement. It was dark outside and the lights of the traffic illuminated the street, punctuating the sulphurous glow of the street lamps. He pulled his phone from his pocket and checked for any messages. He considered ringing her, but thought better of it, she probably wouldn't pick up anyway. Just as he was considering leaving his untouched pint and head off home, Polly came bounding back in through the doors.

"Sorry about that," she said, "fag break, I really must give these things up."

Garraway smiled.

"No problem," he replied, "right, it's time you showed me yours." He noticed her face turn bright red as she picked up a beer mat and fanned her face. "It's hot in here," she said.

"Don't worry, take your time."

"OK," she paused and took a breath. "What happens to me, and it happens whenever I go to those woods, is different to what you see and the difference is that I see and I speak to one person." Polly stopped and looked down at the table avoiding his eyes.

"And do you know this person?" he asked. Polly lifted her head and looked at Garraway. He could see that her eyes were beginning to water.

"As I said, take your time." She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She tried again and her voice was shaky.

"I do know the person," she paused again and looked him directly in the eye.

"Her name is Sarah."

"And who is Sarah?" he asked.

"Sarah is, sorry, Sarah was, my partner."

"Your partner?" said Garraway, suddenly realising how dated he sounded.

"Yes Mr Garraway, Sarah Greenfield was my partner, my girlfriend and we loved each other very much."

"I am so sorry." Garraway didn't quite know what to say.

"Do you mind if I ask where Sarah is now?" he asked, anticipating what the answer would be.

"She's dead," said Polly. "She died just over two years ago in an accident." Polly began to cry. He reached for her hand, but she withdrew, reaching into her pocket for a tissue. Garraway said nothing, giving her time to compose herself.

Polly fanned herself with the beer mat and looked at Garraway and feigned a smile.

"Sarah was killed on Doncaster Road, not far from the woods." She continued to dry her eyes, which was punctuated by blowing her nose.

"She was killed in a hit and run, they, I mean, you, never found who did it." Garraway sat back in his chair and looked up at the ornate ceiling of the bar. He cast his mind back and as he did so he shut his eyes.

"Sarah Greenfield," he said. "Yes, I remember that case." My colleague Sergeant Brock was involved in solving it.

"That case, THAT CASE," she said as she raised her voice, "that case was not just a case, it was my partner and my best friend and you can tell Mr Brock that he didn't try very hard at solving 'that case!'"

He apologised for being insensitive. Polly took a gulp of her gin and tonic. "Sorry, I didn't mean to lose my temper, but you must understand how frustrated I feel. To be robbed of somebody you love and to know that there is someone out there who is responsible for her death, probably enjoying life, whilst my Sarah has gone."

Garraway nodded.

"I'll understand if you don't wish to continue, perhaps we should do this some other time," he suggested.

"I'll be fine, just give me a few moments."

"I think it's my turn now, would you mind if I powdered my nose?" said Polly as Garraway smiled and nodded.

"And if you don't mind, I'd love another G and T."

Garraway returned to their table with a gin and tonic for Polly and half a shandy for him. This time Polly didn't disappear, she came back to the table and was looking better after her visit to the ladies.

"Shall I continue?" said Polly. Garraway nodded.

"Well you can probably guess what I am going to say next, and yes it's true. When I sit on that hill and close my eyes I can see Sarah as clear as I can see you. It used to take a while, but now she appears as clear as day and I see her immediately. It's almost as if she is there waiting for me."

"Is the burial mound the only place you see her?" he asked.

"Yes it is, although I do see her in my mind's eye wherever I am, but it's different when I'm there." She paused for a second and then continued, "Mr Garraway, would you mind if we referred to it as 'The Hill' instead of the burial mound, it's just that......" her voice trailed off.

"No, I agree, let's just call it the hill from now on, it's much nicer." Polly smiled, "thank you," she replied.

"It's not that I just see Sarah," she continued. "We have conversations, and I mean full on conversations. I don't mean talking out loud, it's as if I leave my body and join her wherever it is she has gone and we just talk, but I never have to open my mouth, does that make sense to you?"

Garraway nodded. "I think so."

"I'm telling you Mr Garraway, that hill has something special about it. It's a good place and I'm sure I'm not the only one who experiences the things I do." She looked at him and added "well you've seen things so you must know what I mean."

"Yes, I definitely have seen things, but not with as much clarity as you have."

"I know, but perhaps the hill is trying get your attention, perhaps it wants to tell you something," said Polly.

"To tell me what?"

"I don't know, have you lost anyone close to you"? asked Polly. Garraway shook his head. Even his parents were still alive, they were getting on, but were still very much alive and kicking.

"I'll tell you what," she said, "why don't we go to the hill together and see what happens?"

"We can't do that just yet, it's still a murder scene and the general public aren't allowed there just yet. Our people are still looking for clues," he paused, "I'll tell you what, as soon as our people have finished with the hill, you and I will be the first to go there, and as you say, 'see what happens'."

They clinked their glasses to seal the agreement.

"And if you don't mind Polly, I must be on my way, I have long day ahead of me." She smiled, "yes, we'll speak soon, and thank you for my drink."

He turned to walk out, stopped and turned back to her. "I'm so sorry, where are my manners, would you like me to see you home?" he asked. She shook her head.

"No, but thank you for your kind offer, I only live around the corner." Garraway nodded, smiled and walked out of the bar.

### Chapter sixteen

The Incident Room

During the next few weeks

Garraway, Matthews and the rest of the team had worked tirelessly over the past few weeks. The search officers had gone over every inch of Badock's Wood carrying out a fingertip search. The officers had taken away over eight hundred items which may have given a clue to who the killer or killers were. There had been extensive door to door enquiries which took place in all the domestic and business premises surrounding the woods. Every teacher who worked at the nearby school was interviewed. The press conference had resulted in a few members of the public coming forward with what they thought could be useful information and even Paul Jackson was allowed his beloved Toyota Previa back.

So far, all the work had amounted to very little. The best evidence the police had was found on the morning Ben and Liz had been discovered and that evidence wasn't allowing them to move forward as they had hoped. The woods were now completely reopened and the general public were allowed full access.

Even the most decent people have a macabre side to them and this was evident by the greater than average amount of people who decided to walk their dogs, ride their bikes, and push their babies in prams in the area where Ben and Liz had been attacked. Some people subtly viewed the area by slowing down as they walked past the now famous location. Others confidently marched and stood directly where poor Ben's body had been found and took photographs and disturbed the area. Perhaps they thought they would find missing evidence that the police had overlooked?

Many people had left flowers and cards. There was a huge card which had been placed by the Taekwondo Association of Great Britain wishing Liz a speedy recovery and Ben's colleagues in the constabulary had left flowers and cards. Over the coming week the hill became a mass of colour as more and more beautiful flowers arrived. A photograph of the hill with a thumbnail of Ben appeared on the front page of the Bristol Post with the headline – In Memory of Ben - . This headline upset many people as it hadn't mentioned Liz, although the story which accompanied the headline didn't forget her and gave a glowing story of what a wonderful person she is. Many of their friends had jumped to the conclusion that they had be 'secretly' dating.

The team who had responsibility for the forensic post-mortem agreed that Ben's body could be released. A date for the funeral could now be arranged. This would allow Sophie and James Walker to slowly accept that their son was not coming back. The past weeks had been an absolute hell on earth. After losing their first son, Michael, to cancer many years ago and having to go through bereavement a second time was unbearable. Both of them had been prescribed anti-depressants and tablets to help them sleep. James had been allowed long term leave from work to help him cope with the death of his son. Together they had intended to visit the woods to lay flowers and were driven there by Sophie's brother. When the car parked near the entrance of the woods they couldn't even confront stepping out of the car, let alone standing at the spot where their young son's life had been taken.

They received enormous support from their friends, workmates and the church to which Sophie belonged. Every day had been spent bumbling around with no sense of purpose and on some days James could not find the strength to get out of bed.

As hard as it was for them to lose Michael, they did have time to prepare for the loss as the cancer had taken just over a year to take his life. Ben was different. One day he was here and the next he was gone. They had such high hopes for him and were so proud of what he had achieved in his short life.

Although the investigation was still on going, it would be scaled down. There was a limit to the staff available at the constabulary which meant detectives were investigating several crimes at one time and both Garraway's and Matthew's case load was stretching them to the limits. Unless new evidence was forthcoming it would seem that whoever had beaten Liz and whoever had murdered Ben would be free to come and go as they pleased and possibly commit more crime.

### Chapter seventeen

All Saints Church

Bristol

Wednesday 30th September

The crowd who turned up for Ben Walker's funeral on that last day of September was vast. Over four hundred people were there to pay their respects. It was anticipated that there would be a large congregation but not at this level. Luckily the church had arranged for loud speakers to be placed in the gardens so those who weren't able to fit into the place of worship could hear the service from outside.

The congregation slowly filed into the church and quietly found somewhere to sit. The building could safely hold one hundred and fifty people so there were over two hundred and fifty people waiting outside.

The hearse pulled up at ten fifteen as the service was to commence at ten thirty. Behind were two cars carrying Ben's family. His coffin was unloaded and carried with great solemnity by six pallbearers. Sophie and James Walker followed behind looking weak and vulnerable. Walking behind them were other members of the Walker family.

Sergeant Matthews and Detective Chief Inspector Garraway sat at the rear of the church to pay their respects. Matthews had expected to see Terry and Anne Mason, Elizabeth's parents at the funeral. He looked around the church but could not see them.

Considering the circumstances the service had gone well. The vicar, who was a close friend of Sophie Walker, conducted a moving service, reading a dedication to Ben's life which had been written by his parents. Ben's father had been strong enough to get up and say a few words. There were many tears from the congregation which was made up by a majority of young people. Ben had clearly been a very popular young man.

The Walker family were no strangers to All Saints Church. Michael's funeral was held here, Sophie and James were married here, James' grandparents and father were buried here and now Ben's funeral was taking place here. James never wanted to set foot in the place again. Apart from getting married, every other reason for attending a service had been miserable.

After the church service, Ben's body was taken to a crematorium three miles away. A long slow procession of cars followed the hearse to get there.

The crematorium was smaller than the church so there were even fewer inside to hear the short service. Unfortunately there were no loud speakers this time, so a couple of hundred people waited outside in silence.

Garraway and Matthews decided not to attend the service. As they left All Saints neither of them noticed the young girl walking away from the church on the other side of the road. Had either of them seen her they may have considered talking to her. It wasn't unheard of for a murderer to turn up at a victim's funeral and watch from a safe distance.

Carla Price had known that Ben's funeral was today because of the announcement in the Bristol Post. She knew that she wouldn't be able to attend the funeral as people would have been suspicious of why a stranger who had no connection with either Ben or Liz would want to be at the funeral. She needn't have worried as many of the congregation were strangers who just wanted to be there to show their respect.

She felt partly responsible for what happened to Ben, although the murder probably would have taken place whether she had been there or not. Carla's quick thinking probably saved Liz's life when she called out 'police' and put an end to John's attack on her.

She knew she should turn herself over the police to put an end to all of this, but was terrified.

Next week she would be moving up to Darlington to escape what was happening in Bristol and start a new life.

She used to love living in Bristol and enjoyed hanging around with her friends, but since the murder things had changed so much. Now she hardly ever left the house, stopped seeing her friends and had little interest in anything. The only thing that occupied her enough to take her mind off the murder was art. She was a talented young artist and could turn her hand to drawing anything. Her favourite thing was pencil portraits and she had drawn many of her school friends. The pictures were so good they hung on the bedroom walls of her friends. But her drawings were different since the murder. They were dark and sinister. Last night she flicked thought her sketch book and saw some pictures she couldn't remember drawing. She was completely different to the person she was a few weeks earlier.

She had returned to school at the end of the first week of the new term and although she had become introvert and kept herself to herself she'd found the distraction of school had taken her mind off what had happened.

She had been dreading seeing Charlotte and was relieved to see that she had not returned to school. Presumably Charlotte was experiencing the same trauma as she was. Some of Charlotte's friends presumed Carla would know why she wasn't at school. Carla just shrugged her shoulders whenever anyone asked.

Arrangements had been made for Carla to join her new school in Darlington in October. Carla's and her father's belongings were packed and her father had sold a lot of his things as they were downsizing to a two bedroom house.

Carla walked slowly home, contemplating how her life had turned upside down. The image of Ben Walker's parents was fresh in her mind. How sad they looked as they walked behind their son's coffin. Carla cried as she walked home.

\-----------------------------

After the service at the crematorium the congregation returned to the hall next to All Saints Church to attend the wake. Normally wakes are a mix of emotions. Some are there to celebrate life, some are there to seek the comfort of others and some are there to give comfort.

Ben's wake was different. Everyone was numb and no one knew what to say to one another. The food was left untouched and only a few had a drink in their hand.

One of Ben's fellow PCSOs had spent a long time putting together a photo slide show made up of pictures of Ben doing all the things he'd loved. There were pictures of him with Liz, with his friends, and with his family. There were pictures of him in his police uniform and lots of him growing up. One of the pictures had been taken at Whitcroft School and if anyone looked closely enough at the blurred image of the lone school boy behind the crowd scene, they would have seen his murderer.

When the slide show began on the forty seven inch flat screen television not a word was spoken and all eyes were on the screen. Quietly people started to weep. The tears created a chain reaction as more and more people started sobbing. The crying was getting louder until it became a crescendo of wailing. The slide show was set to repeat, but was turned off after it had finished the first loop. It was too sad for anyone to endure.

The wake lasted for ninety minutes and all who were there stayed until the end. As the hall emptied, those who knew James and Sophie Walker well enough briefly spoke with them and promised to be in touch. All Sophie could take in was a blur of familiar faces whose names she could barely remember saying the same thing, "If there's anything you need just call." She feigned a weak smile and in auto mode thanked them for coming. James stood next to his wife half-heartedly shaking hands with the men and accepting a kiss on the cheek from the women.

The hall was empty, other than James, Sophie, her brother Martin and the catering staff who were putting the uneaten buffet food in black dustbin liners. The caterers left the hall to take the food away and Sophie's brother left them whilst he went to get his car to drive them home. James and Sophie were left alone. Silently they looked at one another, too dazed to talk and too tired to reach out to hold hands. Neither could cry anymore. So many tears had been shed there were no more left.

Martin drove them home just after two o'clock in the afternoon. They were left alone in their empty house with the challenging business of rebuilding their lives.

### Chapter eighteen

Badock's Wood

8pm

Thursday 8th October 2009

As arranged, Markland Garraway and Polly Ellis had agreed to meet a second time, this time at the woods. Understandably, Polly had been reluctant to wait there alone for Garraway so he had offered to pick her up from her flat. The journey from her place to the woods had taken around twenty minutes during which neither of them said very much. There was a bit of small talk here and there, but mostly there was an air of awkward silence. Evidently the alcohol consumed at their last meeting had dispelled the nervousness they felt. But now was different. No drinks, anyway Garraway was driving, and Polly had decided to go with a clear head. She had considered a crafty joint before Garraway turned up to collect her, but decided against it.

It was a cool evening in early October, and even though the clocks were yet to go back, it seemed darker than it had the last few evenings. He parked his car on Doncaster Road. It was a five minute walk to the entrance and the hill was another few minutes from there to where the woods became a more arboreal landscape. The area where the hill was situated was known as Milltut Field. It had been recorded centuries before that a windmill had stood on the hill, hence the name Milltut.

Garraway had not told his wife he was seeing Polly this evening. He hadn't even told her about his experiences at the hill. Joan had no time for this sort of thing and had laughed when he had told her about his encounter with a UFO when he was a boy. This evening he felt as if he was seeing someone behind Joan's back, which he was and he wasn't. It was true that Joan thought her husband was out on police business, but even if Garraway had intentions of making a move on Polly, he definitely wasn't her type, so that would have put the end to any inappropriateness. It was just better that Joan didn't know.

As they walked from the car to the woods they discussed the hill and how best they should use their time together. Polly suggested that they should just climb to the top, sit down and see what happened. Garraway was starting to feel awkward about the whole thing. If Joan knew what he was up to she would have had a field day, sat on top of a hill, in the woods and with another woman!

"So Polly, do you have any idea why this hill affects you and me the way it does?" asked Garraway.

"No I don't, all I know is that over the years others have come here for different mysterious reasons."

"You mean the witches, wizards and bonking couples?" smiled Garraway.

"I can't say that I am a believer in that kind of thing, but it does seem to be very coincidental. I had no idea about the properties of this place until I experienced them for myself. And then it was only after I had done some research, spoke to a few of the locals, searched the internet which then led me to discover what I now know about the burial mound."

They arrived at the bottom of the hill and stood in silence, momentarily lost in their own thoughts.

"Shall we do it?" said Garraway. Polly smiled.

"OK, you first." As Garraway started to climb the slope, he turned to offer his hand to Polly. "I'm fine thank you."

The grass on the top of the hill was wet from an earlier rain shower so Garraway, always the gentleman took off his coat for Polly to sit on.

"What about you? You'll get a wet arse," laughed Polly.

"Don't worry about me," he replied.

"Don't be so soft Markland, sit next to me, I won't bite, I promise."

The two of them sat on his coat waiting for something to happen, but nothing did. They sat there for about five minutes both expecting the visions they'd seen before.

"Well, it's not happening for me," said Garraway.

"What's different, why can't I see Sarah?" Polly huffed, "I've seen her every time I've come here."

"Do you always sit here on your own?" he suggested.

"You're right, I am always on my own, how about you?"

"No, I've always had others nearby," he replied, "but no one has ever been on the hill with me, they've been milling around at the bottom of the slope, right over there," pointing to an area in the near distance.

"The first time I was here, when I was sick, I didn't even climb the hill. I was standing with Sergeant Matthews at the bottom."

"Perhaps that's it," she said, "perhaps we need to be up here alone."

"Do you mind if I have a ciggy?" said Polly, "I could do with calming my nerves."

They made their way down the hill whilst Polly walked to a nearby bench. She felt a bit disrespectful and a little odd smoking on the hill, almost like she would be upsetting someone or something. Then she remembered how Sarah hated her smoking. That was probably it she thought as she lit her cigarette smiling to herself. Garraway sat next to her.

"So, when did you start to come here and begin to see the visions of Sarah?" he asked.

"It was the month following her death. I'd turned up to the place where she'd been killed on Doncaster Road to lay some fresh flowers. At that time there were lots of flowers and cards, she had a lot of friends. These days it's just me and her parents who leave flowers".

She paused for a second and Garraway could see a tear welling in her eye. She wiped her eye and continued.

"This time I decided to take a stroll to the woods. This place looked peaceful and I thought I should spend a bit of time on my own and think of her."

She paused again, wiping another tear from her eye. She inhaled on her cigarette and withheld the smoke as she thought of what to tell him next.

She let out the smoke and pointed to the hill.

"And then I saw that thing." Garraway didn't look to where she was pointing, he continued to look at her, hanging on to her words.

"Did you have an urge, or a calling to climb it?" he asked.

"No, not really, well, not at all actually, I just decided to climb, there was nothing to it, I didn't really think about it, I just went up the hill, just as thousands of people who walk these woods probably do."

"And is that when you had your vision of Sarah?"

"Yes" she replied, "but you must understand, she's never been a vague vision, I can see her as clearly as I can see you".

"What about her voice, can you hear her talking to you?" he asked.

"We've discussed this before, I can hear her, but it's strange, I can't explain exactly how I hear her, but I do".

They sat in silence as Polly finished her cigarette.

"OK," said Polly, "how about this. We try it again, but this time we'll do it one at a time?" Garraway nodded. They stood up as she put out her cigarette. Polly said that she would go first. Garraway sat down as she walked to the hill. As he watched her climb, he remembered his coat.

"You don't want a wet arse do you?" Polly looked back and smiled as Garraway walked over and passed her his coat which she took with her to the top of the hill.

Garraway sat on the bench and watched Polly on the hill, adjusting herself to get comfortable. He watched as she sat quietly. Listening to the sounds of the wood, it was not until now that he'd realised how noisy it was here. Birds were singing, dogs were barking in the distance and he could hear the sounds of children playing in a nearby sports field. He looked back to Polly and watched as she sat there with her eyes closed, almost as if she were meditating. She was rocking ever so slightly back and forth. At first she looked content. He thought he could make out a smile on her face. Then her contented look changed. She now had a look of irritation and appeared to be shaking her head. Polly had been sat at the hill for around five minutes when she quickly stood up and scuttled down the slope, almost losing her footing as she hurried down.

Garraway got up from the bench and walked over to her at the bottom of the hill.

"Is everything OK?" he asked, sensing things clearly were not.

"Yes Mr Garraway, everything is OK," she replied, in the tone of voice he had heard many times before from his wife when she couldn't hide her disapproval.

"Did you speak to Sarah?" He asked as she lit another cigarette.

"Yes, I spoke to Sarah, or rather, she spoke to me," she replied bluntly.

"Is there anything wrong?" he asked, sensing that there was.

"No, no everything is fine," which clearly it wasn't.

"OK," said Garraway walking away from her. He had learnt enough about women to know when it was best to keep his distance.

Near the bench was a monument which was about six feet tall. It was like a stainless steel menhir. On it was an inscription which he'd never noticed before. He read the inscription quietly to himself whilst Polly smoked her cigarette and sat alone.

"At Badock's Wood ghostly windmill sails turn and, like a rewound film, spin through history to remote times when this was burial place for Bronze Aged warrior in that landscape wolves prowled and nervy red deer grazed while hogs rooted among trees"

He pondered over the words. How apt they sounded 'windmill sails turn and, like a rewound film, spin' It was almost like the words were meant for him. It made him think of the figures he saw the last time he'd sat on the hill. Like rewinding time, he had been watching those who'd walked past the hill, so many figures over the years.

Polly was finishing her cigarette as Garraway walked over to her.

"Do you want to continue or have you had enough?" As she looked up at him he could see there were more tears in her eyes. This place really has an emotional impact on this girl thought Garraway.

"I'm OK, let's carry on," she replied.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked, softening his voice. His Scottish accent appealed to her. She liked the way he sounded. He had the voice of someone she could trust.

"The cow," said Polly as she looked at Garraway.

"I'm sorry?"

"Sarah, the bloody cow," she said, as she rested her chin on the palm of her hand and stared into the distance.

"I've been coming here for almost two years and we've always talked about us, our friends, her parents," she paused and looked at Garraway.

"Guess who she wanted to talk about this time?" Garraway shrugged his shoulders.

"You," she continued, "she wanted to talk about you?"

Garraway didn't speak, he looked puzzled.

"What did she say?" he asked.

"She said that they had chosen you," continued Polly.

"Who are 'they', and what have I been chosen for, did she tell you what that meant?"

Polly shook her head.

"She said something about you needing to be here and they also mentioned another man's name and that he wasn't the one."

"What other man?" asked Garraway.

"I'm trying remember," said Polly.

She sat for a second trying to recall what Sarah had said.

"Strawfield, or Strawman or Straw........." Garraway interrupted her. "Strawbridge," he said, not asking her, but telling her. "Strawbridge, is that the name she said?"

"Yes," she replied, "I think she said John Strawbridge."

Garraway couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"Does this mean something?" she asked.

"Yes, it does," he replied, "it's not John Strawbridge, she's trying to tell you about, it's Tom Strawbridge. He was supposed to be heading up the Walker murder investigation, but he wasn't able to do it. He was ill at the last minute and the case was assigned to me".

They sat silently and weighed up what they had just discussed.

"Was that all she told you?"

Polly nodded her head.

"It's your turn," said Polly.

Garraway felt an air of anticipation as he made his way to the hill leaving Polly behind to watch from the bench.

With his damp coat under his arm he took half a dozen large strides and made his way to the top. He arranged his coat just where Polly had put it when she had been sitting there.

As he sat down he began to feel nausea just as before, but this time it wasn't as acute. The feeling quickly went and he was able to relax. He let his mind unwind as he slowly closed his eyes and waited.

\-----------------------------

Markland Garraway was on the beach at Ullapool. He was nine years old. It was an evening in early March and the sun was just setting. He was with his dog Bonnie, a Border Collie and they were both resting after playing on the sand. All of sudden Bonnie began to bark. She jumped up and tried to stand on her hind legs as she continued to bark and whine.

"What is it Bonnie, what's the matter?"

Markland looked to the sky to where Bonnie was barking and he saw something magnificent.

Above him was a large black triangular shaped object silhouetted against the half-light of the Ullapool sky. It had faint lights twinkling like colourful stars around the perimeter of whatever it was.

It made no sound as it hovered in the sky.

He lay back in the sand and stared at the thing. Bonnie had stopped barking and was now whimpering and trying to bury herself into Markland's side.

He didn't feel scared, only fascinated by what he was watching. He found it hard to judge how close it was.

He looked up and down the beach to see if there was anyone else watching it, but other than Bonnie, he was alone. As he looked back to the thing hovering above him it was no longer there. It had gone, just like that.

Markland jumped to his feet and strained his eyes as he looked up to the sky. The thing had definitely gone. Without a sound the thing came and went and had been there for less than a minute.

His heart was pounding and he was breathing heavily as if he had just run the length of the beach.

Bonnie had stopped barking and whining and had bolted away. Markland ran after her.

"Bonnie come back, come back now!" he shouted as he chased after her.

Bonnie was making her own way home with Markland trying to keep up.

When he reached his front door Bonnie was there waiting for him, panting with her tongue hanging out. Markland started banging furiously at the door for his parents to let him in. He had a key, but his mind was in such turmoil he didn't think to use it.

As Markland waited for the door to open the vision started to fade, the number on the door became blurred, but he could still hear his dog by his side.

\-----------------------------

Markland Garraway was back in 2009 as he came to on the hill. He instinctively went to stroke Bonnie, who was still panting by his side. As he became aware of his surroundings the dog he could hear wasn't Bonnie, but a Golden Retriever who was next to him on the hill.

The owner called her dog and apologised for bothering him, whilst giving him an odd glance as he sat alone on the hill.

"It's OK, he's with me," shouted Polly as she made her way to Markland atop the hill.

The dog walker smiled and walked off with the Retriever bounding behind.

Garraway rubbed his forehead as he tried to comprehend what had just happened.

"Well?" demanded Polly, "what happened?"

"I'm not too sure," he replied in a shaky voice. "Can I have one of your cigarettes please?"

"I didn't think you smoked," said Polly.

"I don't, I used to. I could really do with one now, please."

She handed him a cigarette and her lighter.

They made their way back to the bench and sat down.

He coughed as he drew in the smoke. He hadn't smoked in ten years. Spluttering, he put the thing out.

"Ughh, now I remember why I gave those things up!" Polly smiled at him.

"Are you OK?"

He looked at her and nodded.

"I'm OK," he replied flexing his arms and legs whilst rolling his head from side to side.

"Are you aching like an old man?" asked Polly.

He nodded again.

"It's something you get used to," she said reassuringly.

Garraway told Polly everything that had just happened. He explained how clear everything was. How he could even smell his pet dog Bonnie and hear the sound of the soft waves lapping Ullapool beach.

He couldn't understand the relevance of the UFO memory and why he hadn't seen a repeat of the shadowy figures he saw last time. Why was it that Polly saw the same image of Sarah every time and he had seen two completely different things?

"Perhaps they're sounding you out, you know, seeing how open your mind is?" suggested Polly.

"It's got to be to do with the murder case you're dealing with, perhaps it's planning to tell you who the murderer is and it's preparing you?"

Garraway laughed. "So you're trying to tell me that the hill is just going to rock on up and tell me Colonel Mustard did it with a length of rope?"

"I thought it was a rock to the skull," said Polly in a serious tone of voice.

"Look," she added, "my Sarah seemed to know thing or two about you and your Strawbridge mate, explain that!"

Garraway shook his head and looked at his watch. They had been there for well over an hour.

"I can't explain it," he said. Wearily he added, "I'm tired and I need to go home."

His body ached as they walked back to his car.

### Chapter nineteen

The Awareness

At the same time Garraway experienced his latest 'episode', something else, somewhere very different began to stir.

The Awareness that lasted no longer than a blink of an eye at the time Ben lost his life had begun to develop again. Just as before the Awareness had no senses, it could not see, speak, hear, touch or taste, but it did have a life force which was very strong. It was fighting to change, to develop and mature. It had a story to tell.

And again, just as before, as soon as the Awareness began, it stopped.

### Chapter twenty

Darlington

9.15pm

Thursday October 8th 2009

It had been a long drive from Bristol to Darlington. What should have been a four hour journey ended up taking almost six. An accident on the M5, a punctured tyre on their hired transit van and Richard getting lost as he approached Darlington had all added to the longer than anticipated journey.

"We're here," said Richard softly as Carla began to open her eyes.

Carla had been sleeping for the last hour. Still tormented by visions of what happened in those woods, her dreams were no longer nice ones. She sat up and looked out of the window of the white van.

"Which one's ours?" she asked, wondering which house she would be setting up her new life in. She had seen a picture of the house on the internet, but in the leafy street in Darlington all houses looked much the same.

"It's that one there," said her father pointing to the red brick Victorian building in front of them.

"I like it daddy," Carla smiled. It was the first time Richard had seen her smile in weeks. He smiled at her as he swept her hair away from her sleepy eyes.

Richard had no idea why Carla had been so unhappy since the start of last month. In the following weeks he put it down to the move to Darlington as it had happened at such an important time in a vulnerable young girl's life. He knew she'd have preferred to stay with her friends, especially with her final year at senior school, it would be a massive upheaval for her.

He had convinced her to visit the doctor as he was concerned about the huge change in her character. The busy doctor had confirmed Richard's diagnoses. When she returned from the surgery she hadn't been given a prescription but was told to accept her situation and deal with it. She had been told that her hormones were affecting her, she was already pining for her friends and she wasn't accepting the move to Darlington. Carla knew the real reason for her low mood and character change, but preferred to accept what the doctor had told her in order to satisfy her father. Richard felt awful to think all of this was down to him. But he desperately needed the work and he couldn't leave Carla in Bristol. He had no choice.

As they stepped out of the van and approached the door of their new home Carla felt a huge relief to be there. It was true that she felt like a stranger in a strange land, but it was better than being a loser in a lost land, which is what she had become in Bristol.

Inside the house the rooms were small but cosy and finished in magnolia, which was the standard 'blank canvas' colour that most houses were painted when they were prepared for sale. Carla went upstairs and found the room which was her bedroom. She looked out of her window to the street below and could see her father unloading things from the back of the van. Her temporary 'inflatable' bed was still in the back and was yet to be unloaded. Across the street she could see curtains twitch as the locals viewed their new neighbours arriving late in the evening. Carla ran downstairs and into the street to help her father unload their belongings into the house. Richard was beginning to see a change in his daughter. For the first time since he could remember there was a look of enthusiasm about her.

She got to bed around eleven o'clock. As she lay on her inflatable mattress she began to drift away and for the first time in what seemed like a lifetime she had a restful and dreamless sleep. No nightmares of that awful September evening. She slept well because she felt safe. Safe that she had escaped the torturous time she was experiencing in Bristol.

But she wouldn't be safe there forever. Even with Bristol 250 miles away. No matter how far she escaped from what happened on that Sunday in early September, it would never leave her. In fact it would eventually become closer than ever before.

### Chapter twenty one

Markland Garraway's house

11am

Friday 9th October 2009

Garraway had booked the day off as annual leave. He had slept well, in fact he had slept a little too well and was surprised when he awoke at such a late hour. He was normally an early bird and was always up before seven, even on a day off. Today he would treat himself to breakfast as he was unusually hungry. Joan was already up and out of the house. He relished the thought of a bit of time home alone. He made himself a bacon sandwich, a pot of tea and poured a large glass of fresh orange juice.

As he sat in his armchair and ate his sandwich he thought about the night before. It must have taken it out of him as he'd slept like a log. He recalled the clarity of how he'd flashed back to the beach at Ullapool. He had thought about that UFO many times since he was a boy, but the older he got the more distant the memory had become. But last night it was different. He remembered it with pinpoint accuracy. It wasn't just the memory of what he saw that night which intrigued him, it was how he remembered the sounds and the smells and everything around him. If he'd taken the time to concentrate he probably would have memorised the number plates of the cars which were parked outside his old house.

Perhaps Polly had been right about what Sarah had told her, maybe he had been selected by some strange supernatural force to take on Ben Walker's case. It was certainly odd how Tom Strawbridge had been taken unexpectedly unwell that Monday morning after the murder leaving yours truly to head up the case, and it was equally odd how Tom made such a quick recovery and was able to return to work later that month.

He had so many questions but didn't know where to turn. Should he keep returning to the hill to see what happened next? Or should he seek a medium to interpret what was going on? He was confused. For the first time in his life Markland Garraway didn't know what to do. It was true that the case had hit a standstill. It would take a miracle to make any headway. Perhaps the hill could produce a miracle? He sighed as he finished the rest of his breakfast.

He spent the rest of his day off being particularly inactive, which wasn't like him. Normally a day off would be a blank canvas for Garraway to fill. There were so many things around the house he should be doing. Joan had been complaining about a few DIY jobs he'd never finished. He should be using this day productively and get at least a few things done, but he was squandering his time.

By two o'clock he was still lounging around the house, phasing in and out of drowsiness. Despite the marathon thirteen hour sleep, he was still tired. Just as he was about to slip back into another half sleep his phone rang. He picked it up and viewed the number. It was Polly.

"Hello Polly, how are you?"

"I'm OK, but you sound knackered," she replied.

"I know, and I feel knackered, it's my day off and all I want to do is sleep."

"I used to get like that every time I'd spoken to Sarah on the hill, the following day I would be so dopey I could sleep for England. I don't get it any more now, I suppose you get used to it," she replied.

"Perhaps that's it," he replied. "Anyway Polly, what can I do for you?"

"It's more like what I can do for you."

"I went back to the hill again today, I've just got back. Last night in bed I was thinking about Sarah and the fact that she had little to say about me and her, and that it was more about you. I was selfish and I got off the hill before she had finished talking," she continued.

"So are you getting jealous about me and Sarah?" joked Garraway, immediately sensing he'd just said the wrong thing.

"Yes, I suppose I am, or at least I was yesterday evening" she paused. "As I was saying, I cut Sarah off last night and now that I've thought about it I was sure she wanted to say something about the murder."

"So you went back to the hill?"

"Yes, and I don't think she was happy with me, at least not at first."

"Why's that?"

"Because it took a long time for me to connect with her." Garraway could hear her voice wavering.

"Normally I sit on that hill and it's like broadband, she's there instantly, this time it was like dial up. I was just about to give up and all of a sudden she was there."

Garraway was amazed by the way she calmly referred to her supernatural conversations with Sarah as if they were as normal as picking up the phone. He assumed she'd just become accustomed to it all by now. He heard sadness in her voice.

"What did you and Sarah talk about today?"

"You again, she wanted to talk about you," said Polly.

"She told me that 'they' felt you were better placed to help solve Ben's murder than Strawbridge".

"Did she say why 'they' felt I was better placed?" asked Garraway.

"She wasn't specific," said Polly, "only that you were better placed because your mind is more open than Strawbridge's".

It was true that Detective Inspector Strawbridge did everything by the book and suffered fools lightly, whilst Garraway had always taken on a case and dealt with it with an open mind. All the years he had been a detective he reminded himself of the famous Sherlock Holmes quote:

'Eliminate all other factors, and the one which remains must be the truth.'

This had helped him close some rather difficult cases over the years, which other detectives may not have solved so quickly.

"I don't think the message was that 'they' would be giving you clues, it was more advice to be open minded," said Polly.

"Who do you think 'they' are?" he asked.

"I've absolutely no idea. I've tried to find out, but Sarah seems to phase out as soon as I ask heavy questions".

Garraway held his phone away from his ear as he was suddenly struck by a thought.

"Changing the subject," he said, "has Sarah ever told you anything about when she died, any names or anything about the hit and run?"

"She's told me lots," answered Polly, "and I've volunteered the information to Sergeant Brock and a lot of good that did".

"I presume Brock said he couldn't use it?"

"It wasn't so much that he couldn't use it, he clearly thought I was insane, or that I had been so affected by Sarah's death I had been hallucinating," she paused, "I suppose I can't really blame him, it must have seemed very farfetched." Garraway nodded, as if Polly could see him.

"Mr Garraway, perhaps if you had been investigating Sarah's death more would have been done?"

