 
Dreamwalkers

(Book One)

The Intruder

A Paranormal Mystery Thriller

By Andrew M Stafford

'Be careful for what you yearn...'

Text Copyright © 2017 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.

Thank you to

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

Beta Readers Sharon Newton and Dozy Powell

Nigel Burrough

Penny Rowe for proof reading

For Kerry, Olivia, Sam, Mum and Sharon.

Especially for Dad and Ivan.

The poem referred to in Badock's Wood was written by John Fairfax (1930 – 2009)

Dreamwalkers is the sequel to The Hill by Andrew M Stafford. Although it is a sequel, it is a 'standalone' book, which does not need to be read in conjunction with The Hill.

Please note: This is the first book in a two part series. The story begins with Dreamwalkers (Book One) - The Intruder, and carries on seamlessly and concludes with Dreamwalkers Book Two – The Ghost Returns.

Alternatively, you have the option to purchase an omnibus edition containing both Book One and Book two, which readers are recommended to purchase.

Table of contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Please note: This is the first book in a two part series. The story begins with Dreamwalkers (Book One) - The Intruder, and carries on seamlessly and concludes with Dreamwalkers Book Two – The Ghost Returns.

Alternatively, you have the option to purchase an omnibus edition containing both Book One and Book two, which readers are recommended to purchase.

##  Prologue

It has been a tough couple of years for Markland Garraway.

In September 2009 Ben Walker was murdered on a Bronze Age burial mound in Badock's Wood in Bristol. Daniel Boyd, fled the scene and thought he had got away with the horrific crime he had committed.

But the burial mound held a secret and Ben lived on. His spirit was nurtured within Christopher Jameson, who was born at the precise time that Ben died.

Three years later, DI Garraway, along with hypnotist Tom Judd, communicated with Ben's spirit through toddler, Christopher Jameson whilst he was under hypnosis.

Markland Garraway is the only detective to have closed a case with the evidence provided by the murder victim; after the victim was killed.

Solving the crime had turned him into a reluctant hero, and proving that life exists after death made him famous around the world.

But all things come at a cost. Markland suffered ridicule whilst on the case. Support from the Avon and Somerset Constabulary had been minimal and he had been signed off as unfit to work for almost a year.

He had suffered mental health, crippling arthritis, alcoholism and to add to everything, his wife left him. Joan, was unable to cope with her husband and the way he had been affected by the case.

And all because of the influence of the burial mound, which Markland refers to as 'The Hill'.

Tom Judd has recently published his memoirs in a book called 'The Man Who Caught His Killer'. Immediately it is a best seller and Markland finds himself, once again, in the spotlight.

Markland continues on the road to recovery, vowing never to set foot in Badock's Wood again.

But The Hill has not finished with Markland Garraway.

Once More, the burial mound in the woods is reaching out to him.

##  Chapter 1

Markland Garraway's House

Bristol

October 1st 2015

10.38 pm

Markland Garraway deadlocked the door, took off his coat and slumped in his chair.

He'd been on a date. The lady was beautiful, a few years younger than he and with a smile which lit the room. It hadn't been an easy evening. The food in Bottelinos Italian restaurant had been lovely, but neither of them where in the mood for eating and their conversation had been marred by an air of awkwardness.

Baby steps, thought Markland while he pondered over the evening.

They had agreed to meet again, but she'd said she would call him when she was ready.

Baby steps, thought Markland again.

It had been eighteen months since the conviction of Daniel Boyd for the murder of Ben Walker and Stanley Brown, and just over two years since Liz Mason took her last breath at the bottom of the small hill in Badock's Wood. Markland would never forget the memory of Liz's body with her hand gripping the hand of three-year-old Christopher Jameson. It was also just over two years since the unbearable arthritis which contorted and twisted his body had inexplicably left him the moment Liz passed away.

Markland had taken early retirement a few months after the dust had settled. Initially he'd been in a state of euphoria. Euphoria because he'd been proven right all along, euphoria because he'd got one over on both Sergeant Colin Matthews and Detective Superintendent Munroe, and euphoria because he'd got one over on all of those who'd disbelieved him over what he knew to be true about the extraordinary Ben Walker case. He'd been especially pleased to have proven to DS Munroe that he'd been right, as the two of them had rarely seen eye to eye, and the lack of support given by Munroe at such a vulnerable time during Markland's life had left a bitter taste. There had been little love lost between the two men.

The case had briefly made Markland famous around the world. He'd been the only detective known to have used evidence provided by a murder victim to catch his killer. Now his fame was rising again because Thomas Judd had published his memoirs in a book called 'The Man Who Caught His Killer', where the hypnotist recalled how he gleaned information from Ben Walker by way of hypnotising the toddler Christopher. Walker's spirit had lived within the boy and had been able to communicate to Judd. The book had only been published for two months and already was a best seller. Judd's publishers were currently negotiating a movie deal.

But Markland's euphoria had been relatively short-lived. After taking long term leave on health grounds, he found his new position within the police force as a trainer to rookie up and coming detectives had lost its lustre and he couldn't stomach returning to his original role as a regular Detective Chief Inspector.

His bittersweet relationship with his former partner, Sergeant Matthews, had become bitter again. Despite meeting for a drink a few months after the Walker case had closed, to bury the hatchet and toast their success, an air of awkwardness still remained between the two men. Garraway had assisted with a case Matthews had been working on which strongly hinted of something paranormal, but nothing had come of it and the two men became distant. They had become so distant that they went out of their way to avoid one another when both in Kenneth Steele House, which housed the incident rooms where Matthews spent most of his time and the training rooms where Garraway spent most of his.

Joan, his wife, had left him during the heady days of the Walker case. She couldn't tolerate his mood swings, depression nor his drinking. She felt guilty about abandoning him to deal with his crippling arthritis alone, but because of her own state of mental health she had no choice.

Markland was hopeful that things would soon be different. The evening's date with her at Bottelinos was the first along the path of reconciliation. He was fitter and stronger, both mentally and physically, than he'd been for a long time, and he was hopeful that he and Joan would get back together and carry on from when things between them had been better.

He'd found retirement to be a long haul. It was a drawn out and lonely battle with depression and alcoholism, but was grateful he'd come out of the other side relatively unscathed. At night his dreams were regularly peppered with what had happened on the hill and the events leading up to the death of Liz.

Both Maria and Campbell, Christopher's parents, had been supportive and remained close friends of Markland, as had Terry Mason, Liz's father.

Markland flicked on the television and surfed the channels. There was nothing worth watching. There were more channels than ever before, but to him there was nothing of interest. It was all talent shows, 'fly on the wall' documentaries, programmes about fat people wanting to be thin and thin people wanting to be fatter. He preferred the days when there were only five channels. He checked the time and decided it was time for bed.

He trudged into the hall and was about to climb the stairs when he saw the unopened post by the front door. He stooped down and scooped up four envelopes. The first two were utility bills, which he flung on the shelf, the third was franked and had a return address of Compton Wells School in Bristol. He ripped open the envelope and scanned the paragraphs looking for the words he hoped to see. A smile spread across his face as he read the news he had been waiting for. He'd been offered a part-time job as an Attendance Improvement Officer at the school. He was definitely fitter and stronger than he'd been in years, in fact he was better in mind, body and spirit since the whole Ben Walker episode entered his life way back in the autumn of two thousand and nine, and now he was ready to re-enter the world of employment. Markland didn't apply for the job because he needed money, the police pension took care of things nicely, but he viewed it as a step in the right direction to keep his mental state of health intact.

He folded the letter, replaced it in the envelope and turned his attention to the fourth letter. It was a white DL envelope sealed with sticky tape. Written on the front in felt pen was one word.

Markland

He frowned and held it to the ceiling light, as if doing so would offer further clues to what was inside. He slid his finger under the flap and opened the envelope. Inside was a piece of lined notepaper which was folded. He unfolded it and gazed at what was written.

Meet me at the hill in Badock's Wood tomorrow morning at 10.

I need your help.

Markland gripped the note. Just thinking of returning to the Woods made him unsettled. He read the note again, as if reading it for a second time would reveal something he hadn't seen the first time around.

"What the hell?"

After the Walker case Markland had been stopped in the street countless times by those who'd recognised him after seeing him on television news reports. They'd been keen to shake his hand and a few had wanted to share with him stories of paranormal things which had happened in their lives. They had wanted to know what he thought and whether he could offer an explanation. It was as if he became an expert in all things supernatural. But this was the first time he'd received a request from somebody asking for help.

The unsettling feeling had turned to one of fear. Fear of doing something that he swore he would never do again. He had vowed that he would never set foot in Badock's Wood, let alone return to the hill where the Ben Walker murder case had begun. He put the notepaper back in the envelope and placed it next to the unopened bills.

He prepared for bed and closed the bedroom curtains. Had he not been so tired he may have noticed the man standing beneath the yellow glow of the street lamp, looking up at Markland's bedroom window.

##  Chapter 2

Two weeks earlier

17th September

2.59 a.m.

James was having another nightmare. In his vivid dream the same thing was happening as it had done for the past two nights.

It started with him staring at his reflection in the mirror in the hallway of the familiar house. In the dream he always wore a long black coat, black trousers, black shoes and a black hat with a white band around it. His face was tired and lined for a man of twenty-nine. In his reflection his face looked the same, but at the same time it seemed very different, and he could never fathom out what was different about it.

Each nightmare was the same. He had full control over everything he did, but didn't understand why he would do such things.

He glanced at the wall clock. It was three a.m. again. It was always three a.m. The second hand nudged twelve, as it had done in the previous nightmares. Other than the ticking of the clock and the quiet hum of the fridge-freezer in the kitchen, everything was silent. Even his footsteps made no sound.

He reached into the pocket of the coat and pulled out a reel of heavy duty black duct tape. He ripped off a six-inch length and gagged his mouth. Again and again for the past two nights he'd gagged his mouth to be sure he couldn't say a word. From the other pocket he removed a pair of plastic gloves and put them on. He stood at the bottom of the stairs and looked up to the landing.

Next, he was standing outside a bedroom door. He glanced down the stairs. He had no recollection of climbing them. He never did. It was always the same. One minute he was in the hallway and the next he was on the landing outside one of the two bedrooms.

He pushed open the other bedroom door behind which was an empty and neatly made bed. The next part of the dream was what he hated the most. He was certain that if he wanted he could stop it there and then and wake up in his bed, but he never did. He always felt compelled to carry on.

The landing was dimly lit by diffused light from the hallway downstairs. He crept back to the first bedroom and pushed down on the door handle, and with the side of his arm he put his weight against the door. Slowly, it opened. James tried hard not to make it creak, but it always did. He made out the form of a man lying in bed. As always, the creak of the bedroom door caused the man to shift his position. James watched him stretch and yawn. The bedroom was dimmer than the hallway, but James could always make out what was happening. And then, the man would open his eyes, stare at him and sit bolt upright. James would grab a pillow from the floor, move towards the man and smother him until he was dead. This is where the nightmare ended and when James would wake up in his bed soaked in sweat, while his wife slept beside him. But tonight, things would be different, when this nightmare ended, a new one would be begin. A new nightmare that would prove to be very, very real.

##  Chapter 3

Four Hours Earlier

16th September

10.59p.m.

Hanrahan Trafford was in a bad way. He was worried sick and anxious beyond belief. His mind was frazzled and his stomach knotted.

Han had gone to bed just before eleven, and although his mind was stressed, he was asleep within minutes. For the first few hours he dreamt of nothing that he would remember. But just after three a.m. he experienced the same nightmare he'd had for the past two nights.

In the nightmare he'd heard the sound of a creaking door. He opened his eyes and just like the past couple of nights saw a form of a figure standing in his doorway. His bedroom door was open, creating a silhouette of the figure against the dim light from beyond the bedroom. The figure bent forward and picked up a pillow which lay on the floor beside Han's bed. The next piece of the nightmare always seemed so real. Han knew what would happen next. The shady figure would push the pillow hard down on Han's face. Every time, Han would experience a very real feeling of suffocation. The power of the figure pushing down upon him was palpable. Han would flail and struggle, whilst the figure in the hat thrust down on him. When the nightmare was over he would sit up in bed shaking and sweating. The experience seemed so real that the second time he'd experienced it he wondered whether he'd actually been killed. Had the figure in his nightmare really been an intruder? Had Han woken up dead? Then after a few moments he would come to his senses and realise that it was nothing other than a nightmare that seemed incredibly real.

But this time the nightmare was different. He watched the dark figure move towards him gripping the pillow, and Han sat bolt upright and was more afraid than ever. He couldn't make out the face, but something about the figure seemed familiar. Even though he was asleep and had conjured the situation from his subconscious, Han had a disturbing sense that he wasn't going to wake up this time. The figure moved towards him with the pillow, and Han pulled back the duvet and jumped out of bed. Han stood on one side of the bed and the figure on the other. For a few seconds neither of them moved. They stared at one another from either side of the bed. Han backed towards the window and the figure dropped the pillow and then, in an Olympian style, vaulted the bed. Han scurried the length of the bed to the door and headed for the landing. The figure moved at an unbelievable pace and as Han stepped out to the landing he felt a hand on his shoulder which yanked him back into the bedroom. He sensed the touch of a plastic glove against his skin as the figure gripped his shoulder. Han fell backwards and his left hand instinctively rose and caught the edge of the dimmer switch on the wall near the door frame. He nudged it enough to turn the switch for the ceiling light to come on and radiate a little light. The room became brighter and Han felt the figure's grip on his shoulder lessen. The light from the ceiling had taken the dark figure by surprise. Han seized the opportunity, spun around and punched the shady figure square between the eyes. Even though the room was a little lighter, he couldn't make out enough facial features to see what the figure looked like, but saw the length of black duct tape over his mouth. The figure stepped back and Han threw another punch. The figure fell and landed on his back onto the bed.

And then everything changed.

The nightmare ended and Han sat up. He was clammy and shaking. He saw the ceiling light emanated a little glow. It took a few seconds to register that something heavy lay across his legs. He made out the form of something lying sideways across the bed. Whatever it was didn't stand out well against his navy blue duvet. He was tired and confused. He squinted his eyes as they adjusted to the light. The radio alarm beside his bed told him it was just after three. He turned his attention back to the bed, clasped one hand over his mouth and let out an audible gasp when he saw what it was.

"Shit!" he whispered and stared at a man lying sideways across his bed. Han sat still and tried to contain his shaking body, but couldn't. He was too frightened. His muddled brain tried to compute what was going on. He recalled the nightmare with the man in his room and remembered how it ended. He felt a dull throb across the knuckles of his right hand. He took his left hand away from his mouth and rubbed the back of his right. It was as if he'd punched a hole through a wall.

What's happening? thought Han.

He was certain that what had happened had been nothing but a dream. The same dream he'd had the night before and the night before that.

He wasn't sure if the man was dead, unconscious or asleep. Either way, Han was petrified. After what seemed an age, he attempted to move his legs from beneath the man and was mindful not to disturb him. He carefully slid one leg from under the stranger but stopped when he heard him groan. Han remained still and evaluated the situation. The man wasn't dead, so was either asleep, or unconscious. Whichever of the two Han knew he mustn't wake the intruder. He let out a huge gasp of air. He hadn't noticed he'd been holding his breath. The intruder lay still. Han continued to pull one leg from beneath the slumped body and this time the intruder remained silent. With one leg free, he found it easier to remove the other. He climbed out of bed and stared at the man who lay face down on the duvet. He was sure it was same man he'd dreamt of. He saw the brimmed hat which was bordered with a white band. It was the same style Al Capone would have worn. Han shuddered as he considered what to do next. He darted out of the bedroom, tiptoed down the stairs and into the utility room. His heart was beating fast, pumping adrenalin charged blood through his veins. He flicked on the light and shuffled through drawers trying to find something with which he could secure the intruder. He found a pair of rugby socks in the washing basket which belonged to his son. He grabbed them and cautiously went back upstairs to his bedroom. He peeped around the door and was relieved to see the intruder hadn't moved. Within minutes Han had securely tied the man's feet and hands.

He slumped to the floor with his back against the bedroom wall and thought through what had just happened. He had no doubt that he'd definitely experienced a nightmare, and it was pretty much the same one he'd had twice before. The creaking of the bedroom door, the dark figure in his room and the struggle as the stranger suffocated him with the pillow. Tonight's version had started exactly the same, but had ended up so differently.

Perhaps this is part of the nightmare, what if I'm still dreaming? thought Han.

He darted to the bathroom and splashed cold water over his face.

"I'm not dreaming this time," he whispered.

He had to call the police. There was an intruder in the house and he needed help. He scurried downstairs to the lounge and picked up his cordless phone.

"Shit," he cursed when he saw the thing was out of power. He placed it on the charger and thought about what to do next. He returned to the bedroom and stared at the stranger lying unevenly on the duvet. Han's heartbeat settled and he was a little calmer. He was sure that when the intruder awoke he wouldn't be a threat. His legs were bound so he couldn't walk and his wrists where so tightly secured he wouldn't be able to hit out.

Despite being a little calmer Han was more confused than ever. It was if he'd punched the man out of a nightmare and into reality. He turned the dimmer switch a little higher and checked his knuckles on the hand with which he'd punched the man in his dream. They were red and swollen. Han really had hit out at someone or something.

His thoughts were interrupted by the intruder who stirred.

Shit, thought Han. Although the man was secured, Han was taking no chances. He ran to his son's empty room, grabbed his baseball bat from the corner and returned with it raised above his head.

The intruder groaned and fidgeted. Han took a step closer and tightened his grip on the handle of the bat. The intruder rolled onto his back and in doing so caused the brimmed hat to dip over his brow, partially obscuring his face. Han looked twice, when he saw the strip of black duct tape over his mouth.

"That black tape was in my dream too, what on earth?" muttered Han.

Cautiously he lowered the baseball bat and with the tip of the bat, nudged the hat from the intruder's head. It fell to the floor and Han's heart rate shot up. His level of anxiety rocketed the moment he saw the man's face. He lowered the bat, took a step closer and squinted his eyes. Shaking his head, he reached for the dimmer switch and turned the light up full.

"No!" exclaimed Han, as he stood over the semiconscious man.

The man's eyes opened and rolled around in their sockets. Han's confused mind stepped up a gear, and he tried to understand what was happening. He watched, as the man's eyes locked with his and recognition registered. Han took a step closer, leaned towards him and removed the duct tape from the man's mouth.

The man spoke first.

"Dad!"

"James, what the hell's going on, where have you been... wha..." Han's voice trailed off and he threw his arms around his son who had been missing for the past four days.

##  Chapter 4

Helena sighed. Her husband's sleep apnoea had returned during the past few nights. It didn't appear to bother him. He slept soundly as he snored and fidgeted. It was Helena who was affected by it the most.

She slipped out of bed and went to the bathroom for a glass of water. Helena was a light sleeper and knew it would be a struggle to get back to sleep. She glanced at her watch. It was just after three. She didn't relish the thought of almost four hours of lying in darkness trying to get back to sleep. She'd be lucky if she dozed for twenty minutes.

She lay next to her husband and felt how hot his body was. His forehead was clammy and his pillow was damp.

You'd better not be going down with anything, she thought. She was due to attend a conference over the weekend and the last thing she needed was her husband to be ill and not able to look after their two-year-old sons.

She rolled over, closed her eyes and willed sleep to return.

##  Chapter 5

Han Trafford's home

17th September

4.47 a.m.

Han and his son, James, sat opposite each other across the kitchen table. Both supped strong black coffee. Neither of them spoke.

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

James had been temporarily living with his father.

Han had not found it easy sharing his home with his grown-up son. He had initially offered to put James up until he could move on after he'd split with his wife. He'd hoped that James would only be around for a couple of weeks, or months at the most until he'd found somewhere to live. That had been almost two years ago. A week earlier the decree absolute had arrived.

Both men found it awkward sharing the same house, but there was no way Han would throw his son out on the street. There were a few occasions when he had dropped heavy hints that perhaps it was time for him to move out and move on, but James seemed content to put up with the friction and stay with his father. He slept in the same bedroom as he had when he was a boy.

Four days earlier James had gone missing.

When James had disappeared earlier in the week, Han had filed a missing persons' report and spoken with the police, who took notes and had appeared to be very sympathetic but nothing had turned up yet.

Han had been at his wits end and felt he was losing his faculties due to worry. He'd searched his son's messy bedroom for clues. He didn't know what he was looking for and subsequently found nothing. In doing so he'd ended up tidying James' bedroom, and made his bed. It wasn't until he'd finished tidying up that he realised he was even doing it. He had blindly worked, like he was on auto pilot. It was like some kind of subconscious cognitive behavioural therapy.

James didn't have many close friends, and now, since he'd split with his wife, he had even fewer. Han had called all the contacts in James' phone to see whether anyone knew of his whereabouts, but no one had. Not only had he left his phone, he'd also left his wallet, car keys, coat and shoes. It was like he'd disappeared into nowhere. The last time Han had seen him was when James had said goodnight and went up to his room around ten p.m. four days ago. Han hadn't even heard him leave the house.

And now James was back, albeit under strange circumstances, but Han was just happy his son was safe. In fact, Han was more than happy, he was elated.

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

"Do you feel like talking?" asked Han.

James stared into his coffee and didn't answer.

"What's the outfit all about? You look like someone from the cast of 'The Men in Black'."

James looked down at the long black coat he wore.

"And what's with the tape over your mouth? And take that bloody coat off."

James said nothing and he gripped the coffee mug.

Han's jubilation that his son was safe had quickly subsided as he considered what had happened, and the circumstances of James' return. He looked at the red mark where he'd hit him twice in the face and rubbed his swollen knuckles.

Han was sure the stranger in the nightmare was nothing other than a dream. The same nightmare he'd previously experienced for two nights, but now, the pain in his hand, and the bruise on James' face proved otherwise.

"At least tell me where you've been, I've been worried sick," said Han. The tone of his voice conveyed his anxiety.

Han stood up, walked across the kitchen, rested against the worktop and stared at the tiled wall. He slammed his mug on the work surface, and faced his son.

"I'm sorry if I've done something to upset you, something that caused you to leave. Whatever it is I may have done I am sorry, but you need to talk to me. You don't know what I've been through. I've spoken with the police and reported you missing. I've called your friends and nobody knew where you were. Not one person had seen you."

"Listen dad, I don't know what trick you've pulled. I've not been anywhere. I've been at home and I need to get back," snapped James.

"Home! HOME? You have no home."

"Don't mess with me dad. Do you have a problem? You're acting crazy."

"Crazy? You think I'm crazy?" shouted Han. "If you think I'm crazy explain this to me!"

Han gestured to James to follow him back upstairs. James rubbed the bruise on his forehead and trailed behind. Han stopped outside James' bedroom and waited for his son to reach the top of the stairs.

"If you think this isn't your home then explain this to me." said Han, pushing open the door and flicking on the light.

James followed his father into the small bedroom. Han opened the wardrobe.

"What are these doing here?" said Han, waving his hand in the direction of James' clothes.

"And this?" he said, picking up James' phone and handing it to him. "And those?" he added pointing to James' car keys on the bedside table.

"You're crazy, none of this is mine."

"It is yours, all of this is yours. Listen James, I'm tired, I'm stressed and I can do without this stupid game you're playing."

"I'm not playing a game, I've not seen any of this before. Those keys, they're for a Citroen aren't they?"

Han pushed his hand through his receding grey hair and slammed his eyes.

"Yes James, they are for a Citroen C4, your Citroen C4. If you look out of your window, I'm sure you'll see it parked right outside."

James pulled back the curtain and saw a silver C4 parked beneath the street light.

"I don't drive a C4," whispered James.

"Pardon?"

"We have a Kia."

"We, who're we?"

"Dad, what's the matter with you. I have a Kia. That piddley little thing out there wouldn't be big enough for the twins' stuff."

"Twins?" queried Han, as James went to leave the room.

"Okay, explain this to me," said Han snatching back James' phone. He scrolled through the smartphone, searching the gallery folder. He found some photographs James had taken of his friends a few weeks earlier. His friends had taken him out on his birthday and they'd ended up in a strip club. The pictures Han found were taken in the pub before they went to the club. James had taken most of the pictures, but there were a couple of selfies in which James posed with three of his friends.

"If this isn't your phone, who took these pictures?"

He took the phone and shook his head.

"I didn't take these. I haven't seen most of those guys in years. When were they taken?"

"On your last birthday, the night they dragged you out to that seedy strip club on Park Street."

Han watched his son scrutinise the photographs. In one picture, he had his arm around a man who appeared to be a similar age to James. He squinted his eyes. The man was familiar. He recognised his smile and kind eyes.

"Who's this?" asked James, facing the phone to his father.

Han was concerned about his son's unusual behaviour. He appeared to be suffering from amnesia.

"Howie."

"Howie?" replied James gawking into the phone. He expanded the image so Howie's face filled the screen. He stood in silence and stared at the face smiling back at him.

"You surely don't mean Howie Doyle?"

"Who else would it be?"

Han saw that James was shaking. His lips were pursed and he seemed to be searching for something to say.

"B - b - but dad, how on earth can it be Howie?"

Han couldn't understand why there was so much confusion fogging his son's tired mind. James and Howie had been best friends since they were five. Howie had been James' best man four years ago.

"I don't know what kind of game you're playing, but you're pissing me off."

"Why would I want to piss you off? I'm just saying it's Howie. What the hell's the matter with you?"

"Dad, it's not Howie, and you know."

Han couldn't take his son's behaviour any longer. He had disappeared for four days and returned under the most bizarre circumstances. He rushed towards James, grabbed him by his throat and pinned him to the wall.

"I've had just about enough of you, tell me what's happening. What's your problem with Howie? He's one of the few to have been good enough to stick with you through all the shit you've brought upon yourself."

James felt powerless against his father. It was like he was a kid again. He couldn't fight back. He no longer had the strength. All he had were words.

"Dad, how can it be Howie? He's dead. He died when we were fourteen, and you're the bastard who killed him."

##  Chapter 6

19th September

8.18 p.m.

Howie Doyle closed the book, lay it next to him and blew air through his cheeks.

"That was one bloody hell of a good book," he whispered beneath his breath.

He grabbed another can from the kitchen, and thought about what he'd just read. Howie wasn't much of a reader. He wasn't into fiction, he didn't like biographies and didn't often read the newspaper. About the only thing he bought and read regularly was Top Gear. Howie was a petrol head, but could only afford to run an old beat up Fiesta.

But he'd felt compelled to read Tom Judd's bestselling book, 'The Man Who Caught His Killer'. He didn't buy it, but borrowed it from his sister Deb. She'd gone out of her way to get a copy because she knew the detective who had dealt with the murder of the man in Judd's book, Sergeant Colin Matthews. Howie had begun the book the previous evening, and after three hours of continuous reading, had fallen asleep with it in his hands. He had read just over half the book. This evening he'd finished the rest of it.

Howie remembered the story when it had hit the news a couple of years ago, and how his sister would boast that she was friends with Matthews. It turned out that Matthews and Debbie Doyle weren't close friends at all, but had both been in the Turnpike one evening to celebrate the birthday of a mutual friend. Someone had pointed Matthews out to Deb and told her that he was involved in the Ben Walker murder case. The strange story had gone viral on the internet and was on television around the world when word got out that Daniel Boyd had been found guilty of Walker's murder by virtue of evidence given by a hypnotised three-year-old boy, whose identity had been kept anonymous.

It hit Howie, and many other Bristolians hard, that the whole creepy thing had happened on their doorstep. Just after the case was closed, Howie, along with thousands of other people, had visited the hill in Badock's Wood where everything had happened.

Howie now considered and questioned the bigger picture, whereas before he'd no interest in religion, and had never really contemplated the idea of what happens after someone dies. Now, he'd just read definitive proof that a person can continue after they die. And not only that, they can communicate with the living.

Ghosts were real!

Tom Judd's book was the first book Howie had read from start to finish since he'd left school thirteen years earlier, and now he was about to do something he'd never done. He picked up the book and started to read it for a second time.

He'd just got through the prologue, and was about to turn to chapter one, when his phone rang. It was a Bristol landline number which he didn't recognise.

"Hello."

"Hi, is this Howie?"

"Yeah, who's this?"

"It's Han, James' dad."

"Sorry, I didn't know it was you. Last time you called you used James' phone. Is there any news?"

"He's back."

"Thank God for that. This is brilliant news. Is he okay? Where did he go?"

"Well he seems okay physically, but as far as where he's been for the past four days, he seems to think he's not been anywhere. I think he's suffering from some kind of mental block, or else he's having a breakdown."

"What's he said?"

"That he needs to get back to his wife and family."

"Wife? Family?"

"Yeah, but that's not the only thing. It's what he's saying about you. I'd be grateful if you came over. You may be able to help."

"Yeah, of course. I'll come over now. What's he saying about me?"

"He thinks you're dead. He said you died when the two of you were at school. He reckons you were killed in a car accident, and that I was the one driving the car."

"Christ, Mr Trafford, I'm on my way."

##  Chapter 7

October 2nd

9.32 a.m.

Markland raked his lawn. Leaves dropped from trees like dead flies. Since he'd retired he'd become a keen gardener, but hated autumn. Every day his garden was a mess. Clearing fallen leaves was a thankless task. But at least it kept his mind focused on something. He'd partially taken up gardening in honour of Joan. She loved the garden and keeping it up together. It had filled her lonely days when Markland had spent long working weeks as a detective. Sometimes he wouldn't return home until late in the evening after an early start. When she'd left him after he'd been signed off as unfit to work, he'd let the garden go to pieces. It had become an overgrown mess. The grass had grown high, weeds were abundant and hanging baskets were left looking ugly, with brown and rotten plants dangling like vines.

He placed the rake against the fence, bent forward and, using two pieces of hardboard, scooped up the leaves and dropped them in the compost. Just the thought of doing anything physical would have seemed impossible two years ago. His arthritis had been so severe he had been unable to walk without the aid of crutches, and only managed half a dozen steps at a time. Now he could do almost anything. He'd even taken up playing cricket again and had joined his local team's Sunday league.

He emptied the last of the leaves, sat on a bench and surveyed his work. He wondered whether Joan would approve of what he'd done to her garden. He thought about the meal they'd had the night before. The whole night was like making small talk with a stranger and not a reunion with his wife. He'd mentioned how he'd been keeping the garden up together and expected this to make her happy. Instead he noticed a tear well in her eye. They'd spent just over an hour in the Italian restaurant. Joan had ordered spaghetti and Markland had opted for pizza. Neither had much of an appetite and Markland had spent most of the time watching Joan push food around her plate with her fork. What little conversation had taken place had been about Joan's sister, and her recovery from a hip replacement earlier in the year. They'd spoken about their daughters Jane and Kate, and how well Kate was doing at university, and whether Jane would ever settle down and find the right man. Nothing was mentioned about what had happened in Badock's Wood. He was determined that he would win her back. And he hoped it would be sooner rather than later.

He thought about the letter from Compton Wells School offering the position of part-time Attendance Improvement Officer. The school had asked him to send an email, to confirm whether he wished to accept their offer. He jumped up, brushed leaves and soil from his trousers, and made his way back to the house to send the email to confirm he would be happy to work at the school. He hoped Joan would be pleased that he'd found a new job. He was aware that she'd been worrying about him at home on his own.

Markland took off his boots, banged them against the back wall of the house and shook loose soil from the soles. Once inside, he put on the kettle, switched on his laptop and grabbed the letter from the school. He accidently knocked the two bills which arrived yesterday to the floor, revealing the mystery letter that had been hand delivered. He glanced at his watch and saw it was just after ten. The writer of the letter had asked him to meet at the hill at ten a.m. Markland had no intention of meeting anyone in that godforsaken place. He was adamant never to go there again. But curiosity was getting the better of him, and he wondered who had sent it and why they needed his help.

"Probably another nut who's read Judd's book," muttered Markland to himself in his Scottish accent.

He sat at his laptop and composed a quick email to Compton Wells School, confirming that he wished to accept their job offer. He would be starting work at the school on Monday 12th October, which was just under a week away.

Compton Wells had its problems. It had not fared well in the last OFSTED report and wasn't proud to display the rating of 'satisfactory' outside the school. The head teacher, Trevor Cooke, would have been elated had the rating been 'good'. He would have been honoured to have a banner stating 'This is a good school' over the main entrance. Fourteen pupils had been expelled last year, three teachers had handed in their notice and truancy was rife. It would be a busy role for Markland and he was looking forward to the challenge.

Markland was to replace John Armstrong, who had lost his job due to heavy rumours of inappropriate behaviour. Nothing had been proved, but Cooke had been taking no chances.

Cooke submitted his own resignation two weeks later.

He closed the lid on computer, stood up, and looked out of the lounge window and along the street. It wasn't even eleven o' clock and he was restless. His phone seldom rang, and visitors were few and far between. He knew it would be another long and mind-numbing day.

I need to find a hobby thought Markland. But the truth was, he just didn't have the motivation. He hoped the new job would bring new friends, and eventually bring Joan back into his life. Having Joan would mean everything to him. He sat in his chair with a cup of coffee beside him on the table and gazed into the middle distance and within a few minutes had fallen asleep.

As he slept, another hand delivered note fell through his letter box.

In just over a week, Markland's life would become busier than he could ever imagine.

##  Chapter 8

Two weeks earlier

The Turnpike Inn, Bristol

20th September

8.16 p.m.

Han Trafford cursed as he spilt beer. He cautiously made his way to the bar table where James and Howie sat. Howie eyed Han and smiled as he clumsily carried three beers and three packets of crisps. Howie thanked him for the drink while James said nothing. His chin rested in his hands and his elbows were on the table while he stared into space.

"Come on mate, sup up," said Howie, in an attempt to sound cheery.

James said nothing, while Howie and Han glanced at one another nervously.

Han had called Howie the evening before, and told him that James had returned from wherever he'd been for the past four days. Howie had rushed over to the house to see his best friend. When Howie arrived he couldn't believe how much James had changed since he'd seen him last, just over a week ago. His face was lined and he had a bruise across the bridge of his nose. There was something else about his appearance which was different, but he couldn't fathom out what is was.

But the worse thing was that James had no recollection of Howie as he was today. James hardly said a word, and when he did, he mumbled beneath his breath.

Howie had been friends with James since primary school, and was best man when James married Helena four years ago. The only time they'd fallen out was when Howie discovered that James had been having an affair. Helena had found out about his brief fling, and although they'd tried to work things out, their marriage soon broke down and was over in less than eighteen months.

Howie had been furious with James because he'd introduced him to Helena way back in senior school. Helena was his sister's friend and Howie felt partially responsible for ruining her life.

"Perhaps we should tell Howie how you ended up back at home with me?" said Han.

James shrugged nonchalantly.

Han explained to Howie how he'd found James sprawled and unconscious across his bed in the early hours of the morning, and how he'd initially assumed James was an intruder and had secured him by tying his hands and feet before he awoke.

Neither James, nor his father, had yet broached the nightmare they'd shared. Neither had any idea that they both had been dreaming the same thing.

"How did you get that bruise?" asked Howie.

James rubbed the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

Howie looked at the knuckles on Han's right hand.

"You've not been knocking him around?" said Howie pointing to Han's swollen knuckles, and at the same time trying to sound funny.

Howie saw father and son throw each other a glance.

"Seriously, have the two of you been fighting?"

Howie watched the colour drain from Han's face, and James shuffled nervously.

"What happened? One of you tell me."

Neither were willing to share what both men had perceived to be nothing but a very realistic bad dream.

At last, James spoke.

"Look you guys, I don't know what's going on. If this is some kind of joke, then it has to stop. Howie, I guess dad told you that as far as I'm concerned you're dead. You died a long time ago, and he killed you."

Han shuffled in his seat as James raised his finger and pointed at him.

The conviction, with which he had spoken convinced Howie that James was saying what he perceived to be real.

He's having a breakdown, thought Howie.

"How can I be dead? I'm here talking with you. I can tell you all our stories. I could remind you about what happened on your stag night, although your dad may not wish to hear. And we can talk about the weekend in Amsterdam, just before you started university, and I can......."

Howie was interrupted by James as he stood up. His nostrils flared and his hands shook.

"None of what you say ever happened. You never made it out of your teens. You're not Howie. Howie died, you sick bastard. Why are you both doing this to me? I just want to go home."

"Okay son, we'll finish our drinks and then I'll get you home."

"No dad, not to your house. I'm going back to my house."

"Listen to us, we're not making this stuff up. Look, I'll prove it to you," said Howie pulling his phone from his pocket.

He scrolled through the images on his phone and shuffled closer to James.

"That's you and I, at Ashton Gate last Season, we hammered Walsall 8 - 2."

James frowned.

"I don't remember that. That game never happened."

"Okay, okay then well how about this one?" said Howie, frantically searching through the picture roll.

He handed the phone back to James and showed him a picture of the two of them looking red faced and exhausted. Howie took the phone back from him and swiped on to the next picture where James looked even redder faced, and Howie was drinking milk straight from a plastic bottle. James shook his head.

"Are you saying you don't remember that day?" snapped Howie. James shook his head

"Should I?"

"I should coco! The Upton Cheyney Chilli Festival last month? You beat me in the chilli eating contest, but only just."

James stared at him with a blank expression.

"And what about this one? It's you, me and Dean. It was taken on Dean's birthday."

"Dean?" asked James.

"Dean Barrington-Smyth, you can't forget him, he has the poshest name in Bristol and hates it."

"How do I know Dean Barrington-Smyth?"

"You worked together, before you lost your job."

James shook his head.

"Okay, okay one last picture to prove we're not making this stuff up."

Howie shuffled through his pictures, searching further and further back in time. After a minute of searching through his archived photos, he handed the phone back to James.

"There!" he exclaimed, turning the phone around to face James. "You can't argue with that one."

James' hands shook as he held the phone and stared at the image.

"What the hell are you pair of jokers up to. Why are you doing this..... what's happening?" snapped James, in a weary and beaten tone.

"Nothing's happening, I swear," insisted Han, with his hands raised in defence.

"Photoshop," grunted James.

"Don't be so daft, why would he have done that?" demanded Han. "You can even see me in the background," he added.

James looked at the photo again, expanded it and saw his father standing behind what appeared to be Helena, Howie and himself. Howie and James were either side of Helena, with their faces scrunched up against hers and both giving her a sloppy kiss on each cheek. Han wore a top hat and a grey suite, with a corsage in his lapel button. Showing the picture to James had the opposite effect that Howie had hoped for. He'd hoped showing a photograph of James' and Helena's wedding day would jog his memory. It didn't, instead it threw him into a rage. Tears flooded down his cheeks, and he buried his face in his hands. The other drinkers in the pub looked on as James' tears became uncontrollable. He stood up and headed for the toilets.

"What do you think's happened to him?" asked Howie.

Han shook his head. He thought about the nightmare, the circumstances in which James had appeared in his bedroom and looked at the bruise on his knuckles.

"I need to tell you something, and you must promise to tell no one," said Han.

"What?"

"You must promise, at least for the time being. Do you promise to keep this between you and me?"

"Okay, I promise."

Han spoke in a hushed tone, but stopped when James returned from the toilet. James looked a little better, and his tears had stopped. Han sighed and shook his head.

"I'll tell you later," whispered Han, as James made his way back to the table.

James stared at his untouched beer, while Han and Howie sat in silence.

"Whatever is going on between the two of you, won't explain the fact that Howie Doyle died when he was fourteen. My best friend died when you ran him down in your bloody car. So I don't know what the two of you are trying to achieve here....."

"Wait, wait," said Howie, stopping James mid-sentence. James tried to continue talking, but stopped, when Howie raised his hand and shushed his friend.

"So you think I died when I was at school, when I was fourteen?"

James nodded.

"So that means I can tell you stuff about us before I was supposed to have died, stuff that only you and I would know about. Am I right?"

"I suppose so,"

"Okay, we met at school, St Mathias Primary. We were in Mrs Wright's class. We first spoke when you accidently kicked a ball in my face, and you made me cry. And from that point we became best mates. We were best mates throughout Dr Bell's Junior school. On school camp at Botley, you ate a pork pie which had been in our hot tent all week. It was green, but you still ate it. Do you remember that?"

James almost smiled.

"The teachers thought I would be sick for a week, but I didn't even have the shits did I?"

"That's right. And I remember the time Cindy Pearson bent over and we were laughing because we could see her knickers. We must have been about eight......"

"And I scattered ink from my fountain pen all over her pants," interrupted James.

James sat in silence and thought about what Howie was telling him.

"The thing is, you could have got this information from someone else who went to my school."

"Why would I do such a thing. I've nothing to gain."

"I have an idea," said Han.

James and Howie looked at him.

"James, why don't you ask Howie something about your childhood, but something only the two of you would know about?"

Han was right. If James could come up with a question about their childhood, to which only he and Howie would know the answer, then that would prove that Howie and Han weren't making everything up.

"He's got a good point, ask me something," said Howie.

James nodded and gazed towards the window, and after half a minute turned to Howie and spoke in a quiet voice

"Okay. Let's see if you can remember this. The day after Boxing Day, when I was about nine years old, Howie and I decided to swap Christmas presents that we didn't particular like. I had been given something by my Nan and Howie had been given something by an auntie. After we'd swapped, I felt guilty about giving away a present that my Nan had given me, and wanted to swap back, but Howie didn't want to. I got really upset and eventually Howie gave me the present back and I gave back his. Is this something you remember?"

Howie nodded immediately.

"Yeah, I remember."

"Okay, what was it I so desperately wanted back, that my Nan had given me, and what had I swapped it for with Howie?"

"You had a little plastic motorcycle. It was about this big, had a silver frame and a blue seat and blue mudguards. You threw a tantrum when you wanted it back," smiled Howie.

"And what did I swap it for?"

"A bag of marbles, which I had from my Auntie Jean," replied Howie without hesitation.

James pushed back in his chair and thought about things. There was no way that anyone other than he and Howie Doyle would have known about it. He'd never told his parents for fear of being told off, and he'd made Howie promise to keep it a secret. James couldn't explain what was going on.

