My Name Is Lydia Page 3

  She shook her head. “She wouldn’t be that stupid.”

  “Sometimes people get desperate. They tried to have a kid naturally, and that didn’t work. Then they tried IVF and that wasn’t working either. Finally, just as her biological clock is about to stop ticking, she gets pregnant. Not long after she said she’d sell her soul for a baby.”

  Jenny’s hand went up to her mouth. “What are you going to do, Jack?”

  “I’ll have to talk to her,” said Nightingale. “And hope that she tells me the truth.”

  * * *

  Nightingale’s MGB had recently had an expensive service and a new set of tyres, so there was no drama as he drove out to Strawberry Hill and parked in the road outside the home of Dr and Mrs Warren. He knew that Dr Warren was at his hospital and he assumed that his wife was at home taking care of Christine. He parked his car and walked up to the front door. He rang the doorbell and less than a minute later she opened the door. She was wearing a dark skirt and a grey blouse and didn’t look as if she’d slept well. The make-up was a little more thickly applied than the last time he’d seen her and it was caking in the wrinkles around her eyes and mouth.

  “Mr Nightingale? Was I expecting you?” Her voice trembled a little as she spoke.

  “No, but I have a couple of questions for you, if you don’t mind. Could I come in?”

  For a brief moment she looked as if she was about to refuse, but then her shoulders sagged and she opened the door. She led him through the hall and into the sitting room, waved him to the same chair as the previous day and sat on the sofa. She didn’t offer him anything to drink which Nightingale took as a sign that she wanted him gone as quickly as possible.

  “So,” she said, flashing him a tight smile. “Ask away.”

  Nightingale stared at her for several seconds, wondering what the best approach would be. From the look of her, she wasn’t going to put up with a lengthy interview so he decided just to go straight in for the kill. Her reaction alone would tell him all he needed to know. “I need to know which demon you made your pact with, and what they promised you.”

  Her jaw dropped and she flinched as if she had been stung. She shook her head and tried to speak but all she could do was repeat one word. “How… how … how?” Her right hand moved up as if it had a life of its own and began to massage her scalp just behind her ear.

  “How I know isn’t the issue,” said Nightingale. “But if you did a deal to have a baby, you need to tell me.”

  “I can’t tell anyone,” she said. “Not even Matthew. No one must ever know.”

  “That ship has sailed,” said Nightingale. “I’m guessing that you have a pentagram behind your ear, just under your hair.”

  The look of astonishment on her face and the way her hand fell back into her lap let Nightingale know that he was right. “You need to tell me everything,” he said.

  Tears began to run down her face and she leaned forward and pulled a handful of tissues from a box on the coffee table in front of her.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes. I would have done anything for children. Given anything.”

  “Did you meet Marcus Fairchild at the McLean house? During one of their weekend parties.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You know Marcus?”

  Nightingale nodded. “I know he’s a dangerous man. A high-ranking Satanist. Did he tell you that?”

  “He didn’t say Satanist. He said he practised Wicca. A sort of witchcraft.”

  “He lied,” said Nightingale.

  “He said he could help. Or rather, he said he could show me how to ask for help.”

  “Black magic?”

  She shook head and wiped her eyes. “He didn’t say black magic. He said Wicca. Of course I didn’t believe he could help at first. Matthew and I had tried everything. We’d spent thousands of pounds and got nowhere. Marcus was so convincing, so persuasive. Finally I decided to try.”

  Nightingale was pretty sure he knew how it had gone, but he asked anyway.

  “You summoned a demon, and sold your soul. Want to tell me about it?”

  Her eyes widened. “What? No! Of course not. Sell my soul, that’s ridiculous.”

  “But you did a deal, right?”

  She dabbed at her eyes. “I went to a meeting with Marcus. A ceremony. It was all… very strange. We all drank from this metal goblet and…” She shuddered. “I think I was drugged.”

  “I’m not sure you were,” said Nightingale. “Deals have to be done when you are sober and your mind is clear. It has to be that way. Tell me what happened next.”

  “I can barely remember,” she said.

  “Try.”

  She shuddered again and stared at the carpet. “We were in a circle. There were braziers burning. I could hardly breathe. They were banging drums and blowing trumpets, it was so noisy. And then Marcus began shouting stuff, Latin I think it was. I wanted to leave, I wanted to get away, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t move.” She blew her nose. “Then she appeared.”

  “She?”

  “The angel, Marcus said. The angel who can grant wishes. The angel who gave me my babies.”

  “Babies? Plural?”

  “I was promised twins. That was the deal. I swore eternal allegiance to Proserpine and I would get twins. But she lied.”

  Nightingale stared at her. “Proserpine?”

  She nodded. “A young girl, black hair, black eyes, dressed as a goth.”

  “With a dog? A black and white dog?”

  Her eyes narrowed. “How do you know that?”

  “I’ve come across her. She’s not an angel.”

  “Marcus said she was. He said she was a force for good.”

  “Yeah, well Marcus was lying. So Proserpine promised you two babies?”

  “I didn’t think I’d be able to do it twice. I was running out of time.”

  “And tell me again what the deal was?”

  Her hand went up to her ear. “I had to swear on a black book that I would do Proserpine’s bidding, and that I would agree to carry her mark.”

  “And you didn’t think that maybe it was a bad idea?”

  “I wanted babies. And when it was all happening, it was like a dream. Even now, looking back, I’m not sure that it was real. Except that two months later I found out I was pregnant and seven months after that Christine was born.” She forced a smile. “I’ve never told anyone this. Not even Matthew.”