He decided not to comment.

"Thank you Polly, I'll let you know if anything comes up which may require your, or Sarah's, assistance."

As he ended the call, he deliberated whether Polly would ever move on with her life, or spend the rest of her time having a 'long distance' relationship with a ghost. She was spending too much time on the hill and he thought how sad she sounded today.

He thought about what to do next. He was in no mood for pottering around the house. With Polly's words still fresh in his mind he decided to go back to the hill, just to see if anything might happen.

He drove to the woods and became mesmerised by the little pine air freshener hanging from the rear view mirror. The thing was rocking to and fro as he drove towards Doncaster Road and it was almost sending him to sleep. Suddenly he snapped out of the stupor just as he came to a zebra crossing with a mother and her small child slowly trying to get across the road. He slammed the brakes as the woman gave him a vile stare. He was still dead tired after the previous evening's event on the hill.

He locked his car and walked over to the hill. A group of children were kicking a ball. He looked at his watch and saw it was time for the school to empty out. There was no way he could concentrate with a few hundred kids making their way home, screaming and shouting. He decided to explore the woods whilst they made their way home. He hoped in fifteen minutes or so the place would be quiet again, and hopefully Doug Plummer, the school caretaker, wouldn't be hanging around either.

As he walked through the depths of the woods he took time to appreciate how beautiful the place was. Over the past few weeks he'd been through every square foot over and over again, but until now he hadn't noticed the intricate wonder of the woodlands. This was the first time he'd taken a step back and appreciated it. It occurred to him how he took for granted the beauty that was on his doorstep. From the interviews with Ben and Liz's friends and family no one knew they were dating, so the day Ben died could have been their first get-together. Garraway could appreciate why Ben would have taken Liz here. It's the sort of place he used to take Joan way back in their courting days.

Twenty minutes later he was back at the hill. The school kids had gone and, apart from the occasional dog walker and jogger, the place was quiet. He scrambled his way to the top and sat in the same place as the previous evening. This time the ground was dry. He switched his phone to vibrate and sat and waited, and waited, and waited. But nothing was happening. He glanced at his watch, three forty five. He decided to give it another few minutes. The jogger went past again, paying him no attention. He lay back and looked up at the cloudy sky. He was feeling drowsy as a breeze blew gently, which kept him from falling asleep. As the breeze died down Garraway began to drift. Pleasant dreams drifted through his mind as he lay.

Whilst he was in a light slumber, something else, somewhere very different began to stir. The Awareness was evolving within its own dimension and it was developing with more urgency than before. It was still void of senses, but this time its need to be known, to be accepted and to be heard was greater than ever. It needed to develop a voice. It had no physical body but it did have an essence which took a virtual form, floating in a void of darkness. As it floated it kicked and it wriggled, it struggled and it fought like a newly conceived blastocyst determined to break through to a dimension where it could flourish and have a resolve to thrive.

As the Awareness battled like an upstream swimmer it developed its first perception of emotion. It felt like it had been fired from a cannon and blasted out of its dimension and pulled into another. As it soared out and through to the other side its need to be heard multiplied a thousand times. The Awareness had a determination to release four simple words which had been pent up and were now boiling under pressure like a volcano ready to erupt.

Garraway was lightly sleeping when he was awoken by such a force it almost knocked him from the hill. He sat bolt upright. Beads of perspiration where on his brow as four words were ringing in his ears. Four simple, basic, pleading words. Four words which sounded as if they were being shouted by an innocent but condemned man.

PLEASE – HEAR – MY – VOICE.

He jumped up and looked around. There was no one. The words were still ringing as if someone had crept up and shouted into his ear. His whole body ached. He slowly climbed to his feet and walked around the hill to make sure there was definitely no one around and as he moved his body hurt badly. It felt as if there was sand in his joints. He sat back down to digest what had just happened.

\-----------------------------

Maria Jameson's home

3.47pm

Friday 10th October

Maria was in her favourite chair holding Christopher closely while he gently slept. After five weeks he had developed so much and she could see changes in him every day. There was an unconditional love that only exists between mother and child.

She gently rocked him and smiled contentedly.

Christopher suddenly awoke and with penetrating blue eyes stared at his mother. He jerked his head to one side and let out a blood curdling scream as if a firecracker had exploded next to his ear. Maria jolted forward and instinctively held him closer. He cried an agonising wail which quickly ebbed to a soft whimper and then he went back to sleep.

Maria stared at him and wondered what on earth had happened.

\-----------------------------

Southmead Hospital

Liz Mason's ward

3.47pm

Friday 10th October

Liz hadn't moved for four weeks. She had shown no signs of life other than her chest rising and falling as she gently drew in and exhaled breath.

Her mother Anne sat beside Liz, drowsily reading a copy of Closer magazine. Anne was in a state of permanent jet lag. One day was morphing into the next and she had little idea of which day was which. Time had lost its purpose.

Had she been more alert, instead of half reading a story about Jordan's latest Botox treatment, she would have seen Liz's eyes impulsively open. They darted from left to right as if she was consciously panicking, then they settled as she stared at the light in the ceiling above her bed. Slowly her lids closed as she returned to the state she had been in for the last four weeks.

As Anne turned the page of her magazine she reached for a glass of water.

The ten second occurrence had gone unnoticed.

### Chapter twenty two

Badock's Wood

3.54pm

Friday 10th October

Garraway wearily made his way down the hill. The pain in his joints was now subsiding. His phone in his shirt pocket was vibrating, he fumbled for it and saw it was Matthews. He welcomed the interruption as it brought him back to the real world.

"Good afternoon Sergeant Matthews, to what do I owe the pleasure of your dulcet tones?"

Matthews could hear Garraway's voice was shaky.

"There's been a suicide sir and we've been called in, so I'm afraid your day off has been cancelled."

"For a suicide, on my day off?" snapped Garraway. "Why can't a uniform PC and a uniform Sergeant deal with it?"

"Because it's got your name all over it sir, and it may not be suicide."

"Can you give me forty five minutes?" requested Garraway.

"Yes sir, I'll pick you up at your place and I'll explain on the way."

Garraway returned home, had a quick shower and changed his clothes. Although he was feeling a little better, the pain in his joints was still there and he was still feeling extremely tired. He made a strong coffee whilst he waited for Matthews.

Joan wasn't back and the house was quiet. He took the time to think about what had happened on the hill. He called Polly to let her know about the voice he had heard. Her phone went to voicemail so he left a message for her to call him back.

He could hear Matthews sounding his horn outside. He finished his coffee, grabbed his keys and left the house.

Garraway got in the front passenger seat and Matthews sped off.

"What's this about?" asked Garraway.

"The suicide of Polly Ellis," said Matthews.

Garraway did a double take and then his heart sank as he stared at Matthews without talking. He thought about how sad she'd sounded when they last spoke, but not to the degree of taking her life.

"Her flatmate found her in the bathroom, he called 999, but it was too late" Matthews continued.

"Did she leave a note?"

"She did, and this is why we're involved."

Garraway stared blankly out of the window.

"You need to read the note sir." Garraway nodded.

Garraway was feeling uncomfortable about the suicide, not just because he liked Polly, but because she had somehow become tangled up in his enquiries. None of what they had discussed had been reported by Garraway as he didn't feel it would be relevant to the case or even accepted as evidence. Mentioning voices from the dead via Polly wouldn't make him look good. He knew he already had a reputation of being a maverick.

During the journey to her flat Garraway became overwhelmed with grief. He had only known her for a few weeks, but in that short space of time a close bond had formed between them. He struggled to hide his emotions from Matthews.

Polly's road was teeming with police and paramedics. Matthews parked as close as he could. They got out, walked to her flat and climbed the stairs to the first floor where she'd lived. Garraway followed slowly behind Matthews. He walked like an old man. His arms and legs still ached.

Her upstairs hallway was busy with uniformed police constables.

"She's in there sir," said the WPC. Matthews and Garraway took it in turns to look around the bathroom door. Matthews had already seen her body and Garraway decided there was no need for him to go into the bathroom. He'd seen enough from the door. He walked across the hall and into Polly's lounge and sat on the arm of her sofa. Garraway looked shocked and insipid.

"Are you OK sir?" asked Matthews

"Yes, I'm fine," he replied.

"What's in the note?"

Matthews handed it to him, sealed in a clear police evidence bag. Garraway squinted his eyes and read the note.

\-----------------------------

To my dear mum, dad and all my wonderful friends. Please don't think badly of me for what I have done. I know my Sarah is waiting for me because she has told me.

I cannot live without her.

I will be happy again when I am with her and hopefully you will eventually find happiness in your hearts despite what I have done.

I love you all so much but have been so sad these last couple of years since Sarah died and I would rather be with Sarah in her world than without her in mine.

Polly

Please tell Markland Garraway not to give up on Ben Walker. Accept the evidence you find no matter how it is presented.

\-----------------------------

Garraway read the note three times. He wondered why Polly would have thought to mention him in her note. He looked at Matthews and shook his head.

"What a waste of a young life," he sighed. He looked at the note again, then turned it over and looked on the other side. It was blank.

"What's so important about this letter?" he asked Matthews.

"It's the bit which mentions your name sir, can't you see it?"

Garraway looked again and cast his eyes over the last section, this time he read it out loud.

"Please tell Markland Garraway not to give up on Ben Walker. Accept the evidence you find no matter how it is presented."

He looked back at Matthews shaking his head. He felt tired and weary and was clearly missing something.

"It's not the words sir," said Matthews, "it's the writing".

Garraway looked again. He looked at the first four lines of the note and Polly's signature and then he looked at the last line.

"It's different handwriting," he said.

"That's right," said Matthews, "so there must have been someone with her when she died, or just after."

"Unless, her state of mind caused her to write that last line differently. You don't know what must have been going through her head," said Garraway.

"But the writing is so different," said Matthews, "look at the first few lines, her writing is small and spidery and the last line is large and, well, loopy."

Garraway stood up and looked around her flat holding her note. He walked into her kitchen and rustled through her drawers. He closed them and continued to look around. He walked over to the far wall where Polly had hung her calendar. He and looked at the note made against Thursday tenth of September. He squinted his eyes to read the small spidery writing.

Markland Garraway, Weatherspoon's 9pm

He looked at the first four lines on the suicide note and compared it to the writing on the calendar. It was identical.

Matthews walked into the kitchen and watched Garraway as he looked from the suicide note to the calendar and back to the note.

"I will get the forensic handwriting guys to check it out, but I think there's no doubt someone else had got their hands on the note," said Matthews.

"It just doesn't make sense. Why would someone turn up, presumably after Polly had killed herself and leave a note for me?.........It's almost as if whoever wrote this wanted it to be found, as a way of getting a message to me." Matthews agreed.

Garraway looked at his watch. It was half past five.

"Sorry to be a pain Colin, but would you mind running me home?"

Matthews looked up. Garraway never referred to him by his first name, unless he needed a favour.

"It's been a long day and although it's been a day off, I feel totally knackered and not in the best frame of mind."

Matthews nodded and smiled, "No problem sir."

Matthews drove Garraway home and no one spoke during the journey. Matthews stopped the car outside Garraway's drive. Garraway got out and thanked Matthews for the lift.

"Do you think Polly Ellis could have been involved with the murder?" asked Matthews as Garraway was about to shut the car door.

"I think that's highly unlikely. I'll see you tomorrow bright and breezy," said Garraway as he went to close the car door.

"And I'll get this note over to handwriting now so hopefully we'll have some news in the morning," replied Matthews.

Garraway smiled and shut the car door.

He opened the front door and threw his keys on the table in the hall. He called out to Joan, but there was no reply. He walked into the kitchen and saw a note on the dining table. He picked it up. She had left a note to say she was at her sister's and would be back around ten. Garraway opened the fridge and saw a lone microwave curry on the middle shelf. He pulled it out of the fridge, looked the curry over, tutted, threw it in the microwave and punched four minutes thirty seconds into the timer.

He had intended to wait up for Joan, but after half finishing the curry he decided to have a very early night. He took off his jacket and tie, slung them over the back of the kitchen chair and went up to bed. It was only six thirty, but he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He suddenly woke up at three fifteen in the morning. He sat upright and saw Joan in the half-light sleeping soundly beside him. He felt wide awake and was thinking about the suicide note. A thought crossed his mind which he immediately dismissed. Shaking his head he bedded back down, stared at the ceiling and thought about the strange day. Polly's death, the voices on the hill and the note. He was sure there was a link. Tiredness returned and he fell back into a deep sleep until his alarm woke him just over three hours later.

### Chapter twenty three

The Incident Room

9am

Saturday 11th October

Matthews was already in the incident room when Garraway arrived. Garraway helped himself to fresh coffee and sat next to Matthews.

"Are you feeling better today?" asked Matthews.

"Yes, I am. Thank you for asking."

"I've spoken to Handwriting this morning and they've confirmed what we had suspected. There are two different sets of writing on the suicide note," said Matthews.

Garraway nodded as he leant back in his chair with the back of his head resting in his hands.

"I would like to speak to my friend Sergeant Brock," he said as he gazed towards the ceiling.

"What's Brock got to do with the price of bread?" asked Matthews.

"I don't know, maybe something, maybe nothing," he answered in an intriguing tone of voice. He had a look in his eye which Matthews knew meant he was having one of his 'out there' ideas.

"I'll start getting handwriting samples from those who knew Polly," said Matthews,

"Yes, good idea Matthews, you do that," answered Garraway in a nonchalant manner.

As Matthews left the room Garraway picked up the phone and dialled Brock's number.

"Sergeant Brock, how the devil are you?" said Garraway. "I wonder if you could do me a favour?"

Later that afternoon Matthews returned to the incident room and was looking pleased with himself. Garraway was also there and was looking even more pleased.

"I've got the uniforms doing the rounds taking handwriting samples from those who knew Polly sir," said Matthews.

"Good work," replied Garraway. "Be a good lad and run this over to your friends in Handwriting".

He handed Matthews a shopping list in a sealed police evidence bag. He had put masking tape over the 'victim', 'suspect' and 'case number' section of the bag so Matthews couldn't see to whose case the evidence related.

"What is it?" asked Matthews.

"I'll tell you after Handwriting confirm whether it's written by the same person who wrote on Polly's note."

Matthews looked at the list again. The writing did look similar, with its big loopy flowing style.

"Run along," said Garraway.

Matthews hated it when Garraway had that smug patronising attitude about him, but whenever he did, he was usually proved right.

### Chapter twenty four

Darlington

2.15pm

Saturday 11th October

Carla Price was unpacking the last of her belongings and was arranging her bedroom. Her new bed had arrived the day before and her temporary bed was up in the loft along with fifty boxes of bits and pieces that she and her dad were going to sort through over the coming weeks. Since she'd moved away from Bristol she'd almost become her old self. Her father was happy to see her back to normal. Whatever it was that had upset his daughter seemed to have passed. Although, she could still be abrupt and snappy, which he put down to teenage hormones and thought nothing else of it.

Carla and her father had new starts after the weekend. It was to be Carla's first day at Hurworth School and Richard would be starting his new job as an Analytical Chemist for CKT, a Waste Management organisation. This would be the first time in two years that he would be employed, since things had gone wrong when his wife had left him.

They were both looking forward to the new directions in their lives. Especially Carla, who saw Hurworth as a blank canvas to re-start her life, where no one would know anything about her past.

News of Ben Walker's murder had made the middle pages of some the national newspapers and was mentioned on Sky News, but in general the incident had gone unnoticed in Darlington, which is why she felt a weight had been lifted and she could hold her head up and begin to smile again.

She smiled to herself as she placed her CDs in their rack, neatly filed in alphabetical order. She had put her Linkin Park and Flo Rida posters on the wall. Her bedroom was beginning to take shape. The photograph of her mother and father in the pink heart shaped frame was given pride of place on her bedside cabinet. She loved her father and appreciated everything he had done as a single parent, but she missed her mother and wished her parents were still together.

She kissed the photograph and lay on her bed holding it close to her chest.

### Chapter twenty five

The Incident Room

3.45pm

Saturday 11th October

Matthews returned to the incident room to find Garraway beavering over a pile of paperwork. Matthews strode over to him and abruptly stopped.

"How do you do it sir?"

"How do I do what, Sergeant Matthews?"

"This," he said as he threw down the two evidence bags, one with Polly's note and the other with the shopping list.

"I assume that the forensic handwriting analysis bods are telling us that the handwriting samples match?" asked Garraway smugly.

"They're 97 percent certain that the last line on Polly's letter was written by the same person who wrote the shopping list".

Matthews stood over and watched Garraway as he held both evidence bags and looked from one to the other. He saw a look of incredulity in his eyes. Matthews waited silently for Garraway to speak. He knew that silence would eventually urge Garraway to say something........... but couldn't wait any longer.

"Would you mind sharing what you know sir?" he asked impatiently.

Garraway sighed. He wasn't quite sure how to explain what he had proved. He drew in a breath and decided to tell Matthews the facts.

"Sergeant Matthews, the handwriting on the shopping list and the handwriting at the bottom of Polly's suicide note were both in Sarah Greenfield's handwriting." He waited for Matthews to contemplate what he had just been told.

"Do you mean the same Sarah Greenfield who was killed in the hit and run over two years ago?" asked Matthews.

"The very same."

Matthews face contorted as he tried to work out the scenario. As he deliberated on how this could have happened he grimaced comically.

Matthews cleared his throat and suggested that perhaps Polly had found some paper on which Sarah had already written those words before she died and Polly used it to write her suicide note. Garraway shook his head.

"How would Sarah Greenfield known over two years ago that I would be investigating Ben Walker's murder, which happened last month?"

"Well it makes more sense than what you're suggesting," replied Matthews in an agitated voice.

"What am I suggesting?" Garraway calmly replied.

"It sounds like you are telling me Sarah Greenfield was in Polly's flat when Polly killed herself and then added her own words to the suicide note," Matthews snapped back sounding tense.

"No, Sergeant Matthews I don't think dead people can do that."

"Well, what do you mean?" asked Matthews impatiently.

"I'm not entirely sure, I need to mull this one over and I will let you know," he replied with a telling smile. And then he added.

"I may have indicated that it was Sarah Greenfield's handwriting, but I haven't suggested it was Sarah who wrote it."

Matthew raised his hands in the air, turned round, said he was giving up and left the room.

Garraway smiled.

Garraway knew he could be patronising. He didn't do it on purpose, it just happened, and he knew how much it annoyed Matthews. He knew that Matthews was aware that the hill had been having an effect on him, but he had never told him to what extent. Neither had he told him about Polly's visions of Sarah. It was time he came clean.

Garraway followed Matthews and found him in the corridor at the water cooler. Matthews looked annoyed, he couldn't hide it.

"If you expect us to work together you've got to stop playing stupid games," said Matthews holding a cup of water.

"I'm sorry," replied Garraway in an empathetic tone.

"There are some things I've not told you," he continued.

"About the case?" asked Matthews.

"Not exactly," said Garraway, "but I suppose there is a connection, but it's more about me".

Matthews looked concerned.

"Are you OK sir?" he enquired.

"Yes, well, at least I think so," replied Garraway.

"Shall we find an empty meeting room, and you can tell me what's going on?" suggested Matthews. Garraway nodded.

Garraway sat down at the table in meeting room two. Matthews changed the sign on the door to 'meeting in progress' and shut the door behind him.

"Shoot!" said Matthews as he sat opposite Garraway.

Markland Garraway looked around the small office as if searching for the right words.

He started from the very beginning. From the first time he had been to the place where Ben Walker had been found and how he was sick, how he'd had strange visions when sitting on the hill to how he recalled every detail of the UFO encounter and the strange voice that he heard.

Matthews listened silently.

"What about Polly?" asked Matthews. "You mentioned just now that you went to the woods with her." This was the part that Garraway was feeling most awkward about, especially since her suicide, and now the strange note she had left.

Garraway explained how he had made contact with her after finding her post on the Mythical UK website about the burial mound, or 'the hill' as he now preferred to call it. He told him about their telephone conversation, their meeting in the bar, their visit to the hill together, how Polly would sit on the hill and talk with her dead girlfriend, and how Sarah had told Polly that he should keep an open mind about Ben Walker's murder.

"So you didn't think to mention in our investigation that Polly had some kind of interest in the case?" asked Matthews.

Garraway shrugged his shoulders.

"I didn't think it was relevant," he replied, "and if I had mentioned that she had been given hints from beyond the grave, no one would have believed her, or me, and the evidence wouldn't have been of any use."

"That's not the point sir, and I think you know it. The point is that she had an interest in the case and I think we should have brought her in for an interview, if only to eliminate her from our enquiries."

Garraway knew Matthews was right.

Matthews stood up and looked out of the office window. He turned around to Garraway and cleared his throat.

"To be frank sir, I don't think you should be on this case."

Garraway sat upright and stared at Matthews.

"I beg your pardon?" he calmly replied.

"I'm worried about you sir, what you are telling me is all very odd."

Garraway viewed Matthews suspiciously.

"Keep going," said Garraway.

"Let's consider the evidence sir, you're seeing things, you've been off colour, you admitted that on your day off you slept for most of it, which is very unlike you and you've been keeping back information which could help with our enquiry." Matthews paused to consider what to say next.

"And, you believe that Polly was communicating with her dead girlfriend about the case."

"Well I was right about the handwriting wasn't I?" snapped Garraway, his voice rising in anger.

"It would seem so," replied Matthews.

"Can I ask you something sir?" said Matthews in a compassionate tone, which could be construed as patronising.

"What?" retorted Garraway.

"Is everything OK at home, you know, between you and Mrs Garraway?"

"I would like to remind you to mind your own business about my home life, it's got nothing to do with you," shouted Garraway so loud that the staff outside the meeting room could hear his voice.

"It does have something to do with me if it's affecting our work," replied Matthews calmly.

"I think I need to speak with Detective Superintendent Munroe, sir," he continued.

"Well that's your prerogative Colin," snapped Garraway as he stood up, walked out of the room and slammed the door behind him.

Matthews stayed in the meeting room and let out one hell of a big sigh. He didn't like what he'd just done, but he was worried about his colleague.

### Chapter twenty six

The Incident Room

9am

Monday 13th October

When Garraway returned to work on Monday he was told to report to Munroe. He huffed, and slowly made his way to Munroe's office on the fourth floor. He knocked on the door and heard Munroe's gruff voice.

"Enter."

Garraway felt like a school boy about to see the headmaster. He pushed the door open and walked into the office.

Munroe was a short rotund man in his late fifties. He had been in the force for over thirty five years. He rarely smiled, and Garraway made no effort to hide his dislike for him.

"Sit down, please," barked Munroe.

"I think you know why you're here," said the Detective Superintendent.

"I assume you've been speaking with Colin Matthews sir."

"Mmmmm, yes" he replied nonchalantly as he thumbed through some notes.

"Matthews is concerned about you, and I think he's every right to be," he said, as he took off his glasses and focused on Garraway's face.

"I would have to say you've been acting out of character since you've been involved in the Walker investigation."

"I'm no expert Mr Garraway, but I would say you are heading for some kind of nervous breakdown."

Garraway opened his mouth, but was thwarted from speaking by Munroe raising his hand.

"I want you to make an appointment with Occupational Health."

Garraway tried to talk again, but Munroe spoke first.

"I think you should take some time off, let Matthews carry on with the Walker investigation, he's a good policeman and he's got plenty of support."

"Honestly, I'm fine," said Garraway.

"You're not fine, sometimes you can be brilliant, but you're not fine, at least not now," replied Munroe.

"Are you suggesting that I am off this case for good?" he asked.

"I'll reserve judgement until after I've read the report from Occupational Health."

Garraway knew there was no point in protesting. He could appeal, but not until the report from Occupational Health had been submitted.

"I recommend you go home Mr Garraway and rest up. Occupational Health will be in touch with you soon."

"Sometimes, the best decisions are not the easiest ones to make," he added sympathetically.

Garraway nodded and turned to leave.

"There is one thing," said Munroe as Garraway opened the door.

"I'm intrigued," he said, holding a sheet of A4 and pointing at the paper, "How did you work out that the handwriting on Polly Ellis' suicide note would match Sarah Greenfield's?" He paused as he skim read the paper in his hand, "and how do you think her handwriting appeared on the note over two years after she died?"

"It's all about having an open mind sir," replied Garraway as he left the office closing the door behind him.

### Chapter twenty seven

Markland Garraway's home

3.45pm

Friday 17th October

Garraway had been assessed by Tim Westlake of Occupational Health and had been told to see his GP. He had been honest with Westlake and told him everything that had happened since early September. On the recommendation of Westlake and Garraway's GP, he had been signed off work for four weeks due to stress.

Garraway was not happy. He was more stressed at home attempting to recover, than when working.

Joan hadn't been particularly supportive and told him not to sit around the house and get under her feet. She had given him a list of things that needed doing.

He had considered booking a cottage somewhere for a short break with Joan, but didn't have the motivation.

He had been told by Westlake not to return to the woods and, in no uncertain terms, he should not go to the hill. Hearing this was like a red rag to a bull. It was the only place he wanted to be. The hill had become an obsession. Since being signed off work, it was about the only thing he could think of.

He jumped up, grabbed his coat and car keys and headed back to the hill, despite implicit instructions not to.

Fifteen minutes later he was there. It was a cold afternoon, the sky was covered in heavy clouds and it was getting dark. He didn't notice how cold it was and left his coat in the car. He climbed the hill and sat down. He'd not been here since Polly died and now the place had a sinister air. He lay back and waited for the nausea to return. As it did he became drowsy and was soon in a state of semi-consciousness.

\-----------------------------

The Awareness started to wake and was developing quicker than before. With less effort, it was finding it easier to reach out from its dimension to another place. The Awareness was not alone this time. There were other consciousnesses contending to be heard.

\-----------------------------

Garraway sensed several consciousnesses simultaneously vying for his attention, like lots of radio stations fighting to be broadcast on the same wavelength. At first he was hearing unidentifiable psychobabble but as he lay on the hill with his eyes closed in a hypnagogic state of half sleep, half-awake, he was able to focus on what he was sensing.

He was tuning into a distinct cerebral transmission. As he focused, his face contorted as if he was experiencing a low long drawn out electric current. A distant voice was materialising in his mind. The more he concentrated and fixated on what he was hearing, the clearer the voice became. It was the voice of a woman, gently calling his name. Instantly he knew who it was.

He could hear Polly Ellis.

His closed lids agitated as his eyes darted in all directions. Now he could see her face, smiling as if reaching out to greet him, but her smile was not a happy one, it was one which reflected guilt. He tried to speak, but didn't know how. All he could do was listen.

Polly was apologising for what she had done and the trouble that she had caused.

She was saying sorry on behalf of Sarah for writing on the note and told him that she was with her when she had taken her life.

Polly was telling Garraway that someone else wanted to speak with him, but was having difficulty being understood and she had promised that she would help the 'someone else' to be heard.

As he was hearing and seeing Polly a second face was taking shape beside her. It was that of a girl, with dark hair. She had a pretty face with smooth olive skin. She opened her mouth and spoke, but he could not hear her words. His focus on her intensified but still no words could be heard. She looked troubled as she could not be comprehended.

Polly's face came back into focus and she told him that it was Sarah who he could see and that she wanted to thank him. Sarah ceased trying to talk and smiled.

Polly told him that the 'someone else' was ready to speak, but like when Sarah spoke, he would not be able to hear the words or even see the face. The 'someone else' wasn't yet able to be seen and heard as plainly as Polly.

Polly would speak on behalf of the 'someone else'.

Garraway watched Polly's face as she concentrated. Her head was slowly nodding. Sarah was still next to her, but her clarity was waning. He lay on the hill waiting for what was to come next.

Polly closed her eyes as she began to relay the message and as she did her voice was so clear and distinct it was as if she was still alive and sitting beside him.

\-----------------------------

"Do not give up on me as I will help you. You may not know my voice when you hear me speak, but when you hear my words you will know they are mine."

\-----------------------------

Garraway opened his eyes and sat up. Polly and Sarah had gone but the words Polly relayed were ringing in his ears.

He sat on the hill and knew he had been hearing the words of Ben Walker. He climbed down the hill and tolerated the pain in his joints to which he was becoming accustomed. He made his way back to his car, walking like a man who was twenty five years older.

Uncertain if he would be allowed to 'officially' investigate Ben Walker's murder, or even if he would continue to be a detective, he knew that he would not give up until Ben's killers were brought to justice.

He didn't know quite how he would do this, but felt sure that with Ben's help, the work he had started would be finished.

It was early evening when he returned home and the house was empty. As always, Joan was conspicuous by her absence. Feeling tired was something he was becoming used to. He climbed the stairs one step at a time whilst holding on to the bannister. He turned to walk into the bedroom, desperate to sleep, but stopped as he reached the bedroom door. He ached and felt tired to the core and decided to sleep in the spare room so not to be woken by Joan when she came to bed. He dropped like a stone onto the single bed and stared at the ceiling and wondered how he was going to solve this case with which he was becoming so unhealthily obsessed.

He closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep.

### Chapter twenty eight

The Awareness

One of the many things the Awareness had no concept of, was time. It had no idea of the length of time that had passed since it evolved.

It had developed basic emotions, urges and senses, although the senses did not allow it to see, hear, touch, taste or smell.

It recognised that it was in a safe place and it was in an environment where there was unconditional love. It sensed happiness and that it was not alone.

It had started to remember things. Although it could not see or hear, it could perceive images and sounds like memories recalled in a vague dream.

It knew what it had been like to be happy, sad, loved and scared.

The awareness was learning and it was learning fast.

### Chapter twenty nine

Maria Jameson's home

7.30am

Tuesday August 3rd 2010

10 months later

Christopher was waking up. Maria could hear him crying over the baby monitor. He had been sleeping in his own room since he was six months old.

Just five more minutes please! She thought as she lay in her bed. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and sat up. Pulling back the curtain she saw it was a fine August morning. Smiling, she listened to Christopher cooing in his room. She walked along her hallway whilst tying the belt on her dressing gown, then gently opening the door to her son's room she was greeted by his beaming cheery face.

"Hello my baby boy," she said as she lifted him from his cot. His little legs kicked with delight when he saw his mother. Christopher replied with giggles and gurgles. Every morning was a wonder for Maria to see her son.

In the past eleven months he had changed so much. His once white hair had darkened to fair brown, his once tiny body was filling out nicely and he was crawling around the flat. Last week she found him pulling himself up and teetering against the sofa. He still had the same piercing blue eyes as he did when he was born. Maria was pleased that his eyes hadn't changed colour as he'd got older.

Since he was born, every day had been a good one. He slept well, fed well and was a happy little chap and had got off lightly with the ailments that her friend's children had been through like colic, eczema, coughs and colds.

Soon Maria would be returning to work and this was something she was dreading. She had agreed with Westhouse to return three days a week starting next month. Her mother Claire was to look after Christopher when Maria was at work. This was something Claire was looking forward to.

Maria carried Christopher into the lounge and placed him in his rocker while she went to the kitchen to make up his baby rice. Christopher had become attached to the Jelly Cat cuddly toy which Claire had bought him when he was born. It was a little grey cat which went with him everywhere. Claire had named the cuddly cat Misty and the name had stuck.

Maria could hear him crying from the lounge. She was getting to understand the different cries he made. He wasn't crying because he wanted his breakfast, she recognised this as one when he wanted something else.

She walked into the lounge with his feed and saw that he was upset because he had dropped Misty. Maria picked up the toy and gave it back to Christopher. As she tucked the cat under his arm he smiled at her and gurgled. The gurgle sounded different, as if he was saying something. As he gurgled and cooed he was making a 'mmmm' sound. Maria listened closely as he continued 'mmmm'. He dropped the toy cat again and started crying. She handed the cat to him and clearly heard him say "Meee."

Is this his first word, was he trying to say mummy? thought Maria.

Christopher held Misty close to him and smiled as he repeated "Meee, Meee, Meee." Maria listened carefully. He wasn't trying to say mummy or mama, he was trying to say Misty.

He had said his first word and Maria was elated. Looking around her empty lounge, she found it lonely having no one to share the special moment with.

She called her mother who was over the moon, and a little smug that Christopher's first word was the name she chose for his favourite toy.

Maria wanted to tell the world, but settled on calling Claire and her best friend Samreen as they had both been present when Christopher was born. Samreen was so happy for Maria and suggested a girl's morning chilling in Coaster's with coffee and a Danish pastry.

She placed Christopher in his door bouncer whilst she had a quick wash and change. Gone were the days of long relaxing baths as she daren't leave him alone too long without knowing he was safe. As she dressed she could hear him cooing, gurgling and saying "mee, mee" as he bounced up and down in the bedroom doorway.

### Chapter thirty

Coaster's Coffee Shop

10.54am

Samreen was waiting at the coffee shop when Maria arrived just before eleven o'clock. It was her day off and she had nothing planned, so time spent with Maria and her gorgeous Godson would be perfect. The best friends hugged and Samreen picked Christopher out of his buggy and gave him a cuddle. His face beamed.

"Who's a clever boy?" said Samreen as she bounced him on her lap. Christopher smiled and gurgled with delight. Maria put him in a highchair and gave him a rusk to suck on.

"Watch this," said Maria as she took Misty from Christopher and hid the toy behind her back. "Meee, mee, mee," said Christopher as if on cue. "That is too cute," said Samreen as she grabbed Misty from Maria and gave the toy back to him. Christopher beamed and cooed.

"You are so lucky Maria, he's gorgeous."

Maria smiled.

Maria went to the counter to order coffee and something to eat. She was served by a good looking dark haired man in his thirties. Hello, she thought to herself He's new. She ordered a cappuccino for Samreen and an espresso for herself. She needed a jump start as she was feeling tired. She sat down with Samreen and waited for their coffees.

"Who's the new guy?" asked Maria.

"I've no idea, he must have only just started," replied Samreen. They giggled like school girls.

Their order was brought by the waiter and Maria took note of his name badge. He put their drinks and food on the table, turned to Christopher and remarked what a handsome boy he was. He made a fuss of Christopher who wriggled and chuckled in his highchair.

Maria watched the waiter and thought about Rob. She wondered where he was and what he was doing.

"Your little boy's a proper Bobby Dazzler," said the waiter. "You must be very proud of him?"

"Thank you Campbell," said Maria.

The waiter looked a little embarrassed when she'd said his name. He smiled at her and the two women giggled again.

Christopher was getting tired and crotchety.

"That's not like him," said Samreen.

"He's a little tired, I'll put him in his buggy."

Maria covered him with his blanket and made him comfortable. He was still crying so Maria reached for his dummy and popped it into his mouth.

"I don't like those things, but sometimes they're a life saver," she said as he stopped crying.

Maria and Samreen chatted, read the papers and relaxed. Maria took a few crafty peeks at Campbell when he wasn't looking. Samreen watched her and smiled.

"I bet you'd like to get your hands on Campbell's meatballs," whispered Samreen.

Maria gave her a playful punch.

Samreen worried about Maria being a single mum and wondered how her life would pan out. She hoped she would find someone to replace that rat Rob.

Campbell looked across the shop and smiled at the pair of them and Maria smiled back. The two women giggled again like a pair of seventeen year olds.

Christopher was crying again. His dummy had fallen out of his mouth and landed on his blanket. Maria took a sip of espresso, put down her cup and reached for the dummy which was covered in fluff. She popped it in her mouth and sucked off the bits of fluff.

"Ewe!" remarked Samreen.

"I know, the things I do," said Maria.

She put the dummy back in his mouth. As Christopher tasted the bitter espresso his mother had inadvertently passed to his dummy, his faced scrunched up and he spat the thing out and continued to cry. Maria picked him up and cuddled him until he settled. Gently rocking him until he went back to sleep. She put him back in his buggy.

The miniscule amount of caffeine from the dummy was ingested and entered his blood stream. It made its way around his tiny system as it was shunted with every beat of his heart. The caffeine molecules started to counteract Adenosine when it reached his brain which caused his heart to beat a little faster and his breathing became a little heavier.

The tiny amount of caffeine passed through his pineal gland and triggered a reaction which had an instant and profound effect on Christopher and would shape his formative years of development.

As he lay asleep in his cot he started to rock from side to side. Maria and Samreen were engrossed in conversation and didn't notice.

Campbell came over to take away their empty plates and saw Christopher rolling from side to side.