The two discussed other things they remembered from school days, and concluded that after Howie was 'supposed to have died', James had no further memories of him.

"I can assure you I'm alive and well and I was never in a car accident. Your father never drove into me."

"But it seems that James' memories seem to have gone in a different direction from the day he reckons you died. From that point on, he has no recollection of the two of you being in each other's lives," added Han.

James picked up Howie's phone and scrolled through his pictures again.

Han watched his son scrutinising the pictures, then noticed something that got his attention. James held the phone in his right hand and touched the screen of the smartphone with the forefinger of his left hand. It didn't look right. Han pulled his own phone from his pocket and instinctively held it in his left hand and scrolled the screen with the fingers of his right hand.

"James, are you right handed or left handed?" asked Han.

"Left handed. Why?"

"So, how long have you been a lefty?"

James brushed away his father's question. He seemed more concerned about the pictures on Howie's phone. He looked at the photographs and ran his finger along a small scar below his right eye. He'd had it since he was a teenager after being bitten in the face by a Corgi dog. It had been a hot day and the snappy little animal had been in a bad mood. The dog's owner was taking it for a walk and had it on a lead. James had bent forward to stroke it, and before the dog's owner could warn James, the dog jumped up and sank his teeth into his face. James was taken to the health centre, where he was given stiches.

He continued to scroll back and forth, scrutinising the pictures on Howie's phone. Each picture showed the same thing. He found the photograph, which was supposedly taken of him on his last birthday in a pub, and enlarged the picture so it filled the screen of the smartphone. He handed the phone to Howie.

"What's not right about this picture?" asked James.

Howie stared at the image, and Han moved closer so he could also see the phone. Neither man spoke for a moment. They both glanced between the picture of James and the man sat across the table from them. It was Han who noticed it first.

"The scar on your face, it's moved."

Howie looked at the photo and then to James.

"It's probably the camera on the phone. The picture must be displayed as a mirror image," suggested Howie.

"I don't think so," said James grabbing back the phone and reducing the size of the picture. In the image, James was stood in front of the bar, and behind was an advert for Stella Artois.

"If the picture's mirror imaged, why isn't the writing behind me mirror imaged?" he said whilst holding the phone up to Howie and Han.

Han took the phone and searched for other pictures of his son. In each picture the scar was visible and was below his left eye.

Something had been troubling Howie about James, and not just the fact he seemed to be having a breakdown. His appearance was different, and it wasn't until now that he understood what it was.

"How can this be?" asked James.

The three men stared at one another in silence.

Eventually James spoke.

"Dad?......... What on earth's happening to me?"

##  Chapter 9

Montgomery Crescent

Exeter

Thirteen hours earlier

Helena awoke to the sound of the alarm. She rolled over and looked at her husband who was sound asleep.

That fool could sleep for England, she thought to herself.

She climbed out of bed, threw on her dressing gown, stepped out of the room and checked on the twins. They were also sleeping soundly.

After a quick wash, she made coffee and brought in a cup each for her and her husband. She placed his on the table beside the bed and gently nudged him. He didn't make a sound. She moved closer, kissed him on his cheek and whispered in his ear.

"Wakey wakey eggs and bakey."

He stirred.

"Come on Sleeping Beauty, it's getting late."

He rolled over onto his back, and opened his eyes. He blinked as the light of the October morning hit him.

Helena watched him come around, and was startled when he quickly sat up. He glanced around the room and looked at his wife.

Helena saw an air of confusion on his face, but it was quickly replaced by a look of elation. She saw a smile as broad and wide that she'd not seen in years. He pulled her close and hugged her.

"Jimbo, what's the matter with you?" she giggled. "You're acting like you haven't seen me in years!"

##  Chapter 10

Markland Garraway's home

October 2nd

2.10 p.m.

Markland woke with a shudder. He'd fallen asleep in the lounge, slept through lunch and was annoyed with himself for doing so. He glanced at his watch and sighed. His clothes were crumpled and he was a mess. He stood up and looked at his reflection in the mirror above the mantelpiece. He hadn't shaved and didn't look his best.

He'd intended to have shower and shave after he'd finished working in the garden, but instead, had crashed out in the lounge and wasted most of the day. Luckily he'd made no plans. Not that he made many plans these days. He was pulling himself out of a depression that had the habit of rearing its head every once in a while. He knew why his mood was low. It was because he'd expected more from the evening he'd had with Joan yesterday. He'd hoped for something more positive to come out of their reunion. He needed to remind himself it was early days and he had to be patient. He had to take one step at a time.

He walked away from the mirror and headed up to the bathroom. In the hallway he saw another envelope had been pushed through his letter box. Just like the one he'd received yesterday, the new envelope had his name written in felt pen.

Nervously, he opened it. Inside was another piece of lined note paper which, like the other one, had been folded in half. He unfolded the note and read the short message.

I waited for you at the hill, but you didn't turn up. I really need to speak with you. We need your help. I'll be there again tomorrow at 10 a.m.

Markland screwed the note into a ball and threw it on the floor. He closed his eyes and thoughts of the woods filled his mind. Just the idea of the place made him nauseous. It was the last place he ever wanted to set foot in. Going there would evoke strong memories and there was a very good chance that his depression would return. He had a new job to look forward to and he wasn't going to let anything stop him along the continuing path to recovery. He wasn't going to screw this up. His counsellor had suggested that Markland should return to Badock's Wood and face his fears, as it may help him overcome his anxieties. He disagreed. The further he was away from that place, the better.

Although he had no plans to go to the woods, he was intrigued by who it could be who had posted the notes through his door. Whoever it was seemed very insistent. And whoever it was knew where Markland lived. He wondered why the person hadn't just knocked on his door and spoken with him.

Probably just an attention seeker, thought Markland, dismissing the whole thing.

After he'd showered and shaved he felt a lot better. He'd not eaten since breakfast and was starving. He made himself a late lunch and sat in front of the television with an omelette. He was about to take his first mouthful but was interrupted by his phone. He glanced at the screen. It was a local number which he didn't recognise.

"Hello"

"Hi, is this Mr Garraway?"

"Speaking."

"This is Anton Bueller, from Compton Wells School. I received your email this morning and I thought I'd give you a quick call to see if you were free this afternoon."

"Hi Anton, and thank you for offering me the job. I really appreciate it. And yes, I am free."

"Great, we wondered if you could pop by the school, so we can say hello before you start with us on Monday."

"I'd be delighted, what time shall I be there?"

"Could you be here for five o' clock?

"No problem, I'll see you at five."

Markland put the phone next to the plate and continued to eat his late lunch. He thought it a little odd that the school had asked him to come in for a chat. After all, Anton had been on the interview panel, and the panel had asked lots of questions which had led to their decision to offer him the job.

Markland presumed that Anton would introduce him to other staff members who he'd not met during the interview and with whom he would be working.

He spent most of the afternoon pottering around his house before getting changed into some smart, but casual clothes to meet Anton.

At just before five Markland pulled up in the staff carpark of the school, checked his hair in the rear view mirror and then made his way to the staff offices.

On his arrival Anton gripped Markland's hand, gave it a firm shake and welcomed him into his office where he was introduced to Dudley Thomas, the school's Behaviour Support Team leader, and Educational Psychologist Sue Blackwell.

"I thought you guys might like to meet before Mr Garraway joins us."

Anton continued to tell Markland about the issues the school had been having with truancy, and how for the first time, they were considering fining families of children who had taken their children out of school without authorisation.

"So, I'll be chasing down the kids who spend a week in Butlins, when they should be here," remarked Markland with a smirk.

"Are you aware of what happened to your predecessor?" asked Anton.

"Not really, but I'd heard rumours he'd lost his job due to inappropriate behaviour?"

"That's correct. There had been an investigation but nothing was proved. Cooke, the headmaster at the time, resigned over the whole thing. We had a temporary Attendance Improvement Officer for the rest of the last academic year, but he was only under contract until July....... I just thought you should be aware."

Markland nodded, and the room was filled with an empty silence.

"Anyone fancy a cuppa?" asked Sue.

She disappeared to the staff canteen, and while she was gone Markland noticed a change in the atmosphere. Dudley Thomas made small talk and Markland sensed an air of awkwardness. Sue returned with a three mugs of tea, and an opened packet of chocolate digestives. She handed out the drinks and then sat down. Markland noted that she sat in a different chair than before. She had positioned herself a little further from him, almost like she was distancing herself. Her body language told him that something was wrong.

Anton spoke first.

"As you know, we're looking forward to you joining our team, but there's something..... something that we would like to discuss with you."

Markland was all ears.

Anton continued.

"Let me assure you, there's nothing wrong, and we're still excited about having you on board, but there is something we need to talk about."

Anton found it difficult to express the right words, so Dudley took over.

"After you accepted the position this morning, we, well it was Sue actually, worked out who you are."

"Really, and who am I?" asked Markland, in a cautious tone.

"You're the detective who was all over the media a few years ago, the one with the hypnotised child."

"That's right, is this a problem?"

"We don't think so, but we thought that you may have mentioned this during the interview."

"I didn't think it was relevant, besides my CV told you I'd been a detective, and I don't feel it appropriate to discuss police cases with you."

"Well, I think the point that we're trying to make is that it's not every day we come across someone who has proved unequivocally that there is life after death."

Markland's tone became more serious.

"Are you suggesting that had you known I was involved in that case, you wouldn't have offered me the job?"

Anton and Dudley shuffled in their seats. He'd asked an awkward question, and one which had to be answered carefully.

"I think what we are saying Markland, is that when you start with us, we're sure you will be considered by some of the children as something of a celebrity. After all, a book about you is number one and is on the shelves of WH Smiths, and I read yesterday that there is talk of a film about you," said Anton.

"I've nothing to do with the film. It's Tom Judd's baby."

"Have you given him and his film people your blessings?"

"I'm undecided."

Silence filled the room for what seemed to be a very long time, but in fact, was only a few seconds. Then Markland spoke.

"I understand why you're concerned. I appreciate that there are a lot of impressionable children in this school and some of them have problems at home, which is part of the reason my job exists. Also, I understand that some of the pupils may be vulnerable and I will be extremely careful how I conduct my work. I want to engage with the children who have issues and find it necessary to stay away from school. I wish to help them, and I promise that I won't let what happened in the past affect my work here."

Dudley and Anton nodded. Sue appeared to be captivated by him.

"Okay, okay. I think we've made it clear, and I feel you understand why we're a little cautious. And to answer your question of whether we would have offered you the job, I'm sure we would have," said Anton with a smile.

Dudley stood up, suggested that there was nothing more to discuss, and thanked Markland for coming in to see them.

Markland trudged back to the staff carpark. His was the only car there. Dudley cycled to work and both Sue and Anton walked. The caretaker was waiting to lock the gates, and Markland sensed his impatience. Markland steered towards the gates and nodded at the man who smiled in return. Markland didn't notice the caretaker look twice at him as his car drove past.

"I don't believe it," muttered Howie Doyle, as he watched Markland's car turn the corner. He locked the gates and sauntered back towards the school offices.

He passed Anton in the corridor.

"Mr Bueller, may I ask you something?"

Anton looked up.

"The man who just pulled out of the carpark, is his name Markland Garraway?"

"Yes, he's our new Attendance Improvement Officer, starting next week."

Howie blew air through his cheeks and whistled.

Well that's certainly put a new angle on things thought Howie.

Markland pulled up outside a newsagent, and called in for a copy of the Bristol Post. He entered the shop and brushed shoulders with Sue Blackwell who was on her way out.

"We meet again," she said, with an air of uneasiness in her voice.

"Indeed we do."

"May I ask you something?" said Sue, stepping out of the shop.

Markland nodded.

"Did all that stuff really happen? I mean all of it."

"Yes Mrs Blackwell, it really all happened. But let me assure you, I'm never going to let myself get involved in anything like that ever again."

##  Chapter 11

St John Fisher Health Centre

Bristol

25th September

1 week earlier

Han and James Trafford waited for their call. Dr Sullivan was running late and their eleven o' clock appointment should have been twenty-eight minutes ago.

Han had convinced his son to see a doctor to get to the bottom of his amnesia. His memory was all over the place. He couldn't remember recent things that had happened in his life, and what he could recall seemed to be a complete muddle. About the only thing he remembered with clarity, were events going back to his childhood, more than fifteen years ago.

James had hardly said a word since going missing. He wasn't eating, and spent most of the time locked in his bedroom. Han often heard him crying to himself.

James looked awful. His pallor was grey, he'd lost weight and his breath smelt dire.

Eventually James' name flashed up on the electronic notice board. Han was first to stand up, and waited for James to pull himself out of the plastic chair and trudge behind his father to Dr Sullivan's consulting room.

"How can I help you today?" asked Dr Sullivan in a calm, but authoritative tone.

Neither men answered. Han glanced at his son, who was gazing at his feet.

"I may need to speak on behalf of my son. He's had a tough week or so."

The doctor's eyes flitted between Han and James.

"James, are you happy for your father to speak on your behalf?"

James shrugged and sneered giving a 'whatever' kind of response.

"I'll take that as a yes," mumbled the doctor, as he scribbled notes.

Han began.

"My son had been missing for four days. I've no idea where he'd been and when he returned he had no knowledge that he'd been away."

The doctor nodded whilst jotting more notes.

"Since his return, he's become very confused."

"In what way?"

"I think he may be suffering from some kind of amnesia. He doesn't recall things which have recently happened, nor can he recall things that go back quite some time. He has no problem with remembering things that happened when he was a kid, but after that things appear to have become very blurred for him."

Dr Sullivan asked James if what Han said was true. He responded by slowly nodding his head, while gazing at the carpet.

James wasn't engaging with the Doctor who was becoming impatient. He was running half an hour late and had a queue of patients waiting to see him.

"James is very confused right now. He doesn't even remember his best friend," said Han. He quietened his voice a little and added that James was convinced his friend had died when he was a teenager.

Dr Sullivan checked James' blood pressure and pulse rate, during which no one spoke. Han found the whole thing very awkward.

"James, your father says that you have no recollection of going missing, is there anything at all that you do remember before you were supposed to have been away?"

"I've not been away," he whispered in a quiet and shaken voice.

"Where were you?"

"Home, just at home."

Han shook his head and mouthed to the doctor that he hadn't.

"So what were you doing at home, your father is certain you've been away?"

"I wasn't with him, I was at my home, with my family."

"Okay James, where's home, where do you live with your family?"

"Exeter."

"So you were living in Exeter, with your family. What's the last thing you can remember before you found yourself with your father?"

"Just normal stuff, you know, everyday things...... nothing in particular."

"Did you have a bang on the head, or anything unusual?" asked the doctor noticing the fading bruise on the bridge of his nose.

"No, although I kept on having a nightmare, over and over, and it was the same thing every night."

"Do you experience nightmares regularly?"

James shook his head.

"I had three nightmares, and each one was the same, well nearly the same. When I had the last one, it was different and when I awoke I found myself in Dad's bedroom."

The doctor faced Han, whose eyes reflected a look of disbelief, and the colour had drained from his face

"Did James wake up in your room? Is this what happened?"

Han didn't answer, he stared at James in astonishment.

"Mr Trafford, did James wake up in your room? Is this how it happened?"

Han was lost in his own thoughts.

"Mr Trafford, are you alright?"

Han snapped out of his daze, "I'm sorry what did you say?"

The doctor asked again if James had been in his room.

"Yes I'd woken to find him sprawled sideways across the top of my bed. That's pretty much as I remember it."

"James, what about your family, they must be worried about you. Have you called them?"

James nodded. "I've called home, but the number doesn't ring, I've sent emails to my wife, but they've been returned as undelivered."

"So you've not been back to Exeter?"

James shook his head and his gaze returned to the floor.

Dr Sullivan turned his attention to Han, who still appeared to be shaken and looked pale.

"I agree that it does seem that your son is suffering from some sort of memory loss and is confused. This sort of thing is often caused by anxiety, stress, depression and other such things. I'm concerned about the bruise on his face, as he may have experienced concussion. I recommend James has blood tests. Also, I'll refer him to a consultant."

The doctor typed into his computer.

"Go to reception where the blood test will be arranged. You will hear from a consultant in the next few days."

James and Han left the doctor's surgery, waited at reception, arranged for the blood tests and then headed back to Han's house. No one spoke on the journey home.

Han opened the front door and James pushed past and headed upstairs to his room. Han needed to talk with his son. There was something they needed to discuss.

"James, wait!"

James stopped halfway up the stairs, and then continued to his room.

"James, please come back down. There's something we need to talk about and you know what it is."

"I don't want to," said James from the top of the stairs.

"JAMES!" shouted Han.

James stopped outside his bedroom and faced the door.

Han moved to the foot of the stairs.

"There's an elephant in the room, and we need to talk about it. We can't ignore it," said Han in a quieter tone. "Please come down. I'll make a pot of tea and let's have a chat."

He watched James, with his hand poised on the door handle. James edged back to the top of the stairs.

"Come down son."

Han heaved a sigh as James made his way down. When he reached the bottom, he threw his arms around his father and sobbed. Han hugged him and held back tears of his own.

Ten minutes later both men were sitting in the lounge, each with a mug of tea.

Han spoke first.

"We need to talk about your nightmares. I think I know exactly what you were dreaming."

##  Chapter 12

Montgomery Crescent

Exeter

Helena couldn't believe the change in her husband. He was brighter and cheerier than he'd been in the longest time. During the past week he had hardly kept his hands off her, which as much as she enjoyed his renewed affection towards her, she was becoming a little irritated by him. He was like a teenager all over again. But what seemed to be making him the happiest were the twins. He was in awe of their three-year-old sons, and spent hours sprawled across the floor playing with them. Normally, he was too tired to involve himself with them. Work had been taking its toll recently, and the first thing he would do when he'd returned home, was to collapse on the settee and crack open a beer.

And work was another thing. He'd asked Helena to call the office just over a week ago to say he was unwell and wouldn't be in. His job was mind numbing and tiring, but after a week at home he was actually looking forward to going back. She had no idea why he'd pretended to be sick, but enjoyed his company at home. He acted as if all around was new to him.

Helena didn't know what had brought about the change in her husband. He was acting like they'd only just got married. He was attentive, positive and seemed very much in love with her.

Long may this last thought Helena.

##  Chapter 13

"So why did you want to kill me?" asked Han.

"I didn't want to kill you, I don't know where the nightmare came from."

"Two nights in a row you were suffocating me with a pillow."

"But it wasn't real dad, it was a nightmare."

"Are you sure? Because I'm not."

"How did you know I was covering your face with a pillow? I don't remember telling you."

Han didn't answer. He stared into his teacup.

"How did you know?" asked James for a second time.

"Because, I've been having the same dream."

"I don't believe you."

"So how did I now about the pillow?"

"What else is in your dream?"

Han pushed his teacup away and stared James in the eye.

"For three nights, I've dreamt of a shadowy figure wearing a long coat and a hat. He pushes open my bedroom door and I sit up when I hear it creak. The shadow man picks up a pillow from the floor, and pushes it over my face. This is where the nightmare ends. I sit up in bed and I'm shaking and sweaty. When I check the clock, it's always the same. It's always just after three o' clock." Han paused, looked back to the teacup and then continued. "I forget most of my dreams. By the time I've been awake for ten minutes, they've lost their clarity and by the time I'm having coffee they've gone. But these dreams are different. I can remember every single thing about them."

James didn't know what to say. His father's nightmares were the same as his. The only difference was that Han didn't dream about James putting duct tape across his own mouth, then mysteriously ascending the stairs before opening his father's bedroom door.

"But the third nightmare was different," added Han.

James felt awkward, he knew what was coming next.

"The last time you had the nightmare I took you by surprise didn't I. You see, I was waiting for you. I knew you were coming and when I heard the door creak open I was ready for you."

James wiped perspiration from his forehead.

"I wasn't going to let you kill me this time, and I hit you hard. I hit you really hard didn't I?"

James nodded.

"But how could this happen? How could we have the same dream?" asked James.

Han didn't answer, instead he carried on.

"Do you want to know what I think? I think I punched you out of my nightmare,....... our nightmare. We both have the bruises to prove it."

James rubbed the bridge of his nose where the bruise had been. There was a slight mark which was still showing.

"The thing is James, where did you come from? You were missing for four days. Each night you were gone, I had the nightmare about you and now you're back. It was me who brought you back......but from where? Where did you go and where have you come from? If you really want to know what I think, I don't believe that you're my son."

"How on Earth can I not be your son?"

"Okay, here's the thing. Even you admit that scar below your eye has moved to the other side of your face."

James touched the scar.

"It's always been on this side, it's just different in Howie's pictures. I don't know why, but it is."

Han grabbed a pen from the window sill and yesterday's newspaper, then threw them to James.

"Write your name on that paper, no actually, write anything you want."

James eyed him suspiciously. Han wanted to check out something else he'd noticed about his son when they'd been in the pub with Howie a few days earlier.

"Why?"

"Just write something, anything you like."

He watched James pick up the pen with his left hand, and write his name in the corner of the newspaper."

I knew it, thought Han.

"Since when have you been left handed?"

"I've always held a pen with this hand."

"You may have, but my son is right handed, and that's a fact."

James dropped the pen to the table and shook his head.

"Dad, there're lots of things I can't explain and don't understand. I don't know how I got here, I don't know why Howie's still alive and I don't understand why I can't get in contact with my wife."

"Enlighten me James, tell me about your life, where was it you told the doctor you live? Exeter?"

James nodded.

"We live in Exeter, we have twin boys....... and you don't ever visit, you never call, so how would you even be expected to know about us?"

Han listened intently.

"You took it personally didn't you! You never wanted us to move away. And it's not like we're on the other side of the world, we're only eighty miles away. We had to move so Helena could study for her PhD.... but you being you, took it the wrong way and thought we were trying to escape from you."

Han saw that James was holding back tears.

"I'm sorry that mum died, and I wish I'd met her. I would love to have had a mum, but she died and that's that and that's just the way it is........ I couldn't stay here forever dad, we had to move for Helena........ and to be honest, things had never been the same since the accident, since Howie died."

Han leant against the wall, trying his hardest not to show his emotions. Sarah had died during childbirth, and Han had brought his son up single-handedly. His bond with his son was strong and what James was saying was true, he would have been devastated if he'd ever moved away. But James hadn't moved away. When he married Helena, they'd lived less than four miles away, and when they'd split, James moved back in with Han.

"You told Dr Sullivan that you tried ringing Helena, and sent her emails, but she didn't reply."

"No, it wasn't that she wouldn't reply, the emails bounced back undelivered, and when I rang, the number wasn't recognised."

"Son, I really don't know what's going on. That's even if you are my son. You look like him, but you sure as hell don't act like him."

"I just want to get back to Helena and the boys."

"Well, I'm not stopping you....... why don't you go there now? Even better, why don't we both go?"

It was just before one p.m. If James left now, he would be in Exeter before three.

James picked up the keys to the C4.

"Are you coming?" he asked, waving the keys.

Han blew air through his cheeks and nodded.

Just before three, James approached Junction thirty of the M5, and headed into Exeter. Han noticed that James appeared confused. He strained his neck to view some of the buildings around him, as if there was something different about them.

"Are you okay?" asked Han. James didn't answer.

Soon they were in a built up area. They passed St. Luke's Campus and were heading along Polsloe Road. James took a left, and announced that it was the road where he lived. Montgomery Crescent.

Slowly, he crawled along the road, frowning as he drove.

"What's the matter?"

"I don't know, things have changed, things look different."

He stopped the car and looked across the road.

"What the....?" He muttered beneath his breath.

Han watched James and wondered what was going through his mind.

"Wait here, I need to check something."

James pulled the keys from the ignition and left Han in the car.

He stood at the gate of number seventeen and couldn't believe what he was looking at. The building he considered to be his home was different. James had never been a DIY enthusiast, and Helena was constantly on his back to sort the place out. This house had a newly painted red front door. The small garden was immaculate and the pond, which James had never tended, had two goldfish happily swimming around the spray of a fountain. He looked up to the eaves, and saw that the house had a newly tiled roof.

He shook his head and pushed open the gate. A dog barked from inside the house as he approached the door. Hesitantly he rang the bell.

Through the frosted glass he saw the blurred image of a lady make her way to the door.

"Can I help you?"

The lady was in her late fifties, her grey hair was tied back in a ponytail. A French Bulldog struggled to get around her legs, and into the garden.

"I'm looking for Helena Trafford," asked James nervously.

"I'm sorry, I think you have the wrong address," replied the lady, sensing an air of awkwardness.

"Does Mr Masterson live next door," asked James, pointing to the house on the lady's right.

"No, I don't know of a Mr Masterson, as I've said, I think you have the wrong address. I'm sorry, but you appear to be mistaken."

James wasn't giving up so easily.

"Does the man on the other side still live there? I don't know his name. He's in his forties, has a grey beard and plays loud music late at night. Loud rock music, especially ACDC and Motorhead."

"If you're referring to Drew Lees, then yes, unfortunately he does. And he's always keeping me awake with his loud........"

Before the lady had the chance to finish what she was saying, James was heading along her path and towards her gate. She shook her head as he headed to Mr Lees' front door.

James had never got to know the name of the man who lived next door, but he had plenty of rows with him over the years. The selfish man had no consideration for his neighbours and played music at such volume that the walls shook. The twins would cry as rock music shuddered their cots.

He rapped on the door, hoping Lees would be in. No one came to the door. James tried again, this time harder. Still no reply. He tried for a final time, and was about to leave when he heard heavy footsteps approaching the door.

The door opened, and James breathed a sigh of relief. He had never been so happy to see the man, who before now he hadn't even bothered to learn his name.

"What?!" exclaimed Lees.

He stood holding the half opened door and James saw that he wore a dressing gown. The man worked odd hours, which was why some nights he would stay up late playing loud music. He had a strange work pattern. When it was time for him to wake up, the rest of Montgomery Crescent were ready for bed.

"It's me, from next door...... I mean..... I used to live......," James had difficulty in choosing the right words. The man stared at him impatiently and James continued.

"Do you remember me?"

"Should I?" growled Lees.

"I've knocked on your door over the past few years, and we've had a few, let's say disagreements about your loud music."

"I'm sure I would have remembered a scrawny little git like you," laughed Lees.

"I live, I mean lived next door with my wife, Helena and our two children. Do you not remember?" asked James, pointing to the house where the grey hair lady had answered the door two minutes earlier.

"Don't mess with me. You've woken me up, I'm working the nightshift, and I need to get back to bed."

"Are you saying that you've never seen me before?"

"Like I just said, I'm sure I would have remembered a scrawny little shit like you, now leave me alone," snapped Lees, before slamming the door.

James dejectedly made his way back to the C4.

"Any luck?" asked Han, already knowing what the answer was likely to be.

"I don't get it," said James, dropping into the driver's seat.

He gazed across the road to the house he had considered his home for the past few years.

"I just don't understand," he whispered beneath his breath.

The two men sat in silence. Eventually Han spoke.

"What do you want to do?"

"Head back to Bristol," replied James, with his shoulders slouched as he played with the ends of his fingers.

"Shall I drive?"

"No, I'll be fine," replied James starting the engine.

James headed back the way he came, turned along Polsloe Road and again, past the St. Luke's Campus of Exeter University and towards the M5, for the long journey home back to Bristol.

##  Chapter 14

Compton Wells School, Bristol

Monday 12th October

9.15 a.m.

David Fear, the new headmaster of Compton Wells, took the morning assembly.

"I would like to introduce you to a new member of staff." He motioned to Markland, who stood in the corner of the school hall.

Markland stepped onto the small stage and stood alongside Fear.

"This is Mr Garraway, and he is our new Attendance Improvement Officer."

A hushed groan was heard around the hall, which caused a few of the teachers standing behind the headmaster to grin. Markland took the stage.

"Good morning everyone, and I trust you're looking forward to a new week at this wonderful school."

A few of the children smirked.

"I'm Mr Garraway, and I am, as Mr Fear has already informed you, your new Attendance Improvement Officer, or Truancy Officer if that means more to any of you. I'm not as scary as my title sounds. It's true, that my main role is to clamp down on those of you who are persistent truants, and I have already been advised of a few repeat offenders."

A few of the children shuffled, and a messy ginger haired boy flicked the back of the boy sitting in front of him.

"I would like to think that I am here to help. Students stay away from school for various reasons, and if any of you would like to speak with me, in confidence of course, about anything that may be worrying you, anything that is keeping you up at night, my door here will always be open."

He nodded, smiled and took a step back, allowing Mr Fear to continue with school assembly.

At the back of the hall stood Howie Doyle, the school caretaker. He'd not long ago finished reading Tom Judd's book about the extraordinary Ben Walker murder case. He couldn't believe Markland Garraway, the very same man who had unwittingly, but ultimately proved to the world that life exists after death, now worked at the same place as he.

This must be more than just coincidence, thought Howie.

He desperately needed to speak with him. But Howie was a shy man, and wasn't confident to go right up and talk to him. Instead he spent the day pondering over how he should introduce himself.

Markland didn't get very much work done on his first day. He was introduced to so many different people, he was having difficulty remembering who was who. But there was one thing he did know. Everyone to whom he had been introduced, everyone whose hand he shook and every member of staff who passed him in the corridors, knew exactly who he was.

Word had got around that the Markland Garraway would be working at the school. Over half of those who worked at Compton Wells had bought, read and finished Tom Judd's book before Markland set foot in the school that morning.

Not many of the pupils were aware of who he was. Most of them were too young to know. But, there were a few who had heard of him. They'd caught something on the news about the story and had remembered the uncommon name 'Markland Garraway'. Not only his name made him stand out, but also his Scottish accent. It didn't take long for those children who hadn't known who he was, to be told by their friends exactly what it was he was famous for. But it had become a game of Chinese whispers. So many different rumours had spread around the school. They ranged from the sublime to the ridiculous. Some children had heard from their friends that he had saved a baby from dying in Badock's wood, others were told he'd died and come back as a ghost, and others believed that he had stood in front of God and spoken to him face to face.

This was exactly what Anton Bueller, the man who had decided to employ him, had feared.

Markland knew his colleagues were aware of who he was. They hadn't said anything, nor did they have to. It was the way they spoke with him and the way they looked at him. When he walked into the staff room, conversations briefly stopped and then carried on as before. He just didn't realise how well known he had become, and he wasn't sure whether he liked it.

By 3.30 the children had gone home. The teachers were finishing up and preparing for the next day. Markland had come to the end of his first day of employment in a long time and he felt good. He'd not yet engaged with any pupils, but hoped that tomorrow he would begin to make a difference.

The office which he shared with Sue Blackwell and Dudley Thomas was all his. Sue and Dudley had left ten minutes earlier. Someone had put a temporary name plate on the office door to signify that the office now belonged to Sue, Dudley and Markland. He sat alone, and thumbed through some paperwork and drank lukewarm coffee. He was in no rush to go home. There was no one waiting for him, no one to ask him how his first day at work had been, no one to kiss him on the cheek or take his coat and hang it under the stairs. If Joan had been at home, he would have been out of there by now, desperate to tell her how his day had been. But she wasn't. Nobody was there, and because of this, he was happy to hang around the school.

At least after today, the next time he met with Joan, he would have something to tell her. He could let her know about his new job.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Hello," called Markland.

A young man nervously entered the small office and stood with his back to the door.

"Hi, I'm Howie Doyle, the school caretaker."

"Ah, yes, Mr Doyle, I remember you from the other week. You locked the school gates after I'd driven out of the carpark."

Howie nodded.

"How can I help you?"

Howie moved closer and sat opposite Markland. He found it hard to comprehend that he was face to face with the man from the book. There was something he needed to speak with him about. But first of all he had a confession to make.

Markland was an imposing man. He was well built and over six feet tall, which made Howie, who was around the same height, but as skinny as a beanpole, even more nervous than he needed to be. But he had the strength and resolve to pluck up enough courage to speak with Garraway. He needed his help.

An awkward moment followed while Markland waited for Howie to speak.

"Mr Garraway, I really need to speak with you, I think that perhaps you can help me."

Markland subconsciously rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. Over the past few years he'd been approached by so many people in the street who wanted his advice on supernatural things, that he'd become intolerant of anyone who wanted to share their experiences, or ask his views.

"Yes, Mr Doyle, what is it?" replied Markland looking at his watch.

Howie sensed that he clearly did not want to talk. But still, he continued regardless.

"Um, first of all, I had no idea that you were going to be working at this school, and secondly...... and secondly...... I, I....." Howie stuttered as he searched for courage to say what he'd came there to say. "It was me who put the notes through your letter box, it was me who asked you to meet me at the hill in Badock's Wood."

Great, just bloody great thought Markland as he considered the prospect that he was working with one of those whom he deemed a nutcase.

"I presume you've read Tom's book?" asked Markland.

"I have, but that's not why I need to speak with you."

"You must understand Mr Doyle, the things that happened have caused me an awful lot of trouble. I don't think Mr Judd has conveyed in the pages of his book quite how severe a turn in the wrong direction my life took. Taking this job at this school is something I've done to help me overcome what I've been through, and I don't appreciate that on my very first day, I'm talking to members of staff about their problems."

Howie lowered his head and Markland continued.

"As far as meeting you in Badock's Wood, well that won't ever happen. If I set foot in that place ever again, I am certain it will do me more harm than good......, now if you please, I must be getting on."

But Howie wasn't giving up so easily, he was determined to seek Markland's help.

"Please hear me out Mr Garraway, it's taken a lot of courage for me to approach you. Something very strange has happened to someone who is very close to me and I think you can help."

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

Howie, like thousands of others who had known about the Ben Walker case, had visited Badock's Wood and had sat upon Mill Tut, the Bronze age burial mound that had become known as 'The Hill'. Many had visited The Hill out of curiosity. Some had been there to 'be at one' with the earth. But a few, including Howie Doyle had experienced something unexpected. The Hill chose carefully. Whatever force drove the supernatural powers of Mill Tut did so for a reason, and it was specific in its choice of those whose lives it touched. Now it was reaching out to Howie.

Howie finished reading Tom Judd's book the day after his friend, James Trafford, had returned to his father's home after disappearing for four days. He'd returned a different person. Howie was sure his friend hadn't received something as simple as a 'bump on the head', to have caused his memory loss. As far as Howie was concerned James was a different person, and not just in his character, he really was a different person compared to who he was before he'd disappeared.

He had approached the hill in Badock's Wood one quiet Sunday afternoon after reading Tom Judd's book to see whether anything would happen.

The moment he placed his foot on the base of the five-thousand-year old relic, he had become overwhelmed with a wave of nausea. He'd sat at the bottom of the mound, closed his eyes and rested his head in his hands. The unsettling feeling of sickness soon passed, and was replaced by what appeared to be an image as seen through a kaleidoscope. There, hundreds, perhaps thousands of faces moved around as if on a child's roundabout viewed from above. Each face was a little different to another, but one thing was sure, each face belonged to James Trafford.

The vision lasted no longer than thirty seconds, but had it been long enough for Howie to be certain that someone, or something had been trying to speak to him.

This was why he needed to speak with Markland, and this was why he needed to meet him at The Hill.

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

Markland wriggled in his seat whilst he considered Howie's request.

"Okay, okay Mr Doyle, I'll listen to what you have to say, but please don't expect anything from me........ just tell me what's bothering you."

Howie sighed, and wondered how he should begin.

"I suppose it's a kind of missing person issue, but the person who is missing has returned."

Markland frowned.

"A missing person. Have you spoken to the police?"

"A missing persons' report had been filed, but as I just said, the person who had gone missing has now returned and......"

Markland held up his hand, and Howie stopped mid-sentence.

"I don't intend to sound rude Mr Doyle, but a missing person who is now back isn't an issue."

"Please, let me finish."

Markland cast his mind back to the heady days of the Walker case and how he'd become the centre of ridicule. He'd been ostracised by his work colleagues, and had nowhere to turn. Had it not been for a few individuals who were prepared to look at the bigger picture and think beyond the thresholds of everyday judgement, he wouldn't have been able to solve the case and Ben Walker's murderer would likely still be at large today.

"I'm sorry Mr Doyle, I shouldn't have interrupted, please carry on."

Howie took a breath and continued.

"A friend of mine, who happens to be my best friend since I was a kid, went missing from his father's home a few weeks ago. Luckily, he's returned. The circumstances in which he returned are, let's say, peculiar. And since he's returned, his memories are completely different to the ones that myself and his father have."

"Surely this is just a simple case of amnesia. Something must have happened while he'd gone missing. He's probably suffering from concussion."

"We've been through all of that, we've checked out the obvious things such as a bang on the head, but there are other things which appear to be far more sinister and frankly, I don't think can be explained."

"Such as?"

Howie was aware that he wouldn't keep Markland's attention for very long, but felt it important that he provide the information to him in the same order as Howie had discovered it.

"To begin with, when James',.... Sorry James Trafford is the missing person, when James' father called me to say he'd returned, I dropped what I was doing and headed over. When I got there, it was clear that something was wrong. First of all, he wouldn't accept who I said I was. Even though I'd shown him pictures of the two of us and us with our friends, he refused to believe me. According to James, I died when I was fourteen, and it was his father who'd killed me."

"His father killed you? How did that happen?"

"According to James, it was a road traffic accident and James' father was behind the wheel."

Garraway nodded.

"We've been friends since infants' school. His memories of the early days of our friendship are impeccable, he can remember more than me. But when we get to the day I was supposed to have died, our memories are totally different."

"Well, I suppose they would be if he thinks you're dead."

"But the odd thing is, there are elements of similarity. He married a beautiful girl called Helena. I was his best man and I have the pictures to prove it. The marriage didn't last long, he fooled around, got caught and that was the end of that. This is why he has ended up living back with his father Han."

Howie paused. Markland could tell that Howie was anxious and allowed him time to take a breath.

"According to James, he's still married to Helena, they have two sons and live in Exeter."

"Has he told you this?"

"No actually he hasn't. He tells me very little. It's hard to get a word out of him. I spoke to his father a few days ago. Han told me that he'd convinced him to go the doctor. It was then James opened up. He said that he lived in Exeter with his family, but when he'd tried to make contact with Helena, guess what?..."

"She doesn't exist," said Markland. finishing Howie's sentence.

"It seems that way."

"I'm sorry Mr Doyle, I am still unable to see why you would need to speak with me about your friend James. From what you're saying, it's clear that he's suffering from memory loss. He's confused, and whatever happened when he went missing has affected him."

"But I haven't told you the odd stuff yet."

"Odd stuff?" said Markland, his attention level stepping up a notch.

"Well the first thing is that his appearance has changed, not a lot, but enough to make me think he's not the same person who disappeared."

"What's different?"

Howie pulled his phone from his pocket and brought up several pictures of James and himself which were taken in early September.

"Look closely, you see he has a scar beneath his eye. I remember when he got this, he was bitten in the face by a dog when he was a kid."

Markland took the phone, expanded the image and saw the scar beneath his left eye. He handed the phone back to Howie, who scrolled through the images and found one of the most recent pictures he'd taken and then handed the phone back to Markland.

"I took this one just over week ago. His father and I had taken him for a drink. It was taken without James knowing."

Markland looked at the picture of James. The first thing he noticed was how much older and lined he appeared to be in comparison to the pictures taken in September. Also, Markland saw the face of a troubled man. His eyes were sunken and his pallor was dull.

"Look at the scar," said Howie.

"It's gone."

"No, it's still there. Look under his right eye."

Markland saw that the scar was below James' right eye.

"Photo software," said Markland in a dismissive tone.

"I assure you it's not. It's not only the scar that's moved sides, he's now left handed. The James that I know has always been right handed. It wouldn't surprise me that if you cut him open his heart would be on the other side, and everything else about him was swapped over too."

"Okay Mr Doyle, I admit you have my attention, but I'm sure there's a logical explanation for all of this, although right now, I can't think what the explanation could be."

"But please hear me out, I've still not got to the really strange bit."

Markland repositioned himself in his chair and waited for Howie to continue.

"Han, James' father, called me the evening he'd accompanied James to the doctors' surgery. The doctor seemed to have the knack of coaxing details from James. Details which he'd not told me, nor his father. The doctor had asked him whether anything odd had happened to him recently. James had admitted to having nightmares, three nights in a row. This was the first his father had heard of this. The first two nightmares were the same, but the third was different. The first two dreams ended with James pushing a pillow over his father's face, it seemed he was trying to kill him. But the third one ended with his father attacking him. It seems his dad was ready and waiting. When he awoke from the dream he found himself across his fathers bed, with his arms and legs tied."

"Do you mean being tied up across his father's bed was part of the third nightmare?"

"No, this is how he found himself when he regained consciousness."

"Don't you mean, when he woke from the dream?"

"No, in his dream his father had hit him in the face, He'd hit him really hard and knocked him out,...... and this is where it gets really weird. His father had been having exactly the same nightmares at exactly the same time and had been on the receiving end of the dreams. He'd wake up after dreaming of being suffocated by a shadowy grey figure in his room."

"Is this what his father told you?"

"Yes, he admitted this a few days ago when we spoke over the phone. Anyway, he had the same dream the third time, the same as James. He'd hit him right between the eyes. He told me he'd woken to find the shady character from his dream out for the count across his bed. He didn't suspect the person to be his son, and had assumed him to be an intruder and so tied his arms and legs together."

"Mr Doyle, are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?"

"What Han Trafford is proposing is that he punched a man out of his nightmare, and that man happened to be his son who'd been missing. They both had the marks to prove it. James had a bruise from the punch and his father had bruised and swollen knuckles."

"I have to say it's an intriguing story, and one which I can understand must be very traumatic for James and his father. How do you think I could help?"

"I'd read the book written by the hypnotist, and decided to take a trip to the woods."

Markland shuddered as Howie explained what had happened when he had sat upon Mill Tut.

"Just like with you Mr Garraway, The Hill has tried to communicate with me. It's not given any answers, but I'm sure something is going on, something which isn't quite of this world. I wanted you to come along and sit with me to see whether you would experience anything...... but you didn't turn up."