"I used to do that when I was a nipper," he said pointing to Christopher.

Maria turned to Christopher and looked horrified.

"What are you doing Christopher?" she instinctively said.

"Does he normally do that?" asked Campbell.

"No, I've never seen him to this before, what's he doing?"

"He's a little head banger," he replied. "I did that in my sleep until I was about three. My mum took me to the doctor who told her I would just grow out of it," he added.

"What do you mean, a head banger?" she asked Campbell crossly.

"When I was sleeping, I would roll from side to side and, when I was a little older, I would bang my head up and down on the pillow. Lots of kids do it, it's nothing to worry about and he'll grow out of it."

"He's never done this before." She said picking him out of the buggy and holding him close. Christopher stopped rocking and cooed happily in his sleep.

"See, he's fine," said Campbell.

### Chapter thirty one

The Awareness

At the same time Christopher ingested the caffeine the Awareness started to rouse after a long period of inactivity.

It was acclimatising to a new level of wakefulness. It had a clearer understanding of what it was and what it had been. Memories were returning faster than before. Images were connecting with sounds. Voices had familiarity. Faces and places were beginning to mean something.

The Awareness was starting to understand who it had once been. Although it had no knowledge of where it was, it was starting to comprehend that it existed for a reason. It knew it had something to achieve, which was to be heard and understood, but the awareness had no idea what it needed to say.

In its present incarnation it was lasting longer than before, as hundreds of connections were being made like little lights coming on one by one. A catalyst had happened which allowed it an increased longevity.

As Christopher's brain was processing what was happening, he was rocking from side to side. The more the Awareness was evolving the more Christopher reacted by rocking in his sleep.

When Maria picked him up and held him close, the Awareness blinked off like a light going out when a circuit is broken.

Although the Awareness was again latent it wouldn't be long before it would reawaken. From now on, the catalyst, that molecule of caffeine, would ensure its development and with each incarnation it would build and remodel itself. Each time it would draw upon its memories which would become clearer and more meaningful.

The Awareness was a soul which had found Christopher. In Christopher the soul had a body where it could flourish and thrive like a hermit crab finding a shell in which to live.

### Chapter thirty two

Liz Mason's home

Wednesday August 5th

Liz was at home. She'd left Southmead hospital early in July. She was lying in bed when Anne came into her room to see her. She sat beside her daughter, moved her hair away from her eyes and kissed her on her forehead.

Liz had been in a vegetative state of coma for almost a year. Her father's good financial position had allowed his daughter to be cared for at home thanks to a team of medical helpers who were with her at all times. Since Liz had left hospital her parents had begun to accept their daughter's situation and felt better that she was at home in her room. It was a small step but it felt like progress.

Terry had returned to work, which was a good thing, as the distraction of the daily grind of running one of Bristol's most successful IT businesses helped him take his mind off what was happening with Liz. Although images of his daughter peppered his mind every few minutes, being at work was structuring his life allowing him to move forward.

The medical staff who looked after Liz were amazing. They fed her, turned her in her bed, changed her and managed muscle tone along with countless other daily tasks to ensure she was as comfortable as possible. They truly were amazing and they came at a truly amazing price.

Terry had planned on taking Anne on an eight week cruise that summer, but all that had changed after what happened to Liz. Although the cost of the cruise would hardly cover the cost of Liz's treatment for a couple of months, he had decided to put the money he had saved towards her medical care. He was a rich man, but didn't know how long it would take for Liz to recover and as his money pot wasn't bottomless he had to be sensible. The private medical insurances he'd taken out did not cover all of the cost, in fact he was taken aback by how little the insurance pay-outs were, considering the premiums he had paid over the years. He would do whatever was necessary to provide round-the-clock care for his daughter, even if this meant selling his company.

Liz had shown little improvement since she was found in September. She had opened her eyes in November which was amazing. Terry and Liz could not believe what they were seeing and were convinced Liz would soon be sat up in bed and talking.

Sergeant Matthews had been informed and was geared up to visit her as soon as she was ready to talk. She was the only key to unlock the evidence needed to capture Ben Walker's killers.

Unfortunately things had not improved since the day she opened her eyes. She appeared awake but showed no signs of awareness.

Whilst Liz lay in her bed, Terry and Anne would sit with her. Looking into her wide open eyes was like looking into the face of a Victorian porcelain doll. She showed no emotion and was not aware there were people around her. At times Anne wished Liz's eyes were closed as she appeared more peaceful, as if she was sleeping normally. Now she had the appearance of a dead person who was alive. Her chest would rise and fall, but her face and eyes remained motionless.

Liz received very few visitors these days. When she was brought home in July there was an influx of callers who had been expecting more from her. Those who called to her home hoped for a smile or a flicker of movement in her eyes. But she remained virtually motionless apart from the occasional twitch or fidget.

Every week a fresh bouquet of flowers arrived and was put on her bedside cabinet. Her friends from Taekwondo had not forgotten her and would make sure every Monday someone from the association would bring the flowers to her home. Anne had insisted that each new bouquet would never include lilies as she associated them with death.

### Chapter thirty three

Darlington

August 2010

Moving to Darlington was the best thing to happen to Carla. She was rebuilding her life. Her new school welcomed her and she quickly made friends. A few pupils and teachers noticed how shy she was at times. The teachers put this down to the move away from Bristol which happened at an awkward time in her life.

Her school friends loved her West Country accent. They'd never heard anything like it, other than on television. Some of the school boys said she sounded like a pirate and would call "argh" as she walked passed. This made her laugh. She didn't mind, as it reminded her how different she was in Darlington, which confirmed how far away from Bristol she had escaped.

She finished school at the end of term and was enjoying the summer break. Her plan was to return to sixth form and study for A levels. Her goal was to study art at university. Right now she was waiting on tenterhooks for her GCSE results, which would determine whether or not she would be attending sixth form.

She had found a summer job working in a café and was saving money to go on holiday at the end of the month with Sarah, who had become her best friend at Hurworth School.

Carla had told no one at Hurworth anything about what happened in Bristol. The memory returned to her regularly, especially as she lay in bed. She would love to tell someone, but it just wasn't possible. Had she witnessed a mugging, or a car accident, things might have been different, but to have witnessed a murder which had not been solved was too much. She had to keep everything to herself. The only ones who knew what happened were those who were there.

She often thought about Charlotte and wondered what had happened to her. As Carla had never received a visit from the police she had assumed that she, and everyone else involved, had kept quiet and got away with it.

Her father was doing well in his new job. Richard had only been at CKT for eleven months and had already been promoted. He was happy about his career and he was even happier because Carla had settled in so well. He was surprised that she didn't seem to be bothered about staying in contact with her old friends. Especially with Facebook and making it so easy to stay in contact these days.

He was elated when she told him about her plans to go to university.

There was something Carla hated, and it was something from she could not escape. She hated night time.

Lying in her bed her thoughts would return to Badock's Wood and that terrible night. She would drift off to sleep, then suddenly wake and sit up sweating and shaking as she was haunted by the memory of the rock crashing onto Ben's skull and that poor girl being attacked. Sometimes she reminded herself that it was her that ended the fight when she called 'police' and how everyone ran. She was sure this is what saved the girl.

Every night, as she closed her eyes, she prayed that morning would come soon.

### Chapter thirty four

Bristol

August 2010

Daniel Boyd had cleaned up his act. He'd had to. He'd needed to break away from his life of crime. He knew that if he was caught doing anything illegal his finger prints would be on file along with his DNA and this could link him to the murder. He'd broken contact with the others and moved on from his old social circles.

He had been living on benefits for years and was about to lose them as he hardly ever attended reviews and half-heartedly attended job interviews. Now he was different. He had taken a job in a builder's merchant and found he'd liked it.

One night, seven months earlier he sat alone in his bedsit and thought about who he was and what he'd become. It was the first time he'd taken stock of his life.

There was a persona that had run its course. He needed to get his priorities straight and his head screwed on. Instead of always running away, ducking and diving he needed to do something different and achieve something good. That night for the first time in a long time he was sober and he was figuring out who he was and working out if he wanted to keep living the way he'd been. He'd become a terrible addict. He was addicted to drugs, drink, violence and crime. But he was lucky as he'd never been caught. He knew his run of luck wouldn't last forever. He needed to get his life together and figure out how he'd ended up the way he had.

Every time the sun rose, he knew it could be the day his luck ran out.

The next morning he left his flat with a spark of ambition as he made his way to attend a meeting at JobCentre Plus. He was a mess but he was willing to change.

Brian, who was Daniel's careers advisor, sat opposite him in the cramped interview room. For the first time ever he had arrived for his appointment on time which had caught Brian out. He was hoping to have time for a crafty cigarette in the car park as he knew that Daniel would either be late or not turn up at all. But at half past nine on the dot Daniel was waiting to see Brian.

Brian had told him of some vacancies and one was at Jarrett's Builders Merchant which involved picking orders and packing boxes. Daniel agreed to go to the interview and even bought a suit from a charity shop to make a good impression. He tried it on in the dressing room and looked at himself in the mirror and liked what he saw. He decided to wear it out of the shop with his other clothes in a carrier bag under his arm. "Interview?" asked the shopkeeper. Daniel smiled as he handed over seven pounds for the suit. The interview hadn't gone particularly well as Daniel wasn't good at selling himself, but there was something about him that day which was different and he'd impressed the manager of the business enough to give him a chance. Daniel started work the following week.

His first day was awful. He'd found it difficult to get out of bed and was scared of the new direction his life was taking. Perhaps he should forget the job and continue the way he was. He sat at the end of his bed and smoked a cigarette. As he looked around his tiny dark damp room it reminded him why he needed to change.

Being told what to do was something he was not familiar with. He was used to ordering others around, bullying people to do what he wanted. Now he was on the receiving end and he would need to get used to it.

That was seven months ago and he was still working. Slowly he was changing. He still drank, but had stopped taking drugs. He bought food and cigarettes instead of stealing. Sometimes he thought it would be easier just to take things out of the shop without paying, after all it had been the way he'd lived since leaving home. He felt frustrated just waiting in a queue to be served and at times was ready to walk out without paying, but a voice in his head reminded him to do the right thing.

He went out with his workmates for drinks on payday, but didn't have any close friends.

When asked about his past he did his best to avoid specifics and told his colleagues he had been unemployed for a long time and this normally did the trick, no further questions were asked.

He was always one step ahead. He worried about saying the wrong thing to the wrong person which could link him with the murder of Ben Walker. He wanted to improve and be a better person, but there was no way he would give himself up to the police willingly. He was, and always would be, a coward.

As far as he was concerned, if the police had anything on him, he would have been arrested and charged by now. The murder happened almost a year ago, and unless any of the others confessed, he would remain a free man.

He was sure that Greeny, Mossy, Seb and John would keep quiet and he was almost certain Charlotte would. The only one he couldn't depend on was the other girl. He couldn't even remember her name. She bothered him, but he was hanging on to the hope that if she was going to turn herself in, she would have done it by now.

### Chapter thirty five

Markland Garraway's home

7.30am

Monday 10th August 2010

Markland Garraway was getting ready for work. He'd returned the previous week for the first time since he had been signed off sick last October, which was a lot longer than the four weeks for which he was initially signed off. It was a long road to recovery after his mental breakdown but he was getting there. He walked using sticks due to the arthritis which started about the same time as he began having mental health problems.

He was seeing a consultant about the arthritis who was taken aback by how quickly, and without warning, it had appeared. Until last October he had been a fit man who enjoyed playing sports, especially cricket and had no history of the illness in his family. Now he could hardly walk. The pain wasn't just in his legs, it was in his back, arms and wrists. He even found it difficult to hold a pen.

His consultant couldn't find a reason for the sudden onset of the illness. Garraway didn't smoke, he had no previous injury that could have brought it on, his job wasn't physically demanding enough to be the reason and he had no underlying illnesses which could have triggered it. It seemed that it had just been the element of chance.

After his breakdown he felt he'd got as well as he could at home and wanted to continue getting better whilst back at work. He needed routine and normality. Garraway consulted with his GP, occupational health and bosses at work, and it was agreed that over the following months he could slowly increase his hours. The initial reduced hours were non-negotiable. It was a condition he had to accept in order to take the first step of getting back to work.

That first day returning to work was scary for Markland Garraway, but he just wanted to get that moment of walking through the door on the first day back, over and done with.

When he returned he felt like the elephant in the room and he didn't mean his weight gain either. That was another effect of the depression, weight gain. A year of downing vast quantities of whisky whilst eating lard and doing absolutely no exercise meant he was now packing a fair bit of extra timber.

But what to say to other people! Should I say something? Should I not? What do they think has happened to me? What do they know? He thought the first day back.

In the end he decided not to make any big announcement, just crack on with his work. Slowly, over the weeks, he was hoping it would all just come out naturally, just by chatting to people around the coffee machine about how he'd been over the last year.

He was to keep the rank as Detective Chief Inspector, but would be office based and had been given a choice to train other detectives or to work in intelligence, and had chosen training. Office based work was as much as he would be able to manage until his arthritis improved.

At the end of his first week he bumped into Sergeant Colin Matthews in the staff canteen. It was an awkward moment. After small talk they went their separate ways.

Garraway had never stopped thinking about Ben Walker and was determined that sometime in the future he would be able to solve the case. He had decided he would never return to the hill as he knew that the strange Bronze Age burial mound was the cause of all his problems.

### Chapter thirty six

Maria's home

9.35pm

Monday 10th August 2010

Maria was reading a book in her lounge. She had turned the lights down low and was planning on reading just one last chapter before going to bed. Next to her was Christopher's baby monitor. She turned a page in her book and was just about to read it when she heard a creaking noise coming from the monitor. She put down her book and quietly crept along her small hall to Christopher's bedroom. He was facedown and rocking from side to side in his cot, like he had been in the coffee shop earlier in the week. She stroked his head and made him comfortable. He had become uncovered and, although it was a warm August evening, Maria covered him up in case he was rocking from side to side because he was cold. The rocking stopped. She went back to the lounge and continued with the book.

Five minutes later he started again, this time there was no creaking noise, instead there was a dull repetitive thud accompanied by Christopher making an "ughh" sound every time there was a thud. "Ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh," he went over and over again. Maria closed her book and listened to the monitor. "Ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh." She had never heard him do it before and she was worried. She crept back into his room, put his light on low and knelt down to his level while he lay in his cot.

He lay on his front and was banging his head on his pillow making the strange "Ughh" sound. She looked at him closely and saw he was fast asleep.

"Ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh," he continued with his strange mantra like chant. She picked him up and held him close with her head against his. As soon as she picked him up he stopped. He was fast asleep. As she held him she rocked him from side to side. After laying him back down she watched him whilst he slept.

Feeling tired she decided to turn in for the night. She took his monitor to her bedroom and got changed for bed. She was just about to lie down when it started again. "Ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh," along with the thudding of his head against the pillow. Maria was worried and didn't know what was happening. Was he ill, was he having some kind of fit? He was clearly not distressed as he was sleeping so soundly. She went back to the lounge, turned on her computer, brought up Google and typed 'head banging babies'. As soon as she typed in the search lots of websites came up, all with the same thing. Head banging in childhood seemed extremely common and up to twenty percent of children do it. The websites were all saying the same things. Boys were three times more likely to do it than girls. Most children stop by the time they are three. She closed the lid on her computer and thought about what Campbell had told her the other day. She felt a little more relieved now that she'd done a little research courtesy of Doctor Google. She thought about asking Campbell about it next time she was in the coffee shop. He said that he'd done it when he was a child and had grown out of it.

She went back to her bedroom and got into bed. "Ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh," he continued. Maria thought it would be best to let him carry on and decided to take him to the doctor tomorrow.

As Christopher continued his strange rhythmic head banging the Awareness was waking up. Was Christopher waking the Awareness by head banging, or was it the Awareness causing him to bang his head? Either way they were working together. The Awareness was recalling new and different memories, faces, voices, places and sounds. They meant nothing but were being stored somewhere for the Awareness to pool later. Christopher had no idea he was banging his head, or that there was something very strange going on in his brain. He knew nothing of the Awareness and sensed nothing of the memories the Awareness recalled. Eventually Christopher stopped as the Awareness drifted back from where it came. The rest of the night went without incident.

The next morning Maria was woken by Christopher's usual cooing and gurgling. He was calling for Misty as the toy cat had fallen out of the cot. "Meee, meee, meee" he called as Maria opened his door. She handed him the toy and smiled at him. He smiled back with his beaming grin.

As soon as her doctors' surgery opened she was on the phone to book an appointment. From what she had read on the computer his head banging didn't seem to be harmful. Her surgery would only see patients on the same day if it was an emergency. She told the receptionist that she needed to see a doctor today as her son had been acting very strangely in the night, banging his head and moaning. This was enough to convince the woman on the other end of the phone that Christopher should see a doctor straight away and booked an appointment for eleven that morning.

Maria called her mother and told her about Christopher's head banging. Claire tried not to sound alarmed, she had never heard of anything like it before and told Maria she was right to take him to see a doctor.

She put down the phone and watched her son happily crawling around the floor and pulling himself up onto the side of the sofa. Teetering as he went, he was able to walk the length of the sofa by holding on to it. He made his way over to his mother who scooped him up into her arms. "You'll be walking like a big boy soon," she told him as he beamed at her looking very pleased with himself.

\-------------------------------------------

11.20am.The Saint John Fisher Health Centre.

Maria sat in the waiting room of her doctor's surgery. She bounced Christopher on her lap as she waited for his name to be called over the surgery's intercom. They had got to the surgery before eleven o'clock and it was now twenty minutes past. Christopher was getting restless. She let him crawl around the waiting room floor and pull himself up using chairs, much to the amusement of the others waiting to see their doctor.

At last Christopher's name was called. Maria entered the consulting room and sat opposite Dr Marsh with Christopher on her lap and explained what Christopher had been doing the previous night.

Dr Marsh was young, Maria thought she didn't look much older than twenty five, but realistically she must be closer to thirty. Maria felt more relaxed when doctors was at least in their forties, or else how on earth would they have had time to learn all the different illnesses a person could have.

The doctor gave Christopher a thorough examination and found nothing wrong with him. He had no sign of an ear infection, respiratory problems, throat infection and she went through an extensive list of all the other things he didn't have wrong with him. Dr Marsh had no idea why Maria's son had behaved as he had, and suggested that as last night had been a particularly warm one Christopher was just having trouble sleeping. There was nothing else the doctor could suggest and sent Maria and Christopher on their way and told her she should contact the surgery again should he have more episodes.

Maria strapped Christopher in the car and wasn't satisfied with the diagnosis. A mother knows when something isn't right, and something certainly hadn't been right with Christopher last night. She thought back to what Campbell had said in the coffee shop when he called her son a little head banger. She hated his description, but it summed up exactly what Christopher had been doing. He had told her that head banging was something he used to do when he was young and had grown out of it when he was three.

She thought another trip to Coaster's was in order. It was lunch time. She could have a snack, feed Christopher and if Campbell was there she could ask him about his head banging.

She got to the coffee shop at one o'clock, just as Campbell was taking off his apron and getting ready to leave. She stood at the counter whist Christopher slept in his buggy. The girl serving asked for her order.

"Actually, before I order, could I have a quick word with Campbell before he leaves?"

The young girl called Campbell, who walked over to Maria and gave her a warm smile. Campbell told her that he was starting his lunch break. Maria didn't want to take up his time and told him it was nothing. Campbell bent down and looked at Christopher silently sleeping in his buggy.

"I see he's stopped that head banging business," he said, looking up at Maria.

"Well, that's what I wanted to speak to you about."

Campbell listened as she told him about Christopher's unsettled night and how she remembered him saying that he used to do the same thing when he was young. Campbell listened and smiled. Maria liked his smile, he had a kind face.

"Look, I'm just off for a bite to eat and you and Christopher are welcome to join me, we can chat about all this head banging stuff at the same time."

Maria briefly thought about it and didn't take long to accept his invitation.

Campbell Broderick was thirty three years old, five foot eleven inches with black hair and tanned skin. His father was from County Cork and his mother was from Indonesia. The mix race of his parents had resulted in an aesthetically pleasing son. He reminded Maria of Keanu Reeves.

She followed him across the road and into a bakery. Campbell ordered himself a baguette, a sandwich for Maria and a cappuccino for both of them. They sat at a small table at the far end of the bakery. The smell of freshly baked bread and cakes was wonderful and Maria wondered why she'd never eaten here before.

"So how come you work in a coffee shop and don't have your lunch there?" she asked.

"You've tasted that stuff we serve up, it's horrible, much too bitter, I prefer to come here."

Maria laughed. He's funny she thought.

"So what did you want to ask me about my head banging days?"

Maria was embarrassed, she didn't know the man and here they were talking about his childhood.

"You know that my son has started banging his head, and he kept me awake for most of the night doing it. I took him to see the doctor this morning and a fat lot of good she was."

"What did the doctor say?" he asked.

"Not a lot, she said it had been warm last night and it was probably what disturbed Christopher,........... I've seen him warm at night before, we've just had a hot couple of weeks and he was fine. Yesterday was different, he was chanting, banging his head and rocking from side to side and I was really concerned."

Campbell smiled. "I don't want to sound like your doctor, but I am sure that he will be fine. It might just last a few weeks or a few years. It took me until I was three to stop and my parents were convinced I was some kind of nutcase and look at me now." He smiled as he held his hands up as an invitation for Maria to inspect him.

"I don't know why I did it, but when I was little my mother was told by the doctor it was something to do with my brain developing and it was my way of dealing with it all. It was obviously down to my extreme intelligence as a child." He winked at her to show he was joking.

She smiled, but looked concerned. "But the chanting thing, did you chant when you banged your head?"

He shook his head. "I don't remember my mother saying I chanted, I just banged my head."

He could tell by her face that she was concerned about her son. "Look, if he carries on doing it and this chanting doesn't stop, I suggest you ask your doctor to arrange a health visitor to drop by."

Maria smiled at him and nodded.

"Why don't you film him on your phone?" he added.

Maria looked puzzled.

"You can bet your bottom dollar if the health visitor calls round he won't be asleep banging his head and chanting, so at least you'll have something to show."

"Good idea," she said as she took another sip of coffee.

They spent the next twenty minutes making small talk and enjoying each other's company, Campbell looked at his watch.

"I'm going to have to head back to work," he said as he stood up to put his jacket on. Pausing as he had one arm in his sleeve, he added, "I enjoyed having lunch with you, perhaps we could do it again?"

Maria blushed. "Maybe," she said as he ran her fingers through her red hair trying to hide her embarrassment.

He smiled and nodded as he left the bakery.

The next few weeks were fairly peaceful for Christopher and Maria. Although he was still occasionally banging his head and moaning, it was nothing like that strange night in early August.

During the nights when Christopher was sleeping well, the Awareness which nested deep within him was dormant, but was preparing for its biggest advancement yet.

### Chapter thirty seven

Markland Garraway's home

6.27pm

Monday 6th September 2010

One year since the death of Ben Walker

Markland Garraway struggled to get out of his car. Today his arthritis had been bad. He slowly made his way to the front door, awkwardly put the key in the lock and let the door swing open. Dropping onto the settee he let his two walking sticks fall to the floor.

It had been a hard day for him. A year since Ben Walker had been murdered and what had resulted in being the worst twelve months of his life. Joan was finding it hard dealing with his mood swings since his breakdown and had struggled to come to terms with the physical changes of her once tall standing husband. Now he was bent forward with the pain of his illness and she was left to do many of the jobs around the house that once they would share.

One thing he did enjoy was his work. After returning last month his role had completely changed. Although he still held the rank of Detective Chief Inspector he was not actively working on any cases. Detective Superintendent Munroe and Occupational Health said he needed more time before returning to his old role. Instead of solving cases he was now training others how to do it and found he actually quite liked it. He was putting the past twenty seven years of experience to good use.

But today had been particularly difficult. Whether it was the anniversary of Ben's murder having a subconscious effect on him or just the damp September day making his joints hurt more than usual. The case had been on his mind the whole day. He had tried his best to distance himself from it since he'd returned to work but today it had become an obsession, like it had been when he was at home suffering his breakdown. Never had his work affected him so much. He'd seen worse over the years. Children beaten to death by parents, women killed and mutilated by husbands and so many other gruesome things, but Ben's murder had really got to him. Deep down he knew exactly why he was so ill. All this had been brought on by the hill in the woods. Something about it had made all these things come together. From the first time he was there he knew the place was strange. If not for that place Polly Ellis may not have taken her life and instead been able to move on and find her future without Sarah.

He was certain that the key to his future wellbeing and mental health would be closure on Ben Walker's case. To find Ben's murderer had been, and still was, his obsession. Being off the case wouldn't mean that he couldn't be the one to solve the murder, it would just be a hell of a lot harder not having the support of his old team.

He knew Sergeant Matthews wasn't actively working on the case which was now residing in the unsolved pile. Matthews was not the sort of policeman who expected the unexpected and had no interest in embracing the mysteries of nature and forces that weren't fully understood. Witnessing that UFO in Ullapool forty three years ago is what shaped Markland Garraway into the man he had become.

He instinctively reached for his whisky but remembered that Joan had thrown it out on Saturday. She was sick of his dependence on the stuff. He knew she was right. He didn't consider himself an alcoholic, but sometimes he really needed a drink and this just happened to be one of those times.

He went to bed early and was endeavouring to read a challenging Fyodor Dostoevsky novel. By nine forty five his heavy eyelids closed and he slumped onto his pillow with the book in his hand. He began dreaming immediately.

This dream was different. It captured the moment Daniel Boyd crashed the rock into Ben Walker's head. He could see there were others standing around watching Boyd murdering Ben. His dream allowed him to pan around the scene. He could see the hill and the school behind. As he turned back the rock was resting in Ben's forehead, just as he'd seen it the morning Ben's body had been found. He panned further to his left where Liz Mason lay unconscious on the ground. There was a young girl who looked to be fourteen or fifteen. She turned and pointed directly at Garraway. He could see her face as clear as day. Then, as if in slow motion she shouted something whilst pointing at him. He could read her lips as she yelled "Run, it's the police." All of them took off and ran to the depths of the woods leaving Ben and Liz alone. The images were very clear, but there was no sound in his detailed dream.

Then he was awake. His sheets were soaked through with sweat. He checked the clock to see how long he'd been sleeping and was surprised that it was a matter of minutes. It felt as if he'd been sleeping for hours. It was just minutes before ten o'clock. He recalled the time captured on Ben's watched the moment he died. Had Garraway witnessed a detailed vision of what happened a year ago to the minute? Had he just witnessed the murder of Ben as it happened? Were the youths in his dream the actual ones who were there? And what about that shouting girl, did she shout to make them all run to the woods? He knew there were no police on the scene so unless she thought she'd seen something, she must have being trying to stop the attack and had probably saved Liz's life.

What was he thinking? It had only been a dream. But the more he thought about it he was convinced the hill was working its magic again. He remembered the line on Polly's suicide note, the one which had been written by Sarah.

Please tell Markland Garraway not to give up on Ben Walker. Accept the evidence you find no matter how it is presented.

He was now certain he had witnessed the murder first hand. But what could he do? He couldn't make out any of the attackers, other than the girl who had shouted. For some reason she was the only one who he clearly saw. Anyway, who in the force would accept what he had just seen as evidence? He knew the answer was nobody, especially Sergeant Matthews.

Garraway picked up the novel which had fallen to the floor, grabbed a pen and scribbled what he had dreamt on the back inside cover. He jotted a detailed description of the girl's face before it faded. He wrote the date and his initials beneath the notes.

Then he fell into a proper sleep.

### Chapter thirty eight

Maria's home

Christopher's first birthday

7.05pm

Monday 6th September 2010

"Little man you've had a busy day" sang Maria as she tucked her son in for the night.

It had been a busy day for Christopher. Maria made sure that his first birthday would be one that she would remember, even if Christopher didn't. She had arranged a little party. Samreen and Claire were there along with a group of mums and their babies she had made friends with at Joe Jingles. Maria's small flat had been trashed. There was cake and crisps trodden into the carpet, juice had been spilt over the furniture, and the kitchen bin stank of soiled nappies. All in all it had been a great day and she had loved every minute of it.

He had so many birthday presents there was not enough room for them all. Maria could see a visit to the charity shop looming up as there was no way he could play with all the things he had been given.

She kissed him on the head as he slept soundly.

Returning to the lounge she started to clear away wrapping paper, cardboard boxes and the remains of burst balloons.

It had been an excellent year and he was growing so well. He'd learnt to walk while holding her hand. She would let go of him and watch him attempt to balance, only to fall with a soft thud. His speech was improving. He still said "Meee", but was also saying mummy and Nana. He was trying to grasp some other words which Maria couldn't work out.

By half past nine she was done in and was craving a glass of wine. Five minutes later she was relaxing on her sofa, nursing a large glass of Sauvignon Blanc and watching Bridget Jones's Diary for the umpteenth time.

She was fifteen minutes into the film when she heard "Ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh." Maria put down her wine, paused the DVD and turned the volume up on the baby monitor. "Ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh." Oh no, he's at it again, she thought. She waited for a moment and hoped he would stop. He didn't and she could hear his head banging against the pillow.

Maria opened his bedroom door and waited for her eyes to become accustomed to the orange glow of the nightlight which illuminated his room. She watched as he lay face down banging his head as regular as clockwork up and down on his pillow. He would stop for a few seconds and then start rocking from side to side still chanting his strange mantra "ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh." She picked him up and held him with his head against her shoulder. He continued to rock backward and forward and chant into her ear. "Ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh." She rocked him, but he wouldn't stop, so she began to gently shake him but he carried on. He was in a deep sleep from which she couldn't wake him. She didn't know what to do. Carrying him in her arms she took him into the lounge and sat with him trying to hold his head still as it rocked from side to side and backwards and forwards. The chanting continued "ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh."

Maria started to sob. She was alone and had no one to turn to for help. She sobbed and rocked Christopher hoping that he would soon tire himself and stop.

### Chapter thirty nine

The Awareness

9.45pm

Monday 6th September

Christopher was chanting while rocking and banging his head because the Awareness had awoken again. It had been evolving for exactly twelve months and was about to flourish and grow faster than before. It was sorting images and memories into order and was working out who was who and what went where. It didn't know the names of faces, but it was able to sort them into categories. Categories of who was good, who was bad, who it had loved and who it had disliked. It was identifying places as well as faces. Places which were important, places which were good and places which were bad.

Then it remembered the burial mound. It paused and held onto the image of the grassy hill. The Awareness was experiencing confusion. It couldn't work out what to do with this image. It was both good and evil. Now that the Awareness had learnt to access and recall memories it was visualising good things about the hill. It could see a young boy playing there. The boy was laughing and smiling as he played. The Awareness felt love for the boy and knew that the boy loved him in return. This was why it was a good place. The Awareness was accessing more memories of the hill and they were also happy ones. All of the memories were with the boy. The Awareness was experiencing happiness. It was remembering how it had felt to be happy and loved.

The Awareness was visualising the hill again. This time the image was different. The young boy had gone and it was now seeing an image of a young woman, who was laughing and smiling. It was recalling more good memories. She was running up the hill and the view was from beneath her looking up. She fell backwards and as she did the Awareness saw she had a small tattoo of a butterfly on her back. Next there was confusion and a lot of scrabbling around at the bottom of the hill. The image of the girls face was very near and she was smiling. The Awareness was feeling a strong emotion of love for her and it was the happiest memories it had experienced since its formation.

The image of the young woman's face had become so close it could not make out her features. It was confused and did not understand what was happening. The emotion of love intensified and was merging into a new feeling. It felt warm and the Awareness found its level of happiness was increasing. Her face was so close it was blocking everything else. It could not see the hill behind her or the sky above and then for the first time it became conscious of two of the five senses. It was experiencing the sense of touch as it could feel her lips and it was experiencing the sense of taste from her lipstick. The emotion of love, the warmth of happiness and the senses of touch and taste had taken the Awareness to a higher level. It wanted to hold on to these new sensations as they felt so good.

Next there was confusion again. The feelings of good were replaced with feelings of bad. The young woman was still in the image but she was lying on the floor. There were new figures all around, figures it didn't recognise but sensed they meant harm. Then one of the figures was attacking the young woman and kicking her over and over. The Awareness then became conscious of a variation of the sense of touch it had experienced with the young woman. The feeling was more acute. The Awareness was trying to register what was happening. It concentrated on this new experience whilst seeing that the harmful figures were very close. The acute sense of touch was repetitive as it started and stopped over and over again. It was feeling pain. It was remembering the pain that night as it was set upon by the bad figures. The Awareness could still see the young woman but now she looked different. Her eyes were closing and she was not smiling. The Awareness looked up to the sky and saw a figure standing above with something in its hands. It could not work out what was happening. Why had such a happy memory turned into something so bad?

The figure standing above him was holding a rock. The Awareness concentrated on the figure's face. It was trying to match the face with other memories but couldn't recall where it had seen the face before. Again, the awareness recalled a memory of acute pain. It looked up and saw the figure was standing above him but without the rock. The Awareness was regrouping its thoughts and was attempting to work out what had just happened, when another image of the figure returned holding the rock high above his head. Again, the Awareness focused on the figure's face but it still couldn't work out who it was. This time the Awareness saw the rock falling and was followed by another sensation of acute pain.

This time the feeling of pain stopped as soon as it had started. The Awareness was trying to work out what all of this meant.

Whilst the Awareness was recalling the memories, Christopher was in his cot rocking, chanting and banging his head over and over. Maria was crying as she could not stop him. He wouldn't wake up and his chanting was getting louder and more disturbing.

The Awareness replayed the last sequence again and again, which was causing Christopher's head banging and chanting to intensify.

Finally the Awareness comprehended what had happened. The last memories, which were the most recent ones, were of the moments it had stopped being what it once was. It placed what it had just experienced in chronological order and filed it with the other images and memories and contemplated what it meant.

The Awareness had no real concept of time, but now it was alert to how long it was taking to work out what all of this meant. It was conscious that it was taking time to piece together the jigsaw of memories. It was replaying the memories of the girl, the hill, the figures, the falling rock and the acute pain. All of these were the last things it had experienced before it had become what it was now.

Then it made sense. The Awareness had finally worked out what all of this meant. It knew it had once been alive and had been spending happy times with people it had loved. It had many images to support this. So if it had once been alive, now it must be dead.

The Awareness was experiencing something new. It was a new emotional sensation which was fear. It was scared as it knew that it was dead and may never again experience happiness.

So if it was dead, where was it now? Once it thought it was in a safe place and surrounded by love, but now it felt as if it was imprisoned in solitary confinement.

When it first evolved it instinctively knew it had to be heard and as it flourished it understood it had something it had to say. It had a message. Now things were making sense. It understood that once it had been alive and its life had ended abruptly and violently. It thought about the memory of the girl. Who was she? She had clearly meant something.

The Awareness wondered about what it had been when it was alive. It had seen no memories of itself. Had it been young or old? Had it been male or female? What had been its home and where did it live?

It recalled memories with new purpose. It needed to learn more about itself.

As memories were replayed the Awareness was honing its ability to stop, pause, rewind and replay them. It was learning to scrutinise and analyse them. It revisited memories and was able to make use of its new sense of touch and its enhanced emotions of love and hate.

It played specific memories over again, whilst skipping ones of little significance. One memory kept resurfacing. It was an image of a smartly dressed young man looking very proud and who was wearing a uniform. It was a black jacket, blue shirt and a peaked cap. The Awareness had skipped over this image several times at it seemed insignificant. This time it examined the image in more detail. In other memories people had been moving around and interacting with others. This memory was an image of a solitary figure and there was something about it that made it different from the rest. The Awareness played it over again and was trying to work out why it was different and why it now seemed significant?

The young man was standing still but would move to adjust his hat and his jacket. He would turn to his side and look over his shoulder whilst craning his neck as if he was trying to view something before returning to his original standing position.

What bothered the Awareness was the young man's eyes. They were staring directly at the Awareness as though the young man could see it, and the Awareness felt it was staring back. The Awareness kept replaying the memory until it understood what was happening.

It was the memory of someone looking at them self in a mirror. The memory of the young man was the reflection of the Awareness when it had been alive.

The image in the mirror confirmed that the Awareness had been male and that he'd lived until he was at least in his early twenties.

He knew that he'd been killed, but he didn't know who he had been or what his name was. Hopefully he could piece these things together as he continued to develop.