"No, I didn't turn up. And I'm not sorry for staying away. As I've said Mr Doyle, those woods and that hill had made me very ill, and I have no immediate plans to return. I wish you well and you have my blessings, but you will have to deal with this alone. I cannot help."

"But please."

"If you want my advice, keep away from the woods. Deal with what's happening with your friend, be supportive of him and be supportive of his father. I'm sure the doctor will be able to help. Just don't get drawn to the woods and especially that burial mound."

Markland stood up, grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair and left the office.

Howie stood alone and listened to Markland's footsteps fade as he walked along the corridor and headed home.

Howie Doyle wasn't going to give up quite so easily, and was prepared to return to The Hill as many times as it would take to find out what was going on.

##  Chapter 15

Exeter University

12th October

4.15 p.m.

Helena sat at her desk in the small office at Exeter University. The first term of the new academic year had just begun, and the last of her four-year research PhD.

Since she'd started the degree, things had been financially tight. Her research scholarship covered her tuition fees and expenses, but the stipend paid to her by the university didn't go quite far enough to keep the wolf from the door.

Jimbo, as she affectionately called her husband, didn't bring home the big bucks. They had quite a lot of outgoings, especially childcare costs. Their twin boys were looked after by the university nursery five days a week.

Helena, and her husband were very much in love, but lately she'd notice that he'd become distant and she knew why. Jimbo had always been a worrier, but lately he'd been worrying a lot more, and it was because of money. She'd assured him that within the next twelve months, she'd earn her PhD, have secured a well-paid job and their short-term money problems would go away. She also knew that he would never be the main earner. It would be Helena that brought in the larger salary, and this was another reason why she thought he'd become distant. He was a proud man, and she knew that the idea of him not being the 'main breadwinner' wouldn't be right. She would be undermining his subconscious alpha male compulsions.

But, for reasons Helena hadn't worked out, Jimbo had become full of beans. One morning, around three weeks ago, he'd woken up as if he was different person. He was like the man she married four years earlier. Positive, looking forward to their future and full of fun, which were some of the reasons why she'd fallen for him in the first place.

He even seemed to be enjoying his job, which up until now had been dragging him down.

Helena hoped his new upbeat demeanour wouldn't be short-lived. She found his beaming smile infectious. He'd lifted her spirits. During the past twelve months she had also been feeling a little down. Her research took a hell of a lot of time and she'd work on her papers at home until late into the evening.

When Jimbo had returned after a long day at work, and the twins had gone to bed, he would be left to do most of the household chores, whilst Helena would shut herself in the spare room and work hard on her papers. Helena felt guilty that she had put pressure on her husband to do a lot of extra work, which other fathers and husbands would not be expected to do. He was a good man and had never complained, but she knew that he had become tired of all the rushing around to give her the time she needed for her research.

But now things were different. Things were upbeat and he just seemed happy being in her company. It was almost as if they'd been reunited after spending a hell of long time apart.

Helena didn't question why he was so happy. She didn't care. Providing he was happy, then she too was happy.

He seemed like a completely different man.

##  Chapter 16

12th October

7.36 p.m.

"Who the hell are you?"

James didn't reply. Instead, he sat hunched forwards on the settee resting his face in his hands and pushing his fingers in and out of his hairline.

"Who are you, and where did you come from?" asked Han for a second time.

Since coming home from their fruitless journey to Exeter, Han had thought more and more of the day that James had returned. The image of him laying across his bed, dressed in black, with duct tape over his mouth wouldn't leave him. The more he thought about things, the more nervous he became. And the more nervous he became, the more he believed that the man sitting in front of him wasn't his son.

The results of the blood tests had been negative and James had an upcoming appointment with Dr Justin Bourke, a Consultant Psychiatrist based in Bath.

James lifted his head from his hands and looked at his father.

"Whatever all this is about, I'm still your son and you're my dad."

Han sighed. He had been sighing a lot over the past few weeks. Now he was impatient, angry and confused.

James had been hanging around the house since he'd mysteriously returned, and had done very little other than linger in his bedroom. He had been unemployed for the past eight months, and had just missed an interview with the Job Centre.

"If you are my son I need to know what's going on. I know for a fact that you were missing for four days. I need to know where you've been."

James put his head back in his hands.

"I know that if your fingerprints were checked, or your DNA, it would be proved that you are James Trafford. But, I know, although I can't explain why, that you're not who you appear to be," said Han, in a heated tone.

"Okay, let's turn things around. Did you kidnap me? Is there a conspiracy to pull me away from my family? I'd like some answers too."

"There's no conspiracy James. You've seen for yourself, you've visited the house you say is your home, and Helena wasn't there. She has never been there."

"As far as I'm concerned, one day I was at home in Exeter, with my wife and children and then I wake up on your bed gagged and tied....... don't you think I would like an explanation?"

The two man stared at one another in silence. Then Han spoke.

"I knew that you wouldn't find Helena in Exeter, and I know that you won't find her at the university there either."

"Why?"

He really doesn't know, thought Han. He braced himself to deliver the news that he and Howie had been holding back.

"You won't find Helena in Exeter, because she's in France."

"France?"

"Yes, France. With her fiancé."

"I don't believe you, what are you doing this for, why are you doing this?....... you cruel bastard!"

Han wasn't lying, it was true. Helena had met David six months after she and James had separated and moved with him to France. When she'd left England, she'd been three months pregnant with David's child. She'd lost contact with most of her friends and had started a new life.

Han delivered the news as compassionately as he could, but James was having none of it. He flew into a rage, kicked over a chair, stormed out of the lounge and stomped to his room.

It had only been three weeks since James had returned, but Han couldn't take much more. He couldn't tolerate sharing the same space with him any longer. Whether or not James really was his son, the stress levels in his home were unbearable. Han tried to calm his nerves by taking long deep breaths. After a few minutes he felt a little more composed.

I need to be in control of this.

Han made his way to James' room. He stood outside and heard him sobbing from behind the bedroom door. He knocked, and slowly opened the door. He sat beside him on the edge of the bed and watched James with his head buried into his pillow.

"I'm sorry about what I said downstairs, of course you're my son, there's no way you can't be...... I'm truly sorry James."

James rolled over and looked at his father through red eyes.

"Dad, I'm so confused right now, and I just can't accept what you're telling me. Perhaps I'm losing the plot, maybe I am going insane and perhaps this is what the psychiatrist in Bath will confirm. But from my point of view I'm telling you the truth. I am married to Helena, we do have children, and everything else I've told you is true."

Han placed his hand on James' shoulder and gave it a squeeze.

"Dad, can I ask you a question?"

Han nodded.

"What am I like?"

"What do you mean?"

"The other James, the one that lives here with you, the James I don't know....... what is he like?"

Han thought about his son's question. He wasn't quite sure how he should answer.

"No one has told me what I'm like. Am I happy, do I have many friends, what sort of things to I get up to?"

Han decided go along with James' question, and to tell him the truth.

"I suppose life hasn't quite worked out the way you'd planned. You've not got over losing Helena. You spend a lot of time blaming yourself for having an affair which broke your marriage apart, and you spend even more of your time pining over her and wishing the two of you were still together."

"So I'm a bit of saddo then!"

"You spend a lot of time thinking 'what if?'"

"I can understand; I couldn't imagine my life without her."

Han considered how strange their conversation was. It was as if James really did believe that he was still with Helena, and the James who had split with her was a different person.

He thought about the evenings James had sat with him and talked about his mistakes and how, if he were given the chance, he would go back in time and start all over again. James was angry with himself for spoiling a great thing. He missed Helena so much he'd become depressed, had little motivation and to add to it all, in February he had lost his job.

Howie had been the only friend who had stuck by James, his other friends got tired of his low mood. A night out with James would be guaranteed not to be a great time. After one or two beers he would start rambling on about Helena. It was always Helena this, or Helena that. He was clearly obsessed with her and when she'd moved to France he became even lower.

But Howie's friendship with James went back almost twenty-five years, and Howie wanted to be there for his best friend, even if it meant putting up with his unhappiness.

Han had kept Howie informed on how James had been since his return. He hadn't yet told him about the trip to Exeter, he thought it would be best to leave that up to James. But he had told him about the appointment with Dr Sullivan and that James now had an appointment with a psychiatrist.

But, Han had decided to tell Howie about the nightmare that he shared with his son, and Howie had been gob smacked. Hearing about the nightmares after reading Tom Judd's book made Howie wonder whether there had been something eerie behind the whole thing.

Whatever was going on, Han knew he could rely on Howie to be there for his son.

##  Chapter 17

Markland Garraway's house

12th October

8.28 p.m.

Three hours earlier, Markland had returned home after his first day of employment at Compton Wells School. It had been the first time he'd worked since leaving the police force just over a year earlier.

He hadn't expected the day to have taken so much out of him. He was tired, and was enjoying the quietness of home. He dunked a Rich Tea into his coffee and thought about the conversation he'd had with Howie Doyle. He wasn't sure what to make of the young man's story.

Something Howie had said intrigued Markland. He was fascinated by the concept that James, the man Howie had told him about, had been 'punched out of his nightmare'.

He thought about the strange dreams he'd had when dealing with the Ben Walker case, and how he'd shared dreams of others who'd been involved with and present at Walker's death. By virtue of his own experiences, he was aware that dreams can be powerful things, and are only limited by the acceptance and understanding of the human mind.

Markland shuffled in his chair and considered whether a dream could be so real, that it projected into actual physical 'real life', to the degree that a person could step out of another person's dream.

He thought more about the Walker case, and the powerful dream he'd had of Carla Price, the young girl who had undoubtedly saved the life of Ben Walker's girlfriend, Liz, who would have almost certainly died during the attack in Badock's Wood had Carla not shouted at the top of her voice that the police had arrived. He'd dreamt what happened with so much clarity, he knew it was real. Carla had eventually confirmed to Markland that his dream detailed exactly what happened the night Ben Walker had lost his life.

Daydreams rested on the backs of Markland's eyes. He sat up and snapped back to reality. The last thing he wanted was to fall asleep with thoughts of what happened in the woods drifting around his subconscious mind. He drank the dregs of his coffee, and coughed as the slurry of biscuit stuck to the back of his throat. He reached for the remote control and turned on the television. As always there was nothing worth watching. He stood up and searched through his collection of DVDs. Sometimes he was quite happy to watch a film he'd seen countless times before. He had four or five favourites which never let him down.

"You'll do for tonight."

He pulled Steven Spielberg's classic movie 'Jaws' from the shelf and admired the timeless picture on the DVD case. Despite being a gory film, he found it relaxing. He thought the location where it had been filmed, Martha's Vineyard in Massachusetts, was stunning. It was somewhere he'd hoped to go on holiday with Joan, but never did. Perhaps if, and when, they ever got back together, they would visit the place.

He placed the disc in the player, sat back and pressed play.

As the disc loaded he thought about his wife. He was desperate to contact her, and tell her how his first day in his new job had gone. But he had to respect her wishes. If they had a future he had to do things on her terms, and wait for her to contact him.

The DVD loaded. He hated waiting for the trailers and the other nonsense to finish before the film started. He fast-forwarded to the start of the film and watched as each trailer played at thirty times the normal speed. He knew each trailer for each film, as he'd seen them in fast motion over fifty times. Then he saw a trailer he'd not noticed before.

How could I have not seen this one before?

He became even more intrigued as the words 'Coming to a Universe near You!' appeared on the screen. He hit the rewind button and shuffled back to the start of the trailer. He watched the image of a man appear in the centre of the screen. It hung there for a blink of the eye, then reduced to the size of a postage stamp and zoomed to the top left of the screen. Another image of the same man appeared in the centre, and after a second it too zoomed to the top left of the screen alongside the first picture. Then another, and another. Within half a minute the screen was almost full of tiny images of the same man. Each image of the man was a little different to the last. Either the hair was a little thinner, a little longer, or cut in a different style. In some images the man looked older, in some he looked younger, in some he looked happier and in some he looked as though he bore the weight of the world. In no picture did he wear the same clothes.

"What the hell?"

Within one and a half minutes, his fifty-five-inch screen was full of images of the same man. The man seemed familiar. Markland paused the DVD just as the words 'Coming to a Universe near You!' faded in. He edged closer to the screen to get a closer view of the man's face.

The faces filling the screen seemed familiar.

He grabbed the remote and pressed 'open'. The DVD player whirred and the disc slid out. It was definitely the film 'Jaws'. He nudged the disc back into the player and hastily waited for the trailers to begin again. He fast forwarded through the ones he'd seen before searching for the trailer he'd just seen. There was nothing, it wasn't there. He knelt closer to the screen as the movie started. He ejected the disc for a second time and held it up to the light, as if doing so would give him a clue as to what on earth was happening.

"Holy shit!" exclaimed Markland, as he remembered why the man had appeared so familiar.

"No, no........ please not again," he said out loud, as it dawned on him what was happening.

He dropped into his chair, and placed his head in his hands.

"Please God, I can't go through this again."

He shook his head as his brain computed what was happening. Tears welled in his eyes.

"It's that fucking hill."

The face which had filled the television screen was the face of the man Howie Doyle had told him about in the school. It was the same man Doyle had shown him on his smart phone.

It was the face of James Trafford.

Again, the hill in Badock's Wood was reaching out to Markland, and there was nothing he could do about it.

##  Chapter 18

Badock's Wood

8.28 p.m.

Mill Tut is situated on the edge of the umbrella of trees, suggesting that just beyond is the start of the woods. The sun had set and the Bronze Age burial mound was lost in darkness. It wasn't even a silhouette against the tall trunks and foliage which formed the backdrop.

Elliott and Jude approached the burial mound on their BMX bikes. The fourteen-year-old friends were fearless and unafraid of the woods, even when the place was shrouded in darkness. They knew of the murder that had taken place there in September 2009, although both boys were too young to remember it happening. They were also aware of the strange stories about the burial mound. During the past few years the place had become legendary, and had been a magnet for the curious, including inquisitive school kids like Elliott and Jude.

Jude skidded to a halt alongside the stainless steel monument, which overlooked the burial mound. He pulled out a pack of ten Embassy Number Ones, and ripped off the cellophane. Elliott pulled up alongside and smirked as his best friend pulled two cigarettes. Jude put one between his lips, and handed the other to Elliott, who placed it in his mouth and struck a match. His eyes crossed as he looked at the flame between the cigarette and his face.

"Are you gonna light it or what?" goaded Jude, who had started smoking the previous week. Tonight was Elliott's initiation to the disgusting habit, which would cost both boys a fortune, and shorten their life expectancy.

They dropped their bikes and sat on the bench next to the monument. Jude laughed when Elliott coughed violently.

"Don't worry mate, you'll get used to it. Don't forget to take back!" said Jude.

"I did take back, that's why I'm coughing,"

Jude finished his cigarette, and irreverently flicked the smouldering butt onto the path. He pulled out an extra strong mint and popped it into his mouth.

Elliott continued to endure his first smoke, and put on a brave face as he pretended to enjoy it.

"If you're gonna be a pussy, just put the thing out," taunted Jude.

"No, no I'm okay. I like it," lied his friend.

The two boys sat on the bench. Elliott was bent forward and examining the glowing embers at the end of the cigarette, whilst Jude looked towards the woods. From the corner of his eye he caught sight of a dim light. He looked to his right, in the direction of the burial mound, and saw a pale blue incandescent glow surrounding the hill.

"Woss-sat?" cried Jude, in his broad Bristolian accent, whilst pointing at the hill.

Elliott looked up, but in the second he lifted his head, the strange glow had vanished. He saw nothing other than the shadows of the woods. When the sun had set, the woods were so dark that even the shadows had shadows. He would never admit it, but he wasn't quite so fearless as his best friend.

"What was it?" asked Elliott, in a quavering voice.

"The hill, it was glowing."

"You're shittin' me."

"No I ain't, it was all lit up!" exclaimed Jude. Excitement apparent in his voice.

The two boys sat in silence. Elliott sensed by Jude's voice that he was not lying.

"Listen," whispered Elliott, "woss that hummin'?"

Neither spoke as they concentrated on a low, almost subsonic hum, which came from the direction of the hill.

The burial mound became masked by the same pale blue glow Jude had just seen. It was like a glowing mist, which shrouded the small hill. The glow was about an inch high and stopped at the slope where the burial mound met the flat ground surrounding it.

"I've never seen nothin' like that before," exclaimed Elliott, dropping the unfinished cigarette by his feet.

"Come on, let's take a look," said Jude, as he stood up and pulled his BMX from the grass.

Elliott hesitated, he wasn't sure whether he wanted to get too close to whatever was making the humming sound and strange glow.

"Come on pussy, he who hesitates," taunted Jude, standing astride his bike.

"Shit! That thing's haunted. You know what they say about this place, let's get out of here."

Jude ignored his friend and cycled away. First he headed away from the burial mound, and after fifty yards he stopped and faced the mound.

"Ready?" called Jude.

Elliott made out the shadowy figure of Jude in the near distance. Then he heard his friend's voice loud and clear.

"GERONIMO......!" shouted Jude, as he pedalled with all his strength towards the hill.

Elliott felt a breeze as Jude whooshed past him heading for the burial mound. He hit the slope at such speed that his bike effortlessly trundled up, and over the grassy mound to the top. Jude pulled a wheelie and was about to descend the other side when his bike stopped. The back wheel was on the ground at the top of the hill, and the front was in the air. Jude sat on his bike gripping the handle bar. He was dead still, like a photograph. Elliott stared at his friend, who was illuminated by the glow, and tried to work out what had happened. Jude had frozen mid-wheelie at the top of the hill. Elliott got on his bike and warily cycled towards the hill, not wanting to get too close.

"What you doin'?" shouted Elliott.

Jude didn't reply. Elliott cycled around the hill, and saw his friend hanging in the air. Jude looked haunting as he remained motionless and lit by the misty glow.

"Stop it, you're scarin' me," called Elliott. He pulled up close to the edge. He saw that the glowing light was made up of a fine mist, as if it was a very pale dry ice effect. His friend had a look upon his face as if he was about to scream.

"Jude, get the fuck off that thing, you're givin' me the shits...... come down."

He dropped his bike to the ground and ran around the hill.

The glowing mist ceased, and Jude continued his wheelie down the other side of the burial mound, screaming as he went. He reached the bottom of the slope, pulled on his front brake too hard and went careering over his bike. The right side of the handle bar dug into his groin as he launched into the air. He landed on his side, and the bike bounced passed him, just missing his head. He writhed and shouted with his hands between his legs, as the pain stabbed through his groin.

"What the fuck just happened?" shouted Elliott.

In the darkness, he made out the form of his friend squirming on the floor. Jude didn't answer. He knelt by his friend's side and placed his hand on his shoulder.

"Are you okay, can you get up?"

He put his arm around Jude, and helped him up into a sitting position. Elliott pulled the box of matches from his pocket and feverishly lit one. Jude's face looked petrified as the sulphurous glow of the match lit his face. His mouth hung open like in Edvard Munch's painting of 'The Scream'. His body shook, and he rocked back and forth.

"Mate, speak to me, what happened up there?"

Jude said nothing. Tears welled and flowed down his face. The match burned out and Elliott pulled another from the box. He lit it and stared into Jude's face. Then he noticed his friend's hair. In the dim light of the match it was hard to tell. He moved the flame closer to Jude's head, without getting too close to burn him.

"Fuck!" yelled Elliott, when his eyes had adjusted to the light.

"Your hair's white!"

Jude ran his fingers through his hair.

"What happened? Talk to me...... you're scaring me," cried Elliott.

Eventually, Jude spoke. It was barely above a whisper, and Elliott struggled to hear what he was saying.

"Did you see them?"

"See who?" asked Elliott.

"People, hundreds of people.... thousands of them, all trying to reach for me."

Elliott shook his head. "I only saw you.... come on, let's get out of here."

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

Forty-seven minutes earlier.

Howie was poised on the edge of his chair in the flat in which he lived alone. His elbows on his knees and his chin on his knuckles, rocking back and forth. He thought about the meeting with Markland.

"I'm such a bloody idiot!" he cursed out loud to nobody.

He was annoyed with himself. He'd handled things badly. He'd gone charging into the man's office, on his very first day at work and had ranted on about his missing friend, who in fact wasn't missing at all.

He should have never admitted to Markland that it was he who'd put the notes through his door. Howie had been acting like a stalker. Over the past few weeks he'd been hanging around Markland's house, waiting to catch a glimpse of him and ask for his help. But whenever he'd seen him leave his house or get out of his car, Howie just didn't have enough nerve to approach him. He was a shy person at the best of times. He'd hoped the notes he put through Markland's letter box would have intrigued the ex-detective enough to make him want to meet Howie at the woods. He'd been wrong.

But what were the odds of Markland working in the same school as he? Howie thought that it had to be more than just coincidence. He was sure that the two of them had been brought together for a reason.

Howie had to get Markland to come to the burial mound in the woods with him to see the things that he'd seen. The hill in the woods had invoked a vision so clear that Howie was certain it was real and meaningful. He'd seen hundreds and hundreds of versions of his friend's face. James Trafford had been everywhere and all around him. Each face appeared a little different to the next. Howie remembered it with crystal clarity. He knew that Markland had experienced much more than he when he'd been in the woods dealing with the Walker murder case. Howie was certain that Markland would be able to interpret what the vision meant, or at least give him some guidance. But Markland had made things very clear that he would never set foot in Badock's Wood again. Howie had seen the look in the man's eye and knew he wasn't going to change his mind. The only way Markland would return to the woods was if he was dragged there against his own free will.

James had done so much for Howie over the years. He'd been there for him when he was a kid. The two of them faced their teenage years together, and experienced the awkwardness of growing up and dealing with girls for the first time. In their twenties they remained close, and James had been a rock for Howie when he'd developed pneumonia and almost died when he was twenty-four. Both Howie's parents had died when he was twenty-one. Other than his sister, he had no family. He considered James his brother. He was also close to James' father. A few years later Howie was honoured to be James' best man. He'd been livid beyond belief with James when the marriage fell apart over the stupid affair. It was the only time he'd felt distant from James. He'd liked Helena, and it had been because of Howie the two of them met in the first place. Eventually, the two men had rekindled their friendship and things were back to the way they used to be.

Howie was intent on helping his best friend, and he was sure there was something a lot more sinister happening than James just losing his memory.

Howie had always been a follower and never a leader. He wasn't a high flyer, or a go-getter. He was unlikely to find a job which would earn him a fortune. It was part of his character he hated, but it was just the way he was made. This was why he needed Markland to guide him and help explain what the burial mound was trying to tell him.

He pondered just how he could entice Markland back to the woods.

Then it came to him.

If he couldn't bring Markland to the hill, he would bring the hill to Markland.

From what he'd read about the hill, he knew that It was a five-thousand-year old pile of soil, in which were buried crumbling bones, broken pottery and other artefacts.

He jumped up, grabbed a long serving spoon from the kitchen, a couple of plastic bags and headed to his car.

Twenty-five minutes later, he pulled up on Doncaster Road. It was dark and he was apprehensive about going into the woods alone. The place gave him the heebie jeebies in day time, and it looked creepier at night.

He got out of the car and followed the street lights to the path, which eventually lead to the entrance of Badock's Wood.

Out of the darkness appeared two boys on bikes pedalling so furiously they made him flinch. He moved to one side to let them pass. He wasn't fast enough, and one of the boys ran into him, fell from his bike and tumbled to the ground.

"Oi, watch what you're doing," snapped Howie. The pedal of the bike had caught his shin and ripped a hole in the leg of his trousers. Both boys were too panicked to speak. The boy who hadn't fallen from his bike continued to Doncaster Road as the other struggled to climb to his feet.

"Slow down kid, what's the rush?" asked Howie rubbing his shin. He looked down upon the boy's face and saw how scared he was. Howie saw that the boy's hair was orange. It took a second to work out that it was actually white. It was the glow from the street light that caused it to look orange.

"There's somethin' in the woods." spluttered the boy. He grappled with his bike, pulled it from the floor, climbed on and followed his friend, who waited for him where the path met Doncaster Road.

Howie watched the two boys disappear as they sped along the road towards Southmead. He paused for a second and thought about what the boy had said. 'There's something in the woods....', to what was he referring? A gang? A ghost? He stared into the woods and considered whether it was wise to go there on his own. He bit into his lip and thought about turning round and heading home. Perhaps he should return when it was daylight.

"I have to do this," he whispered.

He straightened his back, stood tall and marched towards the burial mound. It was so dark he barely made out where the hill was. He passed the stainless steel monument and could see the rise in the ground ahead of him. He looked over his shoulder and checked that he was alone. Whatever had frightened the boys didn't seem to be around now. He quickened his step and scurried to the edge of the burial mound. He pulled the plastic bags from his trouser pocket and the serving spoon from inside his coat.

Howie knelt down, placed his hand on the slope and found the ground to be damp. The grass surrounding the hill was dry. There hadn't been a drop of rain for over a week. Howie dismissed the thought, gripped the spoon and thrust it into the soil. The ground was hard and the spoon bent as he tried to stab it into the earth. He grunted, and moved a few feet up the slope and tried again. The ground was like rock, it was like breaking through hardened clay. Howie had intended to use the spoon to scoop up a few plastic bags of soil. Now, he wished he'd bought a trowel with him instead. He climbed to the top and prodded the ground with his fingers. He found a huge boulder sized rock embedded deep into the top of the burial mound. Around the rock the soil felt a little loose beneath his nails. He scratched away and was satisfied that it was workable. He looked for the serving spoon, and tutted to himself when he realised he'd left it at the base of the slope. He scurried back down, retrieved the spoon. He was annoyed with himself for not bringing a torch. The spoon scraped the top soil, but was only scuffing a few grains. Howie cursed and kicked at the soil with the toe of his boot. A jarring pain shot through his big toe. He'd kicked a rock which was adjacent to the boulder. The smaller rock was about nine inches in circumference and embedded in the soil. Kneeling down and placing his palm against the rock, he found there was a tiny bit of movement. He pushed it back and forth and the rock budged a little more. He wedged the long handle of the spoon beneath the rock, and was able to dislodge it from where it lay and move it to one side. The soil beneath the rock was loose and he was able to scoop it up with his hands. Using the spoon, he dug enough soil to fill one and a half plastic bags. He was about to plunge the spoon in again, when he heard a rumbling noise. It sounded like distant thunder, very deep and very low. It was so low, he felt it more than heard it. He knelt on the stubby grass, and felt the hill vibrate through his knees. The rumbling became a little louder

It's coming from inside, he thought to himself. He bent forward, and placed his ear to the ground. The skin of his cheek made contact with the ground, and a bolt of pain shot through the side of his face. He sat up, rubbed his cheek, and saw that all around was layered in the same incandescent blue glow that the boys had seen.

"Shit!" he cursed. He grabbed the bag of soil, ran down the slope towards the monument and didn't stop until he reached it. Howie turned around and saw that the glow had diminished, and within seconds had faded altogether.

He sat on the bench next to the monument clutching the bag of soil to his chest. He'd got what he came for, his very own little piece of mysterious Bronze Age burial mound. He wasn't quite sure what he was going to do with it, but was sure it would help him solve the mystery of what had happened to his best friend.

##  Chapter 19

Montgomery Crescent

Exeter

13th October

6.45. a.m.

Helena groaned and rolled over. The radio alarm had woken her to a drab Radio Two favourite. She wanted to change the station to one which played something more modern, but hated the awful radio adverts that local stations played. She turned on the light and rolled over to face Jimbo, but he wasn't there. She heard the flush in the bathroom, and he walked back into the room adjusting his boxer shorts. He smiled and lay beside her.

"I don't know why you're getting back in here, it's time to get up. It's almost seven."

"Just five more minutes," said Jimbo, snuggling up to his wife.

She giggled, pushed him aside and climbed out of bed. Helena was happy that he had recovered his cheery character. For the past few weeks he'd been acting as if they'd only just met, and couldn't keep his hands off her.

Although she was pleased that the 'old Jimbo' had returned, she had concerns about his health. She always did. Helena was a bit of a worrier, and was anxious that she'd loose her husband too soon if he didn't look after himself.

He swung his legs out of the bed, sat on the edge and beamed without speaking. She smirked, shook her head and went downstairs to the kitchen to make coffee, mindful not to wake the twins.

He followed her down to the kitchen whilst tying the belt of his dressing gown. He stood behind her, put his arms around her and kissed the back of her neck.

Helena giggled and pushed him away as the kettle came to the boil.

"It's too early, what's the matter with you? Go back up and check the boys, I'll fix breakfast."

She watched him leave the kitchen with a spring in his step. Helena still didn't know what caused her husband to be so happy lately. She smiled as she poured coffee and thought what a lucky woman she was to be married to him.

##  Chapter 20

Coasters Coffee Shop

13th October

6.21 p.m.

Han sat opposite Howie in the small café. Howie tucked into a slice of Rocky Road, whilst Han half-heartedly pushed a slice of Millionaire Shortcake around the place. The two had met to discuss their thoughts about what had happened to James.

The Café was busy and the two men struggled to hear one another over the chit chat of customers, and the hissing cappuccino machine.

Howie hadn't yet told Han about his experiences in Badock's Wood, nor his heated conversation with Markland. He considered whether the right time to tell Han everything was now. He took a sip of tepid coffee and cleared his throat.

"Do you recall a story which hit the headlines a few years ago? The one about the murder in the woods near Southmead?"

Han shook his head. He was half listening and his attention was momentarily elsewhere.

"Which planet have you been on for the past few years? You can't have missed it. It's the story of the hypnotised toddler who helped solve the murder case of a man who was killed in Badock's Wood."

"Oh yeah, yeah, I remember. You don't believe all that hocus pocus junk do you?" said Han, in a disinterested voice.

"Actually I do. I've read the book written by Tom Judd, the hypnotist fella, who was able to get the toddler to give the information to the police."

"So what's this got to do with my James?"

"Well, the night after he'd returned to your room, I visited the woods. I'd just finished reading Judd's book and I thought I might get some answers."

"What sort of answers?"

"To some of the strange things that have happened. You know, his physical appearance with that scar beneath his eye moving to the other side of his face, and also the fact that he's now left handed. Not to mention how his recollections of his life are so different to the memories you and I have of him."

"Did anything happen in the woods?"

"I saw something when I sat on the hill, the same hill where the murder happened."

Han stared at Howie, waiting for him to continue.

"I saw hundreds and hundreds of versions of James' face, all spinning around one another, and no face was the same. I mean, I knew it was James, but each was a little different."

"It sounds like you were drunk," interrupted Han.

"No, I wasn't. I'd not touched a drop."

Han shook his head dismissing what Howie was saying.

"The thing is," added Howie, "The detective who solved the murder case, his name is Garraway, he now works at the school. He's at Compton Wells. Don't you think that's a coincidence?"

Han was confused, and becoming irritated by Howie.

"I don't see the connection with James, I can't see where you're going with this."

"Where I'm going with this? I'll tell you where I'm going with this. The hill in the woods is a Bronze Age burial mound, it's over five thousand years old, and there's something about it. It knows stuff and has secrets. It's what was behind the hypnotised kid helping Garraway solve the murder case. I'm sure it's trying to tell me something."

"Okay, so you think that the woods have some kind of magical powers that can solve the mystery of what happened to my son." stated Han.

"Well, you have to admit, his disappearance and reappearance is a little more than odd."

Han nodded as he digested what Howie was saying.

"The thing is, I don't think I have what it takes to work out what the burial mound is trying to tell me......... so I spoke with Mr Garraway."

"You spoke with the police about my son?"

"He's no longer a policeman, he's a retired detective..... anyway, he was less than forthcoming when I asked him to help....... but don't worry, I have a plan. I have something in mind, and I think I can work on him."

"What kind of plan?" asked Han curiously.

Howie winked and tapped the side of his nose.

"I'm working on something."

Han was tired after a stressful few weeks, and wasn't taking in what Howie was saying.

"All I'm suggesting is that I may find some answers in the woods."

"I'm not too familiar with the story of what happened in the woods, but I don't suppose it would do any harm for you to try and get this detective fella on our side." said Han in a strained voice.

A waiter hovered over their table, waiting to take away their empty plates and cups.

"Okay, do what you need to do and keep me informed," said Han, standing up and putting his jacket on.

Howie dropped a few coins on the table, and followed Han out of the door.

"Don't worry Mr Trafford, we'll sort this out. We'll get to the bottom of it, and get your son back."

"James is back, but I just want the real James home with me." added Han quietly, before the two men went their separate ways.

##  Chapter 21

Compton Wells School

Bristol

October 14th

8.06 a.m.

Howie had come into work early. He'd had trouble sleeping, and was up an hour before his alarm was set. Nervous energy consumed him as if something important was going to happen. He had come up with an idea, a simple plan of how to get Markland to help him find out what was happening with James Trafford.

He'd left the house at just after seven, and brought with him the plastic bag of soil he'd scooped from the burial mound. He'd placed the bag on the front passenger seat whilst he drove in. Having part of the burial mound next to him made him nervy. Although it was only a few measures of earth which came from the hill, he was on edge. It seemed wrong to take it from the woods, almost as if he was robbing someone's grave. He couldn't take his eye of the bag, as if something was going to happen to it. He didn't notice when a set of red traffic lights had turned green. He'd been too busy eyeing the bag, and was brought out of his stupor by the angry honking from the driver behind.

He sat in the small caretakers' office, which was tucked away behind the Avon Building. Between eight and eight thirty he had a bit of time to himself before he opened the school gates. Although, this was not strictly true, as there were lots of things he should be getting on with, but Howie always considered this quiet time of the morning his own.

He'd placed the bag in a drawer in his wooden desk, on which was a stained mug of warm sugary tea. He leaned back in his chair, cleaned his nails with the blade of his pen knife, and thought about his plan. He kicked back in the chair a little further, and rested his foot on the table next to the tea. He continued to pick dirt from beneath his nails when he noticed a faint vibration coming from the top of the table. Howie put his foot back on the floor, cocked his head to one side and listened. He placed his hand next to his tea and felt a very slight tremor, almost like a low level electric current was passing through the table. What was left of the tea in his mug was juddering and a concentric pattern of circles formed in the dregs. He moved his hands around the table and found the vibration to be coming from its centre. He looked beneath, but saw nothing to cause the table to vibrate in such a way. He got to his knees, and crawled under expecting to feel the tremor in the floor, but there was nothing. A faint hum was coming from above his head. He reached up under the table and touched the underside of the drawer.

"Shit, it's coming from the drawer."

He stood up quickly, narrowly missing his head on the underside of the table, and pulled open the drawer. The instant it opened the vibration stopped. He grabbed the bag of soil and found that it was warm to the touch.

What the hell is this stuff?

He glanced at his watch. It was time to open the school gates.

At ten thirty, Howie stood at the end of the corridor leading to the staff room and watched the tired and thirsty teachers trudge their way there. He busied himself with a screwdriver, pretending to tighten the fixings holding the staff notice board to the wall.

"Where is he?" muttered Howie beneath his breath.

Eventually, Markland entered the corridor accompanied by Anton Bueller. The two of them took a few minutes to quietly discuss something, before entering the staff room.

Go on, get in there thought Howie, mentally urging Markland into the staff room. Eventually, the two men nodded to each other, as if to signify that they both agreed on whatever it was they were talking about. Anton opened the door and gestured to Markland to go ahead of him into the staff room.

The instant the door shut, Howie scurried along the corridor, and headed to his office behind the Avon Building, grabbed the bag of soil and made his way to Markland's office. The door was ajar, and Howie nudged it open and looked around the room. Markland shared his office with Dudley Thomas and Sue Blackwell. Howie was relieved when he saw that the room was empty. He stepped in and considered what to do next. He hadn't given much thought as to how to execute his plan of action.

He noticed a small Yucca plant which was close to Markland's desk.

Perfect, he thought, brushing past the back of Markland's chair and making his way to the plant in the corner. He caught the sleeve of Markland's jacket, which hung from the back of the chair. The jacket fell to the ground in a heap.

"Shit," cursed Howie. He picked up the jacket and placed it back on the chair. He checked his watch. Time wasn't doing him any favours. It was ten forty, and the staff coffee break would be over in five minutes. He knelt down by the plant, and was about to empty the soil into the pot when he was struck with a better idea. He rummaged through the pockets of Markland's jacket. In the two outside pockets where various things including Markland's wallet, mobile and keys. He slipped his hand into the inside pocket and found three pens. He checked the outside breast pocket and found it to be empty.

"Yes," he whispered. He darted to the door, looked up and down the corridor and saw that the coast was clear.

He grabbed the bag of soil, and noticed how warm and damp it was. It even smelt damp. He grabbed a handful of soil, and carefully sprinkled it in the breast pocket of Markland's suit jacket. He checked his watch, and then put another two handfuls of soil into the pocket. He wiped away loose earth on the outside of the jacket, and with his foot he scuffed a few grains of soil which had fallen to the floor, and spread them away from Markland's chair. He held his breath and stood still, as voices echoed along the corridor.

"Shit," said Howie, and wondered what to do. He didn't want to be seen in Markland's office as he had no excuse for being there. The Scottish voice became louder as Markland approached his office.

Markland entered his office followed by Sue Blackwell to find Howie balanced on the window ledge, whilst fiddling with the top hinge.

"Hello Mr Doyle, I don't think health and safety would be happy with your maintenance techniques," said Markland, in a semi-patronising tone.

"Oh, hello Mr Garraway. You're probably right," replied Howie, with a nervous laugh.

He climbed down from the window ledge, and wiped his hand in a rag he'd pulled from his trouser pocket.

"I'd had ticket to check out a sticky window in room 1.21b," added Howie.

"The window's fine," replied Sue Blackwell, in an abrupt tone.

Markland strolled out of the room, and looked at the plastic plaque above the door.

"You've got the wrong room, this is room 1.15," said Markland, leaning back and reading the number above the top of the office door.

"Well that would explain why I can't find anything wrong with the window I guess," replied Howie, putting the rag back into his pocket.

He brushed past Sue as he went to leave the room.

"Is that yours?" said Sue, pointing to the plastic carrier bag on the table.

"No, it's not mine," stuttered Howie.

Markland noticed droplets of perspiration on his forehead.

Sue picked up the bag, looked inside, frowned and then threw it in the waist bin.

"Looks like it must have had a pot plant in it," said Sue, without giving it another thought. "Perhaps it was Dudley's. He loves a bit of gardening," she added.

Howie nodded and left the room. Markland watched him as he disappeared from view.

"Sue, what do you make of Mr Doyle?"

"He's okay. I mean he's fine at his job, but he's not the cleverest of men. The kids love him, they think he's great."

Markland nodded thoughtfully and glanced at this watch.

"You'll have to excuse me, I've a meeting at eleven. It's my first one with parents of an absentee student."

"Oh, good luck. Who's the pupil?"

"Victoria Kilby."

"She's quite a handful, that girl."

"So I understand. I've been reading up on her. A repeat offender," said Markland, whilst thumbing through a wallet of notes.

"I don't think her parents have a clue about her," added Sue.

"Don't worry, I'll go easy on them."

He put on his jacket, straightened his tie and left the office shutting the door behind him. He made his way to reception, and was almost knocked sideways by two eleven year olds who were late for class.

"Slow down lads, you'll cause an accident." Markland's words fell upon deaf ears.

He approached the school reception desk which this week was manned by year eight student Bunty Matthews. Markland was making an effort to remember as many pupils' names as possible, even though it was only his second day at the school.

"Good morning Bunty. I'm expecting two visitors. Mr and Mrs Kilby."

"They're outside the main entrance sir, I think they've gone out for a smoke."

Markland rolled his eyes. He abhorred smoking, and hated when it happened around children.

"They looked a bit nervous sir," added Bunty.

Markland nodded and made his way to the entrance. He saw Victoria Kilby's parents next to the bicycle parking rack, and both were drawing on a cigarette. He lifted his hand to push the door open, but stopped in his tracks. He felt a twitching in the left hand side of his chest. It was like a trapped nerve. The twitching became more intense and turned into a dull throb. Beads of perspiration formed on his brow. He was overcome by nausea, and had to support himself against the door frame. Within a matter of seconds, the feeling had passed, but left him lightheaded. He ambled back to the reception desk.

"Are you okay Mr Garraway? You look pale."

"I think so, but would you mind fetching me a glass of water please?"

Bunty jumped out of her seat, hurried to the water fountain, filled a plastic cup and rushed back whilst trying not to spill water. He thanked her and took a few sips. The nausea and light headedness left him and he felt better. He looked up to see Victoria's parents standing behind him in reception.

"Hello, you must be Mr and Mrs Kilby," said Markland, with an outstretched hand. Mr Kilby smiled and took his hand.

"If you would like to follow me," said Markland, making his way to the breakout room which was next door to the headmaster's office. Markland put a 'meeting in progress' sign on the door and let the parents in. Markland decided not to sit behind the desk. Instead, he pulled three chairs together in a huddle.

After exchanging a few pleasantries, and the offer of refreshments, Markland began with a serious tone.

"I've called you in today to discuss your daughter's unauthorised absences," said Markland, whilst leaning forward with Victoria Kilby's file in his hand.

"We really had no idea this was happening," said her mother, in a defensive tone of voice. She sat to Markland's right and her husband was to his left.

"It's come as a bit of a shock to us," added her father.

"I understand my predecessor, Mr Lawford, wrote to you about Victoria's attendance last term, and according to his notes he didn't receive any correspondence from you in return."

"We didn't receive a letter from anyone. We didn't know anything about Vicky bunking off until you emailed yesterday," said Mr Kilby, in a less than convincing voice.

"Okay, well you are here with me now and that's the main thing."

Markland opened the file, and as he did he became overwhelmed by another wave of nausea, which was worse than the one he'd experienced earlier.

"Would either of you mind if I opened a window," said Markland, mopping his brow with a tissue.

He swung it open, letting the nip of the October morning cool his face. With one hand resting on the window ledge, he placed his other over his mouth to fight the urge to be sick. He was relieved when it quickly passed. The throbbing in the left side of his chest returned, and this time it was like a low electrical charge. It wasn't awful, but it was unsettling. He took a few seconds to compose himself then sat down and thumbed through the file searching for his predecessor's notes. He was about to speak to Mrs Kilby. Markland gasped and dropped the file to his lap when he saw she was no longer there. In her place was a man in his late twenties. Markland opened his mouth to speak when he noticed that Mr Kilby was also no longer there. In his place was someone who appeared to be a twin of the man sat where Mrs Kilby had been sitting. It took a couple of seconds for Markland to work out who both men were. They were both the person Howie the caretaker had told him about yesterday. He recognised them from the pictures Howie had shown him on his smartphone. Markland was speechless. He tried to stammer a few words, but was unable to spit anything out. He tried to recall the name of the man Howie had told him about. The man who'd gone missing and had reappeared under the strangest of circumstances.

James Trafford, thought Markland, as the name Howie had told him sprung to mind.

The man sitting where Mrs Kilby had been, raised his finger, placed it over his mouth and gestured Markland not to speak.

"Don't waste your time searching for me. I'm somewhere neither you, nor Howie will find me," said the man on Markland's left, who had a contented smile upon his face.

"Don't listen to him. He's stolen my life, and my identity. You and Howie need to get me back to where I belong," said the man sitting to Markland's left.

The two identical men embarked upon an argument. Their voices faded and everything around Markland became fuzzy. The throbbing in his chest intensified, nausea returned and then everything went black.

The next thing of which Markland was aware was Jodie Standwick, the science teacher, hovering over him. Jodie, was also one of the school's trained first aid staff.

"He's coming round, he's waking up," she said, in her quiet Bristolian accented voice.

Markland lay on his back, with an upturned chair next to him and Victoria Kilby's files scattered alongside him. Both Victoria's parents watched Jodie fuss over him, and adjust a pillow behind his head.

"How are you?" asked Jodie.

Markland groaned, rubbed his forehead and didn't answer.

He looked up at the parents and tried to recall what had happened.

"You fainted," said Mrs Kilby.

"I don't think Mr Garraway is well enough to meet with you today, he'll have to arrange another appointment," said Jodie.

Both parents looked relieved. Jodie stood up and opened the door for them. After they'd gone, she knelt alongside Markland.

"A paramedic has been called and is on the way."

"No, no I don't need an ambulance, I was just a little off colour, that's all. I'll be fine."

Jodie shook her head, "It's better to be safe."

Ten minutes later a paramedic was checking him over. Markland looked pale and confused. He recalled what had happened before he'd passed out.

The paramedic put away the tools of his trade, and clicked shut his case.

"Your blood pressure was a little low, but it's okay now," said the paramedic.

"I'm feeling a lot better thank you."

The paramedic helped him to his feet. He noticed soil had come from the breast pocket of Markland's jacket and brushed it away with his hand.

Markland looked down at his pocket, pulled it open, squinted his eyes and peered inside.

"How did that get there?"

He took off his jacket, turned it upside down and shook it. Enough soil to fill an egg cup fell from the pocket. He recalled the strange throbbing in the left side of his chest.

"Do you think you should go home?" asked Jodie.

"No thank you, I think I'll be fine. I'll take things steady for the rest of the day, but I'm sure I'm okay to be here."

"I disagree," said the paramedic. "I think you should go home and rest."

Markland raised his hand in the air, and gestured to the paramedic that he was staying at the school.

"Like I said, I'm fine and I'll take things easy, but if I continue to have any moments of light headedness, I'll be sure to go home."

The paramedic shook his head, picked up his medical case and bid Markland and Jodie farewell.

"Miss Standwick, would you happen to know where the caretakers' office is?"

"It's behind the Avon Building. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, nothing important. I thought I'd pay Mr Doyle a visit."

"Why, do you know each other?"

"You could say that," replied Markland, as he made his way to Doyle's office.

##  Chapter 22

Markland Garraway's Home

Bristol

14th October

12.15 p.m.

Markland held a cup of coffee and looked out of the kitchen window watching his wife, Joan, rake the lawn.

He'd retired from the Avon and Somerset Constabulary at the end of the previous week. His new life would take some getting used to. He had no master plan, other than a few nice holidays booked for the following year. The main thing he wanted to do was to make up for lost time with his wife. The job of a detective meant he'd spent little time with her, and had missed out a lot with his daughters when they were little girls. After he'd been promoted to Detective Superintendent, he was spending even less time at home. He wasn't going to make the same mistake with his grandchildren. Now he was retired, they could sleep over for the night, allowing both his daughter's some quality time with their husbands, and more importantly allow himself and Joan time with their grandkids.

He placed the empty coffee mug in the sink, walked to the back door and put on his Wellington boots.

It was a crisp October morning and although it was just past midday, the sun was already making its way lower to the west.

"Do you need a hand?" called Markland.

"You can pick those leaves up and drop them over there," replied Joan, leaning on the handle of the rake."

Markland watched a little condensation huff from her mouth as she spoke. He smiled, bent forwards and scooped the leaves.

Joan was fanatical about gardening. The summer had proved just how talented she was. One weekend in July, she'd opened her garden and had over five hundred visitors. The Bristol Post had featured it as one of the top twenty gardens in Bristol. Markland had missed it all, he'd been working the entire weekend.

"You've not given much thought to retirement have you?" asked Joan.

Markland picked damp leaves from his hands and considered his answer.

"No, I haven't. Although, I would like to play cricket again, if anyone would have me."

"Well that won't happen until next year, what are you going to do between now and then?"

"Oh, I don't know. I was working up to the very last hour last week, and you're right, I've not given retirement an awful lot of thought. I think I'll spend the next couple of months acclimatising to things."

"As long as you don't get under my feet. I've been used to having the house virtually to myself since I can remember," laughed Joan, raking the next load of leaves.

"I'm looking forward to Jessica staying over this weekend. It'll be great spending time with her."

"I doubt if she'll know who you are, you've always been working when the grandkids are here."

Markland strolled over from the compost pile, took the rake from his wife's hand and held her close.

"Well, now she'll have time to find out who her granddad is, she's only three after all."

"No, she's two, it's Lauren whose three."

Markland put his finger over Joan's lips to shush her and then kissed her.

They sat on the garden bench and Joan shivered as a chilly breeze rattled the trees. They looked to the sky and watched rain laden clouds bully their way in from the east.

"Well that's put an end to my gardening plans," said Joan, as raindrops fell.

"You're not going to let a little rain stop you?"

Before Joan opened her mouth to answer, the drops turned into a full on rainstorm. They giggled like school kids and ran from the bench towards the house. Both battled to get in through the backdoor at the same time. Joan made it to the dry of the kitchen before Markland.

"I've missed you," said Markland, wiping away the rain from Joan's brow.

"I'll tell you what, I'll make us one of my legendary cheese and ham omelettes," said Joan.

"No you won't. Dry yourself off, get changed and I'll take us to The Ship for a spot of lunch."

"You're on," replied Joan, making her way upstairs.

I think I'm going to enjoy this retirement lark, thought Markland, struggling to take off his Wellington boots.

Joan sighed, as she climbed the stairs. She had spent so much time in the house on her own, she found it difficult to adapt to having her husband at home all the time.

##  Chapter 23

Compton Wells School

Bristol

Howie Doyle's Office

12.30 p.m.

Howie sat alone in his small office, surrounded by half used pots of paint and broken sports equipment. He ate a sandwich, whilst flicking through the previous months' edition of Top Gear. He was about to take a sip of tea when he heard a knock at the door, followed by a voice.

"Hello Mr Doyle, may I come in?"

"Shit," muttered Howie when he heard it was Markland.

He placed his mug on the table, stood up and opened the door.

"Ah, good you're here. We need to talk."

Howie nervously opened the door wider and allowed Markland to enter.

"Is there something wrong?"

Markland was an expert at reading body language and making a judgement just by the tone of someone's voice. Years of working as a detective had taught him, and now it was like a sixth sense.

"You tell me Mr Doyle. Should there be?"

Howie eyed Markland apprehensively. Had something happened? Had his plan worked?

"It seems to me Howie that somehow you've managed to embroil me in your affairs. Today is the second day I've set foot in this school, and already things are happening. Things that I am not at all happy about, but they're things I suspect I can do very little about."

"Do you know something about James?" asked Howie excitedly.

"Nothing more than what you told me yesterday."

Although Markland remained calm, Howie sensed an underlying irritation in his demeanour.

"I won't go into detail now, but as I've already said, things are happening. Things which are reminiscent of the Ben Walker murder case. Things, that remind me of when the hill in Badock's Wood was communicating with me."

Markland thrust his hand into the breast pocket of his jacket, and pulled out a sprinkling of soil which he scattered over what was left of Howie's lunch.

"Hey, what did you do that for? I was eating that."

"Where did that come from I wonder?" said Markland, rubbing the soil into the sandwich.

Howie struggled for words.

"It's okay Mr Doyle. I think I can guess. It's a teeny tiny bit of that burial mound. You're quite a resourceful young man it seems."

"Okay, okay," said Howie, with his hands in the air as if he was about to surrender.

Markland pulled the other chair from under the table and sat down.

"Listen Mr Doyle. What you've done was underhanded. I made it very clear that I wanted nothing to do with you and your missing friend."

Howie attempted to interrupt, but was stopped before he began.

"The thing is Mr Doyle, I don't think I have much choice. I think the burial mound, or the hill as I've always referred to it, is calling me again. It began last night when I was at home."

"What happened?" asked Howie, leaning forward in his chair.

"That's for me to know, and for you to ponder over."

Howie lowered his head.

"Mr Doyle, now that I'm involved, I doubt whether I'll be able to escape this thing until it's over....., no thanks to you."

"I couldn't think of anyone else to turn to for help," said Howie, with reticence.

"I appreciate why you came to me. But you must remember that It's taken an awful long time getting my life back together. The job I have here may not seem much to you, but to me it's a step forward to aid my recovery. I don't suppose Tom Judd's book adequately reflects the shit I've been through since I became involved in the murder of Ben Walker. It didn't sum up the fact I'd lost most of my friends, or that I've had a mental breakdown, or that I am a recovering alcoholic, or that I'd suffered the most crippling arthritis that I was close to killing myself, or that, and this is the most devastating part of what happened with the Ben Walker case,........ my wife, of over thirty years of marriage left me. She couldn't cope with things any longer. She couldn't cope with me, or what I'd become. So, Mr Doyle, this is why I will never return to the hill in the woods, and this is why I didn't want to be involved with your friend's circumstances."

Howie sat with his head down, staring at the patterns on the wooden table and was glad when Markland had finished speaking.

"There's one more thing I'd like to add."

Howie sighed, and lifted his head.

"It seems I have a chance at reconciling my marriage. Joan and I have started speaking again and we've even had a meal together. It's early days, and things are by no means anywhere near perfect," said Markland, fixing a steely stare upon Howie.

"If you, or your friend James, or any of the hocus pocus that is sure to come along affects my future with my wife, I can assure you that your life won't be worth living."

Howie nodded to signify that he understood.

"So does this mean that you're going to help me Mr Garraway?"

"It means, Mr Doyle, that I don't believe I have much choice in the matter."

Markland checked his watch, stood up and made his way to the door.

"Speak to James, and his father, and tell them that I'll meet with them. I'll decide how involved I'll get after we've all spoken."

"Thank you Mr Garraway, thank you," said Howie, as Markland disappeared out of the door.

##  Chapter 24

Han Trafford's home

Bristol

5.24 p.m.

"That was Howie," said Han, placing the phone back on the charger, "it seems he has someone on our side."

James nodded thoughtfully and didn't answer.

"Listen to me. If we're going to get to the bottom of this, I'm going to need you to be a little more engaging. Since you've been back, you've done very little other than mope around the house at my expense," snapped Han.

"This isn't my house."

"Too right it's not, it's my house. At least the James I used to know helped out and was looking for a job."

"I mean I have a house and I should be there. I have a job too."

"I know, I know...... with your twins and your wife Helena the PhD student in Exeter," sighed Han, with a hint of defeat. "What do you do for a living when you're in Exeter?"

"I drive a coach. The Exeter to London route............. what happens next?"

"Howie's going to arrange a meeting with an ex-detective. It seems he may be able to help. He'll call back later."

"A detective, are the police involved?"

"He's an ex-detective. You may know of him. He's a bit of an international star."

"What's his name?"

"Markland Garraway. He's the one who solved that murder case a few years ago, the one when the three-year-old kid provided evidence."

James shrugged.

"Don't you remember?"

He shook his head.

"Which planet have you been on for the past few years? It made worldwide news."

"I've been in Exeter," replied James, in a nonplussed tone.

"Okay, okay. Let's wait for Howie to call back and we'll see what the detective can do for us," said Han.

"Ex-detective, you said, so he's not one anymore."

Han nodded and went to the kitchen, leaving James alone in the lounge.

There were so many things James didn't understand and couldn't explain. There was one thing which bore on his mind, and that was his health. When he had been in Exeter with Helena, he had had a few ailments. Nothing that couldn't be treated, but all the same they were conditions which couldn't be ignored. His illness came with symptoms that would become serious if not dealt with. He had also worn contact lenses. He needed them for driving. Without them he would be a danger to himself and others. But since he'd been in Bristol with his father, his eyesight was pretty much perfect and he had no need for contacts or glasses. He'd turned up in his father's house without any of his medication and had found he hadn't needed it. Just like everything else happening around him, it made no sense whatsoever. James was doubting his sanity. Had he ever married Helena? Was he a father? Did he live in Exeter? The evidence was stacking up to suggest that perhaps things weren't as they seemed. When he'd inexplicably turned up at his father's house in mid-September, he was certain of who he was, where he came from and pretty much everything else about his life. But now, almost a month later, he wasn't sure about anything anymore.

##  Chapter 25

Fifteen Montgomery Crescent, Exeter

Robert Masterson's home

5.35 p.m.

Robert Masterson watched from behind his curtain, as Helena pushed the buggy along the road. She stopped outside number seventeen, and fished her keys from her purse before opening the gate. Her twin boys fidgeted as she struggled to manoeuvre the buggy along the narrow path to the front door of her house.

"Good afternoon, or should I say good evening?"

Helena watched her neighbour leaving his house. In one hand he held a briefcase, and in the other he jingled his car keys.

"Oh, hi Robert, how are you?"

"I'm good thanks. Do you need a hand? It looks like you're having a spot of bother."

"I can manage, but thanks for offering."

Masterson stood by his car and watched Helena awkwardly pull the buggy over the front step and backwards through the front door. The back wheels had jammed, and she cursed beneath her breath.

"Are you sure you don't some help?"

Helena's dark hair had fallen across her eyes, and he saw she was flustered. She tried again to pull the buggy into the house but couldn't.

"I don't normally have a problem," she replied breathlessly as she continued to struggle, "but the back wheel seems to be stuck."

He put his case on the garden wall, and calmly walked along the path. He bent forward, lifted the front of the buggy and released the back wheels, which had become wedged against the bottom of the door frame. Helena dragged the buggy into the hall and let out a sigh.

"Thank you Robert."

An awkward few seconds lingered between them until Masterson spoke.

"Don't forget my offer, it still stands."

Helena blushed and shook her head. Masterson sensed her unease.

"I've already explained what happened between us was a mistake. We shouldn't have let things go that far."

Masterson moved forward and stood in the hall.

"But it did happen, and there's no denying it. You told me you'd had enough of him."

"I know. But things are better now, things have improved. You'd caught me at a vulnerable moment and I should have been stronger than I was."

"What's better between the two of you? This time last month you were sick of the sight of him. You opened your heart to me. You told me he paid you no attention and was boring. I remember your exact words, 'life with him is like a conveyer belt of misery'. That's what you told me."

"I know what I said, and I shouldn't have told you about my problems. I don't know why he's changed, but he has. It's as if we've just started over again."

"Too little too late," grunted Masterson.

The twins woke in the buggy.

"Sorry, but I have to be getting on with things. The boys need me."

Masterson nodded, and backed out of the hallway.

"Don't forget what I said. You know how I feel about you."

Helena squeezed past the buggy, which took up most of the hall, and was about to shut the door, when she saw her husband walking along Montgomery Crescent.

"Hi Helena, hi Robert," called Jimbo, who was oblivious to the awkwardness between his wife and their neighbour.

"Robert helped me get the twin's buggy through the door. The wheels were jammed."

Masterson nodded and headed towards his car.

"I must rush, or I'll be late for the evening shift."

"Is everything okay?" asked Jimbo.

"Everything's fine, I'm just a bit flustered after getting this thing stuck," lied Helena, pointing to the buggy. "The quicker they're out of this the better."

She put her arms around him, pulled him close and kissed his neck. Helena kissed her husband and her eyes met with Masterson's as he closed the car door.

"It was a good thing Robert was here to help," said Jimbo, as Masterson's car disappeared from view.

##  Chapter 26

Howie Doyle's flat

Bristol

16th October

7.33 p.m.

The four men were shoehorned into the small lounge. Han and James sat on the two seater settee, Markland sat on an office style swivel chair and Howie leant against the wall.

James stood up, walked alongside Howie and looked out of the window. He saw Markland's black Audi A5 parked in Howie's drive.

"Nice car," said James beneath his breath, before sitting back down next to his father.

Howie had already introduced Markland to both Han and James, who viewed him with an air of suspicion.

"So, you're the local celebrity, Bristol's very own paranormal policeman," said Han, in a tone which was less than friendly.

"Mr Trafford, please be respectful and at least have an open mind," said Howie.

"And may I add that I didn't ask to come here today, I was, well....., let's just say I was invited," added Markland.

"Would you mind telling me a little more about you, and exactly what happened to you? I know it was all over the news a few years ago, but I must be one of the few who didn't really take an awful lot of notice," asked Han.

Markland sighed. His face aired an 'if I must' expression.

"Okay, and I'll keep this brief. A young man called Ben Walker was murdered on a Bronze Age burial mound in Badock's Wood, which is between Southmead and Henleaze. His girlfriend was left in a coma and was unable to help us with our enquiries. The burial mound on which Ben died began to communicate with me."

"Communicate? How was it able to do that?" asked Han.

"Just believe me Mr Trafford, it did communicate. It appears that the precise time Ben's life ended, his spirit was captured within a baby boy at the time he was born. Ben's spirit was nurtured within the growing boy, who, when he reached the age of around three years old, was able to convey Ben's words through hypnotism. He gave information, which led to the arrest of his killer. But it wasn't only the information provided by Ben, it was also information which came to me directly from the hill."

"The hill?" asked Han.

"Yes, the hill. It's the burial mound in the woods. A small hill."

Han nodded.

"I've told Mr Trafford that I've also been to the burial mound, and it communicated with me about James, although I don't have the same ability as you Mr Garraway, which is why I've asked for your help," added Howie.

Markland nodded.

"It appears that I've somehow become involved with whatever has happened to James. I have reluctantly agreed to see whether I can help. I cannot promise anything, nor can I let myself become too involved. My past experiences with what goes on in those woods nearly ruined me."

Han nodded. He found himself warming to Markland. He sensed sincerity in the man.

"Well that's me in a nutshell. What about you Mr Trafford?"

Han sat back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, searching for inspiration.

"Okay, but first of all, please call me Han. There are two Traffords in this room, so it may get a little confusing."

Markland nodded and signified for Han to continue.

"My son, James, has been living with me for the past few years since he and his wife, Helena, split up and divorced."

Markland sensed he was about to hear the exact story that Howie had told him, but let Han carry on.

"How long has James been living with you?"

"Just over two years,...... no hang on a second. It's two and a half now."

Markland eyed James shuffling uncomfortably on the settee next to his father. He was protesting without speaking. He had hardly said a word since Markland had turned up.

"James, I'd like to hear your side of the story, but not until I've spoken with your father," said Markland, before nodding to Han to continue.

"James has been sleeping in the same bedroom he did when he was a boy. I guess it's awkward for him being back at home with his dad."

"I presume it's also awkward for you too."

Han shrugged his shoulders in a 'but what else could I do?' manner.

"James has been struggling with low mood, he'd lost his job and he misses Helena terribly. When he'd found out she'd moved to France and was pregnant, he was devastated. Like it was the final nail in the coffin."

"How long ago was that?"

"About two years ago. Helena's not kept in touch with anyone from Bristol. She's headed away and started a new life."

"Tell me about what happened when James was missing. I understand that no one saw him for four days."

"That's right. He was missing from the fourteenth to the seventeenth of September. I reported it to the police."

"Did anything seem different about James before he went missing? Did you and he have any arguments or disagreements?"

"Not particularly. The two of us find it difficult to share the same house. I'm always on eggshells, and I know James feels the same."

"So, when did you find out he was missing?"

"On the morning of the fourteenth. He'd gone to bed the night before. He went up before I did. I heard him shuffling around in his room. I locked the house and went to bed just before midnight."

Han paused for reflection and prepared to continue his account of James' disappearance.

"I woke around four in the morning. I'd had an awful night's sleep. By six I was awake, sipping coffee and watching BBC news."

"You hadn't heard James moving around during the night?"

"No, and what was really odd, the front door was locked from the inside so there was no way he could have got out and locked it after he'd left."

"Could he not have gone through the back door?"

"I have a sliding patio door which leads to the garden. That was also locked from the inside. If he had gone out through the garden, he would have been stuck there all night. There's no exit from the garden to the road. The only way to leave is through the house, it's the only way out."

Markland nodded thoughtfully. He was reverting back to detective mode.

"I knocked on his bedroom door around half past eight. I was going to offer him coffee. He didn't answer. I knocked a few more times, then opened his door and this was the first I knew he was missing. I looked around the house, which isn't very big, it's only a two-bedroom home with a small utility room, and he was nowhere."

"When did you contact the police?"

"Not until the following day. I'd rung all his friends who were in his contact list on his phone."

"He left his phone behind?"

"Yeah, and his keys, wallet, coat and pretty much everything. It was like he'd vanished."

"What did the police say?"

"They were very nice, very helpful, but it was clear that James wasn't a priority."

Markland nodded. He was aware of how Avon and Somerset dealt with missing persons' reports.

"Okay Han. I must say that what you're telling me is intriguing, but what I'm interested in hearing is your account of how James returned. I understand from Howie that he appeared in a dream?"

"It wasn't a dream, it was a bloody nightmare. I had the exact same nightmare the next two nights. I was being suffocated in my bed, by an intruder pushing a pillow over my face. Both dreams were identical. I even awoke at the same time. It was uncanny. Then on the fourth night that James was missing, I started to have the same nightmare again, but this time it was different. I was ready."

"Ready? Ready for what?" asked Markland.

"Ready to fight back."

"So you could control the dream?"

"I guess so, I was in control of my actions."

"What happened in the final nightmare which was different to the others?"

"Like I just said, this time I was ready. I saw the intruder in my room, I could make him out reaching for a pillow which lay on the floor beside my bed. But, before he suffocated me I was up and out of the bed. We fought and I punched him. I mean, I really punched him in the dream. I've never hit anyone so hard in my life, and it hurt my knuckles."

"Do you make a habit of hitting people?"

"No, I don't! Anyway, the next thing I knew, I was awake in my bed. It was just after three and I felt a lump lying across my body. My eyes got used to the darkness, and I made out the shape of a person lying sideways across the bed. He was unconscious. I managed to get out of bed without waking him, ran downstairs and found something to tie him with. When I'd secured him I saw who it was......."

"It was your son James on the bed," interrupted Markland.

Han lowered his head and nodded. James continued to shuffle awkwardly as he listened to his father recall what had happened that night.

"So, what you're saying is that James had burst out of your nightmare."

"No, not exactly, I hit him out of my nightmare. And that Mr Garraway, is how my son returned."

Markland stood up, stretched and walked towards the window.

"I assume the two of you had a lot to discuss after you'd hit him out of your nightmare?"

Han shrugged. "We were both confused. We still are. But that's just the beginning. It's what has happened since which is equally as strange. James' account of the last fifteen years of his life is nothing like mine."

"Okay Han, let's talk about that a little later. Right now, I would like to hear James' account of what happened that night."

Until now, James had hardly spoken. He'd barely muttered a few words. He'd not even said hello to Markland, who'd sensed his apprehension. Markland knelt to James' level and sat on his haunches.

"James, would you mind telling me what happened to you."

James sat back in the settee and rubbed his forehead. His eyes reflected a broken man. Markland noticed that he was shaking.

"Take your time James, there's no rush."

"Just tell him what you told me," said Han.

Markland ignored his father.

"Whenever you're ready James."

"I wasn't missing. Not for four days and not even for one."

"Well it seems that a lot of people were worried about you."

James shrugged.

"Okay, I'd like to hear your account of how you ended up on your father's bed."

"My father's account of the nightmares is correct. You see Mr Garraway, I too was having nightmares. I'd had the same one two nights in a row, just as dad. In my dream I was the intruder, it was me who was suffocating the man in the bed. And that's where the dream would end and when I'd wake up, soaked in sweat."

"Where were you when you woke?"

"At home, in bed."

"And where's home? Which bed did you wake up in?"

"My own bed, in my house in Exeter. The house I share with my wife."

"And your wife is....?"

"Helena."

"Is this the same Helena that your father tells me who you are now divorced from? The same Helena who now lives in France?"

James nodded.

"So twice you had the nightmare, and twice you woke up next to your wife. Tell me about the third nightmare."

"It was just like my father said. We fought in the nightmare, he hit me and the next thing I knew I was awake on his bed. He'd tied me up so I couldn't move and my head ached from where he'd hit me."

Markland stood up, and as he did, he heard his knee crack. He rubbed the pain and stretched his leg.

"What you're both telling me sounds incredulous, but that doesn't mean that I don't believe you. I've experienced enough strange things to have a very open mind, as I expect you already know James."

"Sorry Mr Garraway. Howie and my father have told me about what happened to you when you were a policeman, but news of what happened to you didn't make it as far as Exeter."

"Didn't make it to Exeter!" exclaimed Howie, "I know we've already spoken about this, but Markland's story was the biggest thing to hit the news worldwide. I can't believe you didn't hear about it."

"I didn't hear about it, Helena has never mentioned it, nor has anyone I know. None of my work colleagues have ever spoken about you Mr Garraway."

"What do you do for a living James?"

"I drive a coach between Exeter and London."

Markland nodded.

"Okay James, I guess not everyone got to hear about what happened to me. To be honest with you, I find that rather refreshing to know......... tell me about your home life, tell me about Helena."

"She's a PhD student at Exeter Uni. She's just started her final year. We have twin boys, Josh and Laurence.

"How long have you lived in Exeter?"

"We moved from Bristol just over three years ago. We relocated for Helena's degree."

"Do you have many friends in Exeter?"

"We have a few, but not many. I'm busy with work, and Helena spends so much time researching for her degree we don't have a lot of spare time to socialise, nor do we have a lot of spare money. Driving a coach isn't the best paid career and Helena's scholarship just about keeps the wolf from the door."

Markland smiled, remembering the days when he was a young and underpaid policeman struggling to make ends meet. His smile disappeared and looked James in the eye.

"I understand there are some other oddities," said Markland, referring to the scar beneath James' eye.

"Tell me how did you get that scar?"

"A dog bite"

"I also understand that Howie and your father are certain that the scar should be beneath you left eye."

"That's what they tell me."

"And, more importantly..........," Markland paused and considered what he was about to say, "and more importantly, I understand that as far as you're concerned, Howie Doyle died when he was a teenager."

James lifted his head, glanced at Howie and nodded.

"He was killed in a road traffic accident."

"Would you mind elaborating?"

"It was him..... my father, he killed Howie. Howie Doyle was my best friend. We'd known each other since infants' school, and now he's dead."

"But James, look over there, Howie is here in the room with us, how do you explain that?"

"I can't explain anything. None of this makes any sense. He certainly looks like an older version of Howie, and he knows things that only the two of us would remember, but he definitely died. I saw it happen,....... I was there."

James couldn't stop his tears.

"Okay, I think it's time for a break," said Markland, checking his watch. It was just after eight, but it seemed a lot later.

"I'll get the kettle on suggested Howie, I could do with a brew."

Five minutes later, the atmosphere was a little lighter, as the four men drank tea and exchanged in small talk.

"So, what is it I should know about you?" asked James, directing his question to Markland.

"Basically, this man is living proof that life exists after death," answered Howie, as he nonchalantly dunked a biscuit into his tea.

"Let's save the intricate details of my story for another time shall we? I've told you what you need to know."

Howie stood up, strolled to the bookshelf and handed James a hardback edition of 'The Man Who Caught His Killer'.

"You should read this," said Howie. James flicked through the book and stopped at the pages which showed photographs of the burial mound in Badock's Wood.

"Is this the hill?" asked James. Markland nodded.

"So you published a book about what happened?"

"He didn't write it. Tom Judd, the hypnotist did," replied Howie, on Markland's behalf.

James looked at the front cover and nodded.

Markland placed his empty mug on the window ledge and sat back down on the swivel chair.

"So your account of your childhood appears to be the same as Howie's, up until you reached the age of about fourteen, because according to you, he died. I presume you've no idea why you and he have such a different account of the last fifteen or so years."

James placed the book on the floor.

"Perhaps you can tell me what's happened in your life since Howie died."

"I watched my father mow Howie down. He was driving too fast past the school entrance. Howie was trailing behind me and some other lads. Dad just came out of the blue, I'd never seen him drive like that before. It was all over in a flash."

Markland saw that James was holding back tears.

"Okay James, let's skip forward for the time being. Perhaps we'll come back to this a little later."

James gulped and continued.

"When dad was away, I stayed with mum's sister."

"Where was your mum during all this?"

"She died during childbirth," said Han.

"I stayed with Auntie Susan, and when he came out of Horfield Prison, I never really saw him."

"Did Susan look after you for very long?"

"I stayed with her until I was twenty."

"Tell me about Helena, how did you meet her?"

"She was Howie's sister's friend. Howie's sister, Gillian, introduced me to her when we were both fourteen."

"So you met her not long before Howie died."

"A few months earlier. I had a huge crush on her, but she didn't seem to feel the same towards me, well not at first. After Howie died, I used to call in on Gillian to see how she was and Helena was always there, you know looking after Gillian and making sure she was okay. Helena and I became closer. Even though it was my dad who'd killed Howie, there was never a bad feeling from Gillian towards me, and Helena was the same. No one was blaming me. One night, I was walking back to my aunt's, and I bumped into Helena and she walked with me. From that day on we became really close. We were inseparable. But after a while, things cooled off a bit. We kind of fell apart, and she started seeing another guy, but it was nothing serious. She ended up going to university in Swansea and when she graduated, four years later, she came back to Bristol."

Han was listening intently. This was the first time he'd heard so much detail from James. The way he recalled Howie's death was done with such conviction, he almost believed it to be true.

"Helena and I met up again by chance when she returned from Wales. It was in a bar in Clifton. I was out with some friends, and she was having a drink with Gillian. It was great to see them both, and Helena and I got on like a house on fire. We started dating again, but this time it was serious. We'd matured and it wasn't just a schoolboy crush anymore. We were properly in love. A year later we were engaged, and when we were in our mid-twenties we got married. The following year was mad. She became pregnant just before we were married, and gave birth to the boys just before she started her PhD. We moved down to Exeter, I was able to get a transfer and drove coaches from Exeter to London."

"So life was busy for you. Were you happy?"

"Life was very busy, very challenging, but we were very happy. But as time has gone on things have lost their lustre. Helena is busy with her PhD, and so we don't have as much time for one another. I'm always working and spending little time with the twins. We spend so much money on childcare, it's hardly worth me working at the moment. But it's temporary. As soon as she finishes her PhD, she's going to be working for a company just outside of town and money won't be an issue."

"Are you not getting on with each other right now?"

"It's just life's pressures getting in the way of things. We are still very much in love, but I know I've been moody and a little distant these last few months. I'm one of those people who find it difficult to hide how I feel, and Helena feels my frustration. We've become snappy with one another."

Markland was in awe with the detail in which James spoke about his life with Helena.

"You see Mr Garraway. I need to get back to her. I can't leave her in Exeter on her own. I'm sure she thinks I've walked out on her."

Markland swivelled in his chair, and thought about the next thing he wanted to ask.

"I understand that you took a trip to Exeter with your father this week to find Helena. Would you like to tell me what happened?"

James' faced lowered, and he gazed at the floor.

"We drove to my house in Montgomery Crescent.......... But she wasn't there."

"Why wasn't she there? Did she move away?"

"It appears she's never been there at all. I knocked on the door and a lady with a dog answered. I asked after Helena and she had no idea who, or what I was talking about. It was like everything had changed. I asked about the man next door, Robert Masterson, but she'd never heard of him. But she knew the man who lives on the other side. So, I knocked on the door of our other neighbour. He's a horrible man, who plays music throughout the night. I'd had so many rows with him over the years, but when he answered he had no idea who I was. It was like I'd never existed."

Markland pondered over what James had just said. Howie wanted to say something, but Markland raised his hand to silence him.

"Tell me about your neighbours. Robert Masterson and the noisy one, what's his name?"

"The noisy one is Drew Lees, although I didn't know his name until I went to Exeter this week. The lady who lives in my house told me."

"What do you know about them?"

"Robert moved in about a year after we did. He's nice enough, although I find him a bit smarmy. I think he has a thing for Helena. His face lights up whenever he sees her."

"Does that bother you?"

"Nah, not really. I'm far too busy to let him bother me. I'm more concerned with the noisy bastard on the other side. He keeps us up at night."

"So you've had a few disagreements, tell me about them."

"He works night shifts. He sleeps during the day, and gets up when the twins are going to bed. About eight or nine in the evening he cranks up Motorhead, Twisted Sister, Metallica and all that kind of crap. It goes on until around midnight, which is when he leaves for work."

"So the two of you aren't friends."

"No, not in the slightest. He's an arrogant, selfish bastard. He knows we've got young children, but he doesn't give a shit."

"So was it a surprise when you knocked on his door and he didn't know you?"

"Too right. He was the same arrogant bastard, but he didn't know who I was."

"But the lady in your house, she confirmed that he made a lot of noise?"

"Yeah, she said he keeps her up at night with his music."

Markland paused and squinted his eyes.

"What are you thinking?" asked Howie.

Markland asked a question which was directed to Howie and Han.

"So the trip to Exeter resulted in what you had both expected. Neither of you thought James would knock on the door and find Helena waiting for him with their twins?"

Han and Howie nodded, without looking at James, who said nothing.

"Are either of you aware of James having a connection with Exeter? Has he made any recent visits to the city?"

"I took him there when he was a kid. We were on holiday in Devon, and we visited for a day," said Han.

"So it's no surprise that not only Helena wasn't there, and neither was the man next door, Robert Masterson?"

Both men nodded.

"And, it is not a surprise to you both that the man who played the rock music, Drew Lees, had no idea who James was?"

"How could he have known James? He'd never been his neighbour," said Howie.

"You're both right. But answer me this. We can appreciate why Helena wouldn't be at the house, and that there was no sign of Robert Masterson. We can also expect that Drew Lees wouldn't have known James if they'd never been neighbours. But explain how James would have known about Lees, and his late night music, if he'd never lived next door. You've both admitted that James hasn't been to Exeter in recent years, so how would he have known of him?"

The room fell silent for a few seconds until Han spoke.

"What are you suggesting?"

Markland ground his teeth and rubbed his chin.

"I don't know what I'm suggesting, but it's an indication that James has some connection with the house in which he says he lives with Helena."

Markland became overcome with a sudden sense of fatigue.

"I hope you don't mind, but it's getting late and I'm tired. This has proved to be an interesting evening which has left a lot of things unanswered. I would like to go home and think about what you've told me. I can't promise anything, but if I have any ideas I will let you know."

Markland stood up and rattled his keys.

"There's something else," said James.

Markland put his keys back in his pocket and raised an eyebrow.

"In Exeter, I'm not very well. I need to take medication daily, and if I don't I'll fall into a coma."

"What's wrong with you?"

"I'm diabetic."

"You've never been diabetic, at least not that I've known," interrupted his father.

"That's because here in Bristol I'm not diabetic. I've been living with you for about four weeks, and by rights I should be dead by now, but I'm not. I should have lost loads of weight, be thirsty, peeing all the time and be tired at the very least, but I'm none of those things. Also, my eyesight was awful in Exeter. I had an appointment with the opticians, but here I can see perfectly."

Markland shook his head.

"I don't understand any of this, but I'm going to think about everything you've told me."

Howie opened the front door, and bid him farewell.

"Thanks Markland. I appreciate you coming over this evening."

Markland nodded.

"I'll see you Monday. Have a good weekend."

Markland drove home and passed the off license at the top of his road. For the first time since he could remember, he had an urge to call in for a bottle of whisky. He slowed down, eyed the front door and saw that it was shut. He sighed and continued to his house.

It was gone nine by the time Markland locked his front door and hung his keys in the hall. He checked his answering machine hoping for a message from Joan, but there was nothing. He checked his email and texts and still found nothing at all. It had been over two weeks since their meal at Bottelinos and Joan had promised to call. He was getting fidgety and was desperate to know whether they would have another date. She would have no idea that he had a job at the school, and he couldn't wait to tell her. But he had to respect her wishes and wait for her to call him. He thought about the off license and how he could appreciate a large glass of whisky.

He sat in the darkness of his lounge. The light in the hallway cast a glow through the gap in the door, and the red LED light on his television shone in the corner. Markland liked to sit in the dark because it helped him relax and unwind. He was exhausted after his first week at work. But there was something else making him tired. It was a different kind of tiredness, and something he'd experienced before when dealing with Ben Walker's murder. He gave in to fatigue and let his eyelids drop.

In his shallow sleep, he was aware of a low pitched drone. He squirmed in his chair. The drone became louder and he opened his eyes. He looked around the lounge, which was bathed in a blue incandescent radiance. There was a damp smell in the air. From the corner of his eye something caught his attention. He glanced to his left and saw James Trafford standing by the door. James stared Markland in the eye, without speaking or moving.

"What are you doing here?"

James didn't reply. He faded, and was replaced by another image of James, which looked as realistic as the first. The second James looked a little different. His hairline was receding, and his skin was lined. He was soon replaced by another James, which also had a slightly different appearance, and then another, followed by another. Each version of James lasted for a shorter measure of time, until they were flashing before Markland's eyes at a rate of about ten per second. He screwed his eyes closed and rubbed his forehead. When he opened them the images of James Trafford had gone, but the lounge still glowed blue and the air still smelt damp. Something else caught his attention and this time it was from his right. He looked towards the television and saw another image of another person. He gulped when he saw who it was. The man standing to his right was him. Markland stood up, walked towards himself and stopped inches away. It was as if he was looking into a mirror. Their eyes met but neither of them moved. Markland watched the image of him fade and then replaced by another. In the second image he appeared happier. He almost wore a smile. Their eyes locked, and as before, the image faded. Just as with James, a few minutes earlier, images of himself came and went at a rapid rate, and like James, each version of Markland was a little different. In under a minute, he witnessed over a hundred different variations of himself.

It was happening all over again, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Just like before, the hill was reaching out to him.

Markland put his head in his hands, and yelled at the top of his lungs.

"STOP"!

He opened his eyes, and apart from the light from the hallway, the lounge had returned to darkness and the smell of damp had gone. His head hurt like he'd been drinking, his limbs were heavy and he had an underlying feeling of nausea, which was reminiscent of the time he felt unwell at the burial mound when working on the Walker case. He considered what he'd just seen, until his thoughts were interrupted by the telephone in the corner of the lounge. He was in no mood to answer it and slouched down into his chair.

His body trembled. He rubbed his tired eyes and let the phone ring six times, after which the answering machine cut in.

'Hello, you've reached Markland Garraway. I'm sorry I can't take your call right now ....... please leave a message.'

"Hi Markland, it's Joan. I'm sorry I've not called sooner, but things have been rather stressful because mum's been in hospital. She's had a stroke. It's a mild one, so I think she'll be fine. I've been a bit busy this last week. If I get a chance I'll call tomorrow."

##  Chapter 27

Compton Wells School

Monday 19th October

8.04 a.m.

Markland shut off the engine and took a moment before getting out of the car. He'd spent the whole weekend thinking of little else other than two things. The apparitions he'd seen on Friday evening which had his mind in turmoil and the message Joan had left which filled him with hope. She hadn't called during the weekend and Markland assumed that she'd been busy with her mother after the stroke.

He was about to open the car door, but noticed in his wing mirror, that a white Seat Arosa was pulling up alongside him. It was Jodie Standwick, the science teacher who had helped him when he fainted last week. She smiled at him through the car window and he gestured for her to get out before him.

"How are you? I hope you're better than last week."

"I'm fine, I must have had a funny turn, it was nothing serious," lied Markland, knowing why he had become unwell.

Markland had been thinking about the meeting he'd had on Friday with Han, James and Howie. By coincidence, Jodie Standwick was just the person he wanted to talk to about an idea that had been gnawing away at him during the weekend.

"Jodie, do you have any spare time in your diary today? There's something I'd like to ask you."

"Yeah, sure. What would you like to talk about?"

"I have a science question."

"I'm intrigued," said the slightly built brunette teacher, with a 'wake up and wear it' haircut. She glanced at her watch, "my first lesson isn't until ten, and Lawrence Hillier is taking my tutor group first thing, so we could chat now if you like....... but on one condition."

"And what's that?"

"I'd love to find out what happened in Badock's Wood. To be honest with you, I was rather excited when I found out you were working here."

"Of course, I'd love to," replied Markland with a half a smile. But Jodie sensed reluctance in his voice.

"Let's head to the staff room, it should be empty this time of the morning," suggested Jodie.

Markland washed out a couple of mugs and made two coffees. Jodie was a little in awe of him. She remembered being swept away with the story when it hit the news back in two thousand and twelve.

"So what's your burning science question?" asked Jodie, stirring her coffee.

Markland thought about the best way to phrase his question, but wasn't exactly sure what his question was.

"Is it possible for the same person to be in two, or perhaps more places at the same time?"

Jodie laughed as she placed the spoon on the table. She looked up, and saw he was serious.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure, I think what I am trying to ask is, could there be another me, or you, or anyone else for that matter living another life, but just a little bit differently. So essentially the same person living two different lives?"