He thought about the message that he had to get across and knew what it was he needed to say. He had to let it be known that he still existed and he had to get a message out about his killer.

He had to find a way to be heard and he could only think of one way and that was to shout. He was starting to fade. He'd achieved more and had learnt more about who he had been than ever before. But it had drained him of his energy. He faded until he was no more. But he would return.

Whilst the Awareness had been recalling its memories and working out who it had once been, Christopher had been reacting violently by banging his head against the wooden slats of his cot, chanting louder than ever before and rolling from side to side.

\-------------------------------------------

Maria was helpless, she had picked him up, put him down and tried to wake him repetitively, but he wouldn't stop or wake up. Then suddenly after about half an hour he stopped and slept. Gently snoring as if nothing had happened.

Maria was exhausted and her eyes were red with tiredness. In the commotion she had forgotten to video Christopher as Campbell had suggested. She decided to get Christopher back to the doctor tomorrow and insist on a visit from the Child Health Visitor. It was five past ten, the whole episode had lasted only thirty five minutes but had seemed a lot longer.

She was tired and needed to sleep, but didn't want to leave him on his own. Eventually she went to her room with his baby monitor and turned the volume up to ten.

The rest of the night passed without incident.

### Chapter forty

Darlington

9.15pm

Monday 6th September 2010

Carla had been dreading this day. Twelve months since the murder. Considering all the things that had happened during the last year she was doing pretty well. But today had not been a good one. Her stomach had been churning all day long. She should have started sixth form, but she didn't feel up for it.

She had done well in her GCSE exams and was pleased to be going back to school for A levels. Hopefully she would be well enough for school tomorrow but today had been a bad day just as she knew that it would be.

She felt awful guilt. Her life was moving forward and she had a future. Ben Walker could have had a future. She had read his obituary and knew that he'd been a policeman. She had great respect for the police and knew he would have been a good person. Although she had respect for the police, she didn't have the guts to stand up and turn herself in. She hated herself for it and considered herself a coward.

She had no idea what had happened to Liz. She had tried to find out whether she had recovered, or died. She had trawled the internet many times and, other than the news reports of Ben's murder which mentioned Liz, she found nothing.

She was tired and needed to sleep. It was nine thirty five but she wanted to stay up until ten, which was about the time Ben died. She wanted to be awake out of respect for him. She lay in her bed forcing herself to stay awake, but her eyelids were heavy and she was drifting. She pushed herself to get out of bed and walked across the landing to the bathroom. Running the cold tap, she splashed her face in an attempt to wake up. She didn't dry her face as she wanted her cold wet skin to keep her awake. As she lay on her bed she was still tired and was struggling to stay awake. She was more tired than she was five minutes earlier. She was drifting off and there was nothing that could be done.

She started dreaming of the same thing she dreamt about most nights. The murder. Over the past twelve months her memory of that night and her dreams were still detailed, but lately her memories had lost their clarity and she had forgotten small aspects of what happened that night. She was starting to forget some of the things the others had said, what they were wearing and other small details. One thing she would never forget was the dull thud as the rock crashed into Ben Walker's skull and the mess it had made of his head. Her dreams and memories always included her shouting 'Run, it's the police.' She always dreamt this as it was a way to separate her from the others. It was a way to prove she was a good person and had been able to stop the attack on Liz.

Tonight her dream was more vivid than ever. It included more detail than others she'd had before. The dream included smells, sounds and she could hear Liz wheezing after John had been kicking her. She could hear Boyd grunt as he smashed the rock into Ben's head, not once but all three times with such detail it was as if she was there in the woods.

This time there was something different about her dream. As she called 'Run, it's the police' and pointed to the entrance of the woods she saw someone looking at her. A smartly dressed man in a suit.

She awoke with the image of the man fresh in her mind. He looked familiar. She sat up in her bed and was shaking. She was sure what she had seen meant something. While the face was still clear she grabbed a pencil and pad and sketched the man. Carla didn't have any coloured pencils nearby, they were downstairs in her school bag so she made notes about the colour of his eyes, his hair and what he was wearing. There was something about the man which was so real and it seemed he had been looking at her and she had been looking at him. She had a feeling that the man was somewhere else dreaming the same dream as her.

Carla put her sketch pad down and thought about the dream and the familiar face. Lying in bed all she could see was his face going round and around in her head. She picked up the sketch book and looked at her drawing again. Where had she seen him before?

Suddenly she remembered. Jumping out of bed she bounded to the other side of her room and flipped up the lid of her laptop. Impatiently she waited for it to start. Eventually the computer was working. She typed into Google 'Ben Walker Murder Bristol' and instantly she was presented with a screen full of different websites which were mostly news sites. Scrolling through the choices she saw one which took her eye. Carla clicked on the link which opened up the BBC News archive site which had a report on the murder at Badock's Wood. It included the press conference which had been broadcast a few days after Ben had been killed. She clicked the play icon and nervously waited for the video to start. The broadcast started by showing the place where Ben had died with the BBC announcer describing what had happened. Carla was shaking as she watched. Then the news conference started. A man was talking on behalf of the police and his name was on the screen as he spoke. She paused the video and stared at him in disbelief. She walked to her bed, picked up the sketch pad, brought it over to the laptop and compared her drawing with the man on the video. It was the same person. She had dreamt of the man in the news report. As she read his name she whispered it, "Detective Chief Inspector Markland Garraway".

She cleared the history on her computer, closed the browser and shut off the power. What had just happened? She had such a vivid dream of the man, a man she had never really seen before. She had seen snippets of the press conference, but found it to upsetting to watch all the way through. She had remembered listening to Liz's father, but had paid little attention to the policeman who was leading the press conference.

She got back into bed and couldn't get the man's face out of her mind. Perhaps she had subconsciously remembered him from the news conference. The more she tried to convince herself, the less she believed it.

### Chapter forty one

Bristol

Daniel Boyd's Flat

9.55pm

Monday 6th September

Daniel Boyd had moved out of the bedsit three weeks ago and now had a small one bedroom flat which he rented for two hundred pounds a month.

He sat alone on his couch watching one of his favourite DVDs. He loved Alien and had a thing for Sigourney Weaver. Slumped deep into his couch with his feet on a footstool and a can of Stella Artois in his hand, he had no idea of the significance of the day. Many people were remembering the life of Ben Walker and laying flowers at the place where he died, but not Daniel Boyd. As his watch ticked round to 9.56 pm he lit a cigarette and took another mouthful of beer oblivious to what had happened a year ago to the minute. He yawned and belched as his watch moved to 9.57.

### Chapter forty two

Maria Jameson's flat

6.42am

Tuesday 7th September

Christopher woke Maria a little later than usual. He had slept through the night without waking. The previous night's episode had worn him out and he'd needed to recharge his batteries. Maria had a terrible night's sleep. She had spent the night worrying about her son. His chanting and head banging was as if he'd been possessed by the devil. It was like something from a B movie horror film.

She was so tired it was difficult for her to lift him from his cot. He was pleased to see his mother, but he didn't welcome her with his normal beaming smile and cheery gurgle. The past few mornings he had greeted her by saying mummy, this morning he said nothing.

She prepared his breakfast and made herself strong coffee.

Christopher happily sat in his highchair and ate bread and jam. Maria watched him and thought about the night before. She hoped the doctor would be able to provide the answer and she would be on the phone to the surgery as the clock struck nine to book an early appointment.

He left most of his breakfast and became crotchety. Maria felt his forehead and he was warm. She decided not to give him Calpol because if he was going to see the doctor it would be better that he was showing symptoms of any illness he may have. She hated it when he was ill, as he had been lucky until now. He'd hardly had a cough or cold and now he had this strange head banging going on. Maria was not used to him being unwell. At times like this she wished she wasn't a single mother and could do with the support of his father, or if not his father then a good, kind and supportive man. She sipped her coffee and thought about Campbell.

Christopher and Maria were washed and ready to go by quarter to nine and he seemed a little brighter after having a bath. She had got through to the surgery just after nine and had managed to book a morning appointment. Again she was seeing Dr Marsh. She would have preferred to see another, more mature doctor, but she would have to have waited until the next day for an appointment with someone else.

She spent the next hour tidying her flat after his birthday party the day before. She took the black bags full of wrapping paper and cardboard and dumped them into the black wheelie bin. She was down on her hands and knees removing a chocolate stain from the carpet when her phone rang.

"How's the party animal?" asked Samreen cheerily.

"He's not so jolly this morning."

Samreen sensed that Maria was unhappy.

"Is everything OK, Maria?"

She told Samreen about the previous night and how strange Christopher's head banging had been.

"You're doing the best thing, I'm sure the doctor will work out what's wrong with him," said Samreen in a reassuring voice.

"I have something to tell you," added Samreen.

"Mmmm?" replied Maria sounding disinterested.

"It doesn't matter, I'll tell you another time." Samreen felt it wasn't a good time to tell Maria trivial things as she was worrying about Christopher.

"No, no, I'm sorry, what did you want to tell me."

"You have an admirer."

"Do I?" replied Maria sounding a little cheerier.

"Yes. I went to Coaster's this morning for an early coffee and guess who served me?"

"Campbell?" replied Maria expectantly.

"Yes, Campbell. He was asking after you. He definitely likes you."

Maria smiled as she held the phone to her ear. At any other time she would have been excited by the prospect of someone showing an interest in her, especially handsome Campbell, but right now her mind was focused on Christopher.

"That's nice, perhaps I'll call into the coffee shop to see him."

Samreen said she would be thinking of her and Christopher when they were at the doctors and ended the call.

An hour later Maria and Christopher were back in Dr Marsh's consulting room. The young doctor seemed stern and unforgiving as she gave him another thorough examination.

"Perforated eardrum" said the doctor as she put down her otoscope. She had delivered the diagnosis without a hint of compassion. The doctor's eyes didn't make contact with Maria's as she entered notes on her computer.

After what she'd been through last night with Christopher, she could feel her anger welling up.

"Sorry Doctor, but would this have affected him so badly last night, I mean it was like he was possessed by the devil?"

"Miss Jameson, your son was clearly in a lot of pain last night. Children have different ways of dealing with pain and Christopher finds that banging his head and moaning is his way of coping."

"But he slept through it all, he was banging his head when he was sleeping, surely that can't be right?"

"As I said, children have different ways of dealing with different things. Believe me, it will pass. All you can do is give him paracetamol and he will get better." Dr Marsh attempted to smile as she tried to reassure Maria.

Maria remembered the advice given to her by Campbell.

"I would like to have a health visitor come and see Christopher please."

The doctor was getting irritated.

"Why?"

"Because I would like someone else to see what Christopher is doing."

"OK, if Christopher continues with his head banging after his ear gets better then I will arrange for our child health visitor to see him." She paused and looked Maria in the eye.

"But I can assure you, it's just your son's way of dealing with the pain."

Maria couldn't argue. The doctor had won.

She walked along the high street pushing Christopher in his buggy. He seemed happier since she'd given him a spoonful of paracetamol. She walked past Coaster's and slowed as she considered calling in for coffee, especially since Samreen told her about Campbell. She was looking through the window and was about to walk on past when she saw Campbell waving at her from behind the counter. She smiled at him. She had to go in now, it would be rude not to.

She pushed the buggy awkwardly through the door, getting the front wheels jammed. She struggled to free the buggy and looked up to see Campbell opening the door for her. She smiled again and thanked him. He showed her to an empty table.

"Cappuccino and a Danish?" he asked.

"Oh, just coffee please," she replied sounding tired.

"Are you OK?"

She told him about last night and the visit to the doctor. Campbell seemed to be genuinely concerned.

A few minutes later he was back with her drink. He lowered himself to Christopher's level, smiled and held his little hand whilst shaking it backwards and forwards. This made Christopher smile. His big beaming grin was back.

"He likes you," said Maria.

"I think your son likes everyone, he's a lovely lad."

Maria watched as the two of them interacted and thought about what Samreen had told her. Did Campbell have a thing for her, or was it Samreen attempting matchmaking?

"I need to get back to the counter, but I'll pop back and see you before you go."

Campbell walked back to the counter as Maria admired him.

The coffee shop became busier as lunch time approached. Campbell was rushed off his feet and Maria needed to get going, but she would like to see him again before she headed off.

She made Christopher comfortable and got up to leave. Before she had made it to the door Campbell was already there, opening it for her.

"Thank you, you're a gentleman."

"Look, I know it may not be the best time to ask and I know that last night was tough for you, but I'm going to ask you anyway."

Maria waited without speaking.

"Would you like to go out one night?"

There, he'd said it. Campbell could be shy at times, especially around pretty ladies, but he just had to blurt it out.

Maria said nothing at first and then looked him in the eye and smiled.

"I would love to."

Campbell let out a sigh. He hadn't noticed he'd been holding his breath.

They exchanged numbers and he promised to call.

Despite what Christopher had been through, Maria was a little happier as she made her way home.

### Chapter forty three

Darlington

5.15pm

Tuesday 7th September

Carla had spent her first day at sixth form. She'd found it hard to concentrate as her mind had been occupied by the image of Markland Garraway in her dream the night before. It bothered her why an image so clear and detailed of a man she'd hardly seen before would have entered her dream. She'd muddled through the day but her heart wasn't in the right place for school.

She was home by four o'clock and went straight to her laptop to discover more about Markland Garraway. She hoped to find something which would explain why she had dreamt such a vivid image of him.

She dropped her school bag on her bedroom floor and lifted the lid of her laptop. As she opened the lid there was a note written on a yellow Post It from her father. 'Don't forget to cook our meal'.

They'd agreed, or rather her father had, that in return for generous pocket money, she would cook the evening meal. Her father was not home from work until five thirty most evenings and after a busy day he didn't fancy cooking. This new arrangement was to start when Carla began sixth form. She was let off the chore yesterday as she'd been feeling unwell.

Carla sighed as she made her way back downstairs to the kitchen where she peeled potatoes and carrots before bringing them to the boil and had an oven ready chicken cooking away nicely in its own juices.

After she'd brought the veg to simmer she disappeared back to her room and fired up the laptop. Cranking up Google she feverishly typed 'Detective Chief Inspector Markland Garraway'. There were fourteen pages of results which mentioned Markland Garraway's name.

Carla read each entry one by one and scrutinised every page. Most of them linked to reports of cases he had worked on over the past few years. She jotted down details in her notebook by the side of her laptop, including the address of the websites. Most of them were the BBC news site covering the Bristol region. She'd been hard at work for about forty five minutes when she was hit by an awful smell. She stopped what she was doing and looked around her room. A smoky haze filled the landing outside her bedroom door.

"Oh shit!"

She charged down the stairs and almost carried on in the direction of the front door. Skidding on the rug as she turned towards the kitchen as fast as her legs would allow her.

Thick smoke was bellowing from the kitchen as the water had boiled dry which left carrots and potatoes smouldering at the bottom of the burnt saucepan. After turning off the gas she grabbed the handle of the pan and swore as it burnt her skin. Dropping it back on the hob she used a tea towel to move the hot saucepan to the sink and ran the cold water. The water hissed and bubbled like a geyser as it splashed over the pan creating a cloud of steam.

The saucepan and the vegetables were ruined. Carla opened the windows to let the steam, smoke and smell out. Then she remembered the chicken. She opened the door and luckily it didn't look too bad. After turning off the oven she placed the chicken in its tin foil tray on the kitchen worktop.

Sitting on a kitchen stool, resting her head in her hands she began to cry.

She heard her father opening the front door. She looked at the clock on the wall and couldn't believe it was almost half past five. She knew she was in trouble. The first day she'd been left in charge of her new chores and she'd messed up.

Her father wasn't as hard on her as she'd expected. He was disappointed that she'd not been able to carry out such a basic task, but was more annoyed with the putrid smell drifting through the entire house and the waste of an expensive saucepan. Her punishment was to take a trip to the local Indian takeaway and bring back a meal which was to be deducted from her weekly allowance.

Something about Carla was still bothering Richard. Although she was brighter and seemed happier since their move to Darlington, she wasn't the girl she used to be. He found it hard to communicate with her and she had become introvert. He'd discussed her mood change with his friends at work and was told it was completely normal. Everyone he'd spoken to with a teenage daughter had said their girls were exactly the same. Locking themselves in their rooms, only coming down to raid the fridge, shouting at their parents over the most trivial things and showing total apathy towards life. This made Richard feel better, but only a little. With most girls it was a gradual change. Some girls would slowly become grumpier as their hormones kicked in and the transition took several months. Most of them started to change well before they'd hit their teenage years. But Carla was different. When she was twelve he'd noticed a few subtle changes in her character which he put down to puberty, but in the last year she'd changed dramatically. He could almost pinpoint the day she changed. It was the day he'd announced they were moving to Darlington. This was what confused him. If it had been the move away from Bristol and away from her friends that had upset her, why had she never protested? She'd gone along with the move without complaining. Almost as if she'd welcomed it.

Carla cleared the dishes and cleaned up the mess. The saucepan was in the bin but the acrid smell of burned metal and food would hang around for days.

Richard listened to her tidying up and was about to ask whether she was OK, but decided against it. She was a good girl and to think his daughter was unhappy broke his heart. Some nights he'd gone to bed and cried over her.

After she'd finished clearing away she kissed her dad goodnight and told him she wanted an early night because school had tired her out.

She shut her bedroom door and carried on where she left off, searching for anything she could find about Markland Garraway.

She wasn't surprised to find most of the reports were referring to Ben Walker's murder, but what did surprise her was that, since early October 2009, there had been no further mention of him on news, police, or any other websites. It was as if he'd vanished from the face of the planet. She checked online obituaries and websites that may have referred to his passing and tried searching 'Markland Garraway Dead' in Google. Other than a man of the same name who died in Portland, Oregon in 2004 and a boy who'd been killed in a hit and run on the Isle of Wight on Christmas day 2007, there were no other reports of anyone who could have been the detective and had died.

If he was still alive, where had he gone? She searched 'Markland Garraway retired', which also came up with nothing.

She sat back in her chair and considered why it was concerning her? Her dream and vision of the man were so clear it must have meant something. She wondered whether he was dead and was trying to contact her from beyond the grave. She scorned herself for being ridiculous.

She carried on looking into some of the older reports of cases with which he'd been involved. Glancing at her watch it was half past nine and she'd been searching the net for over an hour and a half and was getting tired. She decided to give it another fifteen minutes before turning in for the night.

Reading an archived news report from The Bristol Post she found something interesting. It was a report of a young woman who had been murdered in Bristol in 2006. Markland Garraway had been involved in the investigation. The story gave details of there being very little evidence to find the murderer. The report went on to explain that interviews had been conducted with friends, family and neighbours. Garraway had interviewed an elderly lady who lived in the flat above where the murder had taken place, and although she saw or heard nothing at the time of the murder, she told Garraway of a detailed dream she'd had earlier in the week and had made notes of what she had dreamt. She had called the police and told them. The police were grateful for the information and were very nice to her, but she knew that they would do nothing, but she felt she'd needed to tell someone.

The murder that had taken place in the flat below was almost identical to what she had dreamt, almost as if she'd had a premonition. The report explained that Garraway had noted the details of her dream and had taken her description of what the murderer was wearing and that he had a tattoo of a spider on his right forearm.

Garraway had searched the police database and found a known criminal with a tattoo which matched the description from the lady's dream. Against the advice of his seniors he pursued his investigations using the information he'd received from the lady, which eventually led him to the killer, who had been a jealous ex-lover of the girl.

Additional evidence was found and the killer was convicted. Although the information from the dream alone was not enough to find the killer, Garraway's open mindedness had compelled him to consider the lady's detailed dream. He had checked police telephone records and found a recording of the call she had made earlier in the week before the murder had taken place. She had an alibi which placed her at a rehearsal with an amateur dramatics club at the time of the murder so could be ruled out as being the killer.

Carla read and re-read the website wondering if there was any connection with Garraway's openness when it came to using information and his presence in her dream.

She cleared the history on her browser as she didn't want anyone knowing she'd been looking at websites which could connect her to Ben's murder.

The notes she made about Garraway were placed in a folder along with the portrait she'd sketched of him the night before. She was just about to lock them in her drawer when she heard her father calling. She dropped the folder next to her laptop and called downstairs to him. The folder slid onto the floor and lay hidden behind her wastepaper basket.

Her father had lost his key fob, which had his car, house and office keys on it and wondered if she'd seen them. This was a usual thing for Richard as he was always losing things. Carla knew exactly where to look for them. She calmly made her way along the hall and opened the front door and pulled them from the lock on the outside of the door. She took the bunch of keys and dropped them in front of her father.

"You really need to be more careful dad." He smiled sheepishly and thanked her.

Carla went back to her room, got dressed for bed, cleaned her teeth, and settled down for the night.

The folder was hidden between the waste paper basket and the bedroom wall.

\------------------------------------------------

Morning came too soon and she could hear her father calling her. It was eight o'clock and she needed to be up for sixth form. She sluggishly rolled out of bed and headed to the bathroom. She skipped breakfast and grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl to eat on the walk to school.

Richard didn't need to be in work until nine thirty and spent time at home doing a few household chores.

Recycling collection was due that morning and he had forgotten to put the bins out the night before due to the commotion with the burnt evening meal. He hurried around the house emptying bins into black plastic bags. He didn't have time to sort card, tins and plastic bottles so he was dumping everything into general waste. He opened Carla's door, bent down and picked up her wastepaper basket when he noticed the cardboard folder wedged behind it. He was about to put it in the black bag but gave it a second thought in case it was something she needed to keep. He didn't like going through her stuff, after all, she was a young lady and there were things he was sure that she didn't want him to see. He made up his mind that he should check the folder, just to be on the safe side. He looked inside and found one of her drawings. He was impressed by the quality of the portrait she'd sketched. He was fascinated by the level of detail in her work. The intricate pencil work amazed him. He was useless at art and she had inherited it from her mother's side. Just by using a graphite pencil she was able to capture light and shade and even had light reflecting from the pupils of his eyes. He was proud of her work and was certain she would get a job utilising her skills. He had no idea who the man in her picture was. Turning the sheet of A4 paper over he saw a name written on the other side. Her drawing may be brilliant, but her handwriting left a lot to be desired. He squinted as he tried to read her spidery scribble. He could make out a surname.

"Garraway," he said holding the sheet of paper a foot from his face. He attempted to read the first name but was having problems deciphering her scrawl.

"Marland, Marklane?"

"Markland," he finally said. He repeated the full name out loud.

"Markland Garraway."

Who the hell is Markland Garraway? he thought.

Putting down the sketch he flipped through the other sheets of paper in the folder. Again he was having difficulty in working out her writing, but they seemed to be notes taken from websites. There were scribbles which were almost like some kind of shorthand or code, as if she didn't want her words to be understood and were only for her to read. Alongside each of her scribbly paragraphs was a URL. A few of them were bbc.co.uk addresses and others were from bristolpost.co.uk. He had no reason to be curious other than for the sake of curiosity. He put everything back in the folder and placed it just as he had found it behind her waste paper bin.

After taking out the rubbish and washing his hands he decided there was just enough time for coffee before he left for work. Markland Garraway, who on earth is Markland Garraway? he thought as he held his mug.

Was he someone on whom she had a crush? He hoped not as the man in her drawing looked older than he did. Perhaps it was one of her teachers at sixth form? He knew most of the teachers by name and was sure he would have remembered a name like Markland Garraway. Perhaps this man was the reason why she'd been acting so strange lately? His mind was creating scenario after scenario until he could take it no more. He fired up the computer in the lounge. He looked at his watch and saw it was time he should be on his way to the office. Going on-line would definitely make him late for work. His elderly computer took such a long time to crank up he wouldn't be leaving for at least another fifteen minutes, even if he did find what he was looking for straight away.

He picked up his mobile and called his office. A lady with a soft Welsh accent answered.

"Pam, hi, it's Richard Price, I'm sorry but I'm going to be a little late this morning, can you pass a message on to Art Brooks for me please?"

"Sure, I can, but why don't you speak to him yourself?"

"I would Pam, but I'm up to my armpits in battery charger. The car has a flat battery and I'm struggling to get the thing started."

"OK Richard, I'll tell him. Anyone would think you were scared to speak to him. What time do you think you'll be here?"

"I reckon I'll be there in about forty five minutes'."

"OK, I'll tell him and if Art wants you I'll get him to call your mobile."

He thanked her and ended the call.

The truth was that he didn't like Art Brooks an awful lot. He was a fair boss, but he was the sort of person that made Richard nervous. Plus, he could sniff out a lie at thirty paces.

The computer was up and running. He fired up Google and waited for what seemed like an eternity as the little hour glass signified the thing was thinking about what to do next. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the side of the table.

"Bingo!" he said as the browser finally started to work.

He remembered that a few of the website addresses Carla had made notes of were from the Bristol Post site, so it was pretty clear to Richard that Markland Garraway would have some connection with where he and Carla used to live. He typed into the browser 'Markland Garraway Bristol'.

He skim read through the results that came up and there were lots to read. He scrolled through and quickly ascertained that Markland Garraway was a policeman. Reading one particular entry he saw him referred to as DCI Garraway. "Detective Chief Inspector" he said out loud. There were plenty of things for him to read, but he didn't have the time, he needed to leave for work.

Now his curiosity was running wild. Why on earth would Carla be making notes and sketches of a detective from Bristol? He promised himself he would click just one more link and that would be the end of it. Randomly he clicked a BBC news website which mentioned a murder which had taken place in Bristol. He didn't have time to read the news report and saw there was a video link. He clicked it and waited......and waited......and eventually the video played. It was a press conference and Markland Garraway was talking about a murder in Badock's Wood in Bristol. Richard watched the report and was taken aback by how well Carla's sketch resembled the man who it was supposed to be. Suddenly he remembered the murder. He recalled how sad Elizabeth Mason's father had appeared when he appealed for anyone to come forward who may have evidence to catch the killer. But why would Carla be interested in any of this? Richard saw the date the press conference had been originally broadcast. Wednesday 9th September 2009.

He sat back in his chair with his mouth open. He clearly remembered the day as it was when he received the news that he'd been offered the job in Darlington. It was also the week that his daughter had started acting very strangely. His mind was racing. He was putting two and two together, but was he making four? Did Carla have anything to do with the incident in the woods? He was tense and uneasy.

His phone rang which made him jump.

"Richard? It's Brooks. Have you sorted your car yet? There's a meeting starting in fifteen minutes and I need you here."

"Hi Art, I was about to ring you. I've just got the car started and I'll be there in a jiffy."

He shut down the computer, ran to the garage and wiped his hands in an oily rag in an attempt to prove he'd been tinkering under the bonnet and then drove like a fool to the office. He would need to think about what to say to Carla. But what? He had absolutely no idea.

### Chapter forty four

Westhouse

Bristol

2.30pm

Tuesday 28th September

Maria Jameson was putting on her jacket and was ready to head home after her first day back at work in over a year. It had been a strange morning. Her body may have been there, but her head and heart were definitely not.

It had been a struggle since the moment she'd sat at her desk. She had been greeted by an office full of cheery expectant faces who hadn't seen her since she left for maternity leave the previous year. Her chair was festooned with balloons and welcome back cards were lodged in the keyboard of her computer.

To be fair, the day had been fairly light as far as work was concerned. She had a couple of meetings to bring her up to speed with what been happening over the past twelve months and she was introduced to a couple of new members of staff who'd started since she'd been on leave.

She sounded like a stuck record. If she'd answered the question "How's your little boy?" once, she'd answered it a hundred times that morning and the irritation was showing in her voice. Maria had a reputation of being fiery and her colleagues knew when not to push her.

"Post-natal stuff," she heard one of the male workers whisper to another. She chose to ignore it.

She left the building and headed to the car park with a box full of paperwork to read when she got home. She headed to her mother's house to collect Christopher. She'd not stopped thinking of him all morning. He'd been left with his grandmother many times to let Maria have a bit of me time or allow her to do the weekly shop, but this morning had been different and she was desperate to see him.

Claire stood at the door waiting for Maria as she was getting out of her car. Christopher was bouncing up and down in his grandmother's arms. As soon as he saw Maria he was giggling and saying, "ma ma, ma ma".

Claire passed the little boy to his mother who gave him a hug like she'd not seen him in weeks.

After spending half an hour with her mother discussing her first morning back at work over coffee, she strapped Christopher into his baby seat and drove home.

It had been three weeks since she'd exchanged numbers with Campbell and she'd not heard from him. She was waiting for his call and was looking forward to spending some time with him. Although she had his number, she had no intention of making the first move. She didn't want to appear too keen. Deep down she was angry. She'd learnt from her mistake with Rob and now doubted her ability to judge characters.

It was four o'clock by the time she got home and she was exhausted. Christopher's perforated ear drum was better and he was sleeping well at night. Maria had also been sleeping well, which was good as the rush of getting Christopher to his grandmother's house and then the journey across the city to the office followed by the return trip had done her in. She was ready for bed and it wasn't even five pm.

The new routine of juggling work and Christopher would take the young single mother time to adapt to. Until now, apart from the occasional health hiccups with Christopher she'd had an easy and leisurely ride. Her days had consisted of meeting up with other mums with their children, seeing her family and spending time with her best friend Samreen, and she'd loved every moment of it. But now the party was over. The maternity pay had stopped and she needed to earn money.

Before she had become pregnant, work had been her life. She'd loved the hustle and bustle of managing a busy office. She'd considered herself a fair boss who gave credit when credit was due but didn't suffer fools gladly. Now things had changed. The office seemed alien to her and she wished that Rob had been the right man in her life and was here with her now so she could stay at home and spend time with Christopher, whilst Rob brought home the bacon. She knew how old fashioned it sounded, but this was how she felt, preferring to stay home for the next four years until Christopher was ready to start school.

She stretched and yawned as she made her way to the kitchen to get Christopher's food ready. Her son was having a nap and now was a good time to fix a snack for him. She was mashing a banana when her phone rang. When she saw who it was she said his name under her breath, "Campbell."

"Hi Campbell, how are you, how are you doing?"

"Hi Maria, things aren't so good I'm afraid, which is why I've not called. I'm in Cork."

Campbell explained that his father had suffered a heart attack two weeks ago and he'd flown to Ireland to be with him. His father had died on Saturday. Campbell had been able to spend time with him, for which he was grateful, but now was bereft with grief and would need to spend time in Ireland to be with his mother and sisters. He promised to call her when he was back and assured her that their date would still happen. He told Maria that he needed something to look forward to and an evening with her would be ideal.

Maria put the phone down and felt awful because of the things she had conjured up about him in her mind over the past few weeks. Now she was sure Campbell was a good person and wanted to be there for him when he returned. Even though she hardly knew the man there was a definite connection between them. She called Samreen to tell her about Campbell. Samreen could hear sadness in Maria's voice.

"I'm sure a night out with you will be the tonic he needs," said Samreen reassuringly.

Maria woke Christopher to feed him. He sat in his chair slurping on mashed banana and custard whilst getting it everywhere. He looked at Maria and made her smile. He had food in his hair, up his nose and even in his eyes.

"You need a bath young man."

Christopher clapped his hands, splatting more banana and custard everywhere.

After his bath she put him in his cot and tucked him in for the night. She cleared away the dishes, tidied the kitchen and then sat down in the lounge with the box full of paperwork she had brought home from the office.

She sighed as she began the task of prioritising what should be dealt with first. Then it started again.

"Ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh."

"Oh no," she said as she made her way to Christopher's room.

She opened his door and there he was again, banging his head and then rocking from side to side.

"Ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh."

She picked him up and cuddled him and he stopped straight away, but as soon as she put him down he was banging and rocking again.

"Ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh."

She grabbed a thermometer from the first aid box and took his temperature. 37 degrees.

"Well you've got no temperature this time," she muttered to herself.

He had shown no sign of cold or cough or anything else to make him uncomfortable. She rang her mother to check how he'd been. Claire told her that he'd been 'fine and dandy' all day

### Chapter forty five

The Awareness

7.12pm

Tuesday 28th September

As Christopher was starting his latest bout of head banging and chanting, the Awareness was waking. It had been lying dormant for almost three weeks.

It was recalling what it had discovered last time it had been awake. It was focusing on the fact that it had been alive, that it had been killed and when it was alive it had been male.

More than ever it needed to be heard.

If it was to be heard, who would listen? It had no idea where it was. Was this heaven, hell or some kind of strange nirvana state? If this was heaven or hell it seemed a very lonely place.

It concentrated on its cache of memories and it started with the young woman. The young woman who was there when it died. Recalling the time she tumbled down the hill and how beautiful she was. The Awareness paused the memory and focused on her features. It admired what it saw and noticed the scar above her top lip. The Awareness let the memory play on to when they began to kiss. The kiss was one of the most intense memories it had. It was the one which heightened its emotions. It was the memory that reminded him that when he was alive he had been a man.

He needed to know more about who he once was. He was desperate to remember his family, his life and most of all his name. All he had was a selection of memories which he'd been able to store in order of how they'd happened. Memories of his childhood were at one end and the memory of dying was at the other. He needed to work through them and piece together their significance.

As he had developed over the past year his intelligence had improved. At first he was an Awareness and that was all he was. Something void of senses, emotion and intellect. Now he possessed these things and more, and was able to utilise them.

The emotion of love drove him and the emotion was strongest when he recalled time spent with the girl. Who was she? But before he could answer, he needed to focus on who he had once been.

He recalled the image of his reflection in the mirror. This was all he had to work with. He knew what he had looked like but very little else. He scrutinised the image of his reflection to see if there were any clues to his identity. The clothes he was wearing looked familiar and he knew they were significant. He looked at the peaked cap which was black with a blue band. He wore a blue shirt with short sleeves. He looked at his arms which were muscly. On top of the shirt he was wearing a black jacket which had no sleeves. There was writing across the front of the jacket. Words were something he was struggling with. His memories included lots of them, but they made no sense. He was like a four year old and needed pictures to accompany words to help him understand. The writing on the jacket was long and complicated. He knew he needed to fathom out what it meant.

Letting the memory of his reflection fade he hunted for different ones. He was searching for memories which had words. Written words and not spoken words. Working from the most recent first he scoured his cache.

One particular memory caught his attention. It was an image of a car speeding around a bend. It must have been viewed from the pavement. The car had flashing blue lights and a siren. He immediately recognised it as a police vehicle. He saw a word on the side of the car and the word looked familiar. He flipped back to the image of his reflection and back again to the car. He paused the image of the car to concentrate on what was written on it. Flipping back and forth between the two images he compared the two words. The word on the car looked similar to one of the words in the reflection, but he couldn't work out what was different about them. They looked identical but at the same time completely opposite.

He was struggling to fathom out the difference when suddenly he understood. He found this was something that happened frequently. At first a memory would make no sense and then it would become crystal clear. The same thing had happened when he first recalled memories of speech. At first, the spoken word was difficult to understand, it was like hearing a foreign language, but once he'd found a key he could work out the meaning of the words he heard in his memories.

And now the same was happening when working out these two written words. They were one and the same. The only difference was that the word in the reflection was back to front because he was seeing its reflection while the one on the car was the right way round.

He flipped back to the memory of the car and understood that P-O-L-I-C-E must spell police. Flipping back to the memory of his reflection he worked out he was wearing a uniform with the word Police written across the front. He'd been a policeman.

He continued to trawl through memories and search for more which had images of words. Now he'd learnt one word which had proved to be such a valuable asset he was hungry to learn more. He scanned memory after memory until he had amassed enough of them to begin relearning words.

Like a child he started with basics. He recalled memories of advertisements which had a key word relating to the picture alongside. He studied a memory of a picture of a cat eating from a bowl. The wording below the image was 'Your cat deserves the best'. As he analysed the words he was quickly able to link the word cat to the image of the animal eating from the bowl.

He did the same with other images which included key words. He recalled a memory of a dog and then a car and then a building. Quickly he was linking words to images. His ability to relearn skills was extraordinary. Once he had grasped the basics it all came back. He was able to recall memories which included written words and then read and understand them as he'd been able when he was alive.

He recalled the image of himself in the mirror and read what was written on his jacket. Although the words were mirror image he worked out what they spelt.

Police Community Support Officer

He'd been a Community Support Officer. He admired the image of his reflection.

The memory he'd recalled was his first day as a PCSO. He had just changed into his uniform and was standing with his back to the clothes locker whilst looking at his reflection. His civvy clothes were in the locker and the grey metal door was slightly open.

He continued to take in the detail of the memory and at the same time he recalled an emotion which he'd not felt since he'd been alive. It was different to love and fear and hate, which were three he'd experienced since he'd died. This new emotion was pride. Seeing himself in the reflection of the mirror made him feel proud.

He continued to admire his reflection when something caught his attention. Behind him something was written on the locker door. Two words had been jotted down in pen on a small piece of white paper which had been slipped into a little holder on the locker door. The words were very small and hard to make out. He focused his attention on the piece of paper which was about the size of two postage stamps. He concentrated on the two words. The first one was short and the second one was longer. The small word was written above the larger word. With his attention fully focused on the small word it became clearer, but still he couldn't decipher what it said. It wasn't because it was a word he didn't know, it was just far too small to read.

So, if he'd opened the locker door, there must be a memory in his cache of the door, not seen as a reflection, but as seen first-hand. His accumulation of memoires had now become huge and he'd been able to archive significant memories and recall them with ease. But he wasn't so adept at recalling ones which were less substantial. He had an inkling that these two words were important. He sorted through his hoard of memories as quickly as he could. His attention was beginning to wane as recalling and disregarding memories was draining his energy. He was getting nowhere.

He flipped back to the memory of his reflection and slowly ran it in reverse, which was another thing he'd learnt. With all his strength he played the memory backwards and in slow motion. Slowly his reflection and the mirror were moving to the right. He changed the aspect of the image until he was recalling a memory of when he had been facing the locker door.

The door was slightly ajar. He now had a clear view of the two words on the piece of paper. He could make out the first word. It was made up of three letters and neatly written. With all his strength focused on the one small word he was struggling to remain cognisant. Suddenly, as if a light had been switched on he found renewed energy and worked hard to make sense of the small three letter word. And then it became clear.

B-E-N

The small word spelt Ben. Ben instantly meant something. It was such a small word but it was so significant. Now that he'd worked out the small word he toiled on the larger word beneath. This word was made up of six letters. Although the second word was twice as long, he found it easier to understand. The six letters were laid in front of him in the memory.

W-A-L-K-E-R

The second word spelt Walker. He put the two together. Ben Walker. He focused on them over and over. Ben Walker - Ben Walker - Ben Walker - Ben Walker - Ben Walker - Ben Walker - Ben Walker.

This was when the penny dropped. He now knew his name. Now that he could remember it he wondered how he ever could have forgotten.

Ben Walker began to fade. He felt his strength ebbing away. A feeling he was becoming used to. Luckily for Ben, he still had no concept of time, so the next time he would wake from the dormant state he would be unaware of how long he'd been inactive and would be able to carry on from where he left off.

### Chapter forty six

Maria Jameson's flat

8.45pm

Tuesday 28th September

Christopher had been head banging and chanting nonstop for over an hour and a half. This was the longest he'd ever done this without a break. It was also the most intense his head banging had been. His pillow was soaked in saliva and splattered with blood as the chanting was forcing him to dribble furiously and had caused his nose to bleed. Maria was crying. She could not get him to stop. She'd picked him up, carried him in her arms around her flat, but still he continued. Worn out, she placed him back in his cot and watched him through teary eyes feeling totally helpless. She grabbed her phone to call her mother.

She remembered what Campbell had suggested. She selected the movie app on her phone and filmed Christopher head banging, rolling from side to side and chanting "Ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh." She filmed him for three minutes until the camera on her phone automatically stopped.

She called her mother who stopped what she was doing and made her way over to Maria's.

Claire had never seen Christopher's head banging as it had always happened when she wasn't around. Ten minutes later she was at Maria's flat.

Maria opened the door and Claire saw her tired and bloodshot eyes. What was left of her mascara had run and smudged down her cheeks. Her hair was a mess and she was distraught.

Claire hung her coat on a peg near the door and could hear Christopher chanting, even though his bedroom was at the other side of the flat.

"Is that Christopher?"

Maria nodded and threw her arms around her mother and cried onto her shoulder.

They stood together in his room. Claire had not seen or heard anything like it. Christopher was face down in his cot and banging his head so violently that his body from his waist up arched upward and crashed back down onto his mattress. Each time his head hit the pillow he let out an "ughh" which accompanied the dull thud as his head crashed down. He would briefly stop and then roll from side to side crashing into the wooden bars of the cot. After another brief pause he went back to banging his head along with his strange chanting. "Ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh."

Claire looked at her daughter and was lost for words.

Eventually Claire spoke.

"He's fast asleep, he doesn't even know he's doing it."

Maria nodded, "I've tried to wake him, but I can't."

They stood in silence as he continued to crash and bang in his cot.

His banging began to slow and his chanting became quieter and after a few minutes he stopped and was sleeping normally.

Maria went to the airing cupboard in the corner of his room and took out a clean pillow. She gently lifted his head, pulled out the blood and saliva soaked pillow and replaced it with the fresh one. Tomorrow she would replace his sheets and covers, but right now she just wanted him to sleep and didn't want to risk the chance of waking him.

They watched him without speaking and then quietly crept out of his room shutting the door behind them.

"What do you think it is?" asked Claire.

Maria shook her head as she sat on the arm of her sofa.

"I'll take him back to the doctor, but that stupid Doctor Marsh will only say he has a cold, or a temperature or something trivial."

"Not this time she won't as I'll be coming with you, that's if you don't mind."

Maria looked at her mother and reached for her hand.

"I would like you to be there mum, thank you."

"Why don't you ask to see a different doctor?"

"Yes, I will. Dr Marsh isn't even my regular doctor, I think it's just bad luck I've seen her both times."

Claire put her arm around Maria. "Would you like me to stay tonight?"

Maria nodded and smiled weakly. "Thank you mum."

Claire slept on the sofa and the rest of the night was uneventful. Apart from gently snoring, Christopher made no noise.

Claire was the first to wake up. She made herself coffee and crept back to the lounge as quietly as possible. It was six thirty and she felt tired after an awkward night on the sofa. Ten minutes later Maria popped her head around the door and smiled at her mother. Maria's face was smudged with mascara and her eyes were red.

"Sit down and I'll make you coffee."

Maria sat on the sofa and Claire went to the kitchen.

Claire returned with the coffee.

"How is he now?" asked Claire.

"He's sound asleep. I've never known him go this long without waking up, he must be exhausted."

They discussed what had happened the night before and drank their coffee.

"Listen, he's awake," said Maria.

They listened as Christopher was cooing and chatting to himself as if nothing had happened. Claire and Maria went into his room together and as soon as he saw them his face lit up with a washing line smile.

Maria picked him up. His little baby grow was spattered with dry blood from his nose and his face was dirty.

She carried him into the lounge, placed him in his baby walker and gave him Misty. He seemed his normal happy self. Claire couldn't believe how normal he was compared to last night.

Maria was getting ready for her second day back at work when Claire spoke.

"You're not going in today are you?"

Claire was nervous about looking after Christopher after what she'd seen last night.

"I'm sure he'll be absolutely fine mum."

Claire was concerned.

"Look, if there're any problems call me and I'll come home."

Maria went to her room to get changed.

"What if you're in a meeting or something and I can't get you?" called her mother.

"My mobile will be on and I'll warn people I may get a call."

Claire sat on the settee.

"Please don't worry mum, he'll be fine. I'll ring the surgery from work and let you know when the appointment is."

After kisses and cuddles for Christopher and hugs with Claire, Maria left her flat leaving her mother in charge. She felt bad leaving Christopher with her, but she had to work. Christopher was showing no signs of being ill and whatever had upset him last night seemed to have passed.

Maria was at her desk by eight thirty and was looking through the box of paperwork she didn't get the chance to read the night before.

She was watching the clock, waiting for the surgery to open and was desperate to get a same day appointment and was adamant she wouldn't see Dr Marsh this time.

Whilst she was waiting she replayed the video of Christopher on her phone. Watching it on the small screen didn't make what he did any less bizarre. In fact seeing it played back made it seem weirder than it did last night. His little voice sounded thin and tinny over the small speaker in her phone as he chanted.

Nine o'clock eventually came and she was talking to the receptionist. A same day appointment was available with Dr Marsh. Maria said that she wished to see a different doctor without explaining why. The tone of the receptionist's voice gave her the feeling that she'd not been the only one who'd preferred not to see Marsh. An appointment for the following morning was made with Dr Sullivan. She'd seen Sullivan before. He was in his fifties and what she considered to be a stereotypical doctor. Unlike Marsh, Sullivan had the gift of compassion. An appointment for the next day was ideal as she didn't work on Thursday.

She made a quick call to her mother to tell her what time Christopher's appointment was and checked that he was OK.

Claire told her that Christopher was fine. He was washed and ready for the day and she was planning on taking him to the park as it was a dry and sunny day, followed by a journey to the shops.

Maria's day at work was arduous and she struggled to stay awake. She tried not to think about Christopher banging his head whilst spluttering and speckling blood over his pillow, but the image wouldn't go away.

She was desperate to get back to him and the day dragged on. At four thirty she was out of there. Being a manager she would be expected to stay late from time to time, but having a child and being a single parent gave her the excuse to be out of the building and heading home bang on time.

Christopher was excited to see his mother. He was grinning and chuckling and calling 'mum, mum'.

Claire's nervousness had been unfounded, Christopher had been absolutely fine as if nothing had happened. Maria had just enough time for coffee with her mother before she headed home.

The rest of the day and night passed without incident.

Both Christopher and Maria slept well. She felt better in the morning and was less tired than yesterday. She'd found getting out of bed easier than it had been in weeks. A day off she thought and smiled.

Her appointment with the doctor was at ten, which gave her a few hours to potter around her flat and attend to Christopher. The chocolate stain on her carpet was still there from his birthday party. She considered having another attempt at removing it but couldn't be bothered. Depending on the outcome of the doctor's appointment she was hoping to meet with Samreen. She'd not seen her for a while and they had some catching up to do.

Just over an hour later she was waiting for her mother outside the surgery. Appointments were running on time and they were in Dr Sullivan's consulting room by ten o'clock.

Maria told the doctor about Christopher's head banging which had got worse. She was more comfortable with Dr Sullivan than Marsh. He was older, more experienced and a nicer person.

He gave Christopher another thorough examination and declared that her son was in 'rude health'. He bounced Christopher on his knee and tickled him making the little boy giggle and laughed along with him. He looked to Maria with a serious face and declared it was hard to know what was causing Christopher to head bang.

"And you are sure he is sleeping while all this is going on?"

Maria nodded and shrugged her shoulders.

"Show him your phone," said Claire, who until now hadn't spoken.

Maria looked puzzled and then remembered the video she'd taken. She pulled the phone from her bag and brought up the clip. She handed her phone to the doctor who silently watched it with Christopher on his lap. He wore a frown as the video played. Fumbling with the phone he played it again. Maria watched his expression as he viewed the clip and listened to Christopher's chanting.

He handed the phone back and subconsciously continued to bounce Christopher on his knee. He turned to write some notes and realised the little boy was still on his lap.

"I almost forgot," as he turned and handed Christopher back to Maria.

He turned back to his desk and made some notes. Maria and Claire waited silently while Christopher cooed and chattered.

"I will arrange for the child health visitor to call to your home," he said, as he continued to write.

"I'll be honest with you, I don't know why he's doing it. I know some children gently bang their head to get to sleep and it's quite normal, but what your son is doing seems, well, it seems extreme."

Maria nodded. She was relieved he had suggested that the health visitor should be involved as it was next on Maria's mental list.

Doctor Sullivan told Maria to expect a call from Esther Hall over the next few days. Esther was the Child Health Visitor for Maria's area and had been in the business for over fifteen years. The doctor told her that Esther had a wealth of experience and she was also fantastic with children.

Maria and Claire left the surgery with Christopher chattering happily in his buggy. Maria was feeling happier as now she was getting somewhere. She hugged her mother and headed to Coaster's to meet with Samreen.

### Chapter forty seven

Darlington

7.15pm

Thursday 29th September

Richard and Carla were eating the meal she'd prepared. Lately, her cooking had been pretty good, but compared to her first attempt and the awful burnt offering earlier in the month, it couldn't have been much worse. Neither of them were speaking as they worked their way through spaghetti bolognaise. Carla was expecting a comment from her father. She'd cooked a nice meal and he hadn't said a word.

There had been a frosty tension in the air for the past few weeks and Carla had no idea why. Had she done something wrong or had her father been having a bad time at the office?

Richard had been quiet since he'd found her sketch of Markland Garraway. It had been eating away at him. Why would she have such an interest in this man? He'd dismissed the idea that she had anything to do with the murder in the woods. There was no way she could've been involved, she just wasn't that kind of girl. He and his ex-wife had brought her up well and even when they were going through the divorce, he did his utmost to not let it affect his daughter.

He had resorted to the other option that Carla and the man in the sketch had been in some kind of relationship. He found it hard to understand that his daughter would be stupid enough to do such a thing, plus Markland Garraway was a detective, surely high ranking police wouldn't be involved with teenage girls? Although sickeningly inappropriate, he knew things like that did happen.

Had Garraway abused her or were they having an affair? Carla had certainly become a different girl in the past year. Maybe she was holding a torch for the man.

These thoughts and others like it were poisoning Richard and had been eating at him for weeks.

He looked at Carla as she quietly ate her food and considered how innocent she looked. Had she lost her innocence?

"Is everything OK dad? you seem very quiet."

"What, oh, I'm fine," he stuttered.

Carla knew something was wrong. She knew he was lying and was worried about him.

"You know you can tell me if there's a problem."

He shook his head and continued to eat.

"I'm fine OK!" was his sharp retort.

Carla pushed her half empty plate away and said she wasn't hungry. She walked out of the dining room and headed up to her room, closing the door with a thud.

Richard left the rest of his food and sat with his head in his hands.

His problem was that he had no idea how to approach her. What should he say?

It was Carla's job to clear away the dishes as well as cooking the meal, but Richard decided he would do it. He found it easier to think if he was doing menial tasks. Also, he didn't think there was much chance of Carla clearing up tonight. She was clearly upset.

As he loaded the dishwasher his mind worked overtime thinking about what to say. Wiping down the kitchen worktop he'd made his decision. He would just ask her outright and he would do it tonight.

He threw the kitchen cloth into the sink and walked into the hall and stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He could hear music coming from her bedroom. He strode the stairs two steps at time and stopped when he got to the landing. Holding his breath he stood outside her door.

He gently knocked. The music was still playing and she didn't come to the door. He knocked again, wrapping his knuckles on her door to be heard. The music stopped and the door slowly opened.

Carla put her head around the door.

"Hello daddy, is everything OK?"

"Can I come in please? There's something I need to ask."

Carla nervously opened her door wide enough to let him in. He looked around her room which was a mess.

"If it's about my room dad, I promise I'll clear it up, I'll do it tomorrow."

Richard wished it was something as trivial as her room.

"It's not about your room."

She anxiously looked at her father and was trying to work out what she'd done wrong.

Richard paused, which made the tension unbearable, and then he spoke.

"Carla, who is Markland Garraway?"

The colour drained from her face.

### Chapter forty eight

Maria's flat

8.07pm

Thursday 29th September

Maria returned home at six, after a relaxing day with Samreen. They'd spent a few hours shopping after meeting for lunch at Coaster's. Campbell was still away in Cork. The coffee shop wasn't the same without him.

Maria had put Christopher in his cot, had finished tidying her flat and was sitting down enjoying the quietness of the early evening. Something from the corner of her eye caught her attention. Her mobile phone was on the table and it was flashing. She'd missed a call. Earlier in the day she'd turned her phone to mute when she was with Doctor Sullivan and had forgotten to turn the volume back up.

She had a voicemail message. It was a call from Esther Hall, the Child Health Visitor and she had left a message to say she was in the area on Friday morning and could call over to see Christopher at ten o'clock. Esther ended the message by saying if she'd heard nothing by six o'clock she would assume Maria would be home with Christopher.

Maria sighed. She should be working tomorrow but she really needed Christopher to be seen by Esther. She called her boss, Maxwell Hart, to see if he would allow her to swap Friday for the following Monday.

Max Hart couldn't have had a more inappropriate name. He was the most uncompassionate boss she could have wished for. Although he thought a lot of Maria and valued her as manager, he had little time for people's problems and was angered by his staff when they rang in sick or had an appointment with the doctor when they should be at work.

She called Max on his mobile which diverted to voicemail.

"Hi Max, this is Maria. My son Christopher has been unwell and the Child Health Visitor has arranged to come over in the morning. I would be grateful if I could swap Friday for Monday. As far as I know there are no meetings planned tomorrow, so hope that you will be OK with this."

She ended the call and expected the worse.

A few minutes later she was watching television with a glass of wine, waiting expectantly for her phone to ring.

Her phone didn't ring, instead she heard the bleep of a text message arriving. She picked it up and read the text which was from Max Hart.

'OK. C U Monday. dnt b late'.

And that was it. His message was short, blunt and straight to the point. She was pleased he'd not called, as otherwise she'd have been trying to justify how ill Christopher was and why he needed to see the health visitor tomorrow.

She relaxed for the rest of the evening with her beloved Sauvignon Blanc.

### Chapter forty nine

Darlington

7.37pm

Thursday 29th September

Carla was taken by surprise. How on earth would her father know about Markland Garraway?

"I don't know anyone called Markland Garraway."

He could tell by the tone of her voice that she was lying.

"I've seen the sketch Carla, so don't lie."

"You've been going through my things?" she replied with a sharp accusing snap.

Now Richard was feeling guilty. He knew not to go through her things.

"I found it by accident. It was in a folder by your waste paper basket and I thought it was to be thrown out. I only looked to make sure it was rubbish........and then I found the picture you drew of him."

Carla was silent. Her mind was racing to come up with something to tell her father, other than the truth.

Richard swallowed hard as he paused to ask another question.

"Have you been having some sort of an affair with this man?"

Carla fell face down on her bed and sobbed. Her pent up emotions were released in one go. Her sobbing turned into howling and crying.

Richard knelt down next to her bed, put his arm around her and began to cry with her. After a few minutes Richard got up and left her room. He closed her bedroom door and stood on the landing before slumping to the floor with his head in his hands.

Carla lay on her bed. Through her tears she was struggling to think what to say to her father. Should she tell him the truth about the murder, or should she go along with the assumption that her father had made and tell him she'd been having an affair with an older man? It was the lesser of two evils and she decided to weave some kind of lie about an affair.

She knew she had to be careful about what she said. She didn't want her father contacting the police and accusing Markland Garraway of an affair with a teenaged girl that had never happened. She sat on the edge of her bed, wiped her face with a tissue and hastily put together a story.

She opened her bedroom door and saw her father sitting outside her room with his back to the wall. His eyes were red and teary. She sat alongside him and held his hand and after a brief pause she started to speak.

"I've not been having an affair with that man daddy and that's the truth."

Richard looked up at the ceiling and said nothing. He took his hand away from hers and pushed his fingers through his hair.

"Why don't you just tell me what's going on?" he replied, in a weary voice.

"I've not been having an affair, it's more of a, well......it's more of a crush."

"A crush.....why on earth would you be having a crush on a fifty something policeman who is over two hundred miles away?"

Carla struggled to find a reply and as she thought about what to say she began to spin the web of lies and hoped for the best.

"He came to my old school in Bristol, just before the start of the summer holidays." Carla took a breath and thought what to say next.

"He came to our school with some other policemen and policewomen and they gave a talk about safety and things like that."

It was true that in the June of her last year at her school in Bristol the police did turn up and gave a talk about general safety, but Markland Garraway hadn't been there.

"Me, and a few of my friends, we kind of, you know, had a crush on him." She continued as her father listened without speaking.

"He just seemed so cool and I thought he was lovely. I spoke to him afterwards and he was such a nice man and........." Her voice trailed off and she put her head in her hands.

"So you've never done anything with him?"

"No daddy, I promise, and that's the truth."

Richard was not sure whether he believed her. Why would she be sketching pictures of him, checking him out on the internet and getting so upset over him if it was only a crush which happened over a year ago?

"When did you sketch the picture of him?"

"I did it after I saw him on TV. He was doing a press conference about a murder in Bristol and I got all gooey over him again and did the sketch."

"So you sketched this picture a year ago?"

"Yes daddy. I kept it and found it the other day in the folder."

"And what about the notes on the back of the sketch?"

"I don't know, I was just Googling him and trying to find out what he was up to."

Richard thought about what Carla had just told him. It did seem to make sense. She was a young impressionable girl who had a crush on an older man. And because he was a Detective Chief Inspector she was probably attracted by his senior position.

"Why don't you find a boyfriend of your own age and forget about this man?"

"I know daddy, I will. I'm stupid, it's just a stupid crush....I'm sorry."

Richard put his arm around his daughter and hugged her.

After their talk things became easier between Carla and her father and as time went on he'd put what had happened to one side.

Carla felt awful. She had put him off the scent for the time being, but was feeling guilty about lying to her father on top of everything else. She accepted it was something she had to do and couldn't tell him the truth about what had really happened.

It would only be a matter of time before what happened that September evening in the woods in Bristol would return to haunt Carla in a way she could never imagine possible.

### Chapter fifty

Maria's flat

10am

Friday 30th September

Esther Hall arrived at Maria's flat bang on ten o'clock. Esther was a rotund lady in her mid-forties, with a rosy face and a beaming smile.

They shook hands and Maria liked her straight away. She invited Esther into the lounge where Christopher was in his high chair. Esther said hello to Christopher and he responded with his normal chatter and cooing.

"He's a beautiful boy," said Esther as she gave him a tickle under his chin.

"Thank you, he's my pride and joy."

Esther sat on the settee and looked serious.

"I've read the notes on Christopher so I am familiar with his situation, but I would be grateful if you could tell me in your own words about his head banging."

Maria explained in detail how it had recently started and had got worse over the past few weeks. Then she remembered the video clip on her phone. She pulled the phone from her bag and gave it to Esther to watch.

Maria watched Esther's face as she played the video of Christopher. Her serious face looked even more sombre as she got to the part of the clip which showed his bleeding nose. She replayed it twice before handing the phone back to Maria.

"What your son suffers from is called Rhythmic Movement Disorder or RMD, and believe it or not, it is fairly common, especially amongst toddlers and small children."

"Rhythmic Movement Disorder," repeated Maria

"Yes RMD. It's worse for you than it is for Christopher. He probably has no idea he's doing it".

Maria listened intently as Esther continued.

"He's doing it when he's sleeping so he won't be aware of what's going on."

"What causes it to happen?"

"Doctors aren't one hundred percent sure why it happens, but one theory is that it is a self-stimulating behaviour to alleviate tension and induce relaxation, a bit like thumb sucking."

Maria nodded her head as she listened.

"Another theory is that rhythmic movements help develop the vestibular system in young children."

"Vestibular system? Sorry I don't know what that is," said Maria.

"Sorry, it's the system that deals with motion and balance."

Maria stood up, walked over to Christopher and picked him up. She hugged and kissed him and held him close.

She turned to Esther with Christopher in her arms.

"So all of this is normal?"

"It's not unheard of, about six percent of young children develop it."

"Is there a cure for RMD?"

"No cure, he should grow out of it by the time he's three."

"So I will have to put up with another two years of bang, bang, bang?"

"Well there are some things you could try."

Maria went to the kitchen and came back with a notepad and pen.

"There won't be much for you to write down, but here are two suggestions you may like to try."

Maria put the notepad down while Esther continued.

"You could try playing continuous music on loop quietly in his bedroom, or, and this seems to be the more successful option, letting a loud clock or a metronome tick away in his room at night. It seems the rhythmic sound helps some children settle without banging their head."

Maria looked despondent. She had hoped for much more than this. At least there seemed to be nothing particularly wrong with Christopher, it was just one of those things that he was unlucky to have, and as Esther pointed out, it is worse for the parents than it is for the children who have RMD.

They continued to discuss Christopher for a while longer, when Esther brought something up.

"There is one thing I should mention, and I don't mean to worry you."

"What's that?" asked Maria, obviously looking worried.

"I've been dealing with children's health issues for over fifteen years and in that time I've seen lots of children with RMD, but I've never seen a child react in such a way as your son does."

Esther was referring to the video clip Maria had shown her.

"The children I have encountered over the years gently rock from side to side, or nod their head onto the pillow, but what Christopher is doing is extreme."

"So do you think he may have something other than RMD?" asked Maria.

"I am pretty certain it's RMD and nothing else, but with your permission I would be grateful if I could show the video clip you have on your phone to a colleague of mine in London. He is an expert and has being doing a lot of research into Rhythmic Movement Disorder and I would like his opinion."

Maria agreed to email the video clip and said she would look out for a metronome for Christopher to help him sleep.

She saw Esther to the door and thanked her for her time.

Maria sat in her lounge feeling low and helpless. She had really expected Esther Hall to have an instant answer.

At least Maria could put a name to what was affecting Christopher. Rhythmic Movement Disorder. It sounded horrible.

She looked at Christopher who was standing up and holding onto the book case whilst trying to pull out a wad of envelopes Maria had stuffed between two books. He looked at his mother and smiled. She picked him up, held him close and kissed his head again.

Maria called her mother who was desperate to know the outcome of the health visitor's appointment.

"He's got what?"

"I know mum, it sounds strange doesn't it? Rhythmic Movement Disorder."

"I've never heard of such a thing. Is she sure she knows what she's talking about?"

Maria explained that Esther was going to pass the video clip to her colleague in London for a second opinion.

They agreed to meet over the weekend and Maria ended the call.

By now it was eleven fifteen and Christopher was ready for a nap. Maria placed him in his cot and returned to the lounge. She switched on her computer, loaded the video clip from her phone onto her computer and emailed it to Esther.

She spent the next hour, while Christopher was taking his nap, searching for information on Rhythmic Movement Disorder. There was lots available and all of it backed up what Esther had told her.

There were even videos on Youtube of children in their cots and beds banging their heads just like her son. This made her feel better. She no longer felt alone, or that she was the only parent going through this.

She found five video clips which had been uploaded to the internet of children with RMD and although they were all doing the same as Christopher, none were as violent or as noisy as him. The children on her computer were almost graceful in their movements and made little 'huffing' noises as they banged their heads or rocked from side to side. None of them were making the 'ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh' grunt that Christopher did.

Maria was deep in thought when her phone rang. She quickly grabbed it from the table and looked to see who was calling. It was Campbell.

"Hi Campbell, how are you?" asked Maria, she immediately regretted asking the question considering he'd only just lost his father.

"I'm not too bad, thanks for asking."

Maria found it difficult to talk to him on the phone. She hardly knew him and felt awkward asking questions about the recent bereavement. Campbell sensed her apprehension.

"My father's funeral is next Tuesday and I am planning on returning to Bristol the following weekend, which means I'll be home on Saturday 8th October. I'll call you again when I'm back and perhaps we can arrange that date?"

Maria agreed and said she was looking forward to seeing him. They wished each other well and ended the call.

Maria's thoughts returned to Christopher. He was quietly sleeping in his cot. What she'd read about RMD seemed to indicate that children would bang their heads every time when put to bed. It was something they did regularly which had resulted in a habitual thing. Christopher wasn't like that. He would go weeks without showing any signs of RMD and then have the most violent outburst. This was something that troubled her.

The more Maria thought about things, the more she knew there was something else causing her son to act the way he did. She didn't know what it could be, it was just mother's intuition.

### Chapter fifty one

Jarrett's Builders Merchant

9am

Monday 3rd October

Daniel Boyd was busy loading the Hiab lorry at the Builders Merchant where he had been working since January.

Colin Jarrett, the sales director, had secured a profitable order to provide building blocks to a house in the stylish Sneyd Park area of Bristol. The owner of the house was having a downstairs extension built to make life more comfortable for his daughter who had been unwell for a long time.

Daniel had been trained to use the crane attached to the back of the lorry to carefully load breezeblocks on and off the vehicle. It was tough work but he enjoyed it. His days of living outside the law and drug taking were behind him.

He was working with an older man called Stanley Brown. Stanley was in his sixties and was close to retirement. He hated the job, but was hanging in there until it was time to give up work, sit back and watch the flowers grow. He'd paid into a pension all of his working life and was looking forward to a comfortable and well-earned retirement.

Boyd looked up to Stanley as if he was a second father. He hadn't seen or spoken to his own parents in years and found a friendship in Stanley which had flourished over the past months. Stanley didn't know much about Boyd other than he had a chequered past and had recently stopped taking drugs. He was willing to put up with Boyd's odd ways and in doing so had developed an unlikely friendship. Stanley had encouraged Boyd to work hard and aim high. He told Boyd that he was a young man with the rest of his life ahead of him and there was plenty of time for him to do well and achieve something with his life.

Stanley drove the Hiab full of breezeblocks out of the yard and headed to Sneyd Park. Sitting between Stanley and Boyd was Geoff Perks. It would take all three of them to unload the lorry and three deliveries would be needed to complete the day's work.

Twenty minutes later the Hiab pulled into the driveway of the large house. The drive was long and was surrounded by immaculately kept lawns and trees.

"Look at the size of this place, rich bastards," exclaimed Boyd.

"If you work hard enough Daniel perhaps one day you'll have a place like this, in fact my son, if you work really hard you can have whatever you want. It's up to you choose your own destiny," replied Stanley.

Stanley steered the Hiab around to the side of the house where a man in his early fifties, wearing a blue shirt and jeans, was waiting for them.

Stanley jumped out of the cab and walked over to the man.

"Mr Mason I presume?" said Stanley as he approached the man.

Mr Mason walked around the side of the Hiab and examined the load of breezeblocks.

"Don't worry, there's another two deliveries on the way. It's a big order sir and we're grateful for your business."

Mr Mason smiled. He was a business man and appreciated that the driver of the Hiab was thanking him for the order. Few people seemed to do that these days.

Mr Mason told Stanley where to put the blocks. Boyd, Geoff and Stanley started to unload the delivery which took forty five minutes.

By three o'clock the final delivery was being unloaded and Stanley was preparing the paperwork for Mr Mason to sign.

Mr Mason checked the delivery note and counted every block that had been unloaded. Once he was happy he signed.

"Are you building anything nice sir?" asked Stanley.

"A downstairs bedroom for my daughter."

Boyd and Geoff were securing the Hiab's crane. Boyd was doing an impression of Mr Mason behind his back and Stanley was doing his best to ignore him.

"That's nice, I hope your daughter will like her new bedroom, don't tell me she's already outgrown her old one?" said Stanley attempting to be humorous.

"I only wish she had," replied Mr Mason sounding serious.

Stanley knew he had said the wrong thing and looked sheepish.

Mr Mason felt bad for the old man as he knew that he was only trying to be pleasant.

"Unfortunately my daughter is not very well and she requires around the clock care, so this new extension will include sleeping quarters for the medical staff who look after her."

"I'm sorry to hear that sir, I hadn't realised," replied Stanley in a soft voice.

"Do you mind me asking what's wrong with your daughter?"

"She's in a coma and has been for over a year."

"Was she in some kind of accident?" asked Stanley.

"You could say that. She was badly beaten up by a group of thugs last autumn, you may have heard about it, she was all over the news last year."

"Sorry sir, I can't say I remember," replied Stanley.

"If you don't remember my daughter, you would probably remember her friend who was there. Unfortunately for him he came off worse than my Liz. He was murdered. It happened in the woods near Southmead."

Stanley cast his mind back.

"Yes I do remember, Badock's Wood and if I remember they never found who did it. I am sorry sir, I had no idea."

Boyd had heard the last bit of the conversation and had turned white. He started to feel queasy and dizzy. All of a sudden he was sick over Terry Mason's drive and could hardly stand up.

Stanley ran over to Boyd to see what the matter was and saw that he was barely conscious.

Stanley turned to Terry Mason and apologised for what had happened and offered to clear up the mess on the drive.

Terry Mason waved them on saying that he would take care of it, and suggested he took the boy straight home.

Stanley parked the Hiab at the end of Boyd's road. The lorry was too wide to negotiate the narrow road where he lived.

"What's wrong with you Daniel, you look awful. You're not back on those stupid drugs are you?"

Daniel shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He was a pale looking boy at the best of times but now he looked positively ghost-like.

He was reeling with shock after finding out who Mr Mason was. For the first time the gravity of what he had instigated hit him. Over the past year he had put the murder of Ben Walker to the dark depths of the back of his mind and he'd not given the girl a second thought. But now things were different. He could see how sad her father was and the trouble he was going through to make life for his daughter bearable. For the first time Boyd felt ridden with guilt.

Stanley was concerned for him. He couldn't work out why one minute Daniel was fit and well and the next minute he was retching all over Mr Mason's immaculate driveway like a sick dog.

"Was it something you ate?" asked Stanley.

"Probably," murmured Boyd in a faint reply.

Boyd was having difficulty finding the strength to open the door of the cab. Geoff sat perfectly still between Boyd and Stanley. He was petrified that Boyd was going to be sick again. Stanley climbed down from the cab, walked round to the passenger side and opened the door for Boyd. His legs were shaking and he could hardly stand. Stanley helped him slowly climb down the step of the cab and walked him to his flat.

Boyd struggled to find his keys and eventually opened the door. Stanley helped him in and dropped him down onto his settee. He watched Boyd land like a sack of potatoes.

"You look ghastly, why don't I call the doctor?"

Boyd shook his head and said nothing, Stanley was reluctant to leave him but needed to get back to work, there were more deliveries to be made and with his wing man down it would be just him and Geoff taking care of things for the rest of the day.

"OK Daniel, I'll make you a sugary mug of tea and then I'm going to have to get back to work."

Boyd nodded as Stanley went to the kitchen and made a brew.

He returned a few minutes later with the milky sweet drink and handed it to Boyd.

Stanley waited until Boyd had finished the mug, and saw that some colour had returned to his face. Boyd seemed a little brighter.

"I suggest you get yourself to bed and see how you are in the morning. I'll warn Mr Jarrett that you may not be in work tomorrow."

Boyd nodded and made his way to his bedroom.

Stanley left Boyd to sleep and made his way back to the Hiab. He wondered what had come over the young man. He'd not made the connection between Terry Mason's mention of the murder in the woods and Boyd's sudden and violent reaction.

The past was beginning to catch up with Daniel Boyd.

### Chapter fifty two

Maria's flat

7.15pm

Sunday 9th October

Maria had enjoyed a relaxing weekend. She'd spent time with a few of her new mum friends she'd made at Joe Jingles. Christopher had played with his little mates and was interacting well with other children.

He was picking up new words quickly and Maria was surprised how much he could say. It was far too early for him to string words together to make any sense, but he was learning the names of his friends, he had words for some of his toys, plus half a dozen other things

He had shown no signs of RMD for over a week.

Maria had bought a second hand metronome and set it ticking every night when Christopher slept. It seemed to be doing the trick.

Christopher was asleep in his cot and Maria could hear the ticking of the metronome over his baby monitor. There was something about the rhythmic 'tick – tick – tick' that she found comforting and could appreciate how it could help him get a good night's sleep.

The gentle ticking was beginning to make her feel sleepy, almost as if she was being hypnotised. She was tired after a busy weekend and the 'tick – tick – tick' was so relaxing. Her eyelids were becoming heavy, her thoughts were drifting elsewhere and she began to dream.

In her dream she could hear a drilling noise. The noise was getting louder and was becoming shrill. Suddenly she woke up to the sound of her phone which was ringing and vibrating on the lounge table. The vibration of the ringing phone was amplified as it resonated through the wooden table.

She awkwardly lurched for her phone and dropped it on the floor. It stopped ringing as it nestled into the carpet.

Maria scooped the phone from the floor and checked to see who had called.

Her heart skipped a beat as she saw that it had been Campbell. She assumed that he would leave a message and patiently waited for her messaging service to bleep to tell her she had voicemail.

But there was no message.

Why didn't he leave me a message? she thought.

Maria waited for him to call again, but he didn't.

"Bollocks, this is the twenty first century, what am I doing?" she said to herself and called him back.

"Hi Maria!"

She smiled as she heard his voice.

"Hi Campbell, sorry I couldn't pick up just now, where are you?"

"I'm back in Bristol, I landed yesterday afternoon."

They exchanged small talk for several minutes until Campbell posed the question that Maria had been hoping for.

"So Maria, I was wondering, when would be good for us to meet up?"

Maria felt like a teenager, she wanted to speak but her lips seem to be separated from her face and were beyond her control.