Jodie's eyes lit up.

"Are you talking about science fiction?"

"No, I'm hopefully referring to science fact."

Markland noticed the young teacher becoming animated as she stirred her coffee for a second time.

"Like a parallel world?"

"No, I don't think so, as I said I'm not talking about science fiction."

"I think you'll find that there is a lot of evidence to suggest parallel worlds exist. There's a hell of a lot of maths to back the theories up too."

Markland's ears pricked up.

"Mr Garraway, have you ever heard of an American band called Eels?"

Markland thought for a second. He wasn't sure where she was going with her question. He remembered a song from the mid-nineties that his daughter liked when she was a little girl.

"I vaguely recall they had a song that troubled the charts about twenty years ago."

"They're still going strong today. I'm a big fan."

"What do Eels have to do with my question?"

"The singer of Eels, Mark Everett, had a famous father. Although I would bet my last pound that few people even know his name. But what he discovered has shaped film, literature, music.... you name it, the world is a different place because of him."

"What's his name?"

"Hugh Everett."

Markland shook his head.

"Mark Everett is the son of physicist Hugh Everett. Hugh Everett came up with the theory of parallel worlds."

Markland said nothing, which urged Jodie to continue.

"He's up there with Einstein, but until fairly recently he's not been taken too seriously."

"Am I clever enough to understand?"

"Probably, if I keep things a simple, considering the subject matter."

Jodie wriggled in her chair with excitement. She was never more at home then when she had someone's full attention who wanted to know about science.

"Have you heard of Schrödinger's Cat?"

Markland nodded.

"It's something to do with a cat whose been locked in a cage with something deadly, and it's something about being dead and alive at the same time?"

"Very good," said Jodie, as she hit the table with her hand, causing coffee to overflow from Markland's full mug.

"You were almost bang on the money. But in simple terms, Schrödinger stated that if you place a cat, and something that could kill the cat, he suggested something radioactive, in a box and sealed it, you would not know if the cat was dead or alive until you opened the box, so until the box was opened, the cat was in a sense, both 'dead and alive'".

"I'm lost already," said Markland shaking his head.

"It's about quantum mechanics," said Jodie taking a sip of coffee. "Physics can be divided into two types. Classic physics and quantum mechanics. Classic physics explains most physical interactions, like why a ball bounces when it drops. It can also be used to predict physical interactions, like what will happen when you drop a ball. However, there are some physical interactions which it does not explain, for instance, how light can be turned into electricity. Quantum mechanics provides a way for physicists to explain why these things happen."

Markland wished he hadn't asked the question, but Jodie was on a roll and he couldn't stop her.

"The question now is, at the end of the cat experiment, is the cat alive or dead? Schrödinger says that, as long as the cage door is closed, the cat is both dead and alive. There is no way to know until the seal is broken and the door to the cage is opened. But by opening the door, the person is interfering with the experiment. The person, and the experiment have to be described with reference to each other. By looking at the cat the observer has influenced the experiment."

Markland struggled to keep up. "So did Hugh Everett come up with the Schrödinger's Cat theory?"

"No," laughed Jodie, "Erwin Schrödinger did. What Everett did was upset people by pooh poohing Schrödinger's theory. What Everett did was to take away the role of the observer. Schrödinger says that his theory explains how something could be in two different states at the same time. The cat can be both dead and alive."

Markland rubbed his forehead. "But what's this got to do with my original question?"

"Sorry Markland, I seem to have run away with myself, I need to reign things back in," chuckled Jodie.

"Everett had his own theory, which is now known as the many-worlds interpretation."

Markland felt like calling a halt to the conversation. He was a clever man, but Jodie was leaving him standing. Even though his eyes were glazing over, she carried on regardless.

"Many-worlds implies that all possible alternate histories and futures are real, each representing an actual world or universe. In layman's terms, the hypothesis states there is a very large, perhaps infinite number of universes and everything that could possibly have happened in our past, but did not, has occurred in the past of some other universe or universes."

At last Markland grasped what she was saying.

"So this does all go back to the sort of parallel world stories you watch on the Twilight Zone or Star Trek?"

Jodie nodded enthusiastically.

"What Everett says is that if you make a decision to do something, say for instance, if you decided not to punch me on the nose, the outcome would be different to if you did punch me on the nose. And whichever choice you make defines the outcome. So, now think of it like branches on a tree, a many branched tree wherein every possible quantum outcome is realised."

"So what you're saying is, when someone makes a certain decision their lives travel along one branch of a tree, but if they had made a different decision, their life continues in a different direction along a different branch of the same tree."

"Precisely. At the point a person either makes, or doesn't make a decision, or takes, or doesn't take a particular action, their lives split and travel in different directions at the same time in parallel with each other. So this could answer your question whether a person could be in two, or more different places at the same time."

"But wouldn't that mean that the person would need to split into two?"

"No, because we're talking about quantum mechanics and it can be proved that atoms can be in two different places at the same time."

Markland sat in his chair and put his hands behind the back of his head.

"Before I carry on, what are you and I made up of?" asked Jodie.

"I don't know. I guess bone, blood, water, fat."

"Yes, but on a quantum mechanics level, what are we made from, what is everything you see around you made of?" asked Jodie, waving her arm around the room.

"Are you talking about atoms?"

"Yes atoms. And there is an experiment called the Double Slit experiment, which proves that photons, which are light particles and behave like atoms, can be in two different places at the same time. And as we are all made up of atoms, we should behave in the same way and can be in two or more different places at the same time."

Markland checked his watch and was amazed that forty minutes had passed.

"Do we have time to talk about this double slit thing now?"

"Yes, if I keep it very, very brief."

Jodie picked up a sheet of paper and drew a diagram. When she'd finished, she passed it to Markland.

"What's this?"

"It's a drawing of the Double Slit experiment."

Markland squinted his eyes and tried to make sense of the diagram.

"It's a diagram of a piece of card with two vertical slits cut into it, and behind the card is a wall. A light from a torch is shone through the two vertical slits."

Markland nodded and confirmed he understood the diagram.

"What pattern would you expect to see cast on the wall behind the cardboard with the two slits?" asked Jodie.

"Pattern, what do you mean by pattern?"

"What would you expect to see, if you shone a light on to a piece of card with two vertical slits in it? What pattern would the light cast against the wall behind the cardboard?"

"I would expect to see two lines on the wall from the light which passes through the two vertical slits in the card."

"That's what you would expect. But if you carried out this experiment using a laser instead of a torch and the wall behind was exchanged for a light sensitive viewing screen, which records the photons as they hit the screen, you would see that there is a third line in between the two vertical lines."

"Why would that happen?"

"This happens because in the world of quantum mechanics things behave very differently, and I'll try to explain what's going on," said Jodie clearing her throat. "The particles of light, called photons, leave the laser and pass through the two slits, which is why there are two clear vertical lines. But some of the photons are passing through both slits at the same time, so in effect they are in two different places at the same time. When a photon has passed through each slit at the same time, it joins back together, and it forms the third line on the viewing screen."

Markland sighed

"When you get a chance search the internet for the double slit experiment, there's loads of stuff out there about it."

"I will, I'll take a look this evening. So this double slit thing really does confirm that an atom can be in two different places at the same time."

Jodie nodded zealously. Her enthusiasm for science was infectious. She was a good twenty years younger than Markland but he couldn't help himself from warming to the young teacher and her compelling passion for the subject.

"Is there a particular reason why you needed to know all of this?" asked Jodie.

Markland didn't answer, instead he gazed into the middle distance.

"Has this something to do with your abilities?"

"I beg your pardon, what abilities?" said Markland, snapping out of his momentary daze.

"The reason why you need to know about parallel worlds, is it to do with your ability to speak with the dead, like you did with Ben Walker?"

Markland glanced at his watch.

"Gosh is that the time, we'd better get going," said Markland, avoiding her question. "Thanks for my science lesson Jodie, let's catch up again soon."

"Yes, and don't forget, I would love to have a chat about what happened to you."

Markland smiled, and again, Jodie sensed his apprehension.

"We will Jodie, but I'd prefer not to talk here, perhaps we could have a chat over a drink."

"It's a date," said Jodie, and smiled warmly.

Markland returned from work just after five. With Jodie's words ringing in his ears he went straight to his computer and searched for the double slit experiment. He clicked on Wikipedia, and tried to make sense of what he was reading.

"I'm just not clever enough to understand," said Markland to himself. There was far too much information for him to take in. And then he saw it, right at the very bottom of the page there was a heading.

Many-worlds interpretation

Beneath the heading was one line of text. It was almost like an afterthought compared to the rest of the page.

'Physicist David Deutsch argues in his book 'The Fabric of Reality', that the double-slit experiment is evidence for the many-worlds interpretation.'

Markland was too tired to read anything else on the subject. He decided to accept what Jodie had told him, and assume that there was enough information available on the internet to suggest what she had told him could be true.

What she told him had indirectly answered a question that had been bothering him during the weekend.

He picked up his phone and called Howie Doyle.

##  Chapter 28

Markland & Joan Garraway's home

Bristol

Tuesday 20th October

11.45 a.m.

Joan was at home alone. Since Markland had retired, she'd spent little time in the house on her own and enjoyed a few hours here and there when he wasn't around. Today, he had taken a bus to Thornbury and was looking around second-hand book shops. Markland had difficulty adapting to retirement. Joan found it harder than she'd expected having him around so much of the time. He was unsettled and always looking for something to do. She loved him, but spending this much time with him wasn't easy.

In the five years that Markland had been Detective Superintendent he'd been hardly at home and Joan had come close to having an affair with Derek Munroe, a police officer who was a few years younger than Markland. Munroe had little ambition to rise through the ranks after failing to achieve his dream of becoming a detective. He was destined to remain on the beat until it was his time to retire. He was married, had three sons who had grown up and flown the nest. His marriage was stale and he found life to be a chore. One of the only things that really excited him, was the challenge of bedding Markland's wife. He disliked Detective Superintendent Garraway and Markland had little time for Munroe. The two had joined Avon and Somerset Constabulary on the same day. Both men had been ambitious young constables, but it was Markland who was destined for promotion, which came early in his career.

Joan was preparing a light lunch and was about to open the fridge, when the doorbell rang. Instead of going to the front door, she went into the back garden, along the path which led to the front garden, and saw a policeman standing at the door.

"Derek, what do you think you're doing?" whispered Joan.

"Hi Joan, I was in the area and thought I'd say hello", replied Munroe, with a glint in his eye.

"You can't be here. Markland could come back at any time."

"I doubt it, I just saw him on the seventy-nine heading up the A38."

"Even so, you shouldn't be here, what if the neighbours see you?"

"Tell them I was making 'door to door enquiries'," smirked Munroe.

Joan sighed, and gestured to him to follow her around to the back garden. He followed her to the kitchen. She poured him a lemonade and slid it across the kitchen table.

"Haven't you anything stronger?"

"You're on duty, take it or leave it."

Secretly, Joan was thrilled by his flattery and tried her best not to show it, but Munroe noticed a spark about her when he was around. He knew she had feelings towards him. He left the lemonade untouched, walked over to her and placed his arm on her shoulder.

"We could have had something you and I, we really could."

Joan smiled, but said nothing. Munroe looked his age, but she still found him alluring, even though he had a large moustache and his hairline was receding.

"Markland won't be back for hours. Why don't we do something exciting?"

"The most exciting thing you're going to do is drink that lemonade, then get out of here before he returns."

Munroe pushed out his bottom lip to feign disappointment.

"You don't mean that do you?"

Joan did love her husband, but was teetering on the edge of doing something stupid with Munroe that she would live to regret.

Munroe took a step closer, but she pushed him away.

"Come on Derek, get out before I call the police," said Joan with a smirk.

"You can call me, I'll take down your particulars."

The two continued to flirt for another few minutes, before Joan convinced him to leave.

"I'll be back," said Munroe, as he slipped out of the kitchen door and headed to his police car parked around the corner.

##  Chapter 29

Howie Doyle's Flat

Bristol

Tuesday 20th October

8.05 p.m.

"So why couldn't you just tell me over the phone?" asked Howie, whilst handing Markland a mug of coffee.

"Because I wanted to speak with you face to face, and I didn't want to discuss it in school."

"Have you worked out what's going on with James?"

Markland didn't answer, at least not straight away.

"I've been seeing things. I'm seeing visions of things to do with James, and I'm certain what I've seen is connected to the hill in the woods

"What have you seen?"

"Multiple images of him....... and of me. I started to see things after you made contact with me just over two weeks ago. But on Friday, after I left you, James and Han, I saw more images when I got home. They were real, almost as if I could reach out and touch them. I had the same feelings when the hill was communicating with me before."

"What kind of feelings?"

"Nausea," said Markland, stretching his leg and rubbing his knee.

"And aches and pains," he added.

Markland had noticed sharp twinges of pain in his joints, which reminded him of when the short-lived, but crippling arthritis started back in two thousand and nine.

"Do you think the images of you and James are significant?" asked Howie.

"Very much so, and I've been thinking of their significance over the weekend."

Markland noticed his hands were trembling. He was becoming involved in whatever was happening, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Do you know Jodie Standwick?" asked Markland

"The pretty science teacher? No, well not really. I say hello to her in school, but that's about it."

Markland noticed a look in Howie's eye when he mentioned the teacher's name.

"I had a long chat with her yesterday."

"About James?"

"Indirectly. I have an idea about what may be happening to your friend, and what Jodie told me may confirm my hunch."

"Which is?"

Markland placed his coffee on the table and cleared his throat.

"I think James has been swapped."

"For who?"

"For himself. Somehow, I think the James with us here and now, isn't the same James who was living with his father before he'd disappeared."

Howie wasn't shocked by Markland's theory, and in his mind, he was desperate to say 'I told you so'.

"I've had that feeling since he returned. It took me a while to accept it. This is the reason why I needed your help. I was sure it was something paranormal."

"I don't think it's anything paranormal. We're not talking about voices from beyond the grave. Although, I wish it was because that would be easier for me to deal with."

"What did Jodie say that made you think that he's been swapped?"

Markland did his best to explain the Many-Worlds theory.

Howie listened intently, then sat back in his chair and closed his eyes. Markland said nothing, and watched Howie take on board what he'd just told him.

"So you believe that James, has somehow, swapped his life for a better one?" asked Howie with a frown.

"No, I hadn't even thought about that. But that would make sense."

"But how could such a thing happen? What you've just said about this many-worlds thing doesn't seem to be something a person has control over."

Markland nodded.

"If the many-worlds theory is true, I assume it's something of which we're not aware. It's something that just happens, and we're ignorant of it," replied Markland, shrugging his shoulders.

"Perhaps James found some way of tapping into it? But somehow I doubt it, he isn't the cleverest person I know."

"When you first approached me about your friend I wanted nothing to do with you, or any of this. But now things are different, and whether I like it or not, I've become entangled. For some reason the hill wants me to be involved."

Markland lent forward, rubbed his face and pushed his hands through his hair.

"I'm going to have to do something which I swore I would never do again."

Howie said nothing and waited for him finish what he was about to say. Markland swallowed dryly.

"I'm returning to the woods. I need to go to the hill........ but this time, I'm not going alone."

##  Chapter 30

Montgomery Crescent

Exeter

Wednesday 21st October

9.11 a.m.

It was a fresh bright morning, and Helena was working from home. The boys were at nursery and Jimbo was at work. She loaded A4 paper into her printer, then strolled to the bay window and looked outside. Masterson's car was there. She thought about the stupid thing she'd done. It had been a fleeting moment of weakness, and nothing more. They hadn't even kissed. But for the short-time Robert Masterson held her tightly she'd felt something within her stir. The instant the warmth of his skin brushed against her cheek, it was as if she was a teenager again. She had been giddy and nervous with excitement. They had embraced over two months ago. She had always found her neighbour attractive, and she loved his sense of humour, but that was as far as it went, until one rainy day in mid-August.

Helena had taken a delivery on his behalf, and later that day he'd knocked on her door for the box. Masterson saw that she'd been crying and hated to see her look so sad. She'd had a disagreement with Jimbo over something or nothing, but it had escalated into a full-blown row. Doors were slammed, names were called and he had left for work without saying goodbye. They had been rowing more and more, and the main reason for the latest fight was due to their lack of money. Jimbo had accused her of putting their lives on hold whilst she studied for her stupid PhD. Just after he'd left for work there had been a knock at the door, and Helena had hoped it was Jimbo returning to say sorry, but instead it was a delivery from Amazon for Masterson. Shortly after the delivery, rain laden clouds opened, and at the same time there was another knock at the door. It was Masterson. He'd missed the delivery man by a few minutes, and had called for the parcel. She couldn't leave him standing in the rain and invited him in whilst she went to get the package which she'd put in the lounge. He'd asked what the matter was. There was no hiding the smudged mascara which had run down her face. She had opened up, and told him about the row she and Jimbo had, and of the others. Fights were happening more and more often, and it was always Jimbo who started them. He was often stressed and angry and the two of them were drifting in opposite directions. Masterson had felt awkward and wasn't sure what to say. Instead of speaking he instinctively put his arms around her. She'd reacted instantly, and held him close. It was a passing moment of weakness. She'd needed a hug, and he'd been there. It could have been anyone, but it had been him. The instant she'd felt the urge of excitement, she'd backed off. Although she and Jimbo weren't getting on, she did love him and wouldn't do anything stupid to damage their marriage. Masterson had felt the same as Helena. She'd felt wonderful in his arms. There had been a spark and they'd both known it. Helena had apologised and politely asked him to leave. But since then, Masterson was different towards her. He was often in the front garden, pottering around, just as she was leaving her house with the twins. He seemed to be able to perfectly time things to be there when she was. Masterson had fallen for her and whenever Jimbo wasn't at home he was there sniffing around. Although she'd made it clear she wasn't interested, he was hanging in there, waiting for her next moment of weakness.

Halfway through September, Jimbo had changed. The rows had stopped, and he'd ceased complaining about their lack of money. He appeared in awe of everything around him. In awe of his sons, his house and even his job. But especially, he had become smitten again with his wife and couldn't leave her alone. It was like they had only just met. He was attentive, loving and kind. That was over four weeks ago and he was still the same today. Helena was happier than she had been since the twins had been born, and it was all because of Jimbo. But she suffered a secret. She knew she should tell him about her and Masterson, but couldn't. She kept telling herself it was nothing, which in truth that was the reality of the situation, because nothing had really happened. They hadn't even kissed, but she still couldn't face telling him.

She was interrupted from her thoughts by the creaking of Masterson's gate as he left his house. Their eyes met through her lounge window. She coyly smiled, and took a step backwards and out of his view.

She hoped that Jimbo would never find out about the spark between her and Robert Masterson.

##  Chapter 31

Compton Wells School

Wednesday 21st October

9.35 a.m.

"When would you like to have our little chat?" asked Markland, as he passed Jodie Standwick in the corridor leading to the science block.

"Do you mean our chat about the woods?" asked the young teacher.

Markland nodded.

"Whenever suits you. Shall we meet in the café, or would you prefer somewhere where they serve something a little stronger?"

Markland wore a puzzled expression.

"We're going to chat over a drink, remember?"

"Yes, of course. But now I'm thinking of somewhere altogether different........ let's say, Badock's Wood?"

"I thought the woods would be the last place you'd want to go," replied Jodie. Her eyes were bright with the prospect of visiting the place where it had all happened. She'd visited the hill several times, along with the tens of thousands of others who'd wanted to see the burial mound for themselves. But now she had the privilege of going back again with Markland Garraway, the man of the moment.

"There's someone else I'd like to come with us, if you don't mind."

"Who?"

The look of excitement diminished slightly, as the thought of her not being alone with him entered her mind. There was nothing romantic about her way of thinking. She just would have liked to witness the hill with him alone.

"Howie Doyle, the caretaker. I presume you know of him?"

"I know of him, but I don't really know him." An image of Howie crossed her mind. She had wondered about him once or twice, and thought it sweet that the school kids liked him so much. He had a way of making the children laugh.

"He said the same about you."

"What's going on, why would Mr Doyle need to be with us?" she asked, sounding a shade perplexed.

"Because the hill is communicating with me again, and it's because of a situation involving him. I'm returning to the woods against my better judgment and I'll probably regret it, but I don't think I have much choice in the matter."

"Has Howie lost someone who is trying to communicate with you?"

"Not exactly. Someone is trying to communicate with me, but not from beyond the grave......... but I think from another world. A parallel world."

Jodie couldn't contain her excitement.

"Howie Doyle, well I never," said Jodie, before huffing air through her cheeks.

"This is why I was quizzing you last week."

"Does Howie know I'm coming along?"

"No, Howie doesn't even know he's coming along. I've not told him yet. I wanted to know whether you were up for it first."

"I most certainly am 'up for it'," she replied enthusiastically.

"Okay, we haven't got time to speak now. I'll track down Howie and perhaps we could all meet at lunchtime."

At twelve fifteen Howie, Jodie and Markland were hunched together in the staff carpark. It was a cold October day, and all three had their coats buttoned up to their necks as a stiff autumnal breeze shook brown leaves from skeletal trees.

"I thought it would be best to speak where no one can hear us," said Markland.

Anton Bueller walked past and gave an inquisitive glance.

"Howie, I'm agreeing to go to the woods with you, but due to the nature of what I think may be happening, I would like Jodie to be there with us."

"Does Miss Standwick know the full story?"

"Call me Jodie, you're not one of my pupils."

"No she doesn't, but you and I are about to tell her."

After twenty-five minutes, Markland and Howie had brought Jodie up to speed on the James Trafford situation. Howie handed his phone to her and she scrolled through the pictures of himself and James.

"Unbelievable," whispered Jodie, before returning the phone to Howie.

"Just what would you like to achieve?"

"I need to get my friend back."

"But what if he doesn't want to come back. He may prefer it where he is?"

Neither Markland nor Howie had considered this possibility.

"And how could he have made his way to a parallel world? I'm an avid support of the many-worlds hypothesis, and I believe that right now, as the three of us are in this carpark talking, we are splitting off to other parallel worlds with different consequences. There's nothing we can do to choose the parallel world where we're heading, it just happens."

"I disagree, I think James found a way of swapping from this world to another."

"I can't see how that could be possible," said Jodie.

"I didn't think it would be possible to talk to a dead man by means of a hypnotised boy, but it happened" added Markland.

The three disparate characters stood in the carpark without speaking, until Markland broke the silence.

"Okay, let's agree a date and a time."

"I'm free after work today," said Jodie.

"So am I," added Howie. "But my car's off the road. The radiator burst this morning, so I won't be able to drive."

"What the hell am I getting myself into?...... Okay, we'll go tonight. Give Jodie your address and I'll pick you both up from your place."

"Shouldn't James come along too?" added Howie.

"No, not at this point. I'm worried that it will do more harm than good. He's in a vulnerable position, and I don't think it's wise if he even knows we're going,........ but I do think his father should know."

"What do you think is likely to happen in the woods?" asked Jodie.

"I don't know, but I hope that whatever it is that drives the hill, will answer your question."

Doncaster Road, Southmead

7.12 p.m.

Markland applied the handbrake of his black Audi A5 and shut off the engine. Howie was beside him in the front passenger seat and Jodie sat in the back.

No one spoke.

Markland stared towards the entrance of the woods which was illuminated by a flickering street light. Jodie looked at his eyes in the rear-view mirror and wondered what was going through his mind. Howie was impatient to get to the burial mound, but waited for Markland to give the word.

Markland gripped the steering wheel with both hands and felt a familiar underlying sense of nausea. Howie and Jodie's presence faded, as he cast his memory back to the day he had the call to go to Badock's Wood and investigate Ben Walker's murder. It had been the first day he stood alongside the burial mound and felt its influence upon him. The day his life would change forever. He swore that he would never set foot there again, but here he was, less than one hundred metres from the entrance.

He wondered whether Ben Walker and Liz Mason were somewhere watching him, and if so, would they approve of what he was about to do? He thought about Carla Price, and how she'd spoken to him through dreams by virtue of the hill. He closed his eyes and recalled Liz Mason lying at the base of the hill, whilst holding three-year-old Christopher Jameson's hand. With clarity, he remembered the moment she took her last breath and how the spirit of Ben Walker left Christopher. He opened his eyes and saw that he was trembling.

"Are you okay?" asked Jodie.

He didn't reply. Instead, he continued to stare towards the entrance of the woods.

"Markland, are you okay?" asked Jodie, for a second time.

"I'm not sure whether I can do this."

There was an awkward silence. Howie was keen to get to the woods, but it was all down to Markland.

"I'm sorry Howie, I can't bring myself to get out...... I just can't do this, I can't be involved."

"But you are involved, whether you like it or not. You've admitted it yourself."

"I know, but now I'm here, I just don't think I can go through with it. I don't mind admitting it, I'm scared....... I'm shitting myself."

"Howie's right. You're already part of this, and it isn't going to go away until you get out of the car and go into those woods," said Jodie.

Markland slowly nodded.

"Besides, you're not alone this time. Howie and I are with you."

Howie smiled as Jodie's eyes met with his.

Markland knew they were right. He had to face the demons which had reared their heads again. He loosened his grip upon the steering wheel, and sighed. It was a long drawn out sigh from a troubled man.

"You're right, I have no choice but to proceed........ let's go."

They made their way towards the woods. Markland set the pace, while Jodie and Howie meandered a few steps behind. He stopped when he reached the entrance and peered into the darkness. Jodie stood next to him, took his hand and gently gave it a squeeze. His hand trembled.

He smiled, and she released her grip.

"Okay, when we get there, I suggest that the three of us sit on the hill and wait to see what happens."

"What do you think we'll see?" asked Howie.

"I've absolutely no idea. Perhaps nothing at all."

Deep down Markland doubted whether that would be the case. He was certain something would happen, which was why he was so nervous. He stood at the gate which led to the woods and felt as if he was upon the precipice of a cliff. He closed his eyes, took in a breath, and walked beyond the entrance and towards the burial mound.

I'm not going to pussy foot around, he thought and quickened his pace.

By the time he saw the burial mound, Howie and Jodie were almost breaking in to a run to keep up with him.

He stopped at the stainless-steel monument. It was the first time he'd seen it since Liz Mason died. He took the smartphone from his pocket and turned on the torch app. The light from the torch picked out John Fairfax's poem etched into the menhir. He read it in a whispered tone.

"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."

"What did you say?" asked Howie.

"Oh, nothing, I was reading the poem on this monument," said Markland, pointing to the words.

"The words seemed relevant at the time I was working on Ben Walker's murder, but now they seem to have lost their significance."

He sat on the bench next to the monument and winced as a bolt of pain shot through his knee.

The woods were so dark he barely made out Howie and Jodie who stood alongside the bench.

Howie sat down next to Markland, and softly touched his shoulder.

"Thank you for coming here tonight Markland."

"Okay, let's do it. Let's get this over and done with," said Markland, pulling himself up from the bench.

Howie stood up, and didn't notice his house keys drop from his back pocket and fall between the bench and the stainless-steel monument.

Jodie heard a chink as the keys landed on the ground, but was so fired up about going to the hill, she paid little attention.

They walked the short distance to the burial mound and stood at the base of the hill.

"What do we do next?" asked Jodie.

"We climb to the top, and wait to see what happens."

##  Chapter 32

Markland & Joan Garraway's home

Wednesday 21st October

7.48 p.m.

"Cilla told me there was a police car in the street yesterday," said Markland, before closing The Times and placing it beside him on the table."

"Really? I didn't see it," Joan nonchalantly replied.

"She said it was around the corner, just before twelve."

"Nope, didn't see it."

"Cilla said an officer knocked on our door, did you not hear him?"

"No, I didn't hear a thing. I was working in the garden around midday, I can't hear a thing from down there," replied Joan, trying not to let the tone of her voice give away that she was lying. "Why, has there been an incident?"

"Not that I know of. She didn't see what happened. She said he drove off ten minutes later. I asked her to describe him. From what Cilla told me it could have been that annoying little man with the walrus moustache, Derek Munroe. You remember him don't you?"

Joan swallowed dryly and nodded her head.

"I'm sure there's nothing to worry about," said Markland, before standing up and walking to the kitchen.

I need to be more careful, thought Joan, as she watched her husband leave the lounge.

##  Chapter 33

Han Trafford's House

7.49 p.m.

"They've gone where?" asked James in an irritated tone.

"Badock's Wood," replied his father.

"And just what do they think they'll accomplish by going there?"

"They've gone to the place where the Scottish detective, Garraway, was supposed to speak with the dead."

"Who's died? I don't remember talk of anyone dying, other than Howie, but that was fifteen years ago and according to everyone else he's still alive anyway."

"It seems he's been receiving some kind of messages and he believes they're coming from that burial mound in the woods."

"That's a crock of shit."

"James, we've got someone on our side, and it appears from what I know of him he does have some kind of ability to deal with the unexplained, and what's happened to you seems pretty inexplicable, so perhaps you should give him a chance."

"Shouldn't he have asked me to go?"

"Howie said it wasn't a good idea."

"But it's okay for Howie and the girl to go along, but not me. And who the hell is this Jodie girl again."

"Howie says she's a teacher at the school where he works. She teaches science."

James shook his head.

"Why don't we go? We could meet them in the woods and find out what's going on."

"No James! Markland specifically said you shouldn't be there. In fact, Howie told me not to tell you they were going. I shouldn't have said anything about it."

"So, why did you?"

Han shrugged his shoulders.

James stood up and grabbed his keys.

"Where are you going?"

"To the woods, I need to find out what they're up to."

Before his father could speak, James had left the house slamming the door behind him.

##  Chapter 34

Mill Tut Burial Mound

Badock's Wood

Markland, Jodie and Howie sat on the hill. Markland was in the middle, with Jodie to his right and Howie to his left. They had been there for a few minutes, but nothing had happened.

"Perhaps we're doing it wrong," suggest Howie.

"There's nothing we need to do. If anything's going to happen, it'll just happen of its own accord," replied Markland.

"What if we held hands?" suggested Jodie.

"I can't see what good that would do, it's not as if we're performing a séance....... but I suppose there's no harm in trying."

Markland took Jodie's hand in his right, and Howie's in his left and the three sat silently and waited.

Nothing happened.

"Perhaps we should sit in a circ.....," said Jodie, but was interrupted by Markland.

"Listen, can you hear it?"

"I can feel it," said Howie.

The hill emitted a low hum. Howie felt it rumbling through the base of his spine.

"I hear it too," said Jodie, sensing the hill shudder.

"It's like it's vibrating," she added.

The hill became enveloped in pale blue misty glow.

"I've seen this before, something's happening, something really is happening," said Howie.

They gripped each other's hands and waited. It was Howie who was the first to see something.

He found himself walking along a pleasant, but nondescript tree lined residential road. He didn't know where he was, yet the place seemed familiar. On one side of the road were semi-detached houses, and on the other was a long row of terraced properties. He crossed the road, and carried on walking along the side with terraced houses. He stopped outside a scruffy house with an overgrown garden. The dishevelled unkempt foliage almost obscured a small fishpond. Something about the house caught his attention.

Howie jerked when he heard the door of the neighbouring house open. A man in his mid-thirties wearing a suit stepped out of the house.

"Can I help you?" asked the man.

"I don't think so, I'm not sure actually," replied Howie nervously.

"Are you looking for someone?"

"Do you know a man called James Trafford, does he live in this road?"

"No, I can't say that I do. Why do you ask?"

Howie didn't reply. He stared at the scruffy house.

"I know it's a mess isn't it. I wish they'd sort that garden out, it brings the crescent down doesn't it."

Howie nodded.

"Although I don't suppose they have much spare time. The twins take up so much of their life, and they're both working full time."

"Twins? Did you say they have Twins?"

"Yeah, they have little boys. Why?"

"Is your name........... ," Howie closed his eyes and tried to remember the name Han had told him.

"........... Masterson?"

"Yes, Robert Masterson, should I know you?"

Howie didn't answer.

"Is the lady next door called Helena?"

"Yes, Helena Barrington-Smyth."

"Barrington-Smyth? You've got to be kidding me."

"Why would I, and what's it got to do with you?"

"So she's married with twins to Dean Barrington-Smyth, and not James Trafford?"

"I don't know who you are, but you are trying my patience. Either you tell me what you're up to, or you can fuck off before I.........."

Masterson's voice faded, although Howie could still see his mouth spewing angry expletives.

The next thing of which he was aware was the hill, which was still emitting a strange misty blue glow. He looked towards Markland, who was clutching his hand.

"I saw it too," said Markland. "I saw what you saw, and I heard what the man told you. It was the neighbour James spoke about."

"He said Helena lived next door and she had twins, but wasn't with James. She was with Dean. She's married to Dean Barrington-Smyth."

"Do you know him?"

"Yes, he used to work with James before he lost his job. We're all mates, although I've not seen much of him lately."

"I didn't see a thing," interrupted Jodie.

"What can this mean?" asked Howie.

"I've absolutely no idea whatsoever," said Markland, shaking his head.

"Come on you two, tell me what you've seen."

Markland and Howie took it in turns to describe what happened. Jodie found it difficult to concentrate on what they were saying. Gripping Markland's hand tightly, her eyelids drooped and the blue glow of the hill faded.

Jodie opened her eyes and found herself alone in a huge stone building. It was the largest place she'd ever seen. It was dimly lit by row upon row of candles, which gently flickered and created shadows which danced around her. Her eyes grew accustomed to the low light, and she saw that she was in some kind of library which lay ahead of her as far as she could see. She looked behind her and saw the same thing. Books were everywhere. They were above, below, to the left and to the right of her. She was perched on a stone walkway, which had steps leading to walkways above and below. She peered over the walkway and saw the aisles below were also lined with books. Above were more walkways. The walkway had wooden desks at regularly placed intervals. She cautiously walked towards the shelves, and looked at the spines of the books which were closest to her. Each book was around forty-eight inches thick. They were the largest books she'd ever seen. The title of each book was etched in silver text along the spine. She took a step closer, and ran her finger down the spine of one of the books. She squinted her eyes, and read the title as it reflected the shimmering light of a nearby candle.

Steven Johnson – March 18th 1924 – December 8th 1965.

She took a step to her left and looked at the title of the next book.

Steven Johnston – February 11th 2001 – January 24th 2048.

She made her way further along the aisle and read the title of another, which was a few metres away from where she had read the first title.

Steven Johnstone – May 9th 1794 – November 2nd 1837.

"Shit! What is this place?"

Then something occurred to her. She pulled a book from the shelf and was surprised by how light and easy it was to hold. The huge tome which was covered in a fine layer of dust, almost slid from the shelf and into her arms. She carried it to the nearest desk on which stood an unlit candle, a quill pen and a pot of ink. She grabbed the candle, used the flame of another to light it, and returned to the desk.

She looked down upon the huge book, and beneath her breath read the name which was etched on the front in silver writing.

Steven Johnstone – June 22nd 1964 – October 14th 2005.

With trembling hands, she turned to the first page. The paper was the thinnest she'd ever seen, it was finer than tissue, but had a texture like ivory. The text was italic and had been written by hand. Above the first paragraph was a heading, June 22nd 1964 11.02. The paragraph described the birth of a boy, which had taken place in a London hospital. She turned a few pages which detailed the first few days after he'd been born. She skim read the pages and each paragraph described a day in the boy's life. Some paragraphs were larger than others. Jodie turned the pages and found a paragraph detailing his wedding to a woman called Charlotte. Beads of sweat formed upon her brow as she continued through the book until she reached the final page, and a paragraph which had the heading October 14th 2005 - 22.17. The paragraph briefly described the death of a man who'd been suffering from cancer.

She replaced the book and was struck by a thought. She looked at the books in front of her, all of which had titles which were variations of Steven Johnson or Johnstone. She climbed the steps which led to the next aisle above, and looked at the surnames on the books which were closest to her. The name she saw was Johansson. She climbed the stairs to the next level, and saw that the surnames on the books were the same. She ascended the next two aisles, and saw that the surnames started with the letter K. She continued to climb to the next aisle, and to the next, and to the next. She looked above her and saw aisles as far as her eyes could see. There were thousands and thousands of them. She picked up pace and climbed the steps to the next level. It didn't occur to Jodie how easy it was to climb each staircase. She wasn't out of breath, nor was she becoming tired. She continued to ascend until she reached a level on which the books had surnames beginning with the letter S. The first one she saw was Emily Sanderson, who had died in eighteen twenty-seven. She continued to climb until she eventually reached a level on which the books had surnames beginning with S followed by the letter T. She ran along the hall for what seemed like miles and finally came to the surname Standwick. Eventually she found what she was looking for.

Jodie Standwick – April 1st 1985 – October 28th 2073.

Her heart beat hard as she considered what she was about to do. Cautiously, she removed the huge book from the shelf and took it to the nearest desk. She lit a candle and hurriedly read the pages.

It was like a diary which accounted for every day of her life. She flicked through the pages, which contained memories, and somethings she couldn't remember or didn't care to. She became mesmerised by the book and wondered what the hell it was and what it meant.

She flipped the pages and stopped at the entry dated Wednesday 21st October 2015, which was around a third of the way through, and was the current date.

With trembling hands, she held the page and read the paragraph which described her visit to the burial mound. In the book the hill was even named as Mill Tut. The short paragraph explained how she visited the Hall of Akashic Records.

"What on earth?"

The book listed every day of her life, from birth until the day she died. She had an impulsive urge to skip to the very last page, which had an entry dated October 28th 2073, when Jodie would be eighty-eight years old. Her fingers hovered near the final page of the book.

I could find out how I die.

After half a minute deliberating, she closed her eyes, blew out the candle and returned the book to the shelf.

What the hell is going on, what is this place?

She stood alone in the huge building. It was so quiet she heard nothing, other than the beating of her heart.

Then she did hear something. The rustling of pages. The hall was like a whispering gallery. The sound appeared to be nearby. She heard it for a second time, and it seemed to be coming from above.

Hurriedly, she continued to ascend the aisles and the sound became louder. She climbed fourteen sets of stairs, and stopped when she saw the figure of a man sitting at a desk far away along the hall. He was few hundred metres away from her. She looked at the books nearest to her, and saw they had surnames beginning with the letter T etched into their spines.

Cautiously, she made her way towards the man, trying to make as little noise as possible. The man didn't appear to notice. Eventually, she stood a few feet behind him and saw that he was hunched over a book. In his hand was a quill pen. He dipped it into the pot of ink and wrote something into the book. She stepped closer and still he didn't notice. Over his shoulder she saw that he was crossing out what had been written, and was adding his own words in the margins of the pages.

What's he is doing?

She took a step nearer to get a closer look, but the candlelight wasn't enough to illuminate the page.

Jodie swallowed and took a breath.

"Excuse me, what are you doing?" she asked, in a timid tone.

The man paid her no attention and continued to write.

"Hello, what are you writing?"

Again, the man ignored her.

She stepped forward and walked around to the other side of the desk. She stared down upon the man, who didn't seem to notice she was there. He was too engrossed in what he was doing.

"Hello, my name's Jodie, what's yours?"

Her words where lost. It was like she wasn't there. He placed the quill pen on the desk, closed the book and sat back in the chair.

Jodie frowned when she saw his face. Her frown turned to a look of astonishment when she worked out who he was. She recognised him from the pictures on Howie's phone.

"You're James Trafford."

Again, he ignored her. He stood up, lifted the huge book, carried it to the shelf and slid it back into place.

Jodie followed him to the shelf, and read the title on the spine of the book.

'James Trafford – August 28th 1984 – January 17th 2069.'

It really is him.

She tried to speak with him again.

"James, my name's Jodie. What is this place, where are we?"

Again, he ignored her. She watched him walk away and descend the stairs leading from the aisle.

She followed behind and leaned over the edge to see where he was going. She did a double take when she saw he had gone. Jodie took a step back and shuddered. She felt scared and very alone. She looked along the length of the aisle, and was in awe at the size of the building.

What the hell is the Hall of Akashic Records?

Jodie didn't want to be there any longer. She's seen enough, but had no way of leaving the building. There were no doors or windows.

"Help, is there anybody here?"

Her voice seemed muted as if she was in a sound proof room.

"Can anybody hear me?"

There was no reply.

"Please, someone get me out of here."

"It's okay Jodie, you're safe. You're with us."

It was Markland's voice. She could hear him, but couldn't see him.

"Markland, where are you?"

"I'm here, right next to you."

She felt his hand in hers.

"I can hear you but I can't see you."

Markland squeezed her hand. Jodie opened her eyes, and found herself to be back at the top of the burial mound alongside Markland and Howie.

"Are you okay?" asked Howie.

Jodie didn't answer.

"It's okay Jodie, I saw where you were and what you did."

"Where was I?"

"The Hall of Akashic Records."

"What's that?"

Markland had read about the Hall of Akashic Records, but didn't believe it to be true. Now he wasn't so certain.

He was about to speak, when all three experienced a sudden pain throughout their bodies, as if they were being dragged through a barbed wire fence. Just as quickly as the pain had started, it stopped. They looked at one another quizzically.

"What was that?" asked Howie

Markland was about to speak, but was interrupted when raindrops the size of marbles bombarded them.

"Come on, let's get back to the car," said Markland, helping Jodie up.

The three of them ran towards the exit as rain poured. Then, a bolt of fork lightening lit the air, struck a tree which was a few feet in front of them and split it in half. The following thunder was deafening. Jodie screamed and Howie yelled 'get down'.

They fell to the wet grass as the tree came crashing down beside them. It had missed them by a matter of feet.

"Is everyone okay?" shouted Markland. Jodie and Howie nodded.

"Let's get out of here," said Howie.

They ran to the entrance of the woods and Howie stopped when he reached the street light.

"Shit, my keys. I must have dropped them," said Howie, searching his trouser pockets.

"I think you dropped them by the monument, I heard something land on the ground before we climbed the hill." said Jodie.

"I need to go back, wait here."

Howie ran back to the woods, past the fallen tree, and towards the stainless steel monument. He stopped in his tracks.

"Where is it?" he said beneath his breath.

He made out the bench where he and Markland had sat earlier, but the monument wasn't there.

The rain became heavier. Howie ran back to where Markland and Jodie were waiting.

Markland huddled with Jodie beneath the street light as Howie sprinted back to them.

"It's gone," shouted Howie.

"Don't worry about it now, we'll sort your keys out later."

"No, not my keys. The metal monument with the poem on it. It's not there."

Markland frowned and Jodie winced, as the rain stung her eyes.

"Let's get to your car," shouted Jodie. Her voice barely audible above the sound of the rain blowing at them sideways.

They continued to Doncaster Road, and to where Markland had parked his car.

"Shit, where is it?" shouted Markland.

"It should be right here," said Howie. "I remember sitting in it and watching that flickering streetlight over the entrance of woods."

"It's not flickering now," said Jodie.

"Don't worry about the streetlight, where the hell's my bloody car?"

##  Chapter 35

Doncaster Road, Southmead

7.52 p.m.

James parked the Citroen behind the black Audi A5, which he recognised as belonging to Markland. He'd seen it parked in Howie's drive the previous week.

Good, they're still here.

He left his car and made his way to the flickering streetlight, which marked the entrance to the woods.

He'd never been to Badock's Wood and wasn't familiar with the place. James hoped that the Bronze Age burial mound wouldn't be difficult for him to find. He made his way along the path, and after a few hundred yards he saw something bright, which reflected diffused moonlight struggling to break through a thin layer of cloud. He approached it and saw that it was some sort of monument. By the time he had reached it his eyes had adjusted to the dark. He surveyed his surroundings and saw the small hill ahead of him.

"That must be the burial mound."

He made his way to it and sprinted to the top.

Where the hell are they?

James was confused. He'd definitely seen Markland's car, and couldn't work out why Howie and the others weren't at the burial mound. He wondered whether they'd gone deeper into the woods. He climbed back down from the mound and considered whether he should search for them. He saw how dark it was beneath the canopy of trees and decided against it. Instead, he chose to wait beneath the streetlight at the entrance. If he stayed there long enough he was certain to meet them when they returned to Markland's car. He made his way back to the main road and stood beneath the flickering light.

He checked his watch. It had just gone eight o'clock.

##  Chapter 36

Doncaster Road, Southmead

7.52 p.m.

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!" exclaimed Markland.

"Please, not tonight of all nights."

"Bastards!" grunted Howie.

"How could they have started it, you still have your keys?" asked Jodie.

"They must have hotwired it."

They stood in torrential rain and considered what to do next.

"Let's make our way to Southmead Road, take cover from the rain and decide what to do."

They ran through the lashing downpour, hid beneath a bus stop on the main road and discussed their options.

"Let's get a taxi back to Howie's," suggested Jodie.

They searched their pockets for change, and between them had just over twelve pounds.

"That's not enough," said Markland. "Wait here, I'll get some cash from the ATM over there."

He ran across the road dodging the traffic. The raindrops eased off. He pulled his bank card from his wallet and put it in the machine. He waited for the ATM to ask for his PIN, but instead his card was rejected. The screen displayed a message telling him to contact the card issuer.

"Shit!"

He pulled another card from his wallet and tried again. Just like the first one, his other cash card was also rejected displaying the same message. He jogged back to the bus stop.

"I can't get any cash out. There's a problem with my bank."

"I've not brought my wallet with me," shrugged Howie.

Jodie put her hand in her coat and pulled out her purse.

"It's okay, I can cover it."

Howie and Markland watched Jodie gingerly make her across the busy road. She stood at the ATM for what seemed a very long time, before returning to the bus shelter."

"It won't take mine either, what the hell's happening?"

"Faulty machine?" suggested Howie.

"I don't think so," replied Markland, pointing to a man who had been waiting behind Jodie. They watched him pull a wad of notes from the machine and place them in his wallet.

"I think we've got enough for three Day Rider tickets. We'll have to get back to Howie's by bus and I can drive you home from there," said Jodie.

Markland flagged down the next bus that came along.

"What a night," sighed Howie.

"Hang on, how are we going to get into your house. You've lost your keys in the woods," asked Markland.

"I've a spare hidden in the back garden for just such an event."

"What were you saying about the monument by the burial mound, you said it had gone?" asked Jodie.

"Shit, I'd forgotten about that, sorry. Yeah, the metal thing with the poem on, it's not there."

"Are you sure?" frowned Markland.

"Of course I'm sure. It's big enough not to miss."

"What the hell is going on?" asked Howie.

During the journey back to Howie's they discussed the events of the evening.

"So what happened to you?" asked Howie, referring to when Jodie had sat upon the hill.

"She was in the Hall of Akashic Records," replied Markland.

"The hall of what records?"

"Akashic records," repeated Markland. "Why don't you tell Howie what you saw?"

Jodie told Howie of what had happened. Markland chipped in with the odd remark here and there, as he'd witnessed exactly what she'd seen."

"So you saw James. Did he seem okay?" enquired Howie.

"I tried to speak to him, but I don't think he knew I was there."

"What do you think he was writing?"

"He was re-writing his Akashic record," interrupted Markland.

"What does that mean?" asked Jodie.

"Akashic records are something I'd read about, but I've never considered them to be real, until now."

Howie and Jodie looked at him in silence, urging him to continue.

"Every event in our lives is recorded in an Akashic record. Everything you've ever done and everything you will ever do, has already been decided."

"Sorry Markland, I don't believe that can be real, because if it is, it goes against the many-worlds theory."

"Why would it? Surely each parallel world would have its own Hall of Akashic Records."

Jodie nodded.

"As I've just said, I didn't think such a thing could be, but now I've witnessed what Jodie has seen, I think it's likely that Akashic records do exist."

"But what does it all mean? What was James writing?" asked Jodie.

"He was re-writing his past, which will affect his future. I've read that if a person can access their Akashic record, they can change the path of their future."

"I know what he was doing," said Howie in a sombre voice. "He was re-writing his past. He must have scrubbed out the affair he had when he was married to Helena, and he's given himself a clean slate."

"I think you may be right," said Markland.

"And in doing so, he's somehow shifted to the parallel world where James Trafford made the decision not to have an affair," added Jodie.

"Or, perhaps he's now in a parallel world where he didn't get found out?" added Howie.

They sat on the bus in silence, taking in the gravity of the situation. If what they'd discovered was correct, it meant that the hill had revealed something just as remarkable as it had done when it had proved that life continues beyond death.

"What should we do next?" asked Jodie.

"Sorry to bring us back to earth with a bump, but shouldn't you report the theft of your car?" suggested Howie.

Markland nodded. He had almost forgotten about his beloved car. He pulled out his phone and called 101.

"Shit!" muttered Markland.

"What now?" huffed Jodie.

Markland didn't answer, but continued to fiddle with his smartphone.

"I can't get a line, there's a problem with the network."

"Is it broken, perhaps it's full of rain water?" asked Howie.

"No, I don't think so, it's picking up the Wi-Fi from the bus, so it must be okay. It must be the network, I'll call from my landline when I get home."

Howie stood up and rang the bell.

"This is us, my house is a five-minute walk from the bus stop," said Howie, as the bus turned the corner.

##  Chapter 37

Han Trafford's House

8.58 p.m.

James opened the door to his father's house, threw his keys onto the sideboard and huffed into the lounge.

"What happened?" asked Han.

"Nothing, absolutely nothing. I couldn't find them at the burial mound."

"Perhaps you missed them?"

"No, I don't think so. Mr Garraway's car was parked near the entrance."

"Are you sure it was his?"

"Yeah, I recognised it from last week. He parked it in Howie's drive, when we were all at his flat."

Han nodded.

"I waited by the entrance to the woods for almost half an hour. I was sure they would eventually appear, but I gave up. They're probably lurking around deep in the woods somewhere, and there was no way I was going in there on my own."

"Don't worry, I'll call Howie in the morning and find out what happened," said Han.

##  Chapter 38

Howie Doyle's flat

9.08 p.m.

The three rain soaked, bedraggled characters had trudged the five-minute walk from the bus stop to Howie's flat. They turned the corner and Howie instinctively searched his pockets for his house keys.

"Shit! I forgot, I've lost them."

When they reached his flat Howie told them to wait while he climbed the fence leading to his garden to retrieve the spare keys, which he kept hidden around the back.

"I can't wait to get out of these things," said Markland, referring to his wet clothes.

"Nor me. Don't worry, as soon as Howie comes back I'll drive you home and you can........."

Jodie stopped mid-sentence.

Markland watched as she looked up and down Howie's road. She was perplexed about something and muttered beneath her breath.

"What's the matter?"

"My car, it's not here. I'd parked it across Howie's drive. It was the only place I found to park...... and now it's gone."

Markland was about to speak, but was interrupted by Howie clambering back over the fence.

"I've got them," he said, jingling his keys and wearing a broad smile. He knew by Jodie's face that something was wrong. And then he worked out what it was.

"Your car, it was right outside. Where is it?"

"I can't believe it. Both Markland's and now mine. Both stolen on the same night. Un-fucking-believable."

"Yes, it is unbelievable isn't it," remarked Markland, in a thoughtful tone whilst rubbing his chin.

"What are you thinking?" asked Howie.

"I'm not sure. Howie, would you be kind enough to let us in, and make us all a nice hot cup of tea."

Twenty minutes later Howie, Jodie and Markland were wearing dry clothes.

Jodie slouched in a pair of Howie's jogging bottoms and a sweat shirt, which were far too big for her. Markland and Howie were almost the same height, although Markland had a broader frame. He was just able to squeeze into Howie's clothes.

Their damp clothes hung over an airer.

"Thanks for the tea," said Jodie, cupping the hot mug.

"Do you mind if I use your phone to report my car," asked Markland.

"Sure, be my guest."

During Markland's call Jodie pondered over the things that had happened. She became struck by a thought.

"Okay, that's done. Howie, could you drive Jodie and me home."

"I can't. My car's off the road, busted radiator. Shouldn't Jodie call the police too?"

Markland didn't answer, at least not right away.

"What are you thinking?" said Jodie.

"Something occurred to me on the bus, which I initially dismissed."

"What?" asked Howie.

"I think Markland may be thinking the same thing as me," said Jodie.

They glanced at one another, with a knowing look.

"The monument Howie. Tell me again, what happened?"

"There's nothing much to say really. It just isn't there anymore."

"Was the bench still there?"

"Yeah, the bench was there, but not the monument, nor my keys."

"What do you think would explain that?" asked Markland, in a borderline patronising tone.

Howie shook his head.

"I don't think the monument was ever there."

Howie frowned. He had no idea what Markland was proposing.

"Nor do I think my car was stolen, nor Jodie's."

Markland paused. Howie was desperate for him to continue, but it was Jodie who was the next to speak.

"I think what he's suggesting is that both our cars are right where we left them, and the monument is safely in the woods."

Howie frowned. What they said made no sense.

"Let's take stock of a few things," said Markland, placing his empty mug on the table.

"If I remember correctly it was a dry evening when we set off, with hardly a cloud in the sky. When we ran from the hill, the rain was coming down like stair rods. Where did that weather come from?"

Howie shook his head.

"Do you remember Markland and me trying to get cash from the ATM? It didn't seem to recognise our accounts, and when Markland used his phone it didn't work," said Jodie

"She's right. It was as if my number wasn't recognised. Do you have a mobile phone?"

Howie nodded.

"Try calling Jodie, I bet neither of your phones work."

Jodie told him her number, and Howie dialled it.

"You're right, nothing happens, what does this mean?"

Markland paused before he dropped the bombshell.

"I think we've crossed over to a parallel world. It's the hill, it's working its magic."

Howie contemplated what Markland told him.

"But if that's the case, how could you use my landline? You've just made a call to the police."

Markland took half a minute to consider his reply.

"Let's just say we've crossed to a parallel world, and it's the one to which James Trafford branched off to, had he not cheated on Helena."

Howie struggled to keep up.

"When did James have the affair?"

"I'm not sure, it was ages ago, years ago."

Markland asked Jodie and Howie when they bought their phones. Howie bought his earlier in the year, and Jodie's was a Christmas present from her father. She'd had it just over ten months.

"I've not had my phone very long either, and it's a new number. We've arrived in James' parallel world with phones from our world which mean nothing here."

Howie nodded. What Markland said almost made sense.

"But that doesn't explain why my landline phone works."

"How long have you lived here?" asked Jodie.

"Six years."

"And have you always had that phone, with the same number?"

Howie nodded again.

"So your landline, and your phone number existed in the world we've just crossed over from, before James cheated on his wife." She paused for reflection, and then continued. "When this new parallel world came into being, your old phone, your flat, everything you had at the time came with it, along with you."

"So are you suggesting that I may meet myself face to face? Am I likely to walk through my front door any minute now?" asked Howie nervously.

"No, somehow I don't think that's going to happen. I don't think any of us will bump into ourselves."

"It would be like a paradox. Just like going back in time and seeing yourself, it just couldn't happen," added Markland.

"If what you're both saying is correct, what the hell do we do now?" asked Howie.

"We should do what we came here to do. Tomorrow, we go to Exeter and we convince James to return to the world to which he belongs."

##  Chapter 39

9.45 p.m.

James lay in bed next to Helena. Both were tired after a gruelling day. James found driving the M5, and M4 particularly arduous. It was something he had to learn pretty quickly. Until around four weeks ago, the largest thing he'd driven was a Transit van.

He'd hoped for a miracle and a miracle had happened. But was he now regretting what he had wished for? He thought that by accessing and changing his Akashic record and wiping his slate clean, he would be transferred to the life he'd hoped for with Helena. But this wasn't to be.

Before James had crossed over to the world in which his double had lived, there had been a lot of friction, which had been brought about by money worries. Helena received a small stipend from Exeter University to support her through her PhD programme, and driving a coach for a living didn't pay particularly well. A lot of their money was spent on childcare for their twin boys, Josh and Laurence.

When James crossed over from the world where he had cheated on Helena, to a world where no affair had happened, he thought that all would be bright and rosy. He had been wrong.

He soon found out that even in a world where James Trafford had been true to his wife, there was unbearable friction. He found he could do nothing right and was always on the back foot. Most of the time he was on eggshells.

He gazed at Helena. She looked beautiful as she lay in shallow sleep. He weighed up whether life with her, along with all the stresses and strains it brought, was better than living without her where he was sad and alone with his father. It didn't take him long to decide that he'd done the right thing. He knew that as soon as she'd finished her PhD she'd land a well-paid job, and money would be less of an issue.

There wasn't much about his old life he missed, but there was someone he would love to meet up with, have a drink and talk about the 'good old days', and that was his best friend Howie Doyle. He didn't expect to find that in this new world there would be no Howie. He remembered the look upon Helena's face when he enquired after him. She'd asked whether he'd had a bump on the head, when he appeared not to remember that Howie had been mowed down by a car, which James' father had been driving.

There were many things to which he needed to adapt. He'd found out that the 'other' James was diabetic, and now he had to feign the incurable illness. He'd struggled to learn everyone's name in this new world. His work colleagues, Helena's friends, the parents of the other children at 'his sons'' nursery, and a whole host of other people.

The last four weeks had been a steep learning curve for James. As he lay in bed, considering the unbelievable thing he'd achieved, he was certain that it was the right thing to have done.

##  Chapter 40

Howie Doyle's flat

9.52 p.m.

"How do you propose we get to Exeter?" asked Howie, "Your cars aren't here in this world, and my old Fiesta's knackered."

"Your car may be knackered in the world we've just left, but that's not to say it's not up and running in this one," said Markland.

"He's got a point, go out and see whether it starts."

Howie went out to the drive, popped the bonnet and checked the radiator. It was full of water, it hadn't lost a drop. He sat in the driver's seat and turned the key. Nothing, absolutely nothing. He noticed a musty stale smell, as if it hadn't been used in years. He got out and walked around the car. In the darkness he hadn't noticed that two tyres were flat. He walked to the front, and looked at the windscreen and saw the tax disc had expired in July 2013.

"Shit, this thing's not been driven in years," he muttered beneath his breath, before returning to his flat.

"It's worse in this world than it was in the other," said Howie, before explaining to Jodie and Markland that his fifteen-year-old Ford Fiesta was a non-starter.

"We'll have to hire a car," said Jodie.

"We've got no money in this world," said Markland, in a dejected tone.

The three sat in silence until Jodie came up with an idea.

"I think I can get us some cash, enough to hire a car."

Markland and Howie looked at her quizzically.

"Howie, assuming you're a caretaker in this world, I imagine you've got keys to the school."

Howie jumped up, and checked where he hung his keys.

"Yeah, they're hanging by the door."

"What are you thinking?" asked Markland.

"I'm thinking of something that's a little bit against the law. I know where the school secretary keeps petty cash. There's normally a few hundred pounds in the safe."

"But what if we get caught?" asked Howie.

"Then we'll have an awful lot of explaining to do," replied Markland.

During the next ten minutes they discussed what to do. At just after ten o' clock they left Howie's flat for the two and a half mile walk to Compton Wells School.

It was ten minutes before eleven when they reached the school. Howie opened the gate to the carpark, and they made their way to the school office. Howie unlocked the rear entrance door, and shut off the alarms.

"Do you have a key to the secretary's office," asked Jodie.

"I've got a key to every room in this school, but I don't have a key to the safe."

"Don't worry about that," smirked Jodie.

Howie opened the door, and Jodie flicked on the light and made her way to a desk on which were three pot plants. She lifted a white china pot containing a dried up spider plant and revealed a small key.

"Yes," she whispered beneath her breath.

Howie stood in the doorway and watched Jodie open the safe. She removed a brown envelope, and emptied its contents on the desk. She took a minute to count the notes and announced there was one hundred and seventy pounds.

"Not as much as I had hoped," she whispered.

"Take this and wipe your prints," said Markland, handing her a cloth. "You wouldn't want the Jodie Standwick in this world to get in trouble would you?"

"That's if in this world Jodie Standwick even works here," replied Jodie.

Howie locked the door, and they made their way back along the corridor. Markland passed his office and did a 'double take'.

"What? asked Jodie.

"Look, on my office door my name's not there."

"Well that's because you probably don't work here in this world."

"That's not the point, look whose name is."

"Shit," muttered Howie, when he saw to what Markland was referring.

"John Armstrong, that dodgy bastard still works here. He was the Attendance Officer before you," said Jodie.

"I'm aware of who he is, and I'm aware of what he is alleged to have done."

"Everyone knew he was guilty, but nothing could be proved," added Jodie.

"Shit, we need to do something," said Howie.

"How far did you get with your meeting with Victoria Kilby's parents?" asked Jodie,

"Not very far, it was the day I passed out remember?"

Jodie nodded.

"I'm sure the reason she took so much time away from school was because of him. The dirty bastard," she said, shaking her head in anger.

"So if he's still working here, in this world, he's probably up to no good, what can we do about it?" said Howie.

"We've got enough on our plate, but I agree we must do something," said Markland.

"I could put a note under the headmaster's door," suggested Jodie.

Markland pondered for a second.

"That may be difficult."

"Why?"

"Because if the Jodie in this world knows nothing of what John Armstrong's been up to, she'll have a hard time explaining herself."

Jodie nodded.

"I'll leave an anonymous note. According to the sign on the door I don't work here, Armstrong does, so it shouldn't incriminate any staff, plus my handwriting won't be recognised."

Jodie and Howie nodded in agreement, and proceeded to bring Markland up to speed with what John Armstrong was alleged to have done.

"This is more than an allegation, I walked to his office when he was on the computer one lunch hour. I saw a quick glimpse at what he was looking at before he was able to hide it. Disgusting! I guess he must be a wiz at clearing his browsing history because nothing was ever found," said Howie.

"Of course, we're taking a risk. After all, the 'John Armstrong' in this world, may not be the grubby little man he is in ours, but we can't take that chance. We need to protect the 'Victoria Kilbys' of this world," said Markland.

He wrote a note, sealed it in a white envelope and slid it beneath the headmaster's door.

They slipped out of the school and headed back to Howie's.

"It's too late to do anything right now. If Howie would be kind enough to put us up for the night, we'll hire a car and head off to Exeter first thing in the morning."

Howie and Jodie nodded in agreement.

Thursday 22nd October. 7.05 a.m.

After a night of little sleep, Markland, Howie and Jodie had taken an early bus, and were waiting outside the car hire firm near the city centre.

Markland stood in a trance as he recalled a particularly nasty nightmare he'd had about his former boss, Detective Superintendent Derek Munroe.

"They should be open by now," said Howie, in an impatient tone as he checked his watch.

Markland was a little concerned that there would be something about the 'Markland Garraway' in this world, which would prevent him from being able to hire a car. His worries were unfounded, as within forty-five minutes the three of them were heading southbound in a brand-new Vauxhall Astra.

The M5 was quiet, and few words were spoken on the journey to Exeter. Howie gazed towards the east, and saw the glow of the sunrise. He thought about the strange world to which he'd somehow crossed over. As the sun peaked over the hills, he wondered just how many parallel worlds there could be, and how many other suns, like the one which he had seen rise and set ever since he could remember.

As they passed junction twenty-three Jodie saw that Humphrey, the fibreglass camel, which had stood in a field behind the hard shoulder was still there. It had been in the same place since she could remember and it brought back memories of long drives to Cornwall with her mother and father when she was young. Seeing it gave her a sense of comfort as if everything would be okay. Until now she hadn't considered if, and how, she would return to the world from where she came. A chill ran down her spine as the enormity of the situation sunk in. She opened the glove compartment, threw her purse in, and slammed the door closed.

Markland eyed her as he gripped the steering wheel. There were few cars ahead of him and he had to be careful to keep the car below seventy. The last thing he wanted was to be pulled over. He wondered whether his life was different in this world. He thought of Joan and wondered whether they'd made better progress of getting back together. He knew he wasn't working at the school because creepy John Armstrong's nameplate was on the office door. He pondered whether he may still be a detective, and whether he'd would have been involved in Ben Walker's murder in this parallel world.

It was Jodie who broke the silence.

"I suppose we should discuss what to do when we get there."

"Simple, we bring James home," said Howie.

"Don't you think he'll be a little surprised to see us? I don't think we can just charge in and grab him," said Markland.

"Even if we do convince him to come with us, how on earth do we bring him back to our world?" said Jodie.

"I think we'll leave that to 'the hill'. I guess we'll take him to the burial mound and see what happens."

They approached the sign for Exeter Services.

"First things first, let's have breakfast," suggested Markland.

Markland pulled up in the service station and they headed to the restaurant. The three were in awe of the ordinariness of their surroundings. Lorries were parked, coaches full of passengers were pulling away, businessmen were milling around the entrance whilst talking on their mobiles and families were bustling around the shops.

Howie and Markland tucked into bacon and eggs while Jodie opted for cornflakes and toast. When Markland had been a policeman he rarely ate breakfast, but since early retirement he'd put away two or three fry ups every week.

"I think the best approach is for Howie to knock on James' door. After the surprise of seeing him has tapered, Jodie and I should introduce ourselves."

"What if he's not there?" asked Howie.

"Then we come back when he is," said Jodie.

"But what if Helena answers instead," said Howie.

He had a very good point. If Helena answers the door, sees Howie and recognises him, there would be a chance she'd be in a heightened emotional state and in shock. The last time she would have seen him, was before he'd died when he was a teenager.

"We'll have to deal with that if it happens, take things one at a time," suggested Markland.

"So assuming James is there and he opens the door, what should be our line?" asked Jodie.

"I think we should clarify that we're aware of what's happening, explain how we've got here and tell him about the other James who's moping around in Bristol. He needs to face up to what he's done, return to his world and let the other James return to his," said Markland.

"You make it all sound so easy."

Howie cast his mind back to the vision he'd had on the hill.

"But what about Barrington-Smyth, what I saw on the hill told us that Helena wasn't with James."

"Perhaps the hill had got things wrong, hopefully we'll find James here. You mentioned that Masterson did say about Helena having twin boys, so fingers crossed she is married to James," suggested Jodie.

"It's something we'll have to deal with if it happens," said Markland. "Can you remind me where we're heading?"

"Montgomery Crescent, but I can't remember the number. Hopefully I'll recognise the house from my vision on the burial mound," replied Howie, finishing the dregs of his tea.

"Could you do me a favour," asked Markland, reaching into his pocket for cash, "could you nip over to the shop and buy an A to Z. I'm not familiar with Exeter."

Howie took the money and headed for WH Smiths.

Thirty-five minutes later, Markland turned left from Polsloe Road, and slowly made his way along Montgomery Crescent.

"There it is!" barked Howie, pointing to the house he'd seen in his vision.

Markland recognised it too, as he'd shared Howie's vision on the hill. He parked opposite and shut off the engine.

"It's just as I saw it in my head," said Howie in a quiet voice.

An upstairs light came on and a figure obscured by net curtains could be seen in the room.

"Someone's home," said Jodie.

"Mr Doyle, it's time to do your thing. Jodie and I will wait here and watch. We'll come over once you've explained to James what's happening."

Howie swallowed dryly, opened the door and stepped out. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he made his way across the road. He glanced at the overgrown garden, which partially obscured the stagnant pond. It was just as it had been in the vision.

He stood at the door and rapped the brass door knocker with three steady, confident whacks.

##  Chapter 41

Han Trafford's House

Thursday 22nd October

10.12 a.m.

James returned home after a fruitless trip to both Badock's Wood and Howie Doyle's flat. He marched into the lounge where his father stood in front of the bay window.

"Any luck?"

"No. Mr Garraway's car is still parked where it was last night. It's not moved from the entrance of the woods. I've been to Howie's place and he's not there. His car's in the drive and there's a White Arosa blocking him in."

"He's probably at work," said Han, in a reassuring tone.

"How could he get there? His car's blocked in?"

"Perhaps he's taken the bus."

James shook his head.

"No. Something's wrong, something's very, very wrong. Something must have happened to them in the woods. I think we should notify the police."

"Don't be too hasty. Why don't you call the school and ask whether Howie's there, and while you're at it ask if Mr Garraway's in work today."

Five minutes later James ended the call and put down his phone.

"What did they say?"

"They said Mr Garraway's not due in today, he only works part-time."

"What about Howie?"

"He hasn't turned up. Dad, it's gone ten o' clock, he's not there and he hasn't called in sick. I'm calling the police."

##  Chapter 42

Montgomery Crescent, Exeter

10.17 a.m.

Helena watched the silver Astra from the upstairs window. She frowned with curiosity when she saw a man step out and walk to her house. She heard three loud raps on the door.

Howie waited for the door to open for what seemed an awfully long time. He heard footsteps along the hallway and the click of the lock.

"Helena?"

"My god, I remember you, you're Howie Doyle, what the hell are you doing here. I've not seen you in years," said Helena, with a broad grin.

Howie was confused. He didn't understand why Helena accepted who he was. She greeted him as an old long lost friend and not someone who was supposed to be dead. He wasn't certain what to say next.

"What are you doing around these parts? she asked.

"We've driven down to see you, well more to see......," Howie was cut short by Helena.

"I get it, you've not really come to see me, you've come to see my pain in the backside husband haven't you?"

Reluctantly, Howie nodded.

"He's here, he'll be pleased to see you. Let me get Jimbo, he's out back."

"Jimbo?" said Howie.

"Sorry, Jimbo's my pet name for him."

Helena trotted down the hall and called her husband.

Of course Jimbo, Helena calls James 'Jimbo', thought Howie. Although, he wondered why James had never mentioned this back in the other world.

He turned to the car and mouthed 'he's here, Helena's gone to get him.'

Howie thought about the vision on the hill, and wondered why Helena had been married to someone other than James.

A minute later Helena returned.

"Jimbo's on his way, he's wiping grease off his hands. He's fixing the damn washing machine again."

Howie nodded and nervously waited for him to appear. He wondered what would go through James' mind when he saw who was at the door.

Helena's husband stood alongside her with a dirty towel in his hand. He had grease on his face.

Howie was speechless. He'd seen the vision, so had been warned what to expect, but he was lost for words.

Markland and Jodie watched from the car. Jodie was confused, and Markland was concerned.

"What brings you here mate, I've not seen you since the wedding?"

"Wedding, whose wedding?" replied Howie.

"Ours, who else?" he replied, whilst affectionately ruffling Helena's hair.

The colour drained from Howie's face.

"What's the matter?" asked Helena.

"But you said Jimbo, I thought you were married to James?" enquired Howie, in a tense tone.

"James? James who?"

"James Trafford."

"Oh him. My God, I've not seen him since school...... why on earth did you think I was married to him."

"I'm not sure," stuttered Howie, "it was because you said you were married to Jimbo."

The two of them looked at him in such a way that Howie assumed they thought him to be insane.

Markland heard the conversation from the car, and was worried what Howie might do next.

"Jimbo? That's what I call him, he's not James," said Helena, with an air of confusion.

"I don't get it, why Jimbo?" asked Howie.

"Dean,..... James Dean..... Jimbo is for James Dean," explained Helena as to why she referred to her husband, Dean Barrington-Smyth as Jimbo."

"So you really are Helena Barrington-Smyth?"

Dean's attitude towards his old friend from Bristol changed.

"It's lovely to see you again Howie, but I'm not sure why you've come to see us and to be honest with you, you're making no sense and you're frightening my wife."

Howie didn't know what to say.

Markland saw that a situation was about to ensue, and decided it was time to intervene.

"Come on, we'd better go over," said Markland. He and Jodie got out of the car and scurried across the road.

"Hi, my name's Mr Garraway and this is Miss Standwick. We're with Howie."

"What's this about?" asked Dean.

"Howie insisted that he wanted to see you both, and we agreed to bring him down. We weren't happy about him travelling on his own," replied Markland.

Jodie was quick to catch on.

"He's been unwell lately, I've been taking care of him," she added, in a whispered voice.

Howie glanced at her disapprovingly.

"You'd better come in," said Dean reluctantly.

"Would you like something to drink?" asked Helena.

Markland and Jodie said 'yes' and thanked her. Helena gestured to Dean to follow her to the kitchen.

"What do you think this is about?" said Helena, waiting for the kettle to boil.

"I'm not sure, it seems like our old friend is suffering some kind of mental health issue, the poor bastard."

Markland, Jodie and Howie waited in the lounge. They spoke in hushed tones, and agreed that they shouldn't explain what was happening.

Helena walked in with a tray of drinks, followed by Dean who carried the biscuit barrel.

Markland took the lead.

"Howie's been reminiscing about the two of you, he really wanted to see you, but for some reason he thinks you're married to his other friend James."

Helena and Dean looked at him with a manner of sympathy.

"He thinks it's great that you're at university doing a PhD, and that you've got twin boys. Where are they right now?" said Markland.

"They're at nursery."

Jodie leaned in towards Helena and Dean.

"Howie remembers some stuff with great detail, but gets mixed up with other stuff. He's told us all about what you're doing, and your young boys, but gets confused with the basics, like who's married to who," whispered Jodie.

Helena and Dean nodded.

"Tell me, does Mr Masterson still live next door?" asked Markland.

They nodded in unison.

"And that noisy guy next door with the beard, Drew Lees?"

"Yes, unfortunately he's still a nuisance, despite the many disputes we've had, he continues to keep us, and the boys, awake at night," said Dean.

"But how would Howie know about either of our neighbours, we've not spoken since not long after our wedding, how did he know?"

As if on cue, a muffled repetitive thud emanated through the wall. The thud preceded a long drawn out deep, almost subsonic rumble, which progressed into an unbearable cacophony.

Helena rubbed her forehead and glanced towards Dean.

"He's started early today." Her voice was almost inaudible above the noise thudding from Lees' house.

Dean closed his eyes in an attempt to suppress his anger.

"Imagine our children having to sleep through this," shouted Helena.

Howie didn't pay any attention to the noise booming through the walls. Instead he became agitated about something else and got up from the chair.

"Why don't we just tell them, why don't we let them know what's going on?"

"Sit down Howie, it's okay," said Jodie.

"No I won't sit down. We should just tell them!"

Helena and Dean watched and were worried for their old friend.

Howie became more agitated as Jodie tried to reason with him.

It was hard for the five of them to have a conversation due to the racket from next door. Dean stood up, marched to the wall and hammered his fists against it.

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

It was like someone had shut of the power. The deafening row ended immediately.

"Well that's never happened before," said Helena, in a relieved tone.

After a half a minute, during which no one spoke, Howie continued from where he'd left off.

"Please let me tell them why we've come, they need to know why we're really here. They need to know we're all in this together."

"Sorry about this, it's probably best that we leave now," said Jodie.

"All in what together?" asked Dean, his tone sounding borderline threatening.

"We've come to see you, and we've come from a parallel world. We've come from a world where James Trafford is in trouble. He's been swapped from another world where he's married to Helena and he needs to get back, and we need to help him."

Dean relaxed and shook his head.

"Okay, it was nice to see you, but I think it's time you should go," said Dean, with a compassionate smile.

Markland stood up and put his arm on Howie's shoulder,

"Come on my friend, it's time to head back."

Howie resisted. The tension of the past few weeks, the crossing over to a parallel world and now to find that James wasn't here, had become too much for him.

"Take your hands off me Garraway and don't treat me like a mental case. Why can't we all just tell them what's going on."

Markland gave him a look which Howie knew meant there would be trouble. Markland was a well-built man, who could easily over-power him and Dean was built like a brick house. He knew he was no match.

Dean was becoming tense and wanted them out of the house. Helena was scared.

"It looks like you've got off at the wrong world mate," said Dean, opening the front door.

Markland escorted Howie along the hall and Jodie followed behind.

"I'm sorry, this wasn't such a good idea after all," she said, stepping into the garden.

"I hope he gets better," said Helena.

Jodie smiled sympathetically and nodded.

Robert Masterson left his house, walked along his garden path and directed a smile towards Helena who turned the other way. Dean noticed the brief interaction between his wife and their neighbour and made a mental note of what he'd just seen.

Jodie and Markland bid Helena and Dean farewell, whilst Howie trudged behind.

Markland and Jodie simultaneously looked towards Drew Lees' house, and both saw the man staring at them from an upstairs window. He threw them an evil look.

"My god, I'm glad I don't have him as a neighbour," said Jodie.

Markland steered the rented car along Montgomery Crescent and away from Helena and Dean's house.

"Why couldn't we have told them the truth," whined Howie.

"Because Dean was right when he said we've got off at the wrong world. For some reason we've ended up in a world where Helena has pursued her dream to achieve a PhD, she has twin boys, is neighbours with Masterson and Drew Lees, but has married a different person. We must have travelled along the wrong branch and along to a different parallel world. Here she barely remembers James Trafford and here you clearly didn't die," said Jodie.

"She's right, something went wrong on the hill, it's sent us along the wrong route," added Markland. "And I would advise you that from now on you keep your emotions under control. There was no need for that outburst."

Howie lowered his head.

"So what now?" he asked turning to Jodie.

"We return to Bristol, go back to the woods and try again."

"But before we return, there is something I'd like to do," said Markland.

##  Chapter 43

Montgomery Crescent, Exeter

10.35 a.m.

"I need to make amends," said James to Helena, sitting crossed legged on the settee.

"I know things have been tough, especially with money, and I know I've been aloof and distant recently, but I'll change. I promise I'll change," he added in an imploring tone.

"I've heard it before," replied Helena, her arms tightly folded facing the bay window.

"But I mean it this time, you must believe me."

James Trafford had gone to incredible lengths to reunite with Helena, and now he had to fight to save his marriage for a second time. It had been a steep learning curve. He'd literally dropped from another world into hers and had hit the ground running. He'd learned to adjust pretty damned quickly. Initially it had been insane finding that he was the father of twin boys, that Helena was achieving the research PhD she'd so longed for and that he had to master how to drive a fifty-five seater coach without training. It had been a struggle to learn not only the names of Helena and James' friends, but also pretty much everything about them. It wasn't as if he would ever be caught out, as there was no way that anyone would ever know that he'd crossed over from a parallel world, but still, he had to get it right. All in all, he thought he was doing pretty damn well. The only thing he had to do was to rekindle their relationship which was clearly going down the drain.

In his other world he'd spoilt his marriage by having a brief and disastrous fling with another woman. He'd needed to employ a kind of 'sixth sense', to work out why life wasn't so rosy for James and Helena in a world where he'd been faithful. He'd thought about the person he was, and the things he knew that weren't his best traits. During their brief term of marriage, he recalled telling Helena that returning to university to study would be a complete waste of her time. In this world he must have overcome his selfishness and allowed her to follow her dream. She'd made the right decision. Although her academic ambitions had put them back a few years financially, the head-hunters were already tracking her down. She was going to be a successful lady.

He sat alongside her on the settee and put his hand on her arm.

"You don't know what you mean to me, and you don't know how miserable my life would be without you,......... but believe me I do."

The way he'd just spoken, the words were delivered in such a way they made her shiver. She knew he meant them. It wasn't just the words he said, it was how they were said.

"You really mean it, don't you." she softly replied.

"I do," replied James, before taking his wife in his arms and holding her tightly.

He was certain that nothing, or no one, would allow him to lose Helena for a second time.

##  Chapter 44

Bristol

12.28 a.m.

After a slow arduous journey, during which the traffic had been nose to tail, Jodie, Howie and Markland made their way along Bedminster Down, and towards the city centre.

Markland decided to leave the motorway and opt for the A38, twenty miles before the junction for Bristol to avoid the congestion. The M5 had looked identical to the world they knew, but the rambling A38 was different. Jodie noticed a few of the houses didn't look quite the same as they meandered through Highbridge. A petrol station, which Markland had called into many times before, was a car washing facility. He'd seen five or six men feverishly working to clean a Mercedes, whilst the owner of the car watched as he sipped hot coffee from a styrofoam cup. Howie hadn't noticed anything different. He'd spent most of the journey thinking about their encounter with Helena and Dean.

Markland stopped at a set of temporary traffic lights.

"Jodie, whilst we're here there's something I'd like to see."

She said nothing, but didn't like his tone.

"Where are you taking us?" asked Howie.

"I want to visit my house, just to take a look. Don't worry, I'm not going to do anything stupid."

"Do you think that's such a wise thing?" asked Jodie.

"I don't think it can cause any harm. I'll just drive past and see if things are different in this world, you know perhaps I've different curtains, or whether the house is painted the same colour."

Jodie couldn't see a problem. As long as he didn't get out, and especially as long as he didn't knock on his door, or let himself in.

"Of course, it all depends if you live in the same house in this world," said Howie, from the back of the car. His voice sounded flat. The visit to Helena's house seemed to have affected him. He'd hardly spoken during the journey and when he did, he sounded monotone and emotionless. Jodie was concerned by his change in character, but had kept it to herself. She was sure that Markland had noticed and was likely to be thinking the same thing.

Jodie pulled down the passenger mirror, and caught a glimpse of Howie. She thought how sad he looked. Swapping from one world to another had been surreal enough for her and Markland, and she couldn't imagine what Howie was going through on his quest to find his best friend.

"I don't know you very well do I?" asked Jodie.

"I don't suppose you do. I'm just the caretaker, I go around the place unnoticed."

"I've noticed you. I've noticed the way you are with the children. They think you're great. You've always got a smile on your face and you laugh with the school kids. They seem to look up to you. I wish the kids in my class looked up to me in the same way they do to you."

Howie beamed inwardly. He didn't receive many compliments, and what Jodie said made him feel good about himself.

Jodie thought about the lengths to which he was going to bring his friend back.

"You're a good man Howie," added Jodie, putting the mirror back in place.

Fifteen minutes later the rented car coasted along Markland's long road. It was a pretty place to live, albeit somewhat unremarkable. Midfield Avenue was lined either side with three and four bedroom detached houses, each with a garage and a driveway. Most had tall hedges, which obscured the gardens.

Markland surveyed the avenue, his head turning from left to right as he took in the surroundings.

"Is it any different?" asked Jodie. Markland shook his head and continued to drive.

The road took a sharp turn to the left and he slowed the car to almost a walking pace.

"My place is just on the bend."

As he approached his house he saw a police car parked outside. Outside the porch were a couple hugging and one of them was a policeman. As they hugged they turned to an angle which allowed Markland to see their faces.

"What the......?"

He swallowed dryly, accelerated the car and then stopped five houses further along the road.

"What is it?" asked Howie. Markland didn't speak.

Jodie looked at his white knuckles gripping the steering wheel.

Jodie and Howie knew something wasn't right.

Markland unclipped his belt and lifted his hand to open the door.

"What do you think you're doing?" demanded Jodie, pulling his arm.

"Let go of me."

"Markland, whatever this is you can't interfere, this isn't your world."

Jodie flicked the child lock, preventing him from getting out.

"Whatever's happening, you must stay here."

Markland stared at the ceiling of the car.

"Who are those people?" asked Howie.

Markland replaced his hands on the steering wheel and glared through the windscreen at the middle distance. He was shaking.

"The woman is my wife and the policeman was my boss."

"But you were a detective, that man's an officer, how could he have been above you in rank?" asked Jodie.

"In my world he's Detective Superintendent Munroe, and he dislikes me intently."

Jodie and Howie said nothing, as the enormity of the situation hit them.

"In my world Joan and I are separated. We're trying to patch things up, and I hope that one day we'll be together again........ but in this world she clearly lives at home...... our home."

"I hate to suggest this, but is it likely she could be having an affair with that policeman?" said Jodie.

"I've no idea, but I have to find out. I need to know what's going on."

Nobody spoke for a few seconds. The tension in the car was unbearable. Markland was normally a composed and rational man, but in the matter of less than a minute he'd changed.

"Why don't Howie and I take a stroll past and see if we can hear what they're saying?"

Markland briefly contemplated Jodie's suggestion and decided to take her up on her offer.

"There's a lane which runs along the side of my house. From there you should be within earshot and be able to hear what they're talking about."

Jodie and Howie nodded and got out of the car.

"Hold my hand," said Jodie.

The two of them nonchalantly strolled past Markland's house, and turned down the lane as Markland suggested. They stopped behind foliage from where they heard voices.