Eventually she spurted out "when's good for you?"

"I'm free this Friday, I was thinking we could get a bite to eat, I know a nice Italian restaurant, do you like Italian food?"

"Yes that sounds lovely, and Friday should be fine."

"Great, well that's a date, well not a date, but you know what I mean."

Maria giggled. She knew he was as nervous and tongue-tied as she.

He said he would call over at eight on Friday to pick her up.

Maria got straight on the phone to Samreen who was over the moon and offered to babysit Christopher.

Maria had the rest of the night to relax. She poured a large glass of Sauvignon Blanc and opened her laptop.

It had been a busy weekend and she'd not had time to check Facebook since Friday. She opened the browser and logged into her account to see what had been going on in the world during the past two days.

As the distinctive blue and white social media site opened she saw that she'd had a friend request. Ignoring it, she scrolled through the various posts and status updates. It was the usual stuff.

'Share if you love your daughter'

'Share if you miss someone who was close to you'

She hated the gooey aspect of Facebook.

She scrolled through various pictures of her friends' Sunday lunches and enough selfies to sink a ship.

Maria yawned as she was about to close the lid on her laptop before she remembered that she had received a friend request.

She clicked the little icon at the top of the screen and felt a chill run through her body when she saw who had sent it.

It was from Rob. The man who was the father of her son.

Frozen, she sat in front of her computer screen.

### Chapter fifty three

Jarrett's Builders Merchant

8.30am

Monday 10th October

Daniel Boyd returned to work for the first time since his sickness episode the previous Monday. He didn't need to see a doctor as he knew very well what had made him ill.

He'd spent the last week moping around his flat and feeling sorry for himself.

At one point, the guilt which was eating into his soul almost pushed him into turning himself over to the police, but that notion didn't last very long.

He'd spent the week alone. He'd had no visitors and, other than Stanley, he'd had no phone calls. Stanley was the only person who showed any concern for him. Boyd liked him. Although they were not friends in the true manner of the word, Stanley was the closest thing to a friend.

Boyd had resisted the urge to go out and score drugs and, other than a bottle of cheap wine he had at home, he'd not had a drink.

What occurred to him during that past week was that he was entirely on his own. He had no one to turn to and no one, other than Stanley, cared about him.

He'd spent the last six day's wallowing in self-pity and considering the implications of what he'd done.

Coming face to face with Liz Mason's father had been the catalyst which sparked the first embers of guilt that were slowly burning inside him.

Before now he'd never felt remorse for any of his actions.

All the people he'd fought, stolen from, abused, angered and ridiculed, had never left him with a pang of guilt. But now he was different, and he didn't know whether he liked the new Daniel Boyd.

The guilt he was feeling was because of what had happened to Liz and not the death of Ben. This was peculiar as he had not laid a finger on the girl, she'd happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. But with Ben, there had been a motive for his murder and he'd gone out of his way to end Ben's life, and because of that he felt no remorse.

As he walked around the builders merchant that morning, no one asked him how he was feeling. Colin Jarrett nodded at him and handed him a clipboard of orders that needed to be packed for delivery. Stanley had the day off and Geoff hardly said a word to him.

He wandered around in auto pilot mode, packing orders and loading Lorries until it was time to go home for another lonely night in front of the television.

### Chapter fifty four

Maria's flat

7.15pm

Wednesday 12th October

Maria had taken a few days to consider Rob's friend request on Facebook. She hadn't yet responded and wasn't sure why he wanted to befriend her.

She had written him out of her life and didn't want him to have anything to do with Christopher. She'd done alright up until now without him and had been pretty certain she could continue without him in her life.

But since he'd sent her the request, and seeing the little thumbnail picture of him, it had made her think about him.

She logged onto Facebook and ignored the request that was still hanging at the top of the page.

There was a new notification. She'd received a message from someone. She clicked the link and gulped as her heart skipped a beat. It was from Rob. She read the message.

\------------------------------------------------

Hi Maria, this is Rob. I hope you and our baby are OK and I hope you don't mind me sending you this message.

I've been thinking about you recently and regret what I've done. I shouldn't have left you and looking back, I don't know what I was thinking. I hope you can forgive me.

I bumped into Sean from Westhouse last week and he said that you were looking good and that I should say hello, so here I am saying hello.

Could we meet up at some point as I would love to see the baby and catch up with you?

You never know, we may get things going again?

Look forward to hearing from you,

Love Rob

\----------------------------------------------------

And that was his message.

Maria read it, and read it again.

She was confused and didn't know what to do. She had made her mind up a long time ago to make her way in life without him and that was based upon the assumption that he wouldn't resurface. But now he was back her mind was changing.

She needed time to think about what to do, and what she really needed was to talk it over with someone.

She copied the message and dropped it into an email and sent it to Samreen to see what she thought and then called her mother.

Claire's response was exactly as Maria had expected.

"Don't go anywhere near the pig," was Claire's reaction.

Maria knew her mother was right as she'd only end up with a broken heart, for a second time from the same man.

Samreen was quick to reply to Maria's email and her response was much the same as her mother's.

\-----------------------------------------------------

Maria,

Think with your head and not with your heart. The man's a rat and he always will be.

Why don't you reply and make out how rosy life isn't now you have a child. Tell him about all the hard work you have to do, tell him about the end of your social life and mention Christopher's head banging.

Then see how keen he is to be back in your life with the responsibility of looking after a young child.

Take care

Samreen

xxxx

\----------------------------------------------------

Maria could always rely on her best friend for sound advice. She decided to reply to Rob's email and spin a few white lies to test the man's mettle.

She sat at her computer and composed a reply.

\---------------------------------------------------

Rob,

I must admit I am surprised to hear from you after such a long time.

I'm a bit too busy to consider meeting up at the moment, but would not rule it out altogether.

The baby, my little boy doing OK(ish). My life has turned upside down since he was born and it is a struggle to balance everything to fit around him. Being a single 'working' mum is very demanding and I don't get very much time for socialising.

He is currently seeing a paediatrician in London as he suffers badly from RMD, but I am hopeful he will be OK.

Anyway, enough about me, what have you been doing for the last two years?

Maria

\-----------------------------------------------------

She hit send and closed her laptop.

### Chapter fifty five

Bottelinos Italian Restaurant

Bristol

7.30pm

Friday 14th October

Campbell picked Maria up by taxi at seven thirty. He'd decided not to drive. He had been a little anxious about his evening with her and he knew he would need a wine or two to ease his nerves.

He was wearing jeans, an open necked shirt and a waist coat. This was the first time she had seen him wearing something other than the Coaster's uniform and noticed how handsome he looked when casually dressed.

She wore a green flowing floral dress down to her knees and a small sage green cropped cardigan. Her tousled red hair fell over her shoulders. Campbell thought she looked stunning.

Campbell passed her the wine list and was surprised when her favourite wine was the same as his. He ordered a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc.

They enjoyed each other's company and got on well. She helped him briefly forget the horrible few weeks he'd been through since the death of his father.

She asked him about his past. He'd recently finished a three year PhD in Computer Science and was working at Coaster's temporarily until a job in software engineering came up.

He'd been in a long term relationship when he was a student, but unfortunately the intensity of his studies made the couple become distant, both by location and in love and their relationship had eventually fizzled out.

He asked about her. She told him about her childhood, her job, her ex Rob and why she was a single parent. She didn't tell him that Rob had recently been back in touch.

He was a good listener and Maria felt at ease in his company. She found it hard to keep her eyes off him. There was a definite spark between them.

Campbell asked about Christopher, and Maria told him about his head banging and how it had got worse. She told him about Rhythmic Motion Disorder. He listened intently as she told him about her visit to the doctor and Esther Hall.

By the time they had finished their meal it was nine forty five and the evening had flown by. They enjoyed each other's company.

Samreen was babysitting and Maria promised her that she would be home by ten. Samreen had to be up early for work the next day so didn't want to stay up too late. This suited Maria as she had no idea how her evening would turn out, and if it had been a disaster then she had a good excuse for getting out of there. Fortunately the night had gone well, and Maria would've loved to have spent more time with Campbell.

Campbell called for a taxi as Maria finished the last of her wine. She hoped he had enjoyed the evening as much as she, as she would love spend more time with him. Who knows where it could lead?

The taxi pulled up outside Maria's flat followed by an awkward moment. Campbell was shy and wasn't sure whether he should kiss her goodnight, whilst she sat in silence waiting for something to happen. She couldn't stand waiting any longer and punctuated the uncomfortable moment by asking him in for coffee.

She hadn't planned on it, it just happened. However well the evening had gone her intention was to have the meal, go home and decide whether she would like to see him again. She didn't expect to ask him back to her flat.

"If you don't mind, I would love to."

Maria caught the eye of the taxi driver in the rear view mirror and he quickly looked the other way. Even though she couldn't see his face, she could tell that he was smiling.

Campbell paid the fare and the taxi pulled away.

Maria fumbled for her keys and dropped her purse spilling loose change onto the pavement. Her nervous excitement was getting the better of her.

He knelt down and helped her pick up the coins. Her hair brushed against his face and he could smell her shampoo. She smiled at him and he smiled back.

And then he kissed her.

It wasn't a long embracing kiss, not like in the movies, it was more of a clumsy peck, which ended up half on her lips and half on the side of her face.

It didn't matter, Maria's heart fluttered, no matter how awkward his attempt to kiss her had been.

She stood up and opened the door. Samreen was standing in the hall waiting for Maria. She had heard the sound of the door opening and was desperate to find out how the evening had gone. She was surprised to see Campbell, as Maria had told Samreen that no matter how well the evening went she wouldn't be bringing him home for the night.

The night must have gone very well thought Samreen.

"Would you like me to make coffee?" offered Campbell. He knew the girls would want a few minutes to chat together.

"That would be great," said Maria. She asked Samreen if she would like to join them for a drink.

Samreen shook her head with a cheeky grin.

"No thanks, I'll leave you guys to it. I need to be up early in the morning."

Campbell brought two mugs of coffee into the lounge. He had made two cappuccinos.

"How did you know I'd like a cappuccino?" said Maria.

"Duh," said Samreen, "he does work in your favourite coffee shop."

Maria walked with Samreen to the front door. They stood on the step and chatted for a few minutes before Samreen kissed her on the cheek and whispered in her ear "You dirty hussy." Maria gave her a look as if she was offended, then giggled.

"I'll call you tomorrow."

"You'd better do," said Samreen as she walked to her car.

Maria closed the door and nervously turned and walked to the lounge where she found Campbell perched on the edge of the settee.

It had been a long time since she'd been on her own with a man and she'd never invited someone back to her house after a first date. She had no idea what should happen next. As much as she liked him, she wasn't going to start rolling around on the floor with him like a desperate teenager. Their conversation had flowed in the restaurant but now things were different and neither of them knew what to say.

"Nice cappuccino," she said.

"Thanks, I've had a bit of practice."

Maria had a little cappuccino making device in her kitchen and he had struggled with it as it was very different to the one he used at Coaster's.

As the conversation began to flow, they both felt more comfortable. They sat back on the settee and her arm brushed against his.

They were talking about 'things' when a familiar sound returned over Christopher's baby monitor.

"Ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh," and then a pause.

"Ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh," and then another pause.

"Ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh," and then a pause.

Christopher had started again. It had been a few weeks since he'd banged his head and he sure chose a bad night to start up again.

Campbell looked at Maria awkwardly as he listened to Christopher chant and bang his head.

"Would you like me to stay, or would you rather be on your own?"

Maria hardly knew him but she didn't want to be on her own right now. She knew how bad Christopher could get and would appreciate someone being with her, and Campbell was that someone.

"I'll go and see him, you wait here for a minute and hopefully I can get him to stop."

But she couldn't. He was fast asleep and totally unaware of what he was doing. Banging and crashing around in his cot, chanting and grunting.

But this time his chanting sounded different.

### Chapter fifty six

The Awareness

The Awareness stirred after several weeks of inactivity. It had been building its strength after its last awakening which had drained it.

Still having no concept of time, it carried on from where it had left off.

It had learnt so much. It knew its name, it knew when it was alive it had been male, he even knew he had been a policeman and the important thing he knew was that he'd been murdered.

But where was he now? Was he in some kind of limbo? If it was heaven or hell it was certainly a let down.

Memories were all he had. He concentrated on his memories of Liz and remembered how much he'd loved her when he was alive and how he still loved her now.

Every time he remembered their kiss, the memory segued seamlessly to when he had been killed. The memory intrigued and saddened him. He had recalled the memory of the boy holding the rock many times before, but he was unable to work out who he was.

By now he was able to recall the names of those who had been close to him. He remembered the names of his parents, his brother Michael, many of his friends and of course Liz. But the name of the boy who had dropped the rock eluded him.

Whoever his killer had been was most likely still alive. Perhaps he'd been caught and was imprisoned for what he had done, or he could still be free and killing others.

The more he thought about the killer and the others who had attacked Liz, the more he thought he was in limbo. He didn't imagine eternity to be like this. He was trapped in solitary confinement. He considered himself to be a good person and didn't understand why he'd ended up in a place like this to spend eternity. It didn't make sense.

Perhaps he was in limbo for a reason. If his killer had never been caught then his memories could be the only evidence.

Maybe there was a way he could get a message out about his death? But how? He was frustrated and had no way of communicating.

It was as if he was on a conveyor belt, going round and round unable to get anywhere. He was angry. He only wanted to be heard, he had to get his message across and the more he thought about it the angrier he became. The anger felt real, just as if he were alive. It bubbled and stewed and was poisoning his soul. The anger was creating energy. It was a new energy he'd not sensed before. As anger consumed him the new energy force became stronger and stronger until he could bear it no longer. Whatever this new energy was, it was hurting and he could feel real pain.

The energy force reached a climax and he did something he thought was impossible.

He screamed at the top of his voice.

### Chapter fifty seven

Maria's flat

10.45pm

Friday 14th October

Campbell sat alone in the lounge sipping his coffee. He could hear Maria over the baby monitor trying to settle Christopher.

Maria placed him back in his cot and Christopher lay still for a few seconds. Slowly he opened his mouth, screwed up his tired eyes and let out a most hideous scream. The scream went on and on.

Maria covered her ears as she helplessly watched her son screaming at the very top of his voice.

He was screaming until the last of the air in his lungs had gone.

Afterwards he lay in his cot, silent and still.

Campbell ran into Christopher's room.

"What's happening?" he asked as he came through the door.

"I don't know sobbed Maria, my son's just not normal." She threw her arms around Campbell, buried her head into his shoulder and cried.

Campbell had never heard a noise like it from a child. It sounded like a primal scream which went on and on.

Maria turned to Christopher. He lay quietly and slept. He looked peaceful. Other than his chest rising and dropping he was perfectly still.

"What on earth was that?" said Maria.

Campbell had no idea and decided it was best not to answer.

Maria stroked Christopher's head, covered him and made him comfortable.

His scream was ringing in her ears and she couldn't get it out of her head. It sounded as if it had come from someone else, not her baby boy. How on earth could her son have created such a blood curdling sound? It didn't seem possible that a thirteen month old child would have had the ability to do such a thing. It sounded so 'grown up'.

Campbell thought about what he'd just heard. Christopher's scream sounded like someone yelling as they fell to their death from the top of a building.

Both of them stood over his cot and watched him sleep without saying a word.

Maria tapped Campbell on the shoulder and indicated that they should leave Christopher on his own.

They sat together in the lounge without talking.

Then the head banging started again. But this time it was different. Much different.

### Chapter fifty eight

The Awareness

He was shocked at what he'd just done and felt better for doing it. He had just screamed at the top of his voice. But how could this be as he had no voice? But even so, it had seemed so real that he was certain he could hear it. And the pain, he had felt pain when he could no longer sustain the scream.

He thought about what he'd just done and wondered if he could do it again. His energy was fading and he didn't have the strength to try.

He was sure that what he'd just learnt to do was important. It had allowed him to vent his anger and this made him feel better.

He recalled the last memory of him and Liz kissing at the bottom of the hill and again the memory seamlessly carried on until his life ended.

He needed to be heard. He wanted someone, anyone, to hear his voice. He started a little four word mantra with his thoughts. Slowly, one by one each word appeared in his mind.

Please – Hear – My – Voice.

And again,

Please – Hear – My – Voice.

And again,

Please – Hear – My – Voice.

And again,

Please – Hear – My – Voice.

Repeating the four words over and over in his thoughts made him feel good. It almost made him happy.

As he repeated the words he visualised the last seconds before he died. The happy feeling instantly changed to anger again. The same anger he'd felt when he screamed.

He recalled the memory of his death and recited the four words in his thoughts. The more he repeated them, the angrier he became.

Again the anger was creating energy, the same energy as when he screamed.

Just as before, the anger developed into a bitter poison which burnt like acid. The angrier he was the more intense the four words became.

Please – Hear – My – Voice, Please – Hear – My – Voice, Please – Hear – My – Voice, Please – Hear – My – Voice, Please – Hear – My – Voice.

Now he couldn't stop. The anger felt good and repeating the four words felt even better. It was almost joyous.

Please – Hear – My – Voice, Please – Hear – My – Voice, Please – Hear – My – Voice, Please – Hear – My – Voice, Please – Hear – My – Voice. Please – Hear – My – Voice, Please – Hear – My – Voice, Please – Hear – My – Voice, Please – Hear – My – Voice, Please – Hear – My – Voice.

### Chapter fifty nine

Maria's flat

11.02pm

"I think it might be best if I go," said Campbell with a solemn voice.

"Please don't," replied Maria with an air of desperation.

"Would you mind staying a little longer? I'm a bit shaken after what has happened and I wouldn't mind your company."

Campbell nodded and put his hand on hers.

And then it started. Christopher was banging his head and chanting. But this time it was different. His tone was different and he wasn't chanting the usual 'ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh ughh'.

He was repeating a rhythmic four beat chant and it sounded completely different to 'ughh'. Each bit of the chant sounded different.

Maria stared at the monitor as if she was looking at her son.

"This isn't the same, he's never made this noise before."

Campbell didn't answer. He strained as he listened.

Over the monitor his voice sounded thin and tinny. Maria quietly stood up and motioned to Campbell to follow.

They crept out to the hall and across to his room. Maria slowly pushed his door open and watched from the edge of the room. Campbell stood behind her in the hall.

It was as if he was singing a little monosyllabic song as he banged his head.

"Get your phone, film him before he stops," whispered Campbell, "You may need to play this to the health visitor."

Maria nodded and crept back to the lounge and returned with her phone.

Christopher's room was dark and the little lens on her phone wasn't picking up a very clear image. Maria turned the bedroom light up a little. The video may not be picking up a very clear image, but it was recording the sound of his chanting.

Maria put her phone down so she could pick him up. She tried to wake him, but he continued to chant as he banged his head against her shoulder.

"What should I do?" whispered Maria.

Campbell was stuck for words.

"Perhaps you should let him sleep, he doesn't seem bothered by what he's doing."

Campbell was right, although Christopher was banging his head and chanting, he didn't seem distressed, not like he'd been when he was screaming.

She lay him back in his cot and let him carry on.

They returned to the lounge. Maria glanced at Campbell. He looked tired. This was the last thing he'd expected and, after the death of his father, it was probably the last thing he wanted.

"You can go if you want," she whispered.

"Not if you don't want me to."

She smiled and squeezed his hand.

They sat together in silence for over an hour and listened to Christopher as they held hands.

"Listen," whispered Campbell.

"What?"

Campbell put his finger to his lips and made a quick shushing sound.

He strained as he listened to Christopher's voice over the monitor. Campbell stood up and tiptoed to Christopher's room. Maria followed.

Campbell opened the door, walked over to cot and knelt down close to the little boy.

"What is it?" whispered Maria.

Again, Campbell signalled for her to be quiet.

"Listen," he whispered.

Maria listened, but she didn't know what she was supposed to be hearing.

"It's as if he's saying something."

Maria concentrated.

The four rhythmic noises he was repeating had begun to sound distinct. Together they crouched down and listened closely.

Maria grabbed her phone which she'd left by his cot and filmed him again.

After she'd turned her phone off she knelt even closer to her son.

"You're right, he's saying four words over and over."

Campbell nodded.

"He's barely a year old, what on earth can he be doing?"

Campbell shushed her again.

"That third bit of the chant, it sounds like he's saying meee."

"That's what he calls his favourite toy Misty," said Maria.

"Hang on, it's different to what he calls Misty, he's not saying 'meee', it sounds more like 'my'."

Campbell nodded.

"You're right, it does sound like 'my'."

They sat in silence for a few more minutes and were gobsmacked by the regularity and precise way he was chanting. Every third sound was definitely 'my'.

"That first noise he's making, it starts with a popping sound," said Maria.

"It sounds like 'p' or 'puu'."

Campbell nodded.

"And it's ending with a kind of 'eese' sound."

Maria closed her eyes and cleared her mind to concentrate on what she was hearing.

"He's saying 'peas'."

Campbell shook his head.

"I don't think he's saying peas, listen again."

They sat together on the bedroom floor focusing on the first noise of the sequence.

"There's a 'lu' in there, listen carefully" whispered Campbell.

"Where?"

"It's really faint, but it's right after the 'puu'."

And then Maria could hear it. A very faint 'lu' sound which came right after the 'puu'.

"It sounds like he's saying 'please'," she whispered.

Campbell nodded.

The more Christopher repeated, the clearer it became. It was like an aural version of a magic eye picture. The more they concentrated the clearer things became.

"That's two words we can hear, 'please' and 'my'," said Maria as she pushed her hair away from her face.

She was right. They could both hear 'please' followed by a less distinguished sound, followed by a crystal clear 'my' followed by another less distinguished sound. He repeated over and over without a break. He'd been chanting for over half an hour.

"How many words are in his vocabulary?" asked Campbell.

"I'm not sure, a good twenty or so."

"Let's go back to the lounge and have a chat."

Maria followed Campbell back to the lounge. Campbell shut the door and sat next to her on the settee.

"Tell me the words he can say."

Maria began to reel off the words in his vocabulary, "mee, that was his first word and it's what he calls his favourite toy."

Campbell nodded.

Maria looked towards the ceiling in an effort to remember.

"And he can say 'mama' and 'nana' and 'duck' and 'Sam'."

"Sam, who is Sam?" interrupted Campbell.

"Oh he's trying to say 'Samreen'."

Campbell nodded and Maria continued.

Maria recalled around twenty basic words. Most of them weren't proper words, but were more like attempts at words. He had tried to say the names of his friends from Joe Jingles, but could not pronounce any of them correctly.

"So he hasn't said 'please' or 'my' before?"

Maria shook her head.

"Nor strung together any words to make a sentence?"

Maria looked at him incredulously.

"Sentences? He's only thirteen months old."

Campbell shrugged his shoulders.

Christopher was still banging his head and chanting. They stopped talking and continued to listen.

"Would you like another coffee?" asked Campbell.

Maria smiled and nodded. Hers had gone cold.

Campbell disappeared into the kitchen and shut the door behind him. Maria listened to Christopher and wondered what on earth was going on. Sitting on her own, his odd repeating chant sounded haunting. It didn't even sound like his voice, it was as if it was from another child and although it sounded childlike, there was maturity in the intonation.

She paid attention to the fourth sound, or word, as she was certain he was saying words instead of a random chant. It sounded almost European, perhaps German or Austrian. Maria focused on his fourth word by blocking out the other three. It sounded like 'edelweiss'. There was no way he would be saying edelweiss, it was such a complicated word for a thirteen month old child who couldn't even properly say the name of his favourite toy.

Campbell came in with coffee.

"Listen," said Maria, "listen to the fourth word."

He placed the mugs on the table and put his ear to the monitor.

He closed his eyes and concentrated.

"What does that sound like?" said Maria.

"I'm not sure, it does sound like something."

"It sounds like he's saying edelweiss."

"Edelweiss?" asked Campbell, in a quizzical tone.

"That's what I think it sounds like".

Campbell listened again.

"I know what you mean, but I don't think he's saying edelweiss."

They listened together in silence.

"The first bit isn't a word," said Campbell. "It's the noise he's making as his head thumps the pillow."

Maria listened again and realised he was right.

"So, it sounds like he's saying 'weiss' or 'vice'?"

"Or 'voice'," added Campbell.

"Yes, voice, he could be saying 'voice'."

Maria was feeling tired. She was irritable and wished it would all just go away. She lay on the settee and closed her eyes.

Campbell let Maria sleep on the settee while he sat at the table in the lounge. It had been a strange evening. He knew Maria had appreciated his company and he was glad to be there for her.

Tiredness was enveloping him. He put his head in his arms and shut his eyes.

He woke to the sound of a radio. He was befuddled and didn't know where he was. Sitting up he rubbed his aching neck. He wasn't hearing a radio, it was Christopher and he was still head banging and chanting the same four words. He looked at his watch, it was just after one thirty in the morning. He had dozed off for a couple of hours.

Maria was sleeping on the settee with her back away from him. He debated what to do. He could call a taxi and be home in in half an hour, or he could wake her up so she could sleep in her bed and he could stretch out on the settee.

He was thinking about what to do when he noticed that Christopher's chant was different. The three words he and Maria had heard earlier in the evening were clearer and more pronounced. He was still repeating 'please', 'my' and 'voice', but there was a new word. The second sound, which at first had been a grunt had now become another clear and defined word. Christopher was saying 'ear' or 'hear'. Campbell put the four words together.

'Please', 'ear' or 'hear', 'my' and 'voice'.

Campbell's tired mind was making sense of what he was hearing.

'Please', 'Hear', 'My' and 'Voice'.

"Please hear my voice," Campbell quietly whispered the words.

"Please hear my voice." He repeated, but louder this time.

Christopher was repeating 'please hear my voice' and had been all night. Campbell gently woke Maria, doing his best not to alarm her.

"Maria, wake up," as he nudged her shoulder.

She was fast asleep and it was difficult to rouse her. He nudged her again and she stirred.

"Maria, wake up."

She rolled over, opened her eyes and looked at him.

She was confused and it took a few seconds to remember what had happened earlier that night.

"What's the time, what's happening?"

"It's OK, take your time."

He offered his hand to help her up from the settee. She swivelled her body and sat up.

"Listen to him."

Maria put her ear to the monitor, put her hand over her mouth and looked Campbell.

"Oh my God."

She looked towards the monitor and back to Campbell.

"What's happening? He's really talking."

In the few hours she'd been sleeping Christopher's chant had developed from something indistinct to four unmistakable words. When put together they made an understandable sentence.

He was thirteen months old and putting sentences together in his sleep. She listened to the tone of his voice, it didn't even sound like him. The voice sounded like someone who'd been here before.

A tear rolled down her cheek as the significance of what was happening hit her.

"My son is talking like a grown up."

Her bottom lip was quivering as she spoke.

"This isn't normal Campbell, what the hell is wrong with my son?"

She turned and threw her arms around him and he held her tightly and let her cry onto his shoulder. Without thinking he ran his fingers through her tousled hair.

"This can't just be Rhythmic Movement Disorder," said Maria in a weak voice.

"It must be something else."

Campbell didn't answer, he held her and said nothing.

Maria pulled away from Campbell and crept to Christopher's room.

She knew that trying to wake him would be pointless. Campbell came in and stood next to her. They watched in awe.

He ticked like a grandfather clock. His head lifted from the pillow and thudded down as he said 'please'. His head lifted again and briefly poised, hovering six inches over the pillow before it came to rest as he said the second word 'hear'. He repeated the same actions as he said the next two words, 'my' 'voice'.

As he finished each sequence he briefly rested as if he was regrouping to build up strength before starting the sequence again. He'd been doing it for over two hours.

"Film him again," said Campbell in a hushed but urgent tone.

"This isn't a fucking freak show," snapped Maria.

"Film him for the consultant in London you'd told me about, you need to let him see it."

Maria apologised for snapping. She was tired and very emotional.

Campbell was right. This needed to be documented.

"Turn up his light please."

Campbell turned the dimmer switch on the wall until the ceiling light was as bright as it could be.

Maria stood over the cot and videoed her son. She knelt down and filmed him through the slats of his cot. She filmed him banging his head and chanting from all angles until the video on her phone automatically stopped and saved the file.

\------------------------------------------------------

A very strange bond had formed between Christopher Jameson and the deceased Ben Walker.

The instant Ben lost his life something happened.

When his physical body ceased to live and breathe his spiritual body transcended, but something prevented it from completing the journey.

Ben's spirit was captured within baby Christopher the second the child took his first breath, just before the umbilical cord had been severed. From that point, Ben had developed within Christopher, unknowingly drawing upon Christopher's resources to flourish and grow.

Two disparate souls living as one.

During the last year Ben had thrived within baby Christopher with nothing to draw on but the memories of his short life. At first, Ben's memories where brief snapshots, but over time they had developed and now he was able to recall them at will. He could rewind, pause and forward them. In the beginning the memories were vague, but now they were never faded or blurred. He had a chronological pictorial reference of almost all of his life.

Now he was using his influence upon the small boy who was his host.

Ben was becoming weak. He had been causing Christopher to bang his head and repeat those four words for such a long time his force was ebbing and he was slipping away, giving the child the break he desperately needed and the opportunity for proper uninterrupted sleep.

Ben would soon be back to continue where he had left off.

\------------------------------------------------------

Campbell lowered the light and walked over to Maria.

She turned and looked at him through bloodshot eyes.

"Campbell, there's something terribly wrong with my son. This isn't normal."

1.58am

It was almost two o'clock in the morning and Christopher was lying still. Maria rolled him over and put her hand on his chest. His heart was beating fast and his breathing was laboured.

Within a few minutes his breathing and heartbeat settled and he was gently snoring.

He looked peaceful as if nothing had happened.

She stayed with him until it was almost three o'clock, holding his hand and keeping a watchful eye over him. Overcome by tiredness she let go of his hand and left him to sleep.

Campbell was sleeping on the settee. She took a blanket and a pillow from her room and made him comfortable, kissed him on his forehead and touched his face.

Leaving him in the lounge she trudged to her bedroom, took off her floral dress and fell face down on her bed.

\------------------------------------------------------

At ten past eight Maria was woken by a gentle knock on her bedroom door. Campbell had woken to the sound of Christopher chatting over the baby monitor which Maria had forgotten to take to her room.

He decided not to go into Christopher's room as the sight of a stranger would probably frighten him.

He slowly opened Maria's door and gently called her.

Maria quickly sat up and pulled her duvet up to her neck.

"Sorry to call you, but Christopher's awake."

It took a few seconds for Maria to remember what had happened during the night.

"Is he OK?"

"He sounds OK, but I've not been into his room, I thought I'd leave that to you."

Maria smiled and Campbell left her bedroom and shut the door behind him.

A minute later Maria emerged from her room wearing jeans and a sweatshirt. Campbell noticed that first thing in the morning even after a terrible night's sleep, she still looked great.

"I'll go and get him, would you like to make yourself some breakfast?"

Campbell nodded.

"Would you like something from the kitchen?"

"Coffee and toast would be great."

Campbell disappeared into the kitchen and Maria went to get her son.

Christopher was smiling and happy to see his mum. She picked him up and hugged him.

He seemed to be showing no ill effects from the previous night's ordeal, he was bonnier and more awake than both his mother and Campbell.

She carried him into the lounge and sat him next to her on the settee. The smell of toast wafted in from the kitchen.

Christopher looked perplexed and called for Misty.

"Meee, meee, meee."

Campbell came in with coffee and toast for the two of them and put the tray on the lounge table.

"Campbell, could you pop into his bedroom and get his little grey cat from the cot please?"

Campbell nodded, came back with Misty and handed it to Christopher.

Christopher smiled and started chattering to himself.

Campbell remembered how clear and distinct those four words had become during the night and how different he was now. Christopher was chattering the early words you would expect from a thirteen month old child. 'Mama, Nana' and the rest. Surely there was no way he could have been repeating that chant last night, he didn't have the vocabulary.

Maria handed Christopher to Campbell.

"Would you mind staying with Christopher? I just need to warm some milk for him."

Christopher happily bounced on Campbell's knee and tried to reach for his hair.

One word Christopher hadn't yet learnt was 'dada'. He didn't need to know it, at least not for now.

The microwave pinged and Maria came back with his milk.

"Would you like to feed him?"

Campbell smiled and took the bottle. He'd never fed a baby before, but he slipped into the role effortlessly. Christopher lay with the back of his head against Campbell's arm and happily drank the milk.

"You're a natural," said Maria.

Maria thought about Rob. He'd not responded to the email she'd sent him a couple of days earlier. It didn't surprise her. She knew that just the mention of life being less than a walk in the park would scare him off.

Campbell was gentle with Christopher. The two of them looked perfect together.

She dismissed the thought. Last night had been their first date, and it was never a real date, just a meal. But already she was getting gooey about him. She'd been getting gooey ever since she first saw him in the coffee shop.

Christopher finished his milk.

"Do I need to wind him or anything?"

"No, just put him down, he'll be OK."

Campbell propped him up with a cushion on the corner of the settee and held his hands either side of him in case he toppled over.

"He's fine," said Maria, "he's thirteen months old and not a baby, and you'd be surprised how tough he is."

Christopher happily sat next to Campbell on the settee clutching Mee.

Maria looked serious as she turned to Campbell.

"So what did you make of last night?"

He assumed she was referring to Christopher and not their night out.

"I really don't know."

"You said that you banged your head when you were little, did you do anything like that, I mean the chanting and what not?"

"Not that I know of. I'm calling my mum this afternoon, I'll ask her. See what she remembers."

Maria picked up her phone and played the video clip.

They both felt goosebumps as Christopher's voice crackled over the tiny speaker.

"Please hear my voice - Please hear my voice - Please hear my voice - Please hear my voice."

Maria stopped the clip and put down her phone. The horror of last night came rushing back. Discussing it was one thing, but seeing and hearing it again, was another.

"What are you going to do?" asked Campbell.

Maria shook her head as she pushed the phone away from her.

"I don't know. The doctors have proved useless."

"What about the child health visitor, what was her name?"

"Esther, her name is Esther Hall."

"Doesn't she know some hot shot in London?"

Maria was impressed with how much Campbell had remembered about their conversation in the restaurant.

"I think you should send her that clip and see what she says. I reckon she'd want to forward it to the hot shot."

He was right. Maria decided that she would email the video to Esther later in the morning.

She turned to him and asked what he was doing for the rest of the day. Campbell had a shift at the coffee shop starting at one and had a few things to do before he started work.

"I'll tell you what. Have a shower, sort yourself out and I'll drop you home."

"No need for that, I can get a bus."

"Forget that, I'll drive you home, unless you're nervous about lady drivers?"

Campbell accepted her offer and made his way to her bathroom.

Fifteen minutes later he came back looking fresher. Maria asked if he could keep an eye on Christopher whilst she took a shower.

She was drying off in her bedroom with her door slightly opened. She stopped and listened to the two of them playing in the lounge. Quickly she slipped her clothes on and peeked through the open door.

Campbell was oblivious and didn't know she was watching. He lay on the floor, at Christopher's level and was teasing him with the toy cat. Christopher was giggling with delight. Christopher looked up and saw Maria by the door.

"Mama!"

He sat up with his arms out. Campbell was embarrassed by being caught playing with Christopher. Maria smiled.

"I'm sorry to break up the party, but this little man needs a bath."

Campbell sat on his own and read yesterday's paper. He could hear Maria and Christopher in the bathroom. His delightful giggle made Campbell smile.

Despite the strange twist at the end of the night, he felt relaxed in Maria's company. Something about her put him at ease. He hoped she felt the same about him.

Maria came into the lounge with Christopher to find Campbell with his feet up, reading the paper and listening to the radio.

"I see someone's made them self at home."

Campbell dropped the paper and sat up. She had a knack of catching him out.

"Would you mind entertaining him again? I would like to fire off an email to the child health visitor and attach the video clip I made last night."

Campbell gladly took Christopher and they played happily on the settee.

Maria switched on her computer, connected her phone and loaded the clip.

She had already sent one clip of Christopher head banging a couple of days earlier. She'd had one reply from Esther saying she'd forward it to her consultant colleague but had heard nothing since.

Maria composed a brief message explaining the events of the previous night, attached the video file and pressed send.

She closed the lid, turned to Campbell and said it was time for him to go home.

"Come on, chop chop, let's get you in the car."

Campbell wondered whether he'd overstayed his welcome.