"I'm sure he'll turn up, it's probably retirement freaking him out," suggested the officer.

"But he's never done anything like this before, it's been two days, and he's not even called."

Jodie strained her eyes as she peered through the bushes, and saw the officer pull Markland's wife towards him while she sobbed on his shoulder.

"What's happening?" whispered Howie, who wasn't able to see what Jodie could.

"He's comforting her, I think they're more than friends and he's more than her local bobby," said Jodie.

"Are you suggesting Markland's wife is screwing around?"

Jodie didn't answer.

"Did you hear what she said, Markland's missing. She said he's been gone two days," said Jodie, in a breathless whisper.

The voices continued and Jodie and Howie listened from the adjacent lane.

"But can't your people work harder?" sobbed Joan.

"I'm sure we're doing all we can, especially considering who Markland is," replied the officer, comforting Joan by warmly embracing her, his hands almost reaching the small of her back.

"That's above and beyond the call of duty," whispered Jodie, whilst Howie smirked.

"What did he mean by that? 'Especially considering who Markland is'," said Howie.

Joan pulled away and subconsciously straightened her blouse.

"You need to leave, my sister will be here soon."

Munroe took a pace backwards and nodded.

"I'll call you later."

"No, please don't call. You're not helping. You're making things harder for me."

Munroe turned around, paused but didn't speak. Jodie watched, as he rolled his eyes around his head whilst walking facing away from Joan. He walked to the car and sped away. Joan stood on the doorstep and when the sound of the police car had faded, she went inside.

"Shit, that doesn't look too promising, Garraway's wife is having an affair," said Howie.

Jodie shook her head.

"I know. It seems that way, but that's not the biggest issue is it?"

Howie wore a puzzled expression.

"Markland's missing, she said he's been gone two days," continued Jodie.

Howie wasn't latching on.

"Don't you get it? James was missing whilst he crossed over from our world to the other, and then the other James returned under those strange circumstances. In this world Markland's also missing. There seems to be a time lag of a few days when someone crosses over to a parallel world."

"Which means you and I are also missing in this world, and the world from which we've come," said Howie, as the penny dropped.

Jodie nodded.

"And I wouldn't be surprised that our doubles in this world will soon be in ours," she added.

Things were becoming complicated and confusing. They hurried back to Markland who was waiting with the engine running.

"She's having an affair with Munroe isn't she!" he barked.

Howie and Jodie weren't sure how to answer.

"I think Munroe's taking advantage of the circumstances," said Jodie.

"What circumstances?"

"From what we could hear, it appears you've been missing for two days. She's upset, and he's comforting her," said Howie.

"So, in this world Joan and I are together," pondered Markland.

"Munroe said something about you being retired, he also said that the police were searching for you, it seems you're an important person in this world," added Howie.

Markland frowned.

"Munroe told your wife that he's sure they're doing all they can, especially considering who Markland is," said Jodie.

Markland shook with anger. There were too many thoughts running amock in his mind.

"She's having a bloody affair with my bloody boss," said Markland, in a low and menacing voice.

"Don't think of it like that. And don't forget this isn't your world, this is one of many, perhaps millions, or even an infinite number of worlds and no world is exactly the same. Besides, I don't think she's having an affair, but Munroe appears to be using the situation to his advantage."

Markland closed his eyes and shuddered at even the remotest idea of his wife being unfaithful to him.

"But like I've just explained to Howie, the bigger issue is that you're missing. You've been missing for two days, and it's my reckoning you'll be gone for another day or so before you return......"

"But when I return it won't be me, it will be me from another parallel world," said Markland, interrupting her flow.

"Sorry for being the least scientific of the three of us, but didn't the two James' swap over to each other's parallel worlds," said Howie.

Jodie and Markland nodded.

"But you're already in this world, you're here a day early."

They sat quietly, and tried to understand the conundrum which was unfolding in front of them.

"I think we need to concentrate on what we've come here to do," said Markland, breaking the silence.

"We need to get James back to his world, and then we need to work out how we return to ours."

"And how do we do that?" asked Howie.

Jodie glanced at him and noticed how sunken and hollow his eyes looked since they'd left Exeter.

"I'm not sure, but I think the best place to start is by heading back to Badock's Wood," said Markland.

"I guess you're right, but just now, all I want to do is sleep. I just don't have the energy," said Howie.

"He's got a point; we could all do with some rest. I think we should head back to Howie's, take on board everything that's happened and consider our options. It would be wise if we headed to the woods first thing in the morning." suggested Jodie, after looking at Howie's worn expression.

Markland nodded and headed the car back to Howie's flat.

##  Chapter 45

Badock's Wood

7.39 p.m.

An isolated squally wind blew around the burial mound in the woods. Stubby grass on the hill bent backwards as the gust intensified, whirlwinding into a sudden updraft. Loose soil and stone whipped around. The spinning wind glowed with a pale blue incandescent luminosity. A bolt of lightning flashed from the storm, although no clap of thunder followed. Instead the dark form of a heavily built man rolled from the top and tumbled to the base of the hill.

For a few seconds the man lay in darkness on the damp earth as the mini whirlwind diminished. His jeans and white t-shirt were stained and muddy. His black leather coat rode up around his back.

He stood up, wiped himself down and straightened his jacket before heading towards the exit of Badock's Wood with a purposeful stride.

He cursed, as he diverted his path around a fallen tree which blocked the pathway. Its trunk was split in two and burnt.

##  Chapter 46

Markland & Joan Garraway's home

8.05 p.m.

Joan sat alone clutching a sliver framed photograph of herself and Markland. It had been taken earlier in the year when she and Markland had holidayed in Scotland. They had visited Ullapool, the town in which Markland had lived when he was a boy.

She remembered their walk along the beach, and how her husband had stood for a few moments and had looked towards the early evening sky. She knew what had been on his mind. He'd been thinking about the UFO he'd allegedly seen from the beach when he was a teenager. Although Joan believed he saw something, she didn't entertain the idea of visitors from another world.

She had no idea that earlier in the day, her husband had been in a rented car, less than fifty metres from where she'd been comforted by PC Munroe. Had she seen him, would she have accepted that he wasn't her Markland, but a Markland from another world? Probably not.

Carol, her sister, had left twenty minutes earlier. She had offered to stay the night, but Joan had insisted that she return home to her husband.

Joan wondered whether she'd said something to upset Markland, or perhaps he'd found out about the brief liaisons she'd had with Munroe?

Two days earlier she'd awoken to find him gone. He'd taken nothing with him. No keys, no wallet, no phone. It was as if he'd left the house wearing the pyjamas he'd worn to bed.

She was aware that he'd found retirement to be a struggle, and at times she'd found things awkward having him around the house, after many years working long and gruelling days as a Detective Superintendent. But she had no idea he'd been so unsettled, or unhappy enough to leave home. There had been no signs to indicate anything was that bad with their relationship.

She regretted her brief fling with Derek Munroe and was nervous whenever he happened to drop by to say 'hello'.

She pulled the photograph close to her and wept. All she wanted was Markland. She was beside herself with worry and missed her husband terribly.

##  Chapter 47

Howie Doyle's flat

Friday 23rd October

7.59 a.m.

"What time is it?" asked Jodie, stepping out of Howie's spare bedroom, her vision blurred by sleepy dust.

"Eight o'clock," replied Markland, caressing a mug of coffee.

"How long do we have the hire car for?" said Howie.

"Two more days, but I don't suppose it really matters how long we keep it."

Howie looked at him inquisitively.

"Because soon we'll be departing this world."

Howie became perplexed.

"I'm referring to this parallel world. Hopefully we'll soon be leaving this world and returning to our own."

Howie relaxed and nodded.

Jodie poured herself a drink from Howie's small coffee filter machine.

"So, gentlemen. What are our intentions? Do we have a plan?"

Not much had been discussed during the previous evening. The chore of swapping from one world to another, travelling halfway around the southwest of England and experiencing the improbabilities of parallel world hopping had sapped the last bit of energy from them. They had all been far too tired to think about the next day.

"We need to try again. We have to locate James and somehow get him back to where he belongs," said Howie, "Although, I've no idea how we do that, I'll leave that to you two experts," he added.

"I think there's only one thing we can do, which is to take a leap of faith. We return to the burial mound and hope something happens," said Markland, before taking another mouthful of tepid coffee.

"What if we end up in a parallel world which is still the wrong one? I'm worried about getting so far away from our world, that we may never return," said Jodie.

"Perhaps we should leave a trail of breadcrumbs, like in the Hansel and Gretel fairy tale," said Howie glancing back and forth between them with a smirk.

"Do you feel any better today? You lost it a bit in Exeter," asked Jodie.

Howie nodded.

"I was confused. I didn't anticipate such a thing could actually happen. Even though the vision on the hill warned me about Dean Barrington-Smyth and Helena, I had been confident that we could march into the house, grab James, and return him to where he belongs. Also I felt stupid. The two of you made me look a fool by suggesting I was a mental case."

"I'm sorry, Markland and I were thinking on our feet."

"Okay, let's chalk it up to experience and hope that today's attempt is more successful," said Markland.

They took it in turns to wash and change. Jodie and Markland's clothes had dried from the soaking they'd received when they were caught in the downpour the other evening. Both were happy not to be wearing Howie's cast offs.

Howie opened the door and glanced at his un-roadworthy Ford Fiesta. It was a reminder that although he felt he was at home, he wasn't. The flat wasn't really his, it belonged to another Howie Doyle. Although they'd shared the same memories, laughed at the same jokes and cried the same tears, they were different people living different lives. The life of the Howie, who lived in this flat had taken a different direction to the Howie who had burst into this world. He wondered what had happened to the Howie who lived here. Was the other Howie now in the parallel world from which he, Markland and Jodie had come, or had he branched off into a new unchartered world, never to return to this one? His muddled mind struggled to comprehend what was going on. But now he was in the thick of it and he was determined to see it through.

Howie shared the last of his cornflakes and passed the milk. The three of them ate in silence. All that could be heard was the steady munching of jaws.

"We need to bear in mind we have limited resources," said Jodie after finishing her last spoonful.

"I've got about seventy pounds left after hiring the car, and we need to make that last. The Astra's got three quarters of a tank, but we're going to need to buy food," added Markland.

"If we do end up in another parallel world, I guess we could always raid the petty cash tin again," suggested Howie.

"You have a point," said Jodie, "I guess that in another parallel world, the cash would still be in the school safe."

Markland smirked to himself. The idea of him being an ex-policeman and becoming some kind of quantum world jumping criminal made him smile.

"Okay, let's finish breakfast, then head over to the woods," said Markland, taking his empty cereal bowl to the sink.

At just after eight thirty, Markland parked the hire car in exactly the same place he'd parked his own car on Wednesday evening. He wondered what was happening back in his world, and whether his car was still there. Perhaps it had been reported to the police. After all, it would had been on single yellow lines for two days. He dismissed the thought and concentrated on what they'd come here to do.

They stepped out of the car, and made their way to the entrance of the woods. Jodie noticed that the street lamp over the path wasn't flickering, like it had in the world from which she'd come. It was a gentle reminder that although things seemed the same, they definitely weren't.

They strolled past the tree which had been struck by lightning and headed towards the burial mound.

"Look, over there," said Jodie pointing, "Howie's right, the monument's not there."

Markland wandered in the direction of where the monument had been, and stopped at the bench. He sat down and looked at the hill. Most people would be in a state of disbelief after going through what he'd experienced, but little seemed to faze Markland. He'd learned to embrace the unknown. He couldn't fight it, so had no choice but to go along with whatever the hill threw his way.

Jodie strolled over and sat beside him, whilst Howie ambled around the perimeter of the burial mound.

"Howie said something back at the flat, which I think was in jest, but it's something I think we should consider," said Jodie.

Markland threw her a glance.

"He said something about leaving a breadcrumb trail, so we could find our way back. I think he has a point. We don't know how many parallel words we're likely to end up in on our hunt for James. I don't know about you, but I'm keen on getting back to the one I came from."

"What do you propose?" asked Markland.

"I'm not sure, but perhaps we should leave some kind of marker to prove whether we've been to a world before..... or whether we haven't."

Markland didn't speak, which urged Jodie to continue.

"I was thinking we could carve a mark into a tree, or perhaps into this bench," she added, looking at the weathered seat on which they sat.

"It's a good thought, but who's to say that in another world this bench doesn't exist. After all, there's no steel monument here. You need to think of leaving a mark on something that's constant. Something we can guarantee will be here in any world we may end up in."

"How about that oak tree?" said Jodie, pointing to an ancient and venerable tree which was just beyond the burial mound.

"No, it can't be relied on. The other tree, which was struck by lightning is a fine example why we can't rely on that tree. Besides, in another world, it may have never grown in the first place."

Jodie wasn't keen on hopping from world to world, with no way of getting home. She closed her eyes and tried to think of something which was constant in all the worlds they were likely to end up in.

"The only constants I can think of are the sun and moon, and I don't suppose they'll be much help," said Jodie.

Markland didn't speak. He was mulling an idea over in his mind.

"There's something else which should be in any parallel world and it's staring us in the face," said Markland looking forwards.

Jodie followed his gaze and realised he was referring to the burial mound.

"Of course she remarked, but what kind of marker could we leave on the hill?"

Markland was about to reply when Howie sauntered over.

"What are you two talking about?"

Jodie and Markland told him of their idea, based upon Howie's suggestion of leaving a breadcrumb trail.

"I was only joking, I didn't mean for you to take me seriously."

"It's a great idea. It'll give us a point of reference to know which world we're in. Markland suggested putting some kind of marker on the burial mound, as it's likely to be in every parallel world we end up in."

"Jeepers Jodie, just how many worlds are we likely to end up in?"

"I've no idea, but worlds could be infinite and it's possible we could end up bursting in and out of many."

"We need to leave some kind of mark which can't be erased, so if we return from another world it will still be there. That's the only way this could work," added Markland.

They sat in silence and concentrated on Howie's breadcrumb idea.

Howie cast his mind back to the evening he visited the burial mound and scooped the bagful of soil. He jumped up from the bench, causing Markland and Jodie to flinch.

"I think I've got it! Follow me."

Markland and Jodie trailed behind Howie, who jogged to the hill and scurried to the top. It took him a few seconds to find what he was looking for. Markland and Jodie caught up to find Howie on his hands and knees.

"It's still here," said Howie. He removed moveable earth and grit to expose a large rock embedded in the top of the burial mound.

"I remember this boulder from when I came here alone a few nights ago. It's in this world and it's in the world we came from."

"This thing's huge. I can't imagine it going anywhere soon," said Markland, disturbing the soil around the rock with the toe of his shoe. "I think Howie's found our marker. Now all we need to do is leave some kind of sign on it. Something which will identify whether we've been to this world or not."

"Let's number it," suggested Jodie. "If we mark this stone as number one, we'll know which world this is. We'll number each world consecutively, and that can be our breadcrumb trail."

Howie searched his pockets and pulled out his pen knife. He bent down and scratched the Roman numeral 'one' into the sandstone boulder.

"Good job," said Markland, before turning and making his way back down the hill towards the bench. Jodie followed him, whilst Howie stood by the boulder admiring his handiwork. Howie was struck by a thought.

Markland and Jodie saw Howie making his way towards them.

"Hey, hey, I don't think this will work. My breadcrumb idea won't work."

"Why not?" asked Jodie and Markland in unison.

"Because when, or if, we get back to our world, there'll be no marker on the boulder. We should have marked the boulder in our world with a sign. How will we ever know if we return to our world?"

Howie had a very good point. If they marked the boulder in each world, they would never know if they were in the world from which they'd all come.

"I know, I've got it," said Jodie, ambling away from the bench and towards the oak tree. "There are certain things that we know of in our world, which are likely to be different in other ones."

"Such as?" said Markland.

"Our mobile phones, our cash cards. They are likely only to work in our world," she said turning her head towards the entrance of the woods. "And the street lamp at the beginning of the path. It flickered in our world. Here it's on, and it doesn't annoyingly flash on and off."

"She's right, and if we're lucky, my car will be parked just where I left it on Wednesday."

"I think there are plenty of markers in our world for us to......"

Jodie was interrupted mid-sentence, and let out a muffled scream.

Howie and Markland looked up to see a man who appeared to have come from nowhere. He wore a black leather coat, white T-shirt and jeans. He had a grey beard and his face bore the scars of a long ago bout of acne. The man grabbed Jodie and pulled her towards the hill. She tried to call out, but the man had his hand over her mouth as he dragged her up the side of the hill. Howie and Markland ran towards Jodie as the man hauled her to the top of the burial mound. He stood atop the hill, and held her close with his hand still clasped over her mouth. Howie and Markland stopped when they reached the bottom of the hill. Jodie looked terrified as she tried to wriggle free.

"Don't come any closer, or I'll kill her," shouted the man.

Markland recognised the man, but from where he wasn't sure. He was too concerned about Jodie to work out who the man was. Cautiously, he edged forward.

"I said don't come any closer."

Markland weighed up the situation. The man holding Jodie was large in stature, but a little over weight. He was certain he and Howie could overcome him and release Jodie from his grip. He looked to his right and saw Howie poised and ready to sprint up the hill. They threw each other a knowing glance, aware of what the other was thinking. Markland nodded, mouthed the word 'now', and the two men dashed towards Jodie and the man.

They made it three quarters of the way up the hill, but were hit with such a force that both men fell backwards and tumbled to the bottom. What felt like a tornado, had quite literally lifted them from their feet and thrown them off balance.

Markland scrambled to his feet and attempt to try again. Howie lay crumbled on the floor and watched the man wrestle with Jodie. She fought hard to escape his hold on her.

Markland didn't even get one foot on the base of the hill, before what felt like a force nine gale whipped around and prevented him from getting any closer to Jodie. He called her name and watched her mouth something to him. He couldn't make out what she was trying to say. Her clothes bellowed in the wind, and the man's coat lifted behind him as if it were a cape.

Howie watched and noticed that throughout Jodie's ordeal everything was silent. There was no roar of wind, nor could her voice be heard. It was as if she was calling for help from behind an invisible force.

Markland was not giving up. He remained on his feet and pushed against the hurricane force storm which grew in intensity. The more he struggled, the more it had a silent stranglehold upon him, making it difficult for him to breathe.

And then everything stopped.

Markland fell forward, facedown upon the side of the hill. Before he regained his composure, he was aware of Howie's voice calling Jodie's name at the top of his lungs.

Markland saw that Jodie and the man had gone. There was absolutely no trace that they were ever there.

Howie sprinted past Markland to the top of the hill. He wore an expression similar to a confused child who'd been shown a magic trick.

"What happened, where did she go?"

Markland climbed to his knees and looked up at Howie and the empty space around him.

"He's taken her," whispered Markland, stating the obvious below his breath. He climbed the hill and stood beside Howie.

The two men surveyed the area in silence, and wondered whether they'd ever see Jodie Standwick again.

##  Chapter 48

Badock's Wood

Friday 23rd October

8.39 a.m.

James arrived at the woods with his father just before sunrise. He'd made a call to the police at ten o'clock the previous morning and reported that Howie and Markland were missing. The operator didn't think that James' call was high priority.

He was out of bed early and knocking on his father's door insisting that he accompany him to Badock's Wood to search for Howie, Markland and the teacher from Howie's school.

After more than an hour of exploring the entire area, father and son sat forlornly on the bench alongside the steel monument opposite the burial mound.

"Markland's car is still here. It's not moved since Wednesday. Where can they be?" said James.

His father shook his head, and as he did, he noticed a bunch of keys on the floor between the monument and the bench. He reached forward and picked them up.

"We should hand these in, someone will be looking for them," said Han, examining the Ferrari keyring.

"Let me see," said James, snatching the keys.

"I've seen that Ferrari badge before. These belong to Howie. I recognise them from the night we went to the pub."

Han took a closer look.

"Christ James, you're right. They're his. He's a bloody petrol head isn't he."

"If you say so, I don't know. But I did see him with them in the pub."

"Okay, we need to take these to the police. We need to let them know where we found them."

"At last you're taking this seriously," said James.

"Shall we have another look around the woods?" asked Han.

"No, I think the woods are too big for just the two of us to search. We've looked as much as we can on our own. We need to make sure the police or involved. Let's hand the keys in, and hopefully the police will bring in a team to search this place."

They left the woods and headed to the police station. 

##  Chapter 49

Helena and James' House

Montgomery Crescent

Exeter

Friday 23rd October

8.40 a.m.

James brought his wife breakfast in bed. He wouldn't be starting work until later and Helena didn't need to be at university until after lunch. He'd taken care of the twins, who were happily amusing one another in the corner of James' and Helena's bedroom.

She knew how hard her husband was trying. It was clear that he really wanted to make their marriage work.

He sat on the end of their bed, watching her drink coffee and eat toast, and wondered what had happened to the 'other' James. The James that had married Helena, and not been foolish to have had an affair. It had been something which had been on his mind ever since he'd re-written his life in the Hall of Akashic Records.

His mind wandered as he thought about his achievements in such a short period of time.

The concept of an Akashic record came to him in a dream one night, as he tossed and turned in bed.

He'd been living a sad life with his father. After his marriage to Helena had dissolved, he had no choice other than to move in with Han. He didn't have enough money to put down as a deposit on a flat, and had recently lost his job.

But the dream he'd had filled him with hope. He'd visualised himself rising above the dull and meaningless existence he had endured for far too long, and escaping to somewhere altogether different. James' dream had taken him to the Astral Plane, and while he was there, he'd felt at peace with himself. For the first time in the longest time he'd felt happy. In his dream of the Astral Plane he'd met a lady called Alice. The two of them had spoken, and it was Alice who told him of the Hall of Akashic Records. He'd felt like he'd known the woman all his life. She was beautiful, serene and understanding. She listened when he told her of his mistakes and misgivings. He told her how he'd idiotically spoiled the best thing he'd ever had, and how Helena had left him over the stupid affair. She saw the sadness in his eyes when he told her all he wanted was Helena, and would do anything to be with her. Alice had smiled, and asked him what would he do if he had a chance to rewrite his past?

In his dream Alice had taken his hand and whispered the following words.

'James, you are a little world. For, just like the whole, you possess mind and reason, a divine and a mortal body. You are divided up according to the universe. It is for this reason that your consciousness corresponds with the nature of the fixed stars, and your reason in its contemplative aspect with Saturn, and in its social aspect with Jupiter. And as to your irrational part, the passionate nature with Mars, the eloquent with Mercury, the appetitive with Venus, the sensitive with the Sun and the vegetative with the Moon. James, it is up to you to change your destiny. This is something that you can do. And for some, to change their future, it is easier to first change what has happened in their past. I'll help you on your way to find your Akashic record, and give you the chance to make amends. But be warned, as in the world in which you live, here on the Astral Plane there is a reaction to every action. By changing your past, you will affect not only your future, but the future of others. Worlds are interlinked by others. Not other celestial worlds, but the world you've known all your life. This world that we refer to as planet Earth has many facsimiles, and we must be careful not to upset the balance.'

Alice had proceeded to hold his hand, and guide him through a wonderland, where stars filled the sky like he'd never seen before. It was as if he could reach out and touch them. He'd never experienced such a feeling of serenity and happiness. She led him to a doorway within an arch. The arch stood alone. There was no building surrounding it. It reminded him of the remains of the entrance to a derelict castle. Alice had knocked five times on the door, after which it had silently opened.

Beyond the doorway was a building. It had been a library bursting full of the largest books he'd ever seen. He looked above and below, to his left and to his right, and straight ahead. The building had no end. He turned around and saw the archway and door were no longer there. Not only did the library have no end, it had no beginning.

Alice had told him that he was one of the few who'd stood in the Great Hall of Akashic Records. A building which housed not only the pasts of those who'd gone before, and not only the pasts and futures of those who lived, but also the entire lives of those who were yet to be born.

She led him through the great hall and took him to the book in which was written the story of his life. Alice took the book, which was his Akashic record, and placed it on a desk. On the desk was a quill pen, a well of ink and a candle. Alice ran her finger over the wick and a flame appeared, which illuminated the table with a dancing yellow glow.

She said nothing, but he knew what she'd brought him there to do.

In the dream he'd opened the book, which was in the form of a diary. It detailed all that had happened in his life. He came to the entry in which it depicted the stupid, and meaningless affair he'd had behind Helena's back. The level of detail was frightening. Every other entry for each day of his life was less than half a page, but the description of his brief sexual encounter was full in every detail. On one hand James felt compelled to read the account of his wrong doing, but on the other he was disgusted and wanted to turn away. He chose to read the whole entry, which spanned three pages of the huge tome. His tears flowed and smudged the delicate ink on the ivory hued pages of the book.

He picked up the quill pen, dipped it in the ink well and crossed through any mention of what had happened the night he'd shared a taxi home with Eloise, the young work colleague, who shared the same open plan office as he.

James had been having an after work drink with his office colleagues and Eloise had also been in the pub with her friends. She had a reputation of being flirtatious when drunk, and James had caught her eye. He had also been drinking and his defences were low. The two were having a giggly conversation. His office manager had tried to lure him away from her, but James had become consumed by her sweet talk and suggestive remarks. As time went on, only a few of his friends remained in the pub, and by now they were too drunk to notice Eloise perched on his lap, running her fingers through his hair. She kissed the scar below his eye.

They left the pub together and had flagged down a taxi, which had taken them to her house. Eloise had whispered that her parents were away and would he like to come in.

James slammed the book shut, and buried his head in his hands. He could read no more of what happened on the day which ruined his life. He was disgusted with himself. Reading the account of what had happened made him feel grubby and worthless. He thought of Helena's smiling face, and wondered just what on earth had possessed him.

James composed himself and reopened the book to the page. He picked up the quill pen and continued to cross out each page which referred to his encounter with Eloise. In the margins of the pages he wrote four words in capital letters.

'THIS DID NOT HAPPEN'

He closed the book and replaced it on the shelf. He turned to Alice, but she was no longer there. Instead, in his peripheral vision, he caught a glimpse of a young woman wearing a red coat. She was watching him. He'd turned to face her, but she had also gone.

"It was nice to have a break from the noise last night," said Helena.

Her voice pulled James back to reality. He'd become lost in his thoughts, as if he was back in the Hall of Akashic Records.

"Sorry, what did you say? I was miles away."

"I could see. You were a real Dolly Daydream. What were you thinking about?"

"Oh, nothing really, just this and that," he lied. "What were you saying about noise?"

"Next door, he wasn't playing any music last night."

Helena was right. For the first time since she could remember, their neighbour had not kept them and the twins awake with his deafening thudding music.

"Perhaps he's gone away," suggested James.

"Let's hope so, and the further away the better."

##  Chapter 50

Helena and Dean's House

Montgomery Crescent

Exeter

Friday 23rd October

8.40 a.m.

"Shit, shit, shit," said Dean jumping out of bed. "Look at the time, I've overslept."

Helena wiped the sleep from her eyes and sat up.

"What time is it," she said, reaching for the clock.

Dean didn't answer. He stood by the door, hurriedly pulling on his trousers, and almost falling face first into the wall at the same time.

"Slow down Jimbo, it's okay, it's okay."

He dropped down on the end of the bed, and stared at the ceiling.

"I've never overslept before. I could have sworn I'd set the alarm."

"It's funny the boys didn't wake us. They're normally up by now. I'll go and check on them."

She returned from their room a few minutes later.

"They're sound asleep. Both of them are out for the count."

Dean opened the curtains, and gazed down onto the street.

"I know why we've all overslept."

Helena frowned.

"What was different about last night?" asked Dean.

She shrugged her shoulders.

"I don't know. I must have fallen asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow."

"Exactly, that's what was different about last night."

Helena didn't know what he was getting at.

"Uninterrupted sleep. We both slept the whole night through, and so did the kids."

Helena nodded as the penny dropped.

"Drew Lees,....... he didn't play his music."

"Yep, he gave us a night off," said Dean.

"Perhaps he's not well."

"Hopefully it's worse than that, hopefully the bastard's dead."

##  Chapter 51

Badock's Wood

8.40 a.m.

Markland and Howie stood at the top of the burial mound. Neither of them spoke. The hill had given Markland many surprises, but nothing quite like seeing Jodie and the stranger disappear in front of his eyes.

It was Howie who broke the silence.

"What the hell just happened?"

Markland didn't reply. Instead, he lowered his head and attempted to hold back tears.

"She's gone. She's gone and it's my fault," said Markland quietly. "I should never have got her involved. What the hell was I thinking?"

Howie took a step closer to him, and repeated what he'd just asked.

"Markland, what's happened, where did she go?"

"How on earth should I know," snapped Markland. "I should have kept well clear of you. This is all down to you! If you hadn't got me involved, then none of this would have happened and Jodie would be safe."

"Sorry," whispered Howie.

"Sorry! You're bloody sorry are you? And what exactly are you sorry for? Are you sorry that you've created a situation so bad, that a poor innocent girl has vanished before our eyes to God only knows where? Or are you sorry because you've dragged me into some God damn twilight zone world, in which my wife's having an affair with my boss....."

"Okay, okay," pleaded Howie with his hands in the air. "I had no idea what I was getting us into. How was I to know that any of this would happen?"

Markland didn't reply. He took a moment to compose himself. He lowered himself down and sat on the burial mound. He looked around for an explanation to what could have happened. There was nothing to prove Jodie had ever been there.

Then he noticed something was different. He sprung to his feet, and took a step closer to the boulder embedded in the burial mound.

"The rock!"

Howie's eyes followed in the direction Markland was pointing.

"The marker's gone. That Roman numeral 'one' you scratched into that rock isn't there."

"Why would that be? We've not gone anywhere?"

"I think you may be wrong. Look over there," replied Markland, pointing towards the bench.

"Shit where did that come from?"

"I think it's always been there, it's us who've been elsewhere."

Both men stared at the monument, which was where it was the last time they'd seen it on Wednesday night.

"We must be back in our world," said Howie excitedly.

Markland didn't reply. Instead he pulled his phone from his pocket, and dialled his home number. There was no signal. His phone still didn't work.

"No Howie, I don't think we're back, somehow we've ended up in another world. Please could you put a marker on the rock."

Howie sighed, knelt down and scraped a Roman numeral 'two' into the rock with his penknife. Markland thought about what had just happened, then it occurred to him where he'd seen the man who had taken Jodie.

"That man was Drew Lees," exclaimed Markland.

"Pardon?"

"The man who just took Jodie, he's Helena's neighbour in Exeter. Drew Lees, the one who plays the loud music."

"How do you know?"

"Jodie and I saw him when we left Dean and Helena yesterday. He was watching us from his window."

"What the hell has he got to do with any of this, and how did he get here?"

"I've absolutely no idea."

Markland was lost for words. He didn't know in which direction to turn. He climbed down from the hill and on his own walked towards the bench.

Howie followed him, but Markland raised his hand, and gestured for him to stop.

"Please leave me alone. I need to think this through."

Howie stopped and took a step back.

"Perhaps all of this is just a dream. Maybe I'll wake up soon, and all of this will be a memory. Or perhaps this is a dream within a dream?" muttered Howie, as Markland made his way to the bench.

Howie watched Markland alone on the bench. He hung his head and rubbed his eyes with his palms. Howie felt an enormous sense of guilt. Markland was right. Howie had lured him to the woods, which was somewhere Markland swore he'd never go again. Markland should have stuck to his guns and kept away from Howie. But Markland was in a rut. It was easy to say no to Howie, but saying no to the lure of the hill was different. He knew that as soon as he'd seen the visions he had little choice but to go along with Howie and help him find James.

Markland gestured to Howie to sit beside him. Howie strolled over and sat between Markland and the monument.

"The situation's changed. We're no longer trying to find James. Our priority is to bring Jodie back. I agree that we need to swap both James' back to their respective worlds, but I presume that neither of them are in any immediate danger."

Howie nodded in agreement. He thought about Jodie and how in his heart he missed her.

"The thing is," added Markland, "I've no idea where to begin to look for her."

"Perhaps Drew Lees has her in Exeter?"

"Perhaps he does, but it won't be the Exeter which is in this world, and we've no idea of knowing which world she's in right now."

Howie wasn't a particularly clever man and had no suggestions. He was all out of ideas before he'd even begun to consider where she could be.

Markland wouldn't need to wait long until he received the first clue to where Jodie had gone. And the source of the information would come from the most unlikely person he could imagine.

##  Chapter 52

Trinity Road Police Station

Bristol

9.22 a.m.

"Thank you for handing these in, I'll make sure Mr Doyle has them returned to him. In fact, I'll take them to him myself," said the police officer, taking the keys which hung from the Ferrari keyring. "And, I can assure you that Mr Doyle, Mr Garraway and Miss Standwick are safe and can be accounted for."

"But they'd been missing since Wednesday. Mr Garraway's car has been outside Badock's Wood since then, and it was still there yesterday," implored James.

"I understand Mr Trafford, but as I've said, all three are safe."

"Where did you find them?"

"This morning Miss Standwick and Mr Doyle where both at their respective flats, and Mr Garraway was at his house. Mr Doyle told us that he'd let himself into his flat earlier in the morning."

"How did Howie get in without his key?" asked James.

The officer shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps he had a spare?"

"Are they okay?" asked Han.

"I believe so, although I understand all three were a little confused, and were unsure why the police were knocking on their doors so early in the morning."

"Did they account for where they'd been?" said James.

"No, but as far as I am aware they've not been questioned. We were purely satisfied that all three were safe. They've not broken any laws, nor are under suspicion for committing any crimes. If you're concerned why don't you call them?"

"Well I guess that's that," said Han.

"But don't you think it's a little odd, that all three went looking for the other me, they went to the hill in the woods, which is supposed to be full of hocus pocus, and apparently like me, all had been missing for days?"

"One day," said Han.

"Pardon?"

"They've only been missing one full day. They were here on Wednesday. I know that because I spoke with Howie, who told me of their intention of going to the woods. We couldn't find them yesterday and now according to the policeman they're all at their homes today. It's only on Thursday that they were missing."

"I think you'll find they've been missing for three consecutive days, Wednesday evening, all of Thursday and part of today. I guarantee that if we go to Doncaster Road right now, Mr Garraway's car will still be parked where he left it on Wednesday evening."

Han understood what his son was getting at, but was trying to distance himself from the weirdness that had been happening for the past four weeks.

"Where are you going?" asked Han.

"I'm off to the woods. I want to see whether Markland's car is still there before it's either towed away, or driven by Markland. Are you coming?"

Han sighed and followed his son.

Fifteen minutes later James was back, driving along Doncaster Road and slowed to a crawling pace as he approached the entrance of the woods.

"There," he said pulling alongside Markland's car. "It's still there, and this is the third day it's been here."

"Okay, you're right."

James stared at the car. A frustrated driver behind him beeped his horn and brought James out of his stupor. He continued for another hundred yards and parked on single yellow lines.

"Let's call Howie," said Han.

"No. Let's go over to his flat and ask him what's been going on face to face. Hopefully he can fill us in with what's been happening to the girl and Markland as well."

A little later James pulled up opposite Howie's place. Across his drive was a white Seat Arosa, blocking in Howie's Fiesta. A light shone in the flat, and James saw a figure walk past the window.

"He's there," said Han, getting out of the car.

They strolled over to his flat and knocked on the door.

Howie opened the door and appeared to be shaken.

"Where've you been?" said James, pushing his way into Howie's hallway. Han followed behind.

Howie didn't answer, but seemed relieved to see his friend.

James glanced out of the window overlooking the road.

"Who does that white car belong to? The one blocking your drive."

Eventually Howie spoke. His voice was shaky.

"I don't know, but it looks familiar. Not that it matters, mine's not going anywhere........ ever!"

"Why?" asked James with a frown.

"It's been knackered for years, you knew that."

James frowned, and changed the subject.

"Where have you been? We've been worried about you. I've been to the woods to look for you and the others, but couldn't find any of you."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Dad told me. On Wednesday you, Markland and Jodie went to the burial mound in Badock's Wood. Dad said that Markland had some kind of plan that involved the hill in the woods."

"Sorry, I'm lost. Start over again. Who are Markland and Jodie?"

"Markland and Jodie from Compton Wells," replied James, who was agitated.

Howie looked at the car blocking his driveway. Then he remembered where he'd seen it before.

"That's where I've seen it. In the staff carpark. It belongs to Jodie Standwick the science teacher. Why the hell is it here?"

James listened to Howie's tone of voice and watched his body language. Then it dawned on him. He took his father to one side and they stepped into the hallway.

"I think what happened to me has also happened to him. I don't think he's of our world. I think this idea of parallel worlds may just be real. I'm sure if we call to see Jodie, or Markland they'd be equally confused."

They stepped back into the lounge. Howie was still gazing out of the window.

"What's the last thing you remember?" asked Han.

"I was at home, watching a DVD and was thinking about having an early night. The next thing I knew I was outside my flat. I let myself in and I've no idea how I got here."

"How did you let yourself in?" asked James.

"With these," replied Howie, pulling the Ferrari keyring from the pocket of his jeans.

They were the same keys James had found in the woods.

James and his father threw each other a glance.

"Howie, is there a new truancy officer at your school? An ex-detective, called Markland Garraway?"

"No, the Attendance Officer's John Armstrong," replied Howie, with a look of disgust.

"You've never heard of Markland Garraway have you?"

"No, I wouldn't forget a name like that."

"But Jodie works there doesn't she," said James, not asking but instead making a statement of fact.

Howie nodded.

"Okay, we need to see Markland and Jodie. Let's find out what they have to say," said James to his father.

"Do you know where they live?" asked Han.

"No, but Howie does.........," James stopped mid-sentence. He momentarily forgot that the Howie in front of him wasn't the same Howie he'd been searching for since Wednesday. There was little chance he'd happen to know where either Markland or Jodie lived.

"Are you planning on going into work today?" asked James.

"I guess so," replied Howie, wearing a tired and confused expression. He glanced at his watch. "I should have been there hours ago. I'm surprised no one's called."

"I think you'll find a few changes at Compton Wells, and the school will want to know why you weren't there yesterday."

"I was there yesterday."

"What day is it today?" asked Han.

Howie frowned, and thought for a second.

"Thursday....... I think?"

"No, today's Friday."

James took the television remote, and turned on Sky News. The date and time were displayed at the bottom of the screen. Howie read it out under his breath.

"You've lost a whole day mate. In fact, you've lost three days in total. Wednesday evening, all of Thursday and part of this morning. I bet you can't remember getting out of bed today," said James.

Howie paused and tried to recall what had happened first thing when he awoke.

"No, shit.... I'm trying to think......."

"Don't worry," said James, interrupting.

Han pulled James to one side, whilst Howie continued to recall what had happened that morning.

"I don't think there's any point trying to track down either Jodie or Markland. They'd both be as confused as Howie. Not to mention the fact that they'd have no idea who we are," said Han, in a quiet voice.

"So what do we do now?"

"I really don't know. The only person who can help us is Markland...... the Markland who I last spoke with on Wednesday........ and therein lies the problem."

"I'm sorry to be rude, but would you two mind leaving now. I'm not feeling too well and could do with lying down," said Howie.

"So you won't be in school today?" asked Han.

"No, I don't think I should. I feel quite peaky all of a sudden."

James and Han nodded then threw each other a look.

"We'll see ourselves out," said Han, walking towards the hallway. Han was about to open the front door, when he heard a knock. He opened the door and was surprised to see the same police officer from the station earlier that morning.

"Oh, hello Mr Trafford, it's nice to see you again. Is everything okay?" asked the officer.

"I think so," lied Han, "Howie's a little confused, but I think he's fine. Do you need to speak with him? James and I were just leaving."

"No, not really. I just wanted to drop these off for him," said the officer holding Howie's keys, which dangled from the Ferrari Keyring.

James looked over his father's shoulder, and shuddered when he saw the keys.

Howie strolled into the hall to see who was at his front door.

"Hello. Two policemen in one day?" said Howie, referring to the visit he'd had from another officer earlier that morning.

"I've just called around to give you these. James and his father handed them in this morning, after finding them in Badock's Wood yesterday."

An air of confusion spread across Howie's face.

"I've not lost my keys, here they are," he said, pulling them from his pocket.

The police officer took Howie's Keys and compared them to the set in his hand. They were identical. The two Ferrari badges even bore matching scratches and scuffs. He tried keys from both keyrings in Howie's front door, and each key fitted.

"They're definitely your keys Mr Doyle," said the officer, passing both sets of keys to Howie.

The officer bid them farewell, and James closed the door behind him.

Howie took a minute to examine the keys.

"Would one of you mind telling me what the hell's going on?"

##  Chapter 53

Jodie lay in darkness. She was scared and cold. She had no idea how long she'd been there, nor how she arrived there. She couldn't remember waking up, but at the same time, she had no recollection of being asleep. Time meant nothing to her.

"Is anyone there?"

Her voice bore no echo. Her words were absorbed and sounded strange. It reminded her of how things sound after a heavy snowfall.

She attempted to raise her arms and although there appeared to be no bindings, she couldn't move them.

She raised her head an inch and called again, "can anybody hear me?"

And again, there was no reply.

She lowered her head against the soft surface. What she lay on felt damp, with a small amount of elasticity, like a taut trampoline. She thought it could be something organic. Jodie shivered. Although she was cold, it was not the temperature that made her shudder. She shook with fear.

One by one, the events leading up to what had happened came to the forefront of her mind. Jodie recalled being in the woods with Markland and Howie. She remembered the man grabbing her and pulling her to the top of the burial mound. She still heard the anger in his voice when he warned Markland not to come any closer. It was the last thing she remembered.

She called again.

"Please, can anyone hear me? Please, someone help me."

Then something happened.

Whatever was beneath her began to pulsate, as if a liquid was being pumped through it. It was as if the ground was hiccupping. Regular pulsations jarred her bones, as the strange surface upon which she lay bounced her up and down. The beats intensified and became more regular as the gap between each pulse became shorter and shorter. Within no time she with juddering up and down with such force and speed that she bit through her tongue. The pain in her mouth throbbed as she convulsed to the rhythm of whatever was bouncing her around.

Jodie had never been so frightened in her life. She had no idea where she was and wanted whatever was happening to end.

"P- L - E – A - S \- E S - T - O – P !" yelled Jodie. Her words came out like she was beating her fists against her chest.

And then everything did stop. All she heard was her heart beating in her chest and her heavy breathing. Blood filled her mouth and the ache in her tongue throbbed. Jodie wept like a lost child wanting her mother. But there was no one.

Jodie was alone. Very, very alone.

##  Chapter 54

Howie Doyle's flat

9.57 a.m.

Howie rubbed his eyes and blew air through his cheeks.

"I know it's a lot to take in, but I think what's happened to you and I is real. We've skipped to parallel worlds," said James.

Howie shook his head. His patience was paper thin.

"Is this some sort of fucking joke you're playing?" barked Howie.

"I only wish it was. Listen, I'm as confused as you are. The only difference is that I've had about a month to come to terms with what's supposed to have happened. I didn't believe it either when it happened to me, and to be honest, I still find it difficult to take on board now."

"This is all so very screwed up," said Han.

"So what about you. Are you from another parallel world?" asked Howie, directing his question to Han.

"No, I don't think so, but to be honest, I'm not entirely sure."

Howie stood up, walked to the window and looked at Jodie Standwick's car parked across his driveway.

"Do you really expect me to believe this shit? Have you got some kind of Candid Camera thing going on? I'm sorry, but you're talking bollocks."

"I don't expect you to believe us, at least not right away, but I think you'll soon find out that things in this world are a little different to things in your world," said James.

"My world! MY WORLD! You make it sound as if I'm from Mars."

"Well think of things from my perspective. I've come from a world where I am married to Helena and live in Exeter. In this world we're divorced, and I'm stuck living with him," retorted James, pointing at his father.

Howie looked around his flat, and couldn't see any strong evidence that he was in a parallel world. His flat seemed to be pretty much the same as always. Although he couldn't see the huge pile of Top Gear magazines that were normally stacked against the wall.

"I bet you can't find a shred of evidence to back up what you're saying," said Howie.

James and Han looked at one another. Between them, they tried to think of something to prove they weren't making any of it up. James strolled to the window and looked out across the street. He had no idea what things were like in the world from which Howie had burst. He struggled to think of anything that he could be certain was different here to Howie's parallel world.

And then he remembered Howie's car. He recalled Howie telling him that his car was off the road because the radiator was leaking. Howie was waiting until pay day so he could get the thing fixed. He looked at Howie with a glint in his eye.

"You told me your car's been off the road for a while."

"For a while? It's been stuck in the drive for years."

"So what would happen if you turned the engine?"

"Nothing. The battery's dead and the engine's seized up."

"Do you have the keys?"

Howie walked to the kitchen and returned with a key.

"Let's go outside," said James.

Howie followed James to the front garden. Han stood and watched from the hallway. James took the key and opened the car door. Howie hadn't noticed when he'd glanced at his car from the window, but now he saw how clean it looked. He remembered that the plastic hubcaps were normally covered in a layer of grime and that the tyres needed air.

James sat in the driver's seat and placed the key in the ignition. If James was right, even though the car was leaking water and needed a new radiator, the engine should still turn over. He turned the key, and on the first attempt the little red Ford Fiesta's engine started and happily chugged away.

"I won't run it for long. According to Howie in this world, the only thing wrong with this car is that it has a leaking radiator."

Fifteen seconds later he shut off the engine, before it had a chance to overheat.

"Is this some kind of elaborate hoax?" said Howie.

"No, it's the proof you wanted that this parallel world thing is actually happening."

Howie popped open the hood and inspected the engine. He looked in the boot, which was full of things of which he had no recollection. The Fiesta even smelt good. Normally, a car which had been untouched and not used for years would smell damp and mouldy. He slumped against the side of the car with a look of bewilderment.

"Let's go back in. I'll make us strong coffee. I think we could all do with one," said Han from the doorway.

The three men sat in silence and sipped their drinks. Eventually Howie spoke.

"Can I just rewind the clock and check I've got this right? You were taken from a parallel world in which you and Helena remain married. You replaced the James who came from this world, and who you presume is now with Helena."

James nodded.

"And 'the other you', plus Markland and Jodie are on a mission to find 'my James' and bring him home," added Han

"I think the proof is in the fact that you're here with us, which means the Howie from this world must be in yours," said James.

Howie's mind was spinning. In the space of around twenty minutes he'd taken on board so much information he could barely cope.

"What can we do about it?"

"We've no idea. We're putting our faith in you and the other two........ not you, I mean the other you," said Han, who was getting confused by the strange scenario.

Howie strolled back to the window, looked at the shiny red car and thought about his clapped out Fiesta he owned.

"What am I like?"

"Do you mean 'what are you like' in this world?" asked James, knowing exactly what Howie was thinking. It was one of the first things he'd asked when he eventually accepted that he was also from a parallel world.

"Yeah, what am I like here? Am I doing okay?"

"You're doing pretty well. You've got an okay job at the school, you've got plenty of friends and you're enjoying the life of a single man.... If you know what I mean," said James, with a knowing smile.

Howie thought about his life which wasn't so great. Each day was the same monotonous routine. He'd racked up so many debts he hadn't even been able to keep his car on the road. He didn't go out much, and about the only true friend he had was James.

"Don't worry, we'll find a way of sorting this mess out. Soon you'll be back in your world, and hopefully James will be back with Helena," said Han, trying to sound convincing.

"The thing is Mr Trafford, if what you and James are telling me really is true, I think I'd prefer to stay in your world and take my chances, than return to mine."

##  Chapter 55

Badock's Wood

10.17 a.m.

Howie and Markland spent an hour and a half searching the woods with the hope of finding Jodie. They'd returned to the bench to consider what to do.

Markland eyes were closed, and Howie watched him think.

"What's on your mind?" asked Howie.

"Do you mean what's on my mind, other than we've lost Jodie and we're in some messed up twilight zone world?"

Howie didn't reply.

"I'll tell you what I'm thinking right now. I'm trying to fathom out where we've ended up. On Wednesday evening we left our world, and spent the following day in a world where Helena is married to Dean, and there was no monument here in the woods. Now we're in a world where there is a monument, but it's not the same one from which we came on Wednesday. I know this because in this world I can't use my phone."

Howie's mind was spinning. He couldn't keep up.

"Let's just get out of here. I'm hungry, and I think better on a full stomach," said Howie.

"Okay, I hope there's somewhere to eat nearby."

"Why nearby? We've got the hire car."

"Howie, Howie, Howie," said Markland, in a patronising tone, "we're in a different world, the hire car's stuck in the world we were in two hours ago."

Howie sighed, and the two tired and confused men made their way towards the Doncaster Road exit, in search of a bite to eat.

As soon as Markland stepped beyond the exit of the woods and on to the main road, he stopped and let out an audible gasp. When Howie saw the same thing, he also couldn't believe what he saw.

"What the hell is that doing here?" exclaimed Howie, pointing to the Vauxhall Astra they'd hired on Thursday morning. "The car shouldn't be in this world," he added.

Markland strolled over, clicked the remote and heard the car unlock.

"It's definitely the same car. Howie, open the glove compartment and tell me what's there."

Howie did as Markland asked, and shuffled through what was there.

"There's just the car rental paperwork signed by you."

"Are you sure there's nothing else? I distinctly remember Jodie putting her purse in there yesterday, when we were heading down the M5. I meant to remind her to take it out when we got to your flat last night, but I forgot."

"Why? Does it matter?" asked Howie.

"I'm not sure. Perhaps, perhaps not."

"Sorry, but my mind is so screwed right now. Please tell me what you think all of this means?"

"I don't know what it means and I'm not going to ponder over it right now. Let's find somewhere to eat," replied Markland, shuffling through his pockets to make sure he had cash on him.

Ten minutes later they were in the Regency café, and had both ordered a bacon roll and a mug of tea. Markland looked around the café and nodded at Martin, the proprietor, who smiled in return. He used to be a regular customer. It was the same café he'd visited a few years earlier, whilst dealing with Ben Walker's murder.

Howie and Markland were the only customers in the café. When their food arrived they ate in silence. All that could be heard was sound of Howie slurping his tea and the sound of passing traffic.

"But how do we know we're definitely not in our world? I mean the phone networks could be down. Perhaps we really are back where we belong."

Markland shook his head. Something was nagging him and telling him Howie was wrong.

"How can you prove otherwise?" asked Howie.

Markland didn't answer. He spotted a payphone on the wall.

"I've an idea," he said, rising to his feet. "Do you know the number of the school?"

Howie frowned, nodded and jotted the number on a napkin. Markland took the napkin and strolled to the phone, dialled the number and waited for the school receptionist to pick up. He recognised Nicola England's dull tone.

"Good morning, Compton Wells School."

"Hello, I wondered if I could talk with the Attendance Officer about my daughter. Is John Armstrong available?"

"I'm afraid that's not possible," replied Nicola, with a tremble in her voice.

"Oh, really? Why's that, did he leave?"

Nicola evaded Markland's question

The awkward silence forced Markland to speak.

"In that case, is Markland Garraway available?"

"Markland Garraway? There's no one by that name here."

"I'm sorry, I must be mistaken. I've one last thing to ask, is Miss Jodie Standwick, the science teacher in today?"

"Yes she is, would you like to leave a message?"

"No, that's fine. I'll catch up with her later."

"Is there anything else?" asked Nicola, sounding a little confused.

"Yes, would you mind telling me why John Armstrong left Compton Wells?"

Other than the crackling over the phone, there was silence. Markland repeated his question. But he knew full well that if Armstrong had been caught being inappropriate with the kids, then Nicola would be careful how she answered his question.

"He died," replied, Nicola in a quiet voice.

"He died? Sorry I was unaware of this. What happened?"

"Do you not read the news?"

"No, I've been out of the country for some time, and I've missed what's been happening around here," lied Markland.

"You have a daughter at this school and still, and you don't know what happened to John Armstrong?"

"No, as I said, I've been away....... what happened?"

Nicola cleared her throat.

"I just told you, he's dead."

"May I ask what happened?"

"He was killed here at the school."

"Killed, by whom?"

"The caretaker. He took it upon himself to deal with Armstrong, and things got out of control."

"The Caretaker? Are you referring to Mr Doyle?"

"Yes."

Markland felt his knees buckle. He swallowed hard and then regained his composure.

"What happened to the caretaker?"

"The police are still looking for him. He's not been seen since the murder."

Markland thanked Nicola and replaced the receiver.

Howie watched Markland return to the table. A frown troubled his brow and the colour had drained from his face. Markland considered whether he should say something to Howie. He decided, at this point, it would be best to keep the life changing news to himself.

"We're not back in our world," said Markland, sipping dregs from the mug. His hand trembled when he placed the empty mug on the table.

Howie said nothing, which urged Markland to continue.

"This isn't our world. Armstrong is no longer at the school and also I don't work there. But Jodie's there today. I think that pretty much sums up that we're not in our world."

"But what about the hire car?" asked Howie.

"The hire car?" replied Markland. The telephone call he'd just made was playing on his mind, causing him to briefly forget about the car.

"Oh, yes... I can only assume that in this world you and I are looking for James and we've hired the car."

"But, not with Jodie?"

"Evidently not. Which explains why her purse isn't in the glove compartment. And I guess this adds up, as I'd enlisted her help because I knew her through school. In this world I don't work at Compton Wells, so we must never have got to meet."

"But how do you know me?"

"I presume the Howie Doyle in this world, must have been more persistent than you in yours," replied Markland, in a flippant tone.

Markland was referring to Howie's lame attempts at luring him to the burial mound in Badock's Wood.

"Man, this is getting too much."

"Well, at least there's one good thing about this world, we know Jodie's safe," said Markland.

"Perhaps we should just give up and stay in this world."

"No, we shouldn't, and there are plenty of reasons why. I have a gut feeling that we need to redress the balance, and put things back as they were. We need to get 'our' Jodie back safe and sound, and get both James' back to where they belong."

Markland watched Howie stare into his mug. The caretaker was struggling to keep up with what was going on around him.

"Have you still got the keys to the school?"

Howie lunged his hand into his coat pocket, and jingled them at Markland.

"Good, we're running short of cash. We need to go back tonight and raid the safe."

Markland was taking a big chance. He'd be going back to the school, with Howie, who in this world was wanted for murder.

Howie gawked at Markland with a look of shock.

"We can't do that again."

"We can. Don't forget Howie, we've not taken the petty cash before in this world, so I'm assuming there's some there for us take. We'll just have to make extra certain we're not caught."

Howie slumped further into his seat.

"What's your plan for the day Markland?"

"I don't know. I need to think about what's happening, and try to piece together this crazy puzzle. I fancy being somewhere nice and quiet, without any distractions."

"Why don't we go to your place?"

"No, no, no. Definitely not. I've no idea what I'll find there. If Joan's living there in this world, things will be very awkward. I don't want to meet with anyone who's likely to know me."

Howie nodded.

"I guess the same applies to me."

Markland nodded. But going back to Howie's flat was the last place they should be. The place was probably under surveillance. If not, it would only take a phone call from a neighbour and it would be game over.

"Come on, let's get out of here," said Markland, throwing a handful of coins alongside his coffee mug.

##  Chapter 56

Jodie had been drifting in and out of consciousness. Everything around her was black. It was as if her eyes had been removed. Even her thoughts had no colour. Something felt different. She lay in complete darkness and tried to comprehend what had changed. Eventually it occurred to her what it was. She was no longer cold. She remembered how she shivered with fear and cold. Now it was only fear that caused her to shudder. Wherever she was felt temperate. It was like there was no temperature at all. She noticed whatever it was that she lay upon equalled the warmth of her body. But there was something else. Although she was still scared, she felt a little more relaxed, as if a weight had been removed. She rubbed her hand across her face. It felt good to feel her fingers touch her brow. And then she worked out what had changed. She pulled herself up and into a sitting position. Whatever had been preventing her from moving was no longer there. She felt her wrists and then her ankles. Her clothes, like her skin, felt a little damp. She raised her right arm over her head to feel for whatever may be above her, but there was nothing. Gradually, she rose to her feet. The floor moved, like she was on a child's bouncy castle. Again, she raised her arm above her head to feel for a something above her. Nothing.

She got down on her knees, and edged forward, carefully feeling her way. She had no idea what lay ahead, and was wary that there could be something even worse than what she was currently experiencing.

With each cautious move, she noticed that the temperature became a tiny bit warmer. She stopped and turned her head. Still, she was in complete darkness.

"Hello, is there anyone who can hear me?"

Again, there was no reply. She carried on moving in the same direction. The further she moved away from where she had been, the warmer it became.

"Where the hell am I?" she whispered.

Jodie stopped moving, and evaluated the situation.

I'm a clever person, I've got a degree in science, why can't I work this out? she thought to herself.

Her fear turned to anger. She was livid with herself for ending up in the position she was in. She thrust her thoughts to one side and continued to move forward. Each time the palms of her hands touched the strange ground upon which she crawled, she felt the temperature rise. But still she advanced, ignoring the change.

If only I could see where I am, thought Jodie. Then she remembered the torch app on her smartphone. She lunged her hand into her coat pocket, but her heart sank when it displayed almost zero battery and not enough to power up the torch. She sighed and slipped it back into her pocket.

She carried on, aimlessly moving forward. It was hard to know whether she was moving in a straight direction or if she was veering off at an angle. The flexibility of whatever it was she crawled over skewed her senses.

"Help! Can anyone hear me? Is there anyone there?"

Just as before, there was no reply. Jodie had two choices. She could either stop and wait where she was, or continue in whichever direction she was heading and hope that she would find some kind of way out.

She lay on her back, stared up into the blackness and thought about her circumstances. Jodie didn't take long to decide that her best choice was to keep moving. Warily, she turned over and continued on all fours. The only thing which suggested she was moving away from where she'd started, was the continuing rise in temperature as she moved. She perspired, and stopped to wipe her forehead with the sleeve of her coat. She contemplated taking it off, but decided against it. Wherever she was, it was still the month of October, and if she was to make it out of this strange confined place, the chilliness of outside wouldn't be pleasant.

Onward she continued, at a painstakingly slow pace. The strange springy ground was damp, and again, it reminded her of something organic. She felt as if she was crawling across a huge version of something she would see for sale in the window of a butcher's shop. The thought made her nauseous, but she carried on regardless.

Every few minutes Jodie called out, and every time her pleas were met with silence. Everything was silent. Even her hands and knees made no sound as she crawled. The only sound, other than her heartbeat and breathing, was the rustling of her clothes as her limbs cautiously propelled her to wherever she was heading.

Then something was different.

Something tiny dug into the palm of her right hand. She stopped, rested on her knees, and felt her palm with the fingers. Although she couldn't see, she felt what seemed to be a small piece of grit. She removed it, and rolled it between the thumb and forefinger. Whatever it was dropped from her hand.

Jodie continued, and more pieces of grit stuck into her palms. They were larger and embedding into her palm every time she advanced into the darkness.

"Ouch!"

Something larger jarred her knee. She picked up what felt like a small stone.

What the hell is this?

The change in her surroundings gave her hope that she was getting somewhere, but at the same time her fear was growing.

"Help, can you hear me?"

No reply. She continued to make her way and as she did the floor became grittier, until it got the point where it was too painful for her to continue on hands and knees. Tentatively, she climbed to her feet. The floor wasn't quite as springy as it was a few feet behind her. She put her hands out in front of her, as if she was reaching for something to hold on to, but there was nothing. Jodie continued to move in what she considered to be a forward direction. Through the soles of her shoes she felt loose grit and stones.

The floor had lost its elasticity and was more solid. She felt like she was walking through a recently ploughed field. The small pieces of grit were now the size of small stones, which were becoming larger. She bent forward and picked up a stone which was the size of a small pebble, but instead of round and smooth, it was rough and jagged. Jodie dropped it, and heard a clunk as it hit the ground. Other than her own voice, breathing and heartbeat, it was the first sound she'd heard since she'd been there. Just hearing the stone hit the ground made her feel as though she was getting somewhere. The sudden difference in the weird environment gave her a glimmer of hope. With her arms outstretched, she continued forward, occasionally reaching out to her left and right. The temperature was rising with each step.

Perspiration trickled down her brow like teardrops which stung her eyes. She stopped to wipe her eyes, and continued to fumble in the dark like a visionless person.

Jodie became more familiar with her surroundings, and advanced at faster rate, although in reality she still moved at an excruciating slow crawl.

And then she felt something in front of her.

She let out a gasp and pulled her arms down by her sides.

Carefully, she lifted her arms and reached out. She prodded with the tips of her fingers and tried to figure out what it was. Jodie ran her hands up and down and to her left and right. It was a wall. She got back down to her knees and touched where the wall met the ground. But it wasn't like a wall. It was as if the ground below her rose up ahead of her. She clambered back to her feet, and little by little, ran her hands up the wall. Just like the floor, it was gritty. Jodie stood on tiptoes, and reached as high as she could. The grit covered wall sloped behind her and over her head as if she was in a cave. Jodie rubbed her right hand over the loose grit and jutting stones, which fell to the ground. The temperature was becoming unbearably warm. She could move no further forward. There was nowhere else for her go, other than to her left, her right or back from where she came.

Jodie stopped and thought.

With her arms pressed against the strange stone and grit peppered wall, she made her way to her right. Loose gravel fell like hailstones. Her pace quickened and she continued, feeling her way as she went.

She stopped in her tracks when she brushed against something jutting from the wall. It was stringy, tough and she reckoned it to be around a centimetre thick. She ran her fingers up and down and estimated it was around nine inches long. It was coming from and going back into the wall. Its texture was covered in tiny lumps and swellings. Then Jodie worked out what it was.

"It's a root," she whispered, "It's the stem of a plant."

Feverishly, she felt the wall in greater detail, and found that if she used a lot of force, she could push her fingers into it. She sniffed her forefinger.

"It's soil."

After fumbling around she located the root again, and cleared hardened soil from the wall. Jodie worked hard to move as much soil as she could.

"Where the bloody hell am I?" she cursed, whilst continuing to scrape away soil. She couldn't see a thing, but in her mind's eye Jodie imagined a huge dirt wall ahead, above and all around her. There was no way of knowing how thick the wall was, or what was behind it, but Jodie was certain that her means of escape lay beyond.

She continued to dig around the root, and found by tugging it, she was able to dislodge loose soil easier.

The heat was rising and her throat was dry. She was desperate for a drink of water, but didn't stop from scraping and scratching away with her fingertips. She tugged at the root, but was cautious not to snap it, as she was sure that it led to somewhere beyond the strange place where she was imprisoned. It was her lifeline, her umbilical cord and her only means of guidance. Her fingers hurt with each splinter of grit that cut her fingertips. But she had made progress. Jodie stopped for a rest, and placed her hand in the hole she'd dug in the wall. She was pleased when she approximated she'd cleared around nine inches of soil, which was enough space for her hand to reach into, up to her wrist. She had no idea how much more she had to clear, but wasn't going to stop until she'd found out.

Time meant nothing as she continued to clear the soil and stones. Around her feet, a mound of earth and rock piled up. The further she dug, the more roots she found. None were as large as the one which had been guiding her. These new roots were only millimetres thick, and were like loose strands of hair.

I must be getting somewhere. I can't give up.

She continued to dig, despite the pain in her fingers. Her wrists ached, and her skin felt scratched and horrible. She imagined how filthy she must look. She visualised her sweat soaked face caked in soil and blood seeping from her cuticles.

Jodie refused to give up. Nothing was going to stop her until she'd cleared the soil.

As she continued, she wondered what had happened to Markland and Howie. She recalled the look upon Markland's face as he watched her dragged to the hill by the stranger. She remembered how he tried to climb the hill to reach her, but appeared to be held back by some kind of invisible force. Where were they both now? How long had she been here? Who was the stranger who pulled her away, what did he want from her and where was he now?

On and on she dug deeper into the wall, until a large clod of soil fell down upon her arm which was now a good fifteen inches into the wall. Instinctively, she pulled her arm out of the hole, and moved back as the lump of soil fell apart and rained down upon her feet. For a few seconds she stood completely still, and thought about what had just happened. Then Jodie thrust both hands into the hole, which was now twice as big since the loose clod had become dislodged. She pressed her body against the hole to allow her to reach further and continued to dig. More clumps of loose stone and soil fell, and soon she was pulling larger chunks of earth from the hole. Her breathing was laboured and tiredness slowed her, but still she persisted at what seemed to be a never ending battle with the wall.

The root was still in place, and now she was able to grip around twenty-four inches of the rope like vine, which was a lot thicker than it was when she'd discovered it. She felt tendrils jutting out in all directions.

"I must be almost through," she muttered breathlessly.

Jodie had given up calling for help, by now she was certain she was alone and any further cries were pointless.

The hole was now so deep she was unable to reach her arms any further in. The next thing she needed to do was to make the hole wider, to allow her climb in. Jodie worked hard to widen the cavity, and soon she was able to lean in far enough so that her shoulders rubbed the edges of the hollowed out area. She reached for her lifeline, pulled herself in further and continued to work away at what was between her and what she hoped would be freedom. As she pulled upon the root, a huge clod of soil fell into her face. Colours flashed before her eyes as she slammed her lids shut. She spat earth from her dry mouth and wiped her tongue against the sleeve of her dirty red coat.

Jodie leaned into the hole, and immediately sensed that something was different. At first she couldn't work out what it was, but something had definitely changed. And then it hit her. It was a smell. A very, very faint smell. It was almost undetectable, but she could sense it. She lunged further in and grappled with the soil around the root which was now falling away with ease. She scooped handfuls of earth, grit and stone and let them drop to the ground. Weariness was overcoming her, but she was determined to continue.

Another unmeasurable period of time passed. Her head ached, her shoulders throbbed and she was becoming delirious with fatigue. Jodie was about to slump down and give up, but instead gave a huge pull on the root and dislodged the largest clump of soil and stone since she'd started digging. The clod came away with such a force, it sent her reeling backwards. She landed, sprawled on her back still holding the root which had snapped in the process.

Jodie wiped her face and looked ahead into blackness.

But blackness was no longer there.

She blinked and wiped her eyes again before scrambling to her feet.

She had broken through the vast wall of soil and saw that beyond was a dull, pinkish-orangey light. Even after Jodie's eyes adjusted to what she saw, she had no idea what she was looking at.

The opening was about six inches by four inches and was just enough for her to push her arm through. The air beyond the wall was as hot as the stifling heat within. Undeterred, Jodie widened the small opening until she was able to push both arms through. Although the aperture was a little larger she was unable to determine what was producing the strange light.

Even with renewed vigour because of the breakthrough, Jodie was too exhausted to dig. She pulled her arms out of the hole, turned around with her back against the gritty soil wall and slumped to the ground.

The light seeping through the small hole cast an eerie glow, and as her eyes adjusted, she was able to see where she had been imprisoned.

Wherever she was, it was cavernous. The longer she stared, the more she made out what was around her. The wall was as it had been in her mind's eye. It was a mass of soil, stone and grit. It reminded her of a cliff wall after it had taken a battering from a recent storm, exposing loose shale and rock. But it was the floor that got her attention. The strange organic like surface, which had been pulsing, was covered in grit and soil. She got down on all fours and retreated back in the direction where she had come, to an area where the floor wasn't quite so strewn with debris from the wall. The orange glow revealed that the floor was shiny. It reflected the light seeping through the hole which cast a long pastel blush dissipating into the distance. Like the gritty wall, the floor was as she'd visualised it to be in her mind's eye. It was made from what looked and felt to be a black plastic substance. But as she pushed her palm against the moist surface, and felt it flex under the pressure of her hand, she knew it was not man made. Instead, it was something that was definitely organic. She shuddered at the thought of what it could be.

All Jodie wanted was to escape from the place. As tired and pained as she was, she decided to make a final push and breakthrough. She got back to her feet, headed to the hole and lunged both her arms through. She gave little thought to what was beyond the wall, or to what was creating the strange orange-pink glow. She continued to push and pull at the loose soil which crumbled around her, until she'd dug a hole large enough to fit her head and shoulders through.

Jodie struggled through the gap. She spat soil from her mouth and squinted as dirt fell into her eyes. Her head protruded through the hole, but she found it hard to make out what there was to see. She rubbed her watering eyes to clear small flecks of soil. Eventually her vision was clear.

What she saw astounded her.

It was like the aftermath of a nuclear explosion. There was nothing, absolutely nothing. No trees, nor buildings nor grass on the ground. Other than barren soil there was nothing to see. She looked at the sky, which was the source of the strange orange light which had filtered through the hole and had illuminated where she had been.

The sky was like a brilliant sunset, but not just in the west, it covered the entire sky. There were no clouds, nor could Jodie see the sun. She could not pinpoint the light source. She pulled her petulant body through the hole and tumbled to the ground. She stood up and wiped soil from the sleeves of her coat before looking at the temporary prison, which had been holding her for how long she didn't know.

She expected to see a massive hollow mountain or some strange huge man made structure, but she didn't see any of those things. What she saw was something she'd become quite familiar with, and couldn't comprehend why such a small thing could have been so massive on the inside. She took a few steps back, wiped her eyes again and walked around its perimeter.

"I don't bloody believe it."

Although she recognised it immediately, her mind couldn't accept what she was looking at.

"It's the bloody burial mound."

But it wasn't quite as she'd remembered it. The burial mound was normally covered in scrubby grass, weeds and the occasional wild flower. What Jodie saw was nothing other than dry soil and stone.

In the sky, there were no birds, no aircraft or anything which suggested there was life.

There was no breeze. Nothing made a sound, other than her feet upon the soil.

"Hello, is anybody there?"

Just like when she was in the hill, there was no reply. Jodie walked back around to the hole through which she'd crawled, and gasped when she saw that it was no longer there. The evidence which confirmed she'd broken through was due to the pile of stone and soil which had tumbled from it. But the actual hole had sealed itself up.

Her body ached to the bone and tiredness overcame her.

She sat on the ground, with her back against the hill and tried to keep her eyes open, but couldn't.

Just as her eyes were about to close, she noticed something that she hadn't seen when she'd crawled out of the hill. It was the bench. The same bench that she'd seen next to the stainless steel monument before she'd been abducted. She tried so hard to stay awake, but couldn't stop her eyelids from slamming down. Lifting them was almost too hard to bear. She made one final attempt to stay awake, and as the orange light filtered through her tired slits, she saw a figure of a man walking towards the bench.

She opened her dry mouth in attempt to call out, but no words were forthcoming.

Jodie succumbed to the tiredness that had been waiting so patiently to take her away from the strange stark landscape.

##  Chapter 57

M4 Motorway

Eastbound

12.23 p.m.

James sat behind the steering wheel of the three Axle Caetano Levante, which was the primary coach type of National Express' fleet. He'd just passed the exit for Windsor and was making good time as he headed towards London.

It hadn't taken long for James to master the art of coach driving. He thought he'd done well, considering until recently the largest thing he'd driven was a Transit van. The first day he'd sat behind the wheel there had been lots of angry customers. James had hit curbs, stalled the engine, crunched gears and even failed to work out how to close the doors.

National Express had received several complaints about his driving and he'd been given a written warning.

But now, he was doing pretty well. He was hardly ever behind schedule and had even mastered the knack of reversing the huge vehicle out of the parking bay. Slipping into the shoes of James, the qualified coach driver, had been a steep learning curve.

There were a lot of things to which he needed to adapt. Another thing he soon discovered when he appeared in Exeter, was that in this world he was supposed to be diabetic. He had learned to feign injecting insulin, be careful about what he ate and regularly test his blood sugar levels. Especially when driving for a living. Faking diabetes was a small price to pay in return for a life with Helena.

This afternoon, as he sped down the motorway, something played on his mind. It was something that Helena had noticed about him that was different. It had taken four weeks until she'd spotted it, and it was something he was totally unaware of until she'd pointed it out.

The previous evening, the two of them were having a cosy time cuddled up on the settee. Helena had stumbled across the photo album from their wedding. She was enjoying thumbing through pictures of the special day and admiring a close up of her and James, when she'd noticed it.

She'd pulled the album closer to inspect the scar beneath her husband's eye, then turned and looked at his face. Her head danced between the album and James, as she tried to understand what she was looking at.

'The scar beneath your eye, it's on the other side of your face,' she'd exclaimed.

James had been lost for words as he examined the picture.

He'd suggested that the picture had been printed negative. Helena dismissed his suggestion, when she pointed out that her wedding ring was on the ring finger of her left hand.

Earlier in the month she'd noticed that James had been writing with his right hand. As far as she could recall, her husband had always been left handed. She dismissed the thought and put it down to her memory. But now she wasn't so sure.

After seeing the wedding photograph with the mysterious moving scar, and his ability to change the hand with which he wrote, she'd become inquisitive about her husband. But she had no idea of the swap James had managed to accomplish.

James was daydreaming as he drove. He was brought out of his trance like state when an ambulance sped by in the middle lane blaring its sirens and flashing its lights. The ambulance's blues and twos snapped him back to reality. He slammed on the brakes when he saw the trail of red lights ahead of him. There was a chorus of grunts and groans from the coach full of angry passengers.

He waited for the traffic to move and thought about what had happened last night, without knowing he was holding his breath. When he eventually exhaled, the passengers behind looked at him with alarmed expressions.

Whatever James didn't know about the alternate character he'd swapped with and whatever the small differences between the two men, he was convinced Helena would never find out that he'd managed to rewrite his past and jump from one world to another.

The past few weeks had been a crazy, but there was one thing he found difficult to accept, and very hard to deal with. He missed his best friend Howie Doyle. James found it almost impossible to digest when he'd found out that Doyle didn't exist in this world. James found it even harder to believe that the reason Howie didn't exist was because Han, his father, had killed him.

## Chapter 58

Travelodge Hotel

Filton

Bristol

7.57 p.m.

Howie and Markland lay spread out on their individual beds. The room was cold, stark and sterile. Almost like a carpeted hospital room. Both men didn't relish the idea of spending a night in the same room together, but agreed that they had little choice.

Markland had seen enough budget hotels in his career to never want to stay in one again.

An hour earlier, Howie had opened the doors to the school. They'd crept to the office where the petty cash was kept, and were relieved to find the key to the safe was kept beneath the same white pot with the spider plant. Again, there was cash in the safe. This time Markland took just over two hundred pounds.

Because the money had been there, Markland didn't feel like he and Howie were really stealing from the school as he was sure that in at least one of the many parallel worlds the money would be left untouched. Even so, he made sure that his and Howie's finger prints were wiped from the key, the handle of the safe and the plant pot. He was constantly looking over his shoulder and Howie had sensed his nervousness.

It was Markland's idea to book into the hotel as they had nowhere else to go. He had no intention of returning to his home for the night as he didn't know what to expect. Perhaps in this version of the world he may not even live in the same house. He suggested that it was probably best for Howie not to return to his flat either. When Howie asked why, Markland had difficulty explaining.

"Why don't you do a bit of snooping?" suggested Howie.

"What do you mean?"

"There's a computer in reception. Perhaps we could find something about this world which may be an advantage to us."

"What a cracking idea Howie, why didn't I think of that?"

Five minutes later, both men were hunched over the computer. The first thing Markland searched for was himself.

"I don't believe it!" he exclaimed in a low voice.

"What?"

"I'm Detective Superintendent!"

"So in this world you made it beyond a detective."

"So it would seem."

He carried on searching, and found a picture of him at the opening of Kenneth Steele House, in which was the Avon and Somerset Constabulary's incident room where he'd spent thousands of hours of his working life as a detective.

"Hey, I even get a name check when the building was opened."

Markland grinned inwardly and continued to search the internet. After a few minutes he became struck by a thought.

Howie watched over Markland's shoulder as he typed at the computer. The screen displayed a report. Howie strained his eyes to read it.

"Shit, this can't be true!" exclaimed Markland.

"That's the newspaper report on Ben Walker's murder isn't it," stated Howie.

Markland nodded and read the report.

"Yes, and if you care to read it, you'll see that I'm not the detective on the case."

"It's Detective Inspector Tom Strawbridge and Sergeant Colin Matthews," said Howie, skimming the report.

"In my world Strawbridge was taken ill the morning of Ben Walker's murder, and I was drafted in with Matthews at the last minute."

Markland dug deeper, and scoured the internet for more information.

"Shit!" snapped Markland, as he read another entry, which had been posted within the past few months.

"Ben's killer hasn't been found in this world. Daniel Boyd must still be out and about."

The two men fell silent as their thoughts rubbed.

Markland opened up his email account to compose a message.

"What are you doing?" asked Howie.

Markland didn't reply. He paused for inspiration and then continued to write.

Howie watched Markland from over the ex-detective's shoulder as he proceeded with the email. After a few minutes Markland stopped, and read what he'd written. Howie trailed behind, until he'd also read Markland's message.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Of course it is. Daniel Boyd is still at large, and so are Paul Green and Stuart Moss, who were also involved in the murder. I have a duty to send this to Matthews. He needs to close this case." Markland paused mid-sentence. "Don't you see? In this world I had no involvement in the case, and I had no guidance from the burial mound........ the hill."

"But what if in this world someone else murdered Ben Walker? What if it wasn't Boyd and the others?"

Markland contemplated what Howie had suggested, quickly dismissed his thought and pressed send.

"Too late, I've sent it," said Markland, as he was about to close the browser.

Howie became overpowered with a sense of duty and responsibility.

"Markland, we can't just swan around from world to world changing things. You've already been involved with getting John Armstrong accused of something, which in another world he may not be guilty of. I don't think we should be messing around with stuff which shouldn't involve us."

"STUFF WHICH SHOULDN'T INVOLVE US!" shouted Markland. "May I remind you, that if not for you, we wouldn't be hopping from world to world!"

"I know, but I don't think we should be meddling with these things. We ended up in this position to right a wrong, which was due to James and that's what we should concentrate on."

"Don't forget about Jodie."

"I've not forgotten about Jodie. Not for one second."

"Well, Jodie is our priority. Before we concentrate on anything else we need to somehow find her and bring her back."

"But how are we going to do that?"

Markland shook his head, stood up and was about to close the browser for a second time, when Howie pushed passed and reached for the keyboard.

"What are you doing?" asked Markland.

"The same as you. I'd like to find out a bit about this world. I'm going to have a quick look on Facebook, see what I'm up to."

"That's probably not a good idea."

"Why not, you just had a good snoop around, why shouldn't I?"

"Just because...." said Markland, his voice trailing off.

"I really don't think you should."

There was a brief tussle, and Markland pulled the keyboard away from Howie.

"What's the matter with you?"

Markland sighed.

"If you log on to Facebook, there's a pretty good chance they'll find you. Your location will be known."

"Who'll find me, who are you talking about?"

"Come on, let's get back to the room. We need to talk."

"About what?" demanded Howie.

"Let's go back to our room. In fact, it's probably a good idea that you steer clear of the reception area and anywhere else you might be recognised."

Markland hastily headed to their room and Howie followed behind.

Ten minutes later Howie blew air through his cheeks. Markland had told him about the telephone conversation with Nicola at the school and how, in this world, Howie had killed John Armstrong and was wanted by the police.

"Is this something you could see yourself being involved in?" asked Markland, slipping back into detective mode.

"Murder! You think I would murder someone? Absolutely not."

"But you didn't like Armstrong did you?"

"No, I thought he was horrible. We all did. Everyone knew what he was up to, but there was not enough evidence to pin on the pervy little bastard."

"So it seems in this world, you're a wanted man. This isn't going to make things any easier for us."

Howie had the feeling that Markland was blaming him for Armstrong's murder, and that it was his fault that they were in the position they now found themselves in.

"Don't worry, I'm sure things will be fine. Hopefully we won't be in this world for long. Let's just pray you've not killed him in any other worlds where we may find ourselves. I'll buy a baseball cap and a pair of dark glasses for you to wear, just in case someone recognises you."

Markland lay on the bed and rubbed his temples.

"I'm getting very, very confused. I can't keep track of the last few days. Is it still only Friday?"

Howie nodded. But was also confused and was having difficulty piecing together the events between Wednesday and now.

Markland grabbed a sheet of complimentary notepaper and scribbled something down.

"What are you doing?"

Markland didn't answer. He continued to write. Occasionally, he paused for reflection, before continuing to jot on the sheet of A5 paper.

"It's a timeline of everything that's happened since Wednesday. Kind of like another breadcrumb trail. I think we need to note everything that's happened since we came to the woods two days ago. We may need this to recall the chain of events."

Howie read Markland's scrawl.

"Shit, has all this happened in the last few days?"

"Unless you can think of anything I've missed."

"Well, I suppose there is something you've left out, which might be kind of important."

"What?"

"Yesterday, when we were in the world where we saw Helena and Dean in Exeter. When we drove back to Bristol, we diverted past your house....... and your wife....... was with the policeman....... Munroe.....," said Howie, in a nervous tone.

"Yeah, yeah..... but I don't think I need to note that down," snapped Markland.

"That's not what I mean. It's not that she was with the policeman, it was because he was consoling her because you had gone missing. I think it's important that you make a note of it."

Markland nodded, snatched back the paper and jotted down some more words.

"It's some kind of drag in the timeline I guess," said Markland, placing the paper on his bed.

"What do you mean?"

"James went missing for four days, and when he returned he'd come from a parallel world. Yesterday, in a different world, I too had gone missing. I guess each time we jump from world to world, the version of us in that world, has to swap, and that takes a few days."

"So does that mean the version of me, who's on the run for murdering Armstrong, is in another world?"

"I presume so. I guess you've got away with murder, Howie."

He was struck by a thought and let out a sharp exhalation.

"When you rang the school and asked about Jodie, you said she was in school today. How can that be? She's jumped worlds so why isn't she missing."

"Because she hasn't come to this world with us, I presume she's still in the world where she was abducted by Drew Lees," Markland paused mid-sentence, while he thought things through. "If she hadn't been taken and had jumped to this world with us, I presume she would be missing here........ for three or perhaps four days."

"I could do with a drink.... you know, a strong one."

"No, I don't think that's a good idea. We need to keep our heads clear. There's a vending machine along the corridor. I'll get us a couple of bottles of mineral water."

Howie nodded.

"You do that. I'm heading for the shower. I need to freshen up."

Markland made his way to the vending machine, whilst Howie took a shower. The ex-detective's head was reeling. Things were too difficult to comprehend. He watched the machine drop two bottles of water into the dispenser, scooped them out and headed back to the room.

He used the swipe card to open the door, strolled in and placed one of the bottles on the television table. From the corner of his eye, he saw Howie sitting on the edge of his bed.

"I thought you were going to have a shower," said Markland, trying to loosen the lid of the bottle. He cursed at the plastic seal which refused to budge.

"Hello Mr Garraway."

Markland stopped in his tracks. He recognised the voice. Although the last time he'd heard it, it sounded very different.

He saw who was on the bed and dropped the bottle spilling water over the carpet.

He recognised the young, handsome, fair-haired man immediately. Although this was the first time he'd come face to face with him.

"What the fuck!" exclaimed Markland, when he realised who he was.

The man stood up and held out his hand to Markland.

"Sir, it's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Markland's vision blurred, and his ears thud as his heart pumped hard in his chest. His knees buckled and he landed with a thud on the soft carpet.

The bathroom door opened and Howie walked out with a towel wrapped around him. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Markland unconscious and a stranger knelt over him.

The fair-haired man, who appeared to be a year or two younger than Howie, smiled. It took a few seconds for recognition to sink in. When Howie remembered where he'd seen the man, he couldn't believe his eyes. He'd seen his photograph in a book he'd recently read. The book was called 'The Man Who Caught His Killer'.

Howie swallowed hard and cleared his throat before attempting to speak.

"I don't understand ....... how can this be?"

The man smiled warmly as Howie weighed up the situation.

"You're.... you're Ben.....?" said Howie, his voice trailing off.

"That's right Howie. I'm Ben. Ben Walker."

THE END OF BOOK ONE

To continue reading Dreamwalkers, Please source on-line Dreamwalkers - Book Two – The Ghost Returns.