Maria had a busy day ahead and needed to get a move on. She wasn't used to visitors staying and he had been the first man to spend the night since Rob. It broke her routine and she was finding it hard to get motivated.

She stopped outside his flat and left the engine running to signify she wouldn't be coming in. He was about to say something but stopped, as she put her finger over his lips to shush him. Leaning toward him she made the first move and kissed him on the lips. Christopher giggled from the back of the car. They stopped kissing and smiled.

"I guess that's my cue to leave."

Maria nodded.

Campbell climbed out of the car and closed the door.

Maria wound down the window and leant over to the passenger side.

"Despite what happened last night, I did enjoy it."

Campbell was about to speak, but Maria stopped him.

"Before you say anything, I would like to see you again, but I'll call you if you don't mind. I'm worried about my son and I need to put him first."

Campbell nodded. He understood. He knew if he was to see her again, he would need to be patient.

Luckily for Campbell, he wouldn't need to wait very long.

### Chapter sixty

Esther Hall's home

10.50am

Saturday 15th October

Esther was a terrible workaholic. Today was her first Saturday off in three months and she'd promised her husband that there would be no talk of work, or anything related to it for the whole weekend. She'd agreed they'd spend the day shopping for a new kitchen. Something her husband was keen to get on with, but couldn't do much about unless she was present.

However, she did have to send a very quick email to her boss, and assured him she'd be off the computer in five minutes.

"Go and get the car out of the garage and I'll be with you before you know it."

Bob sighed and went out to unlock the garage door.

Esther logged into her email account and saw the new message from Maria. She hesitated, but her curiosity was getting the better of her. She noticed the message had an attachment.

"Oh bollocks," she whispered as she clicked the message.

She skim read the message, which said something about Christopher's head banging getting worse before clicking the attachment.

The file was large and it was taking time to download.

She stuck her head around the front door and indicated to Bob, who was waiting in the car, that she would be two minutes. He rolled his eyes and tapped his watch.

Esther sat at her computer and impatiently waited for the file to download. Eventually the clip started to play. The images where grainy, but she could clearly see it was Maria's little boy banging his head. She wondered why Maria had sent the email. The head banging was less violent than it was in the earlier clip.

Esther was watching it with the sound on mute. She pulled the slider icon on her computer back to the start so the clip played again from the beginning and this time had the audio turned up to seventy five percent.

And then she heard it. At first she thought it must be something else. As she watched the footage the more it became apparent that the little boy was talking. But it wasn't like baby talk, it was proper adult talk. It didn't sound like a child's voice.

"Please hear my voice - Please hear my voice - Please hear my voice - Please hear my voice - Please hear my voice - Please hear my voice - Please hear my voice - Please hear my voice - Please hear my voice - Please hear my voice - Please hear my voice - Please hear my voice \- Please hear my voice."

Esther closed the lid on computer. She was totally shocked. In all the years she had been working with children, she'd never seen, or heard, anything like it.

She left the house and got in the car with her husband.

"Are you OK love?"

Esther nodded. Because of confidentiality she could not disclose to Bob what she'd just seen.

"You look very pale, are you sure?"

"I'm fine, just drive."

Bob reversed the car onto the road and was just about to pull away when he noticed Esther had left the front door of their house wide open.

He pulled over onto the pavement, got out and locked the house. He got back in, looked at his wife and shook his head.

They spent the day looking around kitchen showrooms, but Esther couldn't concentrate on anything other than what she'd watched on her computer. Surely that wasn't for real? Was Christopher really saying those words?

Bob pulled over at a garage for petrol, filled up and walked to the kiosk to pay. Esther could see there was a large queue at the till. She had just enough time to make a quick call to Maria. She was desperate to speak with her.

She reached for her mobile and called Maria. She was diverted to voicemail. Esther sighed and left a message.

'Hello Maria, this is Esther, Esther Hall. I've watched the video clip and would like to have a word. Please call me as soon as you get this message.' She flipped the lid on her phone and slipped it into her handbag, just as Bob returned to the car.

"Who were you talking to?"

"Oh, no one, it was one of those stupid sales calls."

"Good, as long as it wasn't work."

They returned home after a fruitless day of window shopping and picking up brochures. Bob was grumpy. He wanted to have come home with a deposit down on a new kitchen, but it wasn't to be, and he knew why. It was Esther, she had work on her mind.....again.

She'd felt guilty about spoiling their first weekend together in months. He was sitting in the lounge with a face as long as a fiddle. She came in with a peace offering and handed him a glass of beer and kissed him on his receding hair line. Bob tried his best attempt at smiling, but failed. Instead he lifted his glass to signify gratitude. Esther switched on the television for him and left him alone while she prepared a light tea.

She was busying herself in the kitchen when she heard her phone ring. The phone was in her bag, which was hanging at the bottom of the stairs.

"Phone's ringing," she heard Bob call from the front room.

She grabbed it from her bag and saw it was Maria.

"Hi Maria, thanks for calling back, I can't speak for long."

They spoke in depth about what had happened during the night. The call lasted almost an hour.

Esther brought in their food and placed it on the coffee table.

"I've been waiting so long my sandwiches are cold," joked Bob, but Esther didn't smile and he knew it was to do with work and he also knew it must be something serious.

Esther had asked Maria for permission to forward the video to her consultant colleague in London. She needed Dr Peter Phelps' opinion on what was happening with Christopher as it was out of her league. She hoped that he would want to be involved.

The first video she forwarded to him probably wouldn't have interested him too much. It was pretty much standard Rhythmic Movement Disorder, albeit very severe. But this second clip was different, completely different.

Many children talk in their sleep. It was something she'd come across many times, but she needed advice on what was happening with Christopher, and she needed specialist advice. She was grateful to be acquainted with Phelps, even though he wasn't always the easiest of people to get on with.

Phelps was Britain's leading researcher in Paediatric Sleep Disorders and had been for over ten years. He'd spent his time researching sleep terrors, sleep paralysis and somnambulism but was particularly keen on advancing research on both Rhythmic Movement Disorder and sleep talking.

Esther hoped that Christopher's case would interest Phelps enough to be involved.

Esther and Bob cleared away the dishes. She was happy for her husband to be sucked into the vortex of Saturday night, brain numbing television. He was easily drawn in by the myriad of talent, quiz and family entertainment shows which she hated.

She left him to vegetate in front of the TV while she disappeared to the study to compose an email to send to Peter Phelps.

She needn't have worried about what to write. The video clip was enough to get his attention. It didn't take long for Phelps to spring into action.

### Chapter sixty one

Hampstead, London

10.09am

Sunday 16th October

Peter Phelps climbed out of the bath, grabbed a towel and dried off. He caught sight of himself in the full length bathroom mirror and hated what he saw.

Phelps was fifty one years old, short and round. He had an equally round balding head. He could be grumpy, evasive and short-tempered but on the other hand he had a compassionate and understanding nature. He was born in Australia and even though he moved to England when he was fifteen, he had never lost his accent.

He put on his 'slouching around Sunday' clothes and went downstairs to the kitchen. His wife, Jean, was sitting in the kitchen diner reading the Sunday papers and eating cereal. He kissed her and poured a glass of orange juice.

He considered himself a lucky man to have Jean. Even after twenty five years of marriage and knowing her for more than thirty, she still looked as gorgeous as the day he'd first set eyes on her. He had no idea why she was ever interested in him, but had stopped questioning it years ago and accepted that she must be mad.

He was a man with little self-esteem but one who excelled in his work.

They had not been able to have a family due to Peter being diagnosed with testicular cancer in his early twenties. He had been successfully treated, but had been left infertile.

They had adopted two boys shortly after they were married. The boys were now young men. Andrew lived with them whilst Colin was at university studying Medicine.

Because Peter couldn't have kids of his own he'd wanted a career helping children. He always believed that children were the future and wanted to be involved with their development. At the age of twenty four he graduated as a doctor. His medical career quickly led him down the path to become a paediatric doctor which eventually introduced him to working with children with sleep disorders.

His research over the past ten years had made new discoveries into why children suffered sleep deprivation and what could be done to help them.

He joined his wife for breakfast. She passed him the newspaper while she read the entertainment section of the Sunday supplements.

Peter Phelps worked seven days a week, fifty two weeks a year and that's the way he liked it. Jean knew that any holiday spent with her husband would include him bringing a briefcase full of non-confidential paperwork and making at least three phone calls a day.

She was used to it. In return, his hard work had bought them a more than modest five bedroom home in Hampstead Village, two Mercedes and a holiday home in Dorset. Not that the two of them spent much time there, he was too busy working. Jean enjoyed spending time with her sister at the holiday home in the Canford Cliffs area of Poole.

After breakfast Peter checked his email. He deleted the ever increasing spam that was filling up his inbox and filtered out the wheat from the chaff.

He saw the email from Esther. He didn't know her very well, but had been grateful for the information she had provide over the past few years which had helped with his research. He had met her at a conference the previous year and had been impressed by her dedication to work.

He'd already received an email from her a few days earlier and watched the video clip of the young boy violently head banging during his sleep. It was something he'd seen several times during his research into Rhythmic Movement Disorder. He appreciated her sending it, but it wasn't earth shattering. He'd filed the video on his computer in a folder called 'rmd standard stuff'.

He opened the email and read her single line of text.

\------------------------------------------------

Peter, please watch. I've never seen anything like it. Esther.

\------------------------------------------------

Peter opened the attachment and waited for it to load.

The server was slow that morning and it was taking an age to open. He strolled to the kitchen to refill his coffee and slowly walked back with a cold slice of toast in his other hand. He put down the coffee just as the file had downloaded.

He pressed the play icon and sat back.

He watched the entire three minute video clip whilst holding the toast to his mouth. He put the toast back on the plate and played the clip again, and again, and again.

Over the years he'd seen children talk in their sleep and he'd seen them make strange grunts and groans associated with Rhythmic Movement Disorder, but never had he heard a child as young as this talking in such a way during sleep.

The little boy's voice was not only saying things that were way beyond his age, it was the tone of his voice that was so strange. Peter did not believe in reincarnation but it sounded like this boy was speaking as an adult, or if not an adult, someone at least ten years older than the child appeared to be.

He brought up Esther's email form earlier in the week, where she had given a detailed description of the little boy and his circumstances.

The boy was Christopher Jameson, he was born on 6th September 2009. His mother had been concerned about symptoms similar to RMD for the past few weeks.

The boy's barely a year old he thought. He grabbed his notebook and hurriedly began writing.

He replied to Esther telling her to expect a call from him first thing in the morning.

### Chapter sixty two

The Saint John Fisher Health Centre

Bristol

7am

Monday 17th October

Esther Hall struggled to find the key to her office door. She was holding two box files under one arm, a dripping umbrella under the other while searching the pockets of her wet jacket. The two files fell to the ground and the contents spilled onto the floor. Esther cursed as paperwork fell on to her wet foot prints smudging the ink.

Her office door swung open and the light automatically came on.

Scooping up the paperwork, she placed it on the spare desk and cursed again.

She had got to work extra early. She'd read Peter Phelps' reply to her email. When he said he was going to do something 'first thing', he really meant first thing.

At seven fifteen the phone on her desk was ringing. It was Phelps.

"Morning Esther, how are you?" asked Phelps in his harsh Australian drawl even before she had a chance to say hello.

"I'm good Peter, how about you?"

"Yeah, can't complain, can't complain. Listen, I would like to know more about young Christopher Jameson, what can you tell me?"

Esther told Phelps what she knew, which really wasn't that much, since his strange sleep talking had only started on Friday night.

"Do you think the mother would say yes to seeing me?"

"I'm sure she would, she's desperate for an answer."

"Well, I don't think we will have any answers for her just yet. I've not seen anything like this before."

"To be honest with you Peter, it's scary, god only knows what it must be like for the boy's poor mother."

"Look Esther, I'm going to think about things at my end and I would be grateful if you could set up a visit for me. I'm coming to the West Country next week and could slot in a visit to Bristol. I'm pretty flexible so I should be able to work around everyone's timetables."

Esther agreed and they ended the call.

Esther called Maria just after nine and told her about the conversation with Phelps. Maria was bothered that her son was attracting the attention of Britain's top researcher into RMD, but was grateful that he was willing to meet with her.

A meeting was arranged for the following week.

Esther spoke with Phelps again just before she took lunch. He agreed to come to Bristol on Monday 24th and that they should both be present. Phelps suggested that the meeting should take place at the boy's home and not at the surgery.

"Can you drop by her place with an actigraph monitor?" asked Phelps.

"I could do with a week's worth of the boy's sleep patterns before I get to meet him."

Esther agreed and made time in her diary to visit Maria later in the day to drop off the monitor and run through what to do with it.

### Chapter sixty three

Daniel Boyd's flat

1.30pm

Monday 17th October

Daniel Boyd was on annual leave. He'd planned nothing and wasn't really bothered about taking time off. His boss had been on his back for weeks about taking holiday. Apart from the few sick days the previous week he hadn't had a day off since he started working in January and if he didn't take time off soon he'd lose his holiday for the year.

Daniel's life revolved around his job. It was a distraction from the miserable existence that was between five pm and eight am.

He had no friends, no hobbies and did little else than mope around his flat when he wasn't at the builders merchant.

Since he'd met Liz Mason's father he'd been fretting over the possibility of getting caught. It was a close call. He had been standing face to face with the father of a girl, who because of Boyd, was now in a coma.

He had become paranoid about being caught for the past few months, which is why he hardly ever left his flat, but since the chance meeting the other week, Boyd's paranoia had become worse.

He had considered seeing a doctor to get something to calm his nerves, but he was even anxious about doing that.

He lay in bed and smoked a cigarette as the thoughts of being caught, arrested, charged and finally locked away, buzzed around in his head.

He'd become too nervous to talk to anyone and only spoke when it was necessary. This made his colleagues at work very wary of him. Other than Stanley, most of them kept away from him. This was the way Boyd preferred it, but what sort of life was it? His existence certainly had no quality.

He lived only miles away from where he'd murdered Ben Walker, surely sometime soon his time would be up.

It would only take a slip of the tongue from Mossy, Seb, Greeny or any of the others who'd been there that night and the game was over.

He imagined what it would be like to be a prisoner. Perhaps it wouldn't be all that bad. Life in prison surely couldn't be much worse than it was for him as a free man?

Life in prison would probably be structured and perhaps he could learn a skill?

What was he thinking of? He was not going to prison, not if he had anything to do with it and that was final.

He chain lit another cigarette and felt the knot in his stomach tighten. The knot which had been there since he'd met Terry Mason.

He groaned as he got out of bed and pulled on his trousers with the cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He looked in the mirror and loathed what he saw. He was pathetic.

He'd hoped that having a job would improve his life. It failed to register that now he had a flat, money and a purpose to get up in the morning. He didn't appreciate any of these things.

He made a mug of tea and turned on the television and watched a re-run of a property programme. The presenter was helping a wealthy couple buy a holiday home in Cornwall.

Cornwall was where he spent his holidays as a kid with his mother and father, back when he was happy. The programme was filmed in Newquay. He watched it longingly, remembering the beach he played on when he was young. It had been filmed in summer time and the place looked wonderful.

The programme ended and he sat watching the closing credits.

He remembered happy times in his life and those brilliant summer holidays in Cornwall. His favourite place was St Ives and when he was a little boy he wanted to grow up and be a fisherman and live near the beach. He would spend hours on Smeaton's Pier watching the fishermen unload the day's catch and he'd laugh as they dodged the dive bombing seagulls as they came swooping down to steal the fish.

The fishermen had an exciting life. Out to sea in all winds and weathers. The idea of what they did appealed to him.

That was a long time ago and things hadn't quite worked out the way he'd planned. Most of his friends wanted to be train drivers or firemen and he doubted if they ended up doing what they wanted either.

What was it that Stanley had said the day they pulled into Terry Mason's driveway? 'It's up to you choose your own destiny'.

Then the penny dropped. He'd made a decision. He was going to leave. Just disappear and tell no one where he was going. Not Stanley nor anyone else.

He went to his bedroom and pulled a backpack from under his bed. Inside was a plastic bag sealed with sticky tape. He ripped the bag open and emptied the contents onto his bed. A pile of five, ten and twenty pound notes where scattered on the duvet. He counted the notes and laid them neatly on his pillow. One thousand four hundred and eighty pounds.

Since he'd started work he had put aside twenty five pounds every week and this, added to money he'd acquired before he started gainful employment, amounted to what was in front of him now.

He reckoned that he had enough cash to get to Cornwall, stay in a B&B until he found a labouring job, or perhaps seasonal work in the spring, and eventually find someone to let him work on their boat. He'd even do it for free to begin with, so he could learn the trade.

The underlying reason for going to Cornwall was to get out of Bristol. Just like Carla Price, the further away the better. He couldn't leave the country, he didn't have a passport. Cornwall sounded ideal.

He'd made his mind up and he was leaving today. He grabbed a pile of clothes from a drawer and shoved them into the backpack with the cash. He put on a hoody, slipped on a pair of trainers, grabbed his cigarettes and lighter and pushed them into the back pocket of his jeans.

Boyd quickly looked around the flat and saw his phone on the floor. He bent down to pick it up but stopped before he could reach it. Did he really need it? No one ever called him. He kicked it under a chair, grabbed his coat and pulled the door behind him leaving the keys swinging in the lock on the inside.

He waited at the bus stop, and for the first time in years he felt excited. He had a plan and he was going to make it work.

Twenty minutes later he was at the coach station near the city centre working out which coach would get him to Cornwall. There didn't seem to be one. Surely his plan couldn't be over before it had even started. There were loads of other places he could go. London, Leeds, Birmingham, Cardiff and even places in Scotland. Boyd didn't want to go anywhere other than Cornwall. He'd been to London once and didn't like it, and the other places he knew nothing about.

He turned to the attendant in the ticket office and asked whether he could get a coach to Cornwall.

"Plymouth's as far as we can take you love," replied the lady behind the window. She wore so much makeup she looked like she was lightly caked in mud.

"But I need to get to Cornwall."

"Which bit of Cornwall are you trying to get to my love?"

"Uh, I don't know, St Ives, no, Newquay."

He decided that there was more chance of finding work in Newquay, It was much bigger than St, Ives and would be busy, even though the holiday season had ended.

"You want to go to Newquay, do you my love?"

Boyd nodded.

"Get the coach to Plymouth and when you get there you can get a bus to Newquay my love."

Boyd nodded again and handed over the money. The woman eyed the large wad of cash in his ruck sack and quickly looked the other way as he handed her the fare.

"The next bus leaves at four."

He looked at his watch. It was two fifteen.

Boyd could have waited at the station but instead he spent an hour looking around the city centre. This would be the last time he'd see the place and wanted a little bit of time to look around before he left for good.

He was back at the station by ten to four. He bought a packet of cigarettes, a newspaper and something to eat and drink for the journey.

He boarded the coach and made his way to the back, sat down and pulled his hoody over his head. He huddled against the window and closed his eyes as the coach left the bay. He was on his way and, other than the lady in the ticket office, no one knew where he was going.

### Chapter sixty four

Maria's flat

4.30pm

Monday 17th October

Maria brought a tray of coffee and digestive biscuits from the kitchen and placed it on the table in the lounge.

"Help yourself," said Maria as she offered the plate to Esther.

"Ooh, digestives, my favourite," said Esther, as she eagerly grabbed a couple.

"So what's this monitor for?" asked Maria as she turned the small plastic device over and viewed it suspiciously.

"It's to monitor Christopher's sleep patterns".

Maria said nothing and continued to look at the monitor.

"It will provide us with information about your son's real world sleep behavior and rest-activity rhythms."

"Sorry Esther, you've lost me."

"No, it's my fault. Basically the data information captured on that little thing will help Dr Phelps make appropriate diagnostic and treatment decisions."

"So when you say treatment decisions, do you think that Dr Phelps will be able to cure Christopher's Rhythmic Movement Disorder?"

"No, he won't be able to cure RMD, there's no cure for that. He's hoping to find out more about your son's sleep talking."

Maria seemed disappointed.

"As we've discussed before, RMD will just stop, Christopher is very likely to just grow out of it,......... Do you still use the metronome to settle Christopher?"

Maria nodded.

"And was it switched on last Friday night when he started sleep talking?"

Maria nodded again.

"Dr Phelps is interested in what is causing Christopher to talk like he does when he's sleeping. He's researched sleep behavior in children for years but until now he's not come across anything like this."

Maria looked serious, which was something she was doing more and more recently. Her face was showing signs of stress.

"Dr Phelps will go into more detail with you when you see him next week, but I know he's interested in understanding why your son is saying words that are beyond his vocabulary."

"So Christopher's going to be his special guinea pig?"

"Yes, if you put it like that, but hopefully if he can find out more about what's happening with your son, he may find a way of stopping him from doing it."

Christopher was sleeping in his cot and Maria and Esther went to see him.

"Does he only bang his head when he sleeps at night?" whispered Esther.

"I've never known him do it during the day and my mum hasn't mentioned seeing him do it either, it's just a night time thing."

Maria stroked Christopher's face and he wriggled in his cot.

"He doesn't head bang every night and there's a chance he may not do it before Dr Phelps visits me next week so this monitor thingy may not pick up any information."

"Perhaps, but there's not much we can do about that."

Christopher was waking up. Esther left the bedroom so Maria could get him out of his cot on her own.

She brought him into the lounge as Esther was packing her notes into her bag. She put the actigraph monitor back in its box and placed it on the table.

"I need to get going," said Esther as she put on her coat.

"I'll see you on Monday with Dr Phelps, but if you need to speak to me, just give me a call."

Maria thanked her and walked her to the door.

She closed the door and heard her phone ringing from the lounge. As the phone was ringing Maria could hear Christopher.

"Eyo, eyo, eyo."

He was trying to say hello. He was copying Maria because 'hello' was always the first thing she said when she picked up the phone. He had been doing this for about a week and it made Maria smile. She checked who was calling. It was Campbell.

"Hello Campbell, how are you?"

They had a fifteen minute conversation. Campbell knew that Maria was hesitant about going out on another date just yet, but he was desperate to know how Christopher was. Maria told him what had happened over the last few days and about the appointment with Dr Phelps.

She was missing Campbell. They'd only been out once, but it seemed like she had known him for years.

She didn't want to go out with him again just yet because she didn't want to leave Christopher with a baby sitter. She was worried that his strange behaviour would start and she wouldn't be there for him.

"I've got an idea" said Maria, "how would you like to come over one night this week and I can cook us a meal?"

"I'd like that," said Campbell.

A date was made for Thursday and they ended the call.

Maria smiled. Campbell was selfless. He hadn't made the call so he could see her again, he'd done it because he was concerned about her son.

Later in the evening Maria struggled to attach the actigraph monitor. The thing was meant to be worn like a wristwatch, but Christopher's chubby wrists were too small for the strap to fit.

Maria took the thing into the kitchen, opened a drawer, the one with all the batteries, phone chargers and keys to unknown things. She pulled out a small Phillips screwdriver and used it to make a new hole in the plastic strap. She took it back to Christopher who was lying in his cot. Eventually she made it fit. She tucked him in and kissed him goodnight.

Within a few minutes he was sleeping, and within a few more minutes he was head banging.

### Chapter sixty five

The Awareness

7.27pm

Ben Walker's spirit began to stir and, as always, he carried on from where he left off.

Please – Hear – My – Voice.

He briefly continued to chant the four words and then stopped.

He had a sense that he was getting somewhere. He didn't know why, but it just felt that someplace else, he was being noticed. It was the same perception as the time he screamed. He'd screamed so loud he was sure he could hear his own voice.

It was like sending out a mayday call and hoping to be heard. But who or what had heard him, and would they return his call?

Ben was frustrated and the frustration was turning to anger and the anger was turning into energy and the energy had to be released.

Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice.

After lying dormant for a few days Ben was recharged and ready to be heard.

Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice.

He could feel the four words resonate as he chanted them over and over.

### Chapter sixty six

Maria's flat

7.48pm

Christopher started head banging shortly after Maria had closed his door.

He started with a few gentle thuds against his pillow, followed by a few minutes of rolling from side to side before he started to chant.

He was chanting the same four words as before, but this time his voice sounded different. It had a different tone, a different timbre.

"Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice."

Maria's heart sank. She went back to his room to try to wake him. Although he'd got to sleep only minutes earlier he was in a deep slumber from which he wouldn't wake.

She had given up trying to wake him and was on the floor with her back against the wall and her head in her hands.

Maria had learnt from experience there wasn't much point in trying to wake him. Once he started there was no stopping him. She'd just have to let him do his thing.

She went back to the lounge and turned on the computer. She searched 'children sleep talking'.

There were lots to choose from. She spent half an hour trawling through the various sites trying to find something that could explain what was happening. She read that more than one in ten young children talk in their sleep more than a few nights a week, and that half of all kids between the ages of three and four years old talk while asleep.

Three and four? she thought to herself, but Christopher's barely one year old.

Maria changed her search to 'one year old sleep talking'.

She found a forum website and one worried mum posted a question about her child.

'My one year old child talks when she's sleeping. The other night, she pointed and said "what are you doing?" She was fast asleep when she said it. Usually it is real words she blurts out in her sleep (what are you doing, duck, cow, daddy, mummy, etc.), it's not just baby babble. Is this something I should be worrying about? Should I take her to the doctor? Or do I worry too much? I must admit, it's cute and I quite like it'.

Maria read the posting. "Cute? What my son does certainly isn't cute," she whispered as she listened to his chant crackle over the baby monitor.

She read the responses to the mother's question.

The replies were all much the same. She came to the last of the six responses

'She sounds just precious!!! It is very common and absolutely normal. You should record it so you can always remember her sweet night time babble. I'm sure she would love to listen to it when she's all grown up.

Make the most of these precious times, they go so fast.'

Maria slammed down the lid of her laptop. Searching the internet didn't help her, it had made things worse. She'd found nothing useful. Other than drippy mothers getting soppy over their precious kids, there was nothing that suggested that any other one year olds spoke in their sleep like an adult.

She felt lost and alone.

Christopher was banging and chanting away in his room, but it wasn't the same. His rhythm was changing and his chant was different.

### Chapter sixty seven

The Awareness

8.29pm

Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice... Please – Hear – My – Voice.

Ben was repeating the words in his thoughts and was wondering if there was any point in carrying on?

In his strange little prison he still had no concept of time. Each time he faded into his dormant state and then awoke, he had no idea he'd been away. As far as he was aware he was permanently conscious.

Ben felt he'd been chanting the same four words continuously for an eternity and they didn't seem to be getting him anywhere. What he needed to know was whether anyone was listening, and if there was, he needed a sign. He needed to know that he'd been heard. He'd been reaching out and now it was someone's turn to reach back to him.

He stopped repeating the four word mantra and started a different one.

Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There.....

This was his new message. He wasn't going to stop until he had a response. He had no idea what kind of response to look out for. Would he hear someone's voice? Would he see a picture? Would he stand face to face with god?

Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There.....

### Chapter sixty eight

Maria's flat

8.35pm

Maria listened as Christopher's chanting changed. The first thing she noticed was the difference in the rhythm. He had stopped the four beat measure and had increased it to six. Six times his head thudded against his pillow and each time his head came down he grunted a word. After the sixth beat he would stop and take a brief pause and then start the sequence again.

The six new words were immediately distinct. Unlike before, when he was chanting 'please hear my voice', when it had taken her and Campbell hours to work out what he was saying, these words were as clear as a bell.

She jumped up from her seat and ran to his room. Standing in front of him the six words sounded even clearer.

"Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There"

Maria grabbed her phone. She needed to call someone. Her impulse was to call her mother. She was about to make the call but changed her mind.

She scrolled through the contact list on her phone and stopped at Esther's number. She looked at her watch and wondered if it was too late to call her. She held the phone tightly in her shaking hand and pressed the call button.

"Hello, Esther?"

"Maria, is everything OK?"

"Listen to this."

Maria held the phone next to Christopher so Esther could hear him. She kept the phone above his head for thirty seconds which gave Esther enough time to take in what was happening.

"How long has he been doing that?"

"He's been chanting 'please hear my voice' for about forty five minutes, but it's just changed in the last few minutes."

Maria's voice was unsteady and she was close to tears.

"Esther, I'm sorry to call you, but I don't know what to do."

"Don't you worry, I'm on my way over."

Maria sighed, put her hand to her forehead and turned away from Christopher.

"Thank you."

"Maria, after you finish this call start filming him and I'll make sure Peter Phelps gets to see what's happening."

Maria ended the call and filmed her son.

Twenty minutes later Esther arrived and went straight to Christopher's room.

He was chanting the same six words.

"Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There."

Esther watched in disbelief.

"Have you tried to wake him?"

"I have but......" Maria didn't finish her sentence, she just shrugged shoulders.

They stood in silence over his cot and watched.

Esther tried to take his temperature and measure his pulse which was impossible because he wouldn't stay still for long enough.

Esther felt useless. All her years of experience had not prepared her for this. She thought it would be better to not wake him. Christopher didn't appear to be in any discomfort or danger, so there was no reason to take him to Accident and Emergency.

Esther was there for Maria more than Christopher, and Maria needed someone to be there for her.

"I don't think there is anything I can do, but I am willing to stay with you if you like," said Esther as she held Maria's hand.

Maria wiped a tear from her eye and squeezed Esther's hand.

"Thank you Esther, I appreciate you being here."

Maria went to the kitchen to make coffee. They could have a long stretch ahead of them and caffeine would be the order of the night.

Esther pulled her phone from her bag.

"I'm going to call Peter Phelps, perhaps he can suggest something."

Esther was redirected to his voicemail.

"Hi Peter, its Esther. I'm at Maria Jameson's house, the lady you're coming to see next week. Sorry to call you out of hours, but I would appreciate your advice. Listen to this."

Esther walked to Christopher's room and held her phone next to him.

"I hope you could hear that, it's Christopher Jameson, he's chanting something new."

She walked out of his room with the phone to her ear.

"I would appreciate some advice, please call me, thanks."

She ended the call and turned to Maria who was back in the lounge with two mugs of coffee.

"Hopefully he'll call."

They sat in awkward silence. It wasn't easy to make small talk when a thirteen month old child was speaking like an adult in the room next door.

Maria opened her mouth to say something in an attempt to break the difficult moment, but stopped as Esther's phone rang.

"Peter, thank you for calling."

Maria listened to Esther's side of the conversation which was mainly made up of a series of 'yes' and 'I understand' and lots of 'OKs'. Maria tried to work out how the conversation was going, but gave up and waited patiently for Esther to finish the call.

"I'll ask her and get back to you ASAP, thanks Peter."

Esther ended the call, and turned to Maria who was perched on the edge of the settee.

"First of all Peter has confirmed that we shouldn't wake him. Just let him carry on. The likelihood is high that Christopher is oblivious to what is going on and waking him is very likely to cause unnecessary upset."

Maria nodded.

"Peter wishes he could be here to see first-hand what is happening. He's extremely keen to be involved and wants to find out what's causing Christopher to do this."

Esther paused as she wrote notes in her pocketbook.

"Maria, could you and Christopher spend a week in London next week?"

"London?"

"Yes, London. Peter doesn't think his visit next week will be particularly useful and wants to know if you could come to London instead so he can arrange some tests."

"Tests, what kind of tests?"

Maria wasn't happy with the thought of Christopher undergoing tests.

"Don't worry, he's not talking about invasive tests, he's talking about a brain scan."

Maria was agitated.

"A brain scan? I'm not sure."

Esther explained that the process would take place when Christopher was sleeping, so he probably wouldn't know the tests were happening. She continued to describe what would happen during the test, which would involve Christopher wearing little sensors on his head.

"Why would it take a whole week?" asked Maria.

"Only because Christopher doesn't seem to head bang and talk every night. If he stayed over for a few days then the chances of Peter getting some useful results would be much better."

Maria slowly nodded and Esther continued.

"If Christopher chants and bangs his head during the first night, I would imagine Peter would be happy for you to go home the next day."

"Oh, and Peter said he would cover your expenses."

Maria thought about what Esther had just told her. She knew it made sense and she should accept Peter's offer.

"Peter has some very important business in the West Country next week and he is willing to rearrange everything in order to help you."

"OK, let's do it," said Maria.

Esther smiled.

"I'm going to have to arrange a week away from work at very short notice and my boss won't be pleased."

"I can call him if it will help," suggested Esther.

"Thanks, but I'm sure I can talk to him on my own, I'm a big girl now."

Esther smiled again.

Eventually the small talk flowed and they happily chatted until they noticed that Christopher had stopped chanting.

Christopher lay peacefully in his cot and Esther took the opportunity to take his temperature and pulse which were perfectly normal.

"Are you sure you'll be OK?" asked Esther, as she zipped up her fleece jacket.

"Honestly, I'll be fine. You need to get home."

Esther put her arms around Maria and hugged her.

"Call me after you've spoken with your boss and we'll get the London thing going."

Maria nodded, said goodnight and then shut and deadlocked the door.

### Chapter sixty nine

Newquay, Cornwall

11.37am

Thursday 20th October

Daniel Boyd walked across Fistral Beach. Even out of season the place was busy. Surfers were taking on the big waves, dogs were chasing balls and rolling in the sand and families were flying kites and enjoying the sea air.

Daniel pulled up the collar of his coat to keep the wind from whistling around his ears.

It was a brisk October morning and the wind was blowing a sand devil towards the shore. The sky was blue and cloudless and the sun was bright. It was thirteen degrees, but the wind made it if feel less than ten.

The smell of the coast had hit him the moment he stepped off the bus on Monday. It instantly took him back to his childhood, and to times when he was happier.

As soon as he arrived he had booked into a cheap bed and breakfast and paid to stay for two weeks.

His polythene bag of money was depleting faster than he'd thought. The bed and breakfast had cost him over £250, even with a discount for paying with cash. He'd bought a warm coat, waterproof shoes and fresh underwear. Although he was living off sandwiches he seemed to be spending a fortune on food.

He found a sheltered spot by some rocks and counted his money. He had just over one thousand pounds. A strong gust blew, and even though he was sheltered by the rocks, the wind picked up a wad of notes. He had been counting his money in wads of fifties and he'd placed each pile of fifty on the sand with a pebble on top to stop the notes from blowing away. He'd almost finished packing the cash back into his rucksack when the strong gust of wind whipped the last pile of notes from under the pebble and into the air and across the beach. He zipped his ruck sack and raced across the beach in a hopeless effort to grab the money. The notes blew high into the air and twirled towards the sea. The wind dropped and he watched them flutter into the water, to be enveloped by a breaking wave. He patrolled the shoreline for half an hour hoping to retrieve the soggy cash but eventually gave up, admitting defeat. He cursed at the top of his lungs, but no one heard him as the wind carried his words out to sea.

He trudged back to the town. He needed to find work and soon.

He knew he could only work for cash. He didn't want anyone to know where he was and didn't want to be located by his National Insurance number. He avoided the Jobcentreplus. He hated the place because he'd spent most of his adult life there back in Bristol. Instead, he knocked on doors of pubs and restaurants, looking for washing up work. He asked builders if they had any labouring jobs. There were plenty of coffee vending huts near the beach, but most of them were boarded up for the winter, and the ones which were open were struggling for business and weren't looking to take on new staff.

By Friday he'd walked around the town ten times over looking for work and had found nothing. Boyd wasn't the most appealing looking potential employee. He trudged around Newquay wearing dirty trousers, his new coat was already looking disheveled and his spotty white skin contrasted against his greasy unkempt black hair. His personal hygiene wasn't good and he stank of cigarettes.

He walked past a boarded up petrol station where two men were having an argument. One man was Cornish and his loud drawl was echoing around the forecourt. The other man was foreign. Boyd was useless at recognising accents. The man sounded European, but he definitely wasn't French or German.

He watched from the other side of road as the foreign man took off his high visibility jacket, threw it to the floor and marched away towards Boyd.

"Fuck off back to Bulgaria!" shouted the Cornish man.

The Bulgarian pushed passed Boyd and cursed in his own language.

The Cornish man walked across the forecourt and disappeared into a temporary building. On the side of the little grey office was a badly painted sign.

'Wash and Go'

Hand Car Wash from £5

Boyd straightened his coat, pushed his hands through his hair and with an air of confidence, marched to the shabby office building. He knocked on the door and entered.

The sparse ten by eight office was a mess. The desk was covered in paperwork and newspapers. A recently boiled kettle was steaming in the corner next to a carton of milk and tray of dirty mugs. A Pirelli calendar was hanging from a nail on the wall.

The Cornish man was sitting in a shabby office chair with a phone to his ear. Hearing Boyd knocking he spun around in his chair and ended the call.

"Can I help you son?"

"Yeah, I'm looking for a job."

"Can you wash a car?"

Boyd nodded.

"When can you start?"

"Whenever you want me."

The man pointed to the high visibility jacket lying on the forecourt.

"Put on the jacket, you start today."

Boyd nodded, walked over to the bright yellow waterproof coat, picked it up and put it on.

"Oh, and by the way. I pay cash only. It's up to you to pay your taxes."

Boyd smiled.

"Perfect," he said under his breath.

"My name's Mudge, what's yours?" asked the Cornish man, holding out his hand.

Boyd was failing at the first hurdle. He didn't want to give his real name and hadn't considered what he should call himself.

A combination of first names and surnames buzzed around his head and then he thought of Stanley, the only person who seemed to care about him.

After what seemed like an eternity Boyd shook Mudge's hand.

"I'm Stanley," said Boyd in an unconvincing tone.

"Do you have another name?" asked Mudge.

"What do you mean, another name?" asked Boyd warily.

"Do you have a surname?"

Boyd had another blank moment. He'd never known Stanley's surname and was stumped as to what to say.

"Jarrett," he eventually blurted out.

"I'm Stanley Jarrett."

Mudge told Boyd what the job involved, which was basically cleaning cars by hand. Even Boyd couldn't get that wrong.

"I'll pay you thirty pounds a day and you'll work six days a week. I close on Sunday."

Boyd's tiny mind was trying to compute how much he'd be paid for the whole week, luckily Mudge helped him out.

"When you finish work on Saturday night, I'll give you a little brown envelope with thirty pounds and a pay slip for every day you've worked, so if you're here all week you'll get £180 and if you're not you won't."

Boyd nodded.

"I'll need an invoice from you."

"An invoice, for what?"

"Listen, I run a legitimate business and you're self-employed, I want an invoice from you each week to balance my books. As I said, it's up to you to pay your own taxes."

Boyd was trying to work out how much he'd have left after he'd paid for bed and breakfast each week.

"Where are you staying son? I guess from your accent you're not from around here."

"I'm staying at a B&B up the hill."

"Jesus Stanley! That's gonna cost you a fortune."

"It's not cheap."

"I'll tell you what son, see that building there."

Mudge pointed to another temporary building which looked shabbier than the office.

"You can stay there if you like. It's another office, but I don't use it. There's a bed, a sink and a little cooker and there are public toilets just around the corner."

Mudge unlocked the door and Boyd looked inside. The building was cold and smelt damp.

"How much do you want?" asked Boyd.

"Thirty pounds a week and I'll knock it off your wages."

"If this is your spare office, why's there a bed?"

"I used to kip here sometimes if I'd had a row with the wife."

"Where are you going to go if you have a row with your wife and I'm there?" asked Boyd.

"I'm not married any more. Best decision I ever made."

Boyd smiled.

"I'll take it."

They shook hands on the agreement.

Don Mudge was a big man in his early fifties. His strong Cornish accent was sometimes hard even for other Cornish people to understand. He'd tried his hand at a multitude of failed businesses including an antiques dealer, which failed as he knew nothing about antiques.

He'd had a building company which lost so much money he'd almost lost his own house.

He'd also run a driving school, but his tolerance of nervous drivers was so low and his temper was so volatile, word soon got around to avoid learning to drive with 'Don's Modern School of Motoring'.

So here he was. Scraping a living washing cars.

To be fair, during the summer he was flat out. From May to September cars were queuing to be cleaned. But now, the season was over and it was quieter, but still busy enough to need a helping hand.

"What happened to the foreign guy?"

"Who, Toma?" replied Mudge.

Boyd nodded.

"I had to get rid of him. He was flakey, you know, turned up late, wanted to leave early. He had to go. Anyway Stanley, his loss, your gain."

Boyd liked Mudge. There was something about his abrupt no nonsense style that he admired.

"Come on son, let's have a brew while it's quiet."

Boyd followed Mudge back to the office and shut the door behind him.

"So what's your story?"

Boyd shrugged his shoulders.

"Where are you from, you sound Bristolian?"

Boyd nodded.

"I just wanted to go somewhere different, you know, see something new."

"So, out of all the places you could have gone, you came to Newquay." Mudge laughed as he poured the tea.

"Well, I suppose it could be worse, you could have ended up in Bodmin."

They chatted for a while and Boyd told him he'd split from his girlfriend and just wanted to disappear for a while.

"It's your choice son, just as long as you haven't murdered anyone," laughed Mudge as he dunked a biscuit into his dirty mug of tea.

Boyd said nothing.

A car pulled onto the forecourt and the driver sounded the horn.

"Come on son, put down your drink, here's your first customer."

Boyd followed Mudge onto the forecourt.

Bristol seemed a million miles away. For the first time since he could remember he was feeling untroubled, almost happy.

### Chapter seventy

The Portland Hospital

London

4.50pm

Monday 24th October

Maria sat in the reception of the plush private hospital waiting for Peter Phelps to arrive.

Phelps had rescheduled his diary to spend the week with Christopher Jameson.

Christopher was bumbling around the reception area and had found a corner where there was a selection of toys. He'd been enticed by a large yellow plastic dumper truck and was happily pushing it backwards and forwards.

Maria had one eye on Christopher whilst watching the flat screen television on the wall, when a short round man with a bald head marched confidently up to the reception desk.

Maria watched as the man spoke with the receptionist, signed a form and was given an ID badge. The receptionist pointed the man in the direction of Maria.

The short bald-headed man walked up to Maria and held out his hand.

"Hello Maria, I'm Peter, Peter Phelps."

Maria nervously shook his hand.

"Hello Dr Phelps, thank you for seeing us."

"Oh, drop the doctor nonsense, just call me Peter."

Maria smiled.

"Anyway Maria, it should be me thanking you. You've come a long way to see me."

Phelps looked around.

"Where's Christopher?"

Christopher had somehow wedged himself under a red plastic child's table and was happily fumbling with a wooden building block. He attempted to crawl from under the table and ended up dragging it across the floor, which made him look like a tortoise with his smiley face beaming out from its shell.

Christopher made his way slowly towards Maria and Phelps, hauling the table which was firmly stuck to his back. The selection of plastic toys which had been on the table were strewn behind and left in his wake.

This was the perfect icebreaker. Phelps and Maria laughed as Christopher stopped at their feet, looked up from beneath the table and smiled.

Phelps gracelessly got down to Christopher's level.

"Hello little man, how are you?"

Christopher chatted and gurgled.

Maria lifted the plastic table from his back and picked him up from the floor.

Phelps awkwardly climbed to his feet.

"Christopher, say hello to Peter."

"Ayo, ayo, ayo."

Phelps smiled as Christopher attempted to speak.

"You've got a happy little boy," he said as he held Christopher's hand.

"He is happy, very happy. You wouldn't think any of this night time stuff was happening."

Maria paused as she kissed Christopher on the top of his head.

"He becomes a different boy when he's sleeping."

Christopher reached out to Phelps and Maria passed her son to him. Phelps walked to a chair and sat down with Christopher on his lap.

Maria watched him bobbing her son on his knee. Phelps was a funny character. When she looked at him she saw Danny Devito, but when he spoke she heard Crocodile Dundee.

He handed Christopher back to Maria.

"Follow me, I'll take you to your room".

Phelps had received a generous grant to fund his research in child sleep disorders and the grant was paying for a week in the prestigious private hospital and for the equipment required to carry out a week of polysomnography tests on Christopher.

The grant also covered Maria's out of pocket expenses.

Maria followed as she pushed Christopher in his buggy. She was in awe of the building. It was nothing like any hospital she'd ever seen. The floors were carpeted and the walls were covered in beautiful paintings. It was like a hotel. If it wasn't for the occasional doctor passing her in the corridor she could have been visiting The Ritz.

Phelps was carrying a black shoulder bag and was pulling Maria's overnight case behind him.

He stopped outside a door and used his ID pass to open it. The door swung open to reveal a hive of activity taking place in the room.

A woman wearing a white coat was working on a keypad which was at the top of a three tiered desk next to a cot. On the middle tier was a printer and the bottom tier was a computer and some complicated looking equipment.

On the other side of the cot was a stand, which looked like a stainless steel lampstand with another complicated piece of equipment attached to the top. A man, who was also wearing a white coat, was busy plugging in wires which were attached to sensors.

They stopped what they were doing when Phelps entered the room followed by Maria and Christopher.

"May I introduce you to Maria Jameson and her son, Christopher" said Phelps, as Maria closed the door behind her.

Maria smiled at the busy white coated workers.

"And may I introduce technicians Mike Prince and June Hudson."

Maria walked up to Mike Prince and shook his hand and then turned to Hudson who eagerly had her hand ready for Maria to shake.

"Mike and June will be helping me over the next few days."

The room was large. It had a flat screen television on the wall opposite the cot, a table with a kettle and a choice of different teas and coffees from around the world. On the wall was a large framed picture of Winnie the Pooh and there was a large couch in the corner. To the right of the entrance of the room was door leading to a smaller room which had an adult sized single bed. In this room was a door which led to a bathroom, where there was a toilet, shower and a sink.

Phelps carried Maria's case into the room with the bed and gestured for her follow.

"This is where you will be sleeping, so make yourself at home."

Her room also had a flat screen television, a bedside cabinet and a phone. On the shelf below the phone was a Gideon's Bible. There was a wardrobe where she could hang her clothes. It really was more like a hotel than a hospital.

Phelps left her to unpack whilst he spoke with Hudson and Prince. Christopher was sleeping in his buggy. The journey to London had worn him out.

Maria opened the blinds and peered from the window in her room which overlooked Great Portland Street. She watched traffic mill along the busy road and the mass of pedestrians making their way home. The triple glazed windows kept the noise out and it was like watching a movie with the volume turned down.

She unpacked her clothes and hung them in the wardrobe and laid Christopher's in a neat pile on a shelf at the bottom.

Maria went back to the room with the cot just as the two technicians were leaving. Phelps was sitting on the couch with a large pile of paperwork and a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.

"Sit down Maria, we need to have a talk and you need to sign some forms. It's a good idea to do it now while Christopher is sleeping."

Phelps explained that when Christopher is sleeping, Hudson and Prince will attach sensors at various points on his body to record information during the night.

"Is there any chance that this could be harmful?"

"Not at all, because what we will be doing is non-invasive."

"So you won't be blasting him with microwaves or x-rays or photons?"

Phelps laughed. "No, all we will be doing is taking measurements and hopefully the information picked up on the polysomnography recorder will teach us more about what is happening," Phelps paused for a few seconds, "of course, all of this is dependent upon whether Christopher head bangs and talks tonight."

Maria was confident that he would. He had been head banging and chanting the same six words for the past week.

Maria pointed to the computer,

"I still want to know more about the polysomwhatsit machine before I sign the forms."

Phelps nodded.

"We will place sensors around his body and record brain electrical activity, eye and jaw muscle movement, leg muscle movement, airflow, respiratory effort, EKG and oxygen saturation."

For the most part Maria was none the wiser.

"But the most important information is likely to come from electrical activity in his brain."

Maria shuddered.

"I suggest you wake him and bring him to the restaurant so we can all have a bite eat. Keep him up as late as possible so he sleeps well tonight."

The restaurant was huge and the food looked fantastic. Maria was still having difficulty comprehending that she was in a hospital. It was more like a five star holiday complex.

Maria settled on a modest baked potato while Phelps had a plateful of tagliatelle.

They discussed Christopher, and Phelps knew she was nervous and did his best to make light of the whole thing. He was both concerned and fascinated by the boy. In all the years he'd been working in the medical profession he had never seen anything like it.

Later, Hudson and Prince joined them as Maria fed Christopher.

Christopher was enjoying the attention and having great fun as the four adults took it in turns to pick him up and fuss over him.

By seven o'clock Christopher was yawning and getting crotchety.

"That's his tired head," said Maria.

"Well I guess it's time to get the show on the road," said Phelps standing up and rubbing his hands.

Maria, Hudson and Prince walked behind Phelps as they made their way back to the room. Maria carried Christopher in her arms.

By the time they were back in the room Christopher was almost asleep. Maria changed him and dressed him in his white towelling sleep suit. She gently placed him in the cot and tucked Misty under his arm. He was asleep within minutes.

Prince and Hudson placed the sensors on him, making sure they didn't wake him.

Six electrodes were attached to the top of his head. One electrode was placed above and to the outside of his right eye, and another was placed below and to the outside of his left.

"These sensors record the movements of the eyes during sleep and serve to help determine sleep stages," said Phelps as the two doctors continued to wire Christopher to the machine.

It was too much for Maria and she rushed into the other room and sat on the bed.

June Hudson stopped what she was doing and turned to walk into Maria's room. Phelps held up his hand and gestured to leave Maria alone.

"Give her some time, she'll be OK."

Two minutes later Maria returned and apologised.

"Just do what you're doing and spare me the details," she said wiping her eyes.

By eight fifteen Christopher was wired up and fast asleep. None of the sensors and wires seemed to bother him. Prince made sure the wires were slack. Phelps had warned him that his head banging could become violent and he didn't want any of the wires to come loose.

Hudson stood on a chair and adjusted a camera which was fixed to the wall. Christopher's image popped up on a little television monitor in the corner of the room, which Maria hadn't noticed before.

Prince typed at the computer keyboard and the printer began to slowly churn out a role of paper as little pens zigzagged across the page, recording the activity in his brain.

Maria took the kettle into her room, filled it with water from the sink and prepared a hot drink for her, Phelps and the two technicians.

Over the hissing of the kettle she could hear the familiar sound of Christopher banging his head. She put her head around the door and watched her son doing what she'd seen him do many times before. But wired up to the machine he looked different. He looked like a little freak. She watched the pens on the printer whizz over the paper recording what was happening in his brain. And then the chanting began.

"Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There."

Phelps knew what to expect, he'd already seen it on the video clip. But to see it with his own eyes and to hear the words coming from Christopher's mouth was a different thing.

Phelps and the technicians stood in silence and June Hudson found it hard not to show her emotions.

Christopher had been chanting the same six words for a week and although Maria was getting used to it, she hated it more every time he did it.

After a minute everyone jumped into action. Prince was typing at the computer while Hudson and Phelps were making notes.

The pens recording Christopher's electrical brain activity were frantically whipping across the paper and Maria thought the machine was going to break.

Then everything stopped.

Christopher ceased head banging and instead of chanting he was gently breathing.

The pens on the printer stopped their frenzied jig and were slightly twitching and recording a gentle wave of lines.

But it was the calm before the storm. Like a receding sea before a tsunami, what Christopher did next took everyone by surprise.

### Chapter seventy one

The Awareness

8.35pm

Not long after Christopher had started to sleep, Ben began to stir and as always, he carried on from where he had left off, repeating his desperate plea.

"Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There."

As Ben repeated the chant he felt different. He didn't know what he was sensing, but something had changed. He was experiencing a tingling feeling. Although he had no physical body to truly feel the sensation of touch, somehow he was aware of this strange new sensation.

Each time he chanted the words, he heard an echo. It wasn't loud, but it was clear and distinct. He could hear his words and his own voice bouncing back to him. It was eerie and it caught him completely off guard.

He didn't stop, he continued with the mantra.

"Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There..... Please – Let – Me – Know – You're – There."

Every word had an echo and the tingling was becoming more intense. It reminded him of pins and needles.

Then it occurred to him. Perhaps someone was letting him know they were there. As if, in some way, bouncing his words back to him was a way of saying 'yes, I can hear you'.

The electrodes attached Christopher's head were picking up the electrical activity created by Ben's thoughts. The tiny electrical current was enough to register on the polysomnography recorder and as the electrodes sensed the miniscule flow of electrical charge, an even smaller current rebounded off the electrodes and passed back through the pineal gland, where Ben's essence had been existing since the instant he'd died.

The tiny electrical charge which was bouncing back to Ben created an echo effect and even though the current which returned to Ben travelled at one-hundredth of the speed of light, his heightened level of perception was able to detect it.

Ben stopped chanting and considered what was happening. Someone, or something somewhere had heard his voice and had let him know. His hard work had paid off. The relentless chant had resulted in someone saying 'OK Ben, we're letting you know we're here, what's next'.

It was up to Ben to make the next move. He had to choose his next words carefully. He knew there was a limit to what he could say and whatever he said could make all the difference.

Ben considered the ramifications of what was happening. If the next words he chose were to make a difference, what would that difference be? If he was set free from this strange prison-like existence then where would he go? Heaven, hell or perhaps back to where he came? What if he could be taken back to the time just before he died and be given another chance to fight back and protect Liz?

Or perhaps he would end up standing face to face with god? He'd never spent much time attending church but that didn't mean that he wasn't a believer. He worried whether he'd been a good enough person in his life to deserve entry into heaven.

He wondered about who it was that was listening to him. If it was god, then it was an odd way of communicating.

He needed to know what to do next. So he asked the question.

He tried to speak again.

"What – happens – next?"...... "What – happens – next?"...... "What – happens – next?"...... "What – happens – next?"...... "What – happens – next?"...... "What – happens – next?"......

But something was wrong. He knew his words weren't being heard. Instead of shouting he was whispering. He tried again.

"What – happens – next?"...... "What – happens – next?"...... "What – happens – next?"...... "What – happens – next?"...... "What – happens – next?"...... "What – happens – next?"......

His thoughts had no power. He had lost whatever it was he'd had before to make himself heard.

He became frustrated. It was like a dream in which no matter how fast he ran he remained in the same place. His frustration increased as he tried again to be heard.

"What – happens – next?"...... "What – happens – next?"...... "What – happens – next?"...... "What – happens – next?"...... "What – happens – next?"...... "What – happens – next?"......

But still nothing. The frustration turned to anger. He thought of Liz being attacked and the last time he saw her and the memory of the rock crashing into his head.

As quickly as his frustration turned to anger his anger turned to rage. He had another chance to be heard and he was letting it slip away.

Perhaps this was the last opportunity to be heard and if he lost it he could be stuck like this for ever.

The idea of a lonely eternity made him bitter. This shouldn't be happening to him. He had to get out.

He felt claustrophobic, trapped in this strange place with nothing to keep him company other than his memories.

This and the other thoughts were mixing and turning into a melting pot of anger and hatred.

Then the energy returned.

The words he said next were not planned and they had so much spit and bile that they took him by surprise.

"Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell"

His words echoed and the strange tingling sensation returned.

He wasn't going to stop until he was free from his lonely cell.

"Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell"

### Chapter seventy two

The Portland Hospital

London

8.42pm

Christopher's respite from head banging and chanting didn't last long. According to the reading from the printer he had been sleeping gently and without incident for seven minutes.

Then, just like a steam locomotive gradually gaining traction as it pulled out of its station, he gently banged his head against the soft hospital pillow. Each time he thudded his head he let out an 'ughh'. He slowly thumped his head on the pillow then stopped. After two or three seconds he started again.

"Ughh Ughh Ughh Ughh Ughh."

And then another break, followed by, "Ughh Ughh Ughh Ughh Ughh," and another break followed by, "Ughh Ughh Ughh Ughh Ughh."

The pens on the printer were swiveling across the paper recording his brain activity.

"He's chanting in cycles of five," whispered Hudson.

All eyes were on Christopher. His head banging and chanting picked up pace and within a couple of minutes he was banging his head at the speed he was doing earlier.

"Listen," said Maria holding up her hand as if she was stopping oncoming traffic.

The four of them stood perfectly still and no one spoke as he chanted.

Eventually Phelps spoke in his Australian drawl.

"He's saying something."

Christopher's five cycle chant was forming into words. As the words were forming the character of his voice changed. He was moving away from the baby-like 'ughh' and his voice, although still childlike, took on a mature tone.

A few minutes later the 'ughh' had completely changed and five new words were repeating each time his head thumped against the pillow.

"Are we getting this?" asked Phelps, as Hudson typed at the keyboard.

Hudson nodded.

Prince checked that the camera was picking up the images.

The five new words sounded eerie as well as clinical and were underpinned by the whirring of the electrical equipment.

Maria dropped face down on the couch and began to sob, Hudson walked over and sat beside her without taking her eyes off Christopher.

No one spoke as he chanted his five new words. The pens on the printer were scratching away at the paper, recording a strange phenomenon that neither Phelps nor the technicians had ever witnessed before nor understood.

"Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell"

Maria staggered up from the couch, drunkenly lurched across the room and into the bathroom where she was trying her best not to throw up. Hudson followed behind but stopped short of the toilet door where she could hear Maria coughing and heaving.

She stumbled out of the bathroom wiping her mouth. Propping herself up against the wall she lifted her head and looked at Hudson.

"I can't take this anymore, make it go away, please make it go away."

She dropped onto the bed in the corner of the room.

"Please leave me alone."

Hudson stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her.

Maria lay in the dark. With the door shut she couldn't hear his chanting. She pulled the pillow over her face and cried.

The others could hear her sobs through the door.

"Let her be," whispered Phelps, "She'll come round when she's ready."

But she didn't. The exhaustion of the tiring journey and long day had taken every ounce of strength she'd had. And now that Christopher was acting more bizarrely than ever, it was just too much for her.

At eleven fifteen Christopher stopped and the pens on the printer slowed to a steady rhythm recording a natural sleep pattern.

Phelps left the room whilst Hudson and Prince watched over Christopher in two hour shifts. When one was watching, the other was catnapping on the couch.

The rest of the night continued without any further events.

### Chapter seventy three

The Portland Hospital

7.06am

Tuesday 25th October

Maria woke at just after seven and emerged from her room looking dishevelled and wearing the same clothes she had on when she fell face down onto the bed.

Her mouth tasted bitter and her eyes were stinging. Her son's chanting was ringing in her ears.

"I'm sorry." She said as she emerged from her room.

Prince, who was standing over Christopher, turned to her and smiled.

"It's OK, take it easy."

He guided her to the chair in the corner of the room and sat her down.

Maria saw Hudson sleeping on the couch.

"The two of us have been with Christopher all night. We've been taking it in shifts. It's June's turn to sleep now."

Maria nodded.

Christopher was beginning to wake. Prince slowly removed the sensors from the little boy's body. The sensors left little round marks where the sticky pads had been attached to his skin.

He opened his eyes and looked around the unfamiliar hospital room. Maria stood up, straightened her T-shirt and ran her fingers through her messy hair in a subconscious attempt at making herself presentable for her son.

His little face screwed up and his bottom lip stuck out as he was about to cry, but before the tears rolled he spotted his mother and his sad face switched to one of happiness.

Maria picked him out of the cot, carried him tightly in her arms and took him to her room shutting the door behind her.

Prince woke Hudson and passed her a fresh cup of coffee.

Both technicians were tired and Hudson had confused her dreams with reality.

"Did that really happen last night?"

Prince nodded.

"What the hell's happening with that little boy?"

Prince shook his head.

"I've no idea, but I know one thing, no damned polysomnography test is going to get to the bottom of this, I think that boy needs to see a priest."

Hudson 'shushed' him and pointed to the closed door.

"Be quiet, she'll hear you."

"So what do you think, and be honest?" asked Prince,

"I don't know, but there must be a logical explanation for the whole thing," replied Hudson.

Maria opened her door. She looked brighter. She'd thrown water over her face, applied a little makeup and tied her hair back.

"I know what you think about Christopher, my son's a freak."

The technicians didn't answer.

Maria was about to speak, but stopped when she heard a knock at the door. Prince stood up, walked over and opened it. Peter Phelps was waiting outside.

"Good morning!"

Hudson and Prince quietly responded and Maria said nothing.

Phelps could sense the tension in the room and motioned for the technicians to leave.

"How are you?"

"I've been better," replied Maria.

Over the years Phelps had dealt with hundreds of medical issues and had the difficult job of delivering bad news to parents. He'd been the one to tell parents that their child had hideous illnesses such as leukaemia and other worst case scenario conditions. He'd been the one to announce that a child may have months or weeks to live.

He was a professional and was able to talk to parents in a rehearsed but compassionate manner, giving time for the awful news he'd delivered to sink in before moving on to the practicalities that came next. He'd done this so many times over the years he'd become quite proficient and was able to detach himself from the news he was conveying.

But this was different. He had no idea what to say to Maria. He didn't know what was happening to the boy and why he was talking in his sleep in such a strange way.

Phelps wondered whether the boy was repeating things he'd heard on television or that he'd overheard from adults. If so, it still wouldn't explain the transformation in his voice.

Phelps was a practical man and had no time for anything unnatural. Everything had a reasonable explanation, unfortunately he had no idea what this explanation could possibly be.

He knew it wasn't wise to speculate about what was happening to Christopher so he avoided any conversation with Maria regarding what could be happening with her son.

"So what do you think is happening to Christopher?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that, at least not at the moment."

Phelps paused and considered his words carefully.

"With your permission I would like to keep Christopher here until Thursday, which would enable us to carry out further tests on your son, none of which would not cause him any harm."

Phelps stood up, walked to the sink and filled a glass with water.

"It will take me some time to review the data from the polysomnography test and I don't want to jump to conclusions until I have had time to analyse the results."

Maria nodded and hugged her son.

Maria reluctantly agreed to Christopher spending the next three nights at the hospital, even though she was anxious to get out of the place. She knew she may never have an opportunity like this again and she was desperate to find out what was happening to her son.

She missed home, she missed her mother and she missed her friends, but most of all she was missing Campbell. Although they'd had just one night together she was longing to see him again. She'd promised to cook for him last Thursday, but with everything that was going on, the date slipped her mind. She'd called him several times over the last week to keep him updated with what was happening, but hadn't seen him in over ten days.

She was worrying whether he'd go off the boil and lose interest in her.

Dr Phelps didn't need Maria or Christopher during the day, so she had until six o'clock in the evening to herself. She wasn't much of a fan of London and hadn't planned on what to do. Although Phelps had agreed to cover her out of pocket expenses and a little extra, it would still be an expensive week and she just didn't have the money to take in the sights of the city and keep Christopher happy at the same time.

Maria and Phelps discussed the week ahead and arranged to meet that evening to start the second round of tests.

Maria quickly showered and got ready for the day while Christopher lay in the cot playing and cuddling Misty. She washed and changed him and then headed to the restaurant for breakfast.

After last night's ordeal she wasn't hungry, but knew she needed to keep her strength up. She chose a light breakfast of fruit and yoghurt and fed Christopher a mashed banana.

By the time she'd finished breakfast it was only eight forty five. She wasn't looking forward to the rest of the day, partly because she was dreading the evening and partly because she wasn't looking forward to traipsing around London with Christopher in tow.

After breakfast she returned to her room. She'd picked up a complimentary newspaper from reception and turned the television on to occupy Christopher. He happily watched CBeebies as she perused the latest headlines.

She was about to make a cup of coffee when the phone in the corner of the room rang. She quickly turned around as the shrill tone took her by surprise.

"Can I speak to Maria Jameson please?"

"Speaking."

"Good morning, this is Paula in reception, I have some people here who would like to see you."

"Who are they?"

"They want me to keep it as a surprise."

"A surprise?"

"Yes, can you come down to reception please."

Maria put Christopher in his buggy and made her way along the corridor to reception. The area was full of people. Doctors and consultants were busy talking by the coffee machine, nervous looking parents were waiting with their children and a salesman was pacing up and down adjusting his security pass.

She walked over to the desk and asked for Paula, who came from the room behind reception with a pair of reading glasses perched on the end of her nose.

"Hi, I'm Maria, you just called me."

"Ah yes, your visitors. They're waiting for you in the restaurant."

Maria thanked her and made her way back to the restaurant, where she'd been just over an hour earlier.

As she turned the corner she caught sight of a couple who were sitting face to face across a table. One had orange juice and the other had coffee.

"No!" exclaimed Maria under her breath, as her face lit up. Her pace quickened as she made her way towards them.

Christopher, who was trundling along in his buggy, spotted the lady and called out, "Sam".

The couple stood up, stepped away from the table and moved towards Maria.

"What are you doing here?" asked Maria as she threw her arms around Samreen.

"We wanted to surprise you," replied her best friend.

Campbell waited patiently behind Samreen.

Maria kissed Samreen on her cheek, stood back and took a breath. She turned round and faced Campbell and then they held each other in a tight embrace that seemed to go on forever. Samreen was feeling a little awkward, like she was playing gooseberry.

Samreen bent down and picked Christopher out of his buggy and gave him a huge hug.

Eventually Campbell and Maria let go of each other.

"When did you two get here?"

"We pulled into Paddington at eight thirty, jumped on the tube and now here we are!" replied Samreen as she bobbed Christopher up and down in her arms.

"You two have really made my day," said Maria. The expression on her face reflected the happiness she felt.

"It was Samreen's idea," said Campbell.

There were more hugs and kisses and cuddles for Christopher before they left the hospital for a brief tour of London.

"How long are you staying?" asked Maria.

"Just for today," said Campbell.

"I've taken the day off and need to be back for work in the morning, he continued.

"And I'm off to Birmingham tonight as I have to attend a conference at the NEC tomorrow," said Samreen.

They spent the day taking in some of the sights and finished the day with a trip on the London Eye.

They shared a taxi back to the hospital and after hugs and kisses Maria returned to her room. She was exhausted and it was only a quarter past five.

She had forty five minutes until her meeting with Phelps and the next round of tests which were to get underway.

Christopher was sleeping in his buggy and she was tempted to lie on the bed and shut her eyes. She decided against it. She was so tired she would have probably slept until morning.

Instead she jumped in the shower and freshened up. This made her feel better. She looked at the clock and decided what to do for the next thirty minutes. She was hungry after the busy day and decided to head down to the restaurant for a quick snack and something for Christopher, who was still sleeping.

When she got to the restaurant she saw Hudson and Prince having an early evening meal before the night shift began. She hoped they wouldn't see her as she couldn't face sitting with them discussing Christopher's head banging, after all, it was the only thing they had in common.

She chose a panini for her and a children's lunch box for her son. She knew that most of his food would end up being launched from his high chair, but she wasn't clearing up tonight and didn't care.

She struggled to balance her tray of food and push Christopher in his buggy as she made her way to an empty table.

"Hi, Maria, can I give you a hand?" called June Hudson from the other side of the restaurant.

Maria was about to answer, when she just about stopped the tray full of food from slipping onto the floor.

Hudson ran over and got there just in time.

"Mike and I are over there in the corner, would you like to join us?"

Maria hesitated, but knew she couldn't be rude.

"I'd love to," she replied.

Mike Prince pulled up a high chair and Maria strapped Christopher in and laid out a selection of food for him to pick at.

She tucked into her panini and waited for the small talk to begin.

"So, what have you been doing today?" asked Hudson.

Maria told them about her day and that her lovely friends had travelled to London just to be with her.

She did her best to avoid any conversation involving her son, as she really couldn't face talking about the reason why he was in the hospital. She had the next few days ahead of her which would be all about his strange behaviour.

Instead, Maria was able to steer the conversation around to Hudson and Prince. Hudson was divorced and Prince was in a long term relationship. They both lived in London. Prince lived in Tower Hamlets and Hudson in Harlesden. She avoided asking questions about their jobs and whether they enjoyed working at the hospital, as this could easily have brought the conversation round to the subject of Christopher.

Hudson checked the time on her phone and said that it was time for her and Prince to get going. They left Maria to finish her food. Christopher was eating slowly so Maria asked them to tell Phelps she would be a few minutes late.

She got to her room at six fifteen and apologised to Phelps for being late.

"OK Maria, you know the routine. It will be the same as last night. June and Mike will attach the sensors to Christopher when he's sleeping and they'll do their best not to wake him. If tonight is anything like last night we'll hopefully get some good data."

Maria left the experts alone to work whilst she changed Christopher and prepared him for bed in the other room.

Although he'd spent most of the day being pushed around London in his buggy and not had a particularly active day, Christopher was crotchety and ready to sleep. He wriggled and fidgeted as Maria struggled to do up the poppers on his sleep suit.

"Keep still you little....." said Maria, without finishing the sentence.

Eventually she emerged holding her son in a new pale blue towelling sleep suit.

Phelps, Hudson and Prince left Maria on her own with Christopher whilst she sang him a song and kissed him goodnight. Maria lowered the lights and sat on the couch and waited for him to sleep.

Fifteen minutes later he was sound asleep and gently snoring. Maria took a moment alone to watch her son's gentle slumber before the others returned. She knew that before long he would change from a normal, happy little boy into something completely different. She looked at his innocent face with his cheek resting on the pillow and watched his eyes occasionally twitch as he dreamt. She wondered what on earth was going on inside his head. Where in the depths of his young developing brain was he coming up with the strange chants?

Maria was snapped from her thoughts by a gentle knock on the door. Phelps and the technicians were waiting to come in and get the evening underway.

"Is he sleeping?" whispered Phelps.

Maria nodded and let them in.

She hated the next bit, so shut herself in the other room and lay on the bed whilst the technicians and Phelps prepared for the next round of tests.

At twenty past seven Christopher was gently rocking from side to side and groaning. This was how his head banging normally started.

The pens on the printer were twitching as they recorded the increase in his brain activity. Phelps walked over to the printer and looked at the patterns emerging as paper slowly chugged out.

Christopher stopped rolling and started lifting and dropping his head onto the pillow. At first his head banging followed no pattern and was quite random, but after a few minutes he developed a definite five beat sequence which included a 'grunt' each time his head hit the pillow. The grunts developed into words and in less than a minute he was repeating the same five words as he'd done the previous night.

"Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell"

Maria lay on the bed in her room. Although she had closed the door, it had swung open allowing her to hear Christopher. She pulled the pillow over her head in an attempt to block out the sound from the other room. And as she listened to her son's mantra she made up her own.

"Make it go away, make it go away, make it go away."

### Chapter seventy four

The Awareness

Ben was awake and was furiously repeating the same five words.

"Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell".... "Free – me – from – this – hell"

He could sense the same echo and knew someone was listening to him.

But why was he not getting a reply?

The anger and bitterness which was fuelling him was spiralling out of control. The harder he tried to be heard didn't seem to make any difference.

He paused for reflection. The rancour, bitterness and hate bubbled and stewed until he snapped.

He cleared his thoughts and concentrated on something new and different to say. He wanted to get the attention of whoever it was that was listening to him. But he just couldn't think of what to say. He needed something well-crafted that would be remembered and hopefully be the key to set him free.

The more he focused, the less he could come up with the right words, like a song writer facing a mental block.

As his mind worked overtime his frustration grew and the bitterness and anger increased. And then he took himself by surprise as he spurted out four clear, concise and angry words................

"SOMEBODY FUCKING ANSWER ME!"

### Chapter seventy five

The Portland Hospital

7.29pm

Christopher stopped head banging and chanting. Phelps and the technicians looked at each other then walked towards the cot and watched as he peacefully slept.

"What happened?" asked Phelps.

"He just stopped," replied Hudson.

From her room Maria could hear that Christopher had stopped chanting. She stood up and walked to the partially opened door. She opened it further and looked into the other room where she saw Phelps, Hudson and Prince standing over the cot. Phelps was rubbing his chin and the technicians looked concerned. They whispered and they were too quiet for her to hear what they were saying.

She quietly entered the room and stood alongside the other three and looked at her son sleeping soundly in the cot.

"Is everything OK?" she whispered.

"I think so, he just stopped," replied Phelps.

"He doesn't normally just stop like that, he tends to get quieter and then he just peters out."

Christopher wriggled in the cot and kicked his feet. His eyes twitched and he began to screw his face into a distorted grimace like a gargoyle peering down from a church wall. The expression on his face became more intense and he rolled his head from side to side as if he was enduring a terrible pain.

He rolled onto his back and with his eyes wide open he surveyed the room and the four faces looking over him. He turned his gaze to Maria and looked her directly in her eyes. His mouth began to quiver as if he was about to cry. But instead of crying his lips pursed tightly and his head began to shake. He looked away from his mother, rolled his eyes around his head and then refocused his stare directly at her. He drew in a breath, raised his arms above his head and shouted...........

"Somebody fucking answer me!"

Maria held on to the side of the cot, feeling hot and dizzy as a wave of nausea came over her. Her legs gave way and she hit the floor like a sack of coal.