  “And you mustn’t,” said Nightingale.

  “I’ve made a terrible mistake, haven’t I?”

  Nightingale looked pained. There was nothing he could say that was going to make her feel better.

  “Why did Marcus lie to me?” she asked.

  “He wanted you in Proserpine’s power.”

  “How do I get out of that?”

  “By talking to Father Mahoney. You were lucky – she could have had your soul, then there’d be no hope for you.”

  She began crying again and dabbed at her eyes with a new tissue. “And what about Christine?” she said between sobs. “What can I do?”

  “Proserpine tricked you. She promised you twins and she gave you twins. It’s just that they’re in the same body.”

  “Can’t we get Father Mahoney to do an exorcism? Cast the evil presence out of her body?”

  Nightingale shook his head. “This isn’t a possession. Lydia isn’t a demon who has invaded your daughter. Lydia IS your daughter. The evil twin, if you like. And it looks as if she’s going take control. Which is probably what Proserpine wanted from the start. That’s why the deal was so easy, why she didn’t press for your soul. She wanted you to give birth. It feels as if you were set up from the start.”

  “This is a nightmare,” sobbed Mrs Warren.

  “That’s why you went to Father Mahoney for help in the first place, isn’t it?” asked Nightingale.

  Mrs Warren nodded. “I couldn’t tell him why, though.”

  Nightingale took out a cigarette and lit it. He studied her as he inhaled
and held the smoke deep in his lungs. He blew smoke and then nodded slowly. “I don’t think we can cast Lydia out. But maybe there is something we can do.” He took out his phone. “I’m going to call my assistant. When do you expect your husband back?”

  “Not until late,” she said. “He has his surgery and then he’s got a business dinner. He’ll be out until nine at least.”

  Nightingale nodded. “Hopefully that’ll give us enough time.”

  * * *

  Mrs Warren went upstairs to see her daughter while Nightingale phoned Jenny. “Is everything okay?” she asked.

  “Not really,” said Nightingale. “But I have a plan. Can you get over here with Barbara?”

  “I’ll call her. Why?”

  Barbara McEvoy was an old friend from Jenny’s student days, now a trained psychiatrist and hypnotherapist. “I’m pretty sure that there are two personalities sharing Christine’s body. It’s not possession, they both belong. But one is good and one is evil. I’m hoping that Barbara might be able to use hypnotic suggestion to keep the evil personality supressed.”

  “How did that happen?” asked Jenny.

  “It’s a long story. I’ll explain everything but at the moment I need you to get Barbara here as soon as possible.”

  “I’ll call her and pick her up,” said Jenny. “If there’s a problem I’ll let you know.”

  Half an hour later, Jenny’s Audi sports car pulled up in front of the Warren house. He had the front door open for them as they walked up to the path. Barbara was wearing a sheepskin flying jacket and tight blue jeans. Nightingale grinned. “You look like you’ve been flying a Sopwith Camel,” he said.

  “Nice to see you, too, Jack,” she said, air kissing him on both cheeks. She brushed a lock of dark brown hair over her ear. “What’s going on? Jenny said you wanted help.”

  As Nightingale ushered them into the hall, Mrs Warren came down the stairs. “Jenny!” she said. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  Jenny kissed Mrs Warren and introduced her to Barbara.

  “I think Barbara might be able to help,” explained Nightingale. “Let me take her into the garden while I have a cigarette. Perhaps you could take Jenny up to see Christine?”

  As Mrs Warren and Jenny went upstairs, Nightingale took Barbara down the hall, through the kitchen and into the back garden. There was a white-painted gazebo next to a small pond and Nightingale walked over to it as he lit a cigarette. He quickly explained the problem, but didn’t mention the Satanic pact, Marcus Fairchild or Proserpine, the demon from hell. He stuck to the basics – that Christine Warren was struggling to cope with a second personality that was threatening to overwhelm her.

  When he’d finished, Barbara shook her head. “Jack, Christine isn’t a patient. I can’t go treating people willy-nilly.”

  “It’s hypnotherapy, not brain surgery,” said Nightingale.

  “Thank you very much.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that. Look, Christine needs help. There’s a second personality that‘s trying to take over and I think you can stop it.”

  “That doesn’t happen, Jack. Really. There’s no real evidence of multiple personality disorder. We only have the one brain, the one consciousness. Okay, your subconscious might try to fool your conscious, but the idea of two personalities inhabiting one brain has been pretty much discredited.”

  “Then humour me, please. Just put Christine under and have a root around.”

  Barbara smiled. “A root around?”

  “Just see what you can find.” He flicked his cigarette away. “These people need help, Barbara. They’re at their wits end.”

  * * *

  Barbara decided to do the session in Christine’s bedroom, figuring it was where the girl would be most at ease. Mrs Warren stood by the window, watching nervously as Barbara helped Christine make herself comfortable.

  “Draw the curtains, please, Mrs Warren,” said Barbara. “And Jenny, light those candles.”

  Jenny borrowed Nightingale’s lighter and lit three vanilla-scented white candles on Christine’s dressing table.

  Barbara sat on the edge of Christine’s bed and talked to her softly, explaining what was going to happen. Nightingale was sitting on an armchair on the other side of the bed. Jenny finished lighting the candles, gave the lighter back to Nightingale and sat on a wooden chair by the dressing table.

  Barbara lowered her head so that she was whispering into Christine’s ear. The girl seemed totally relaxed, her eyes were closed and her golden hair had spread like a halo across the pillow. Nightingale couldn’t make out Barbara’s words, but the tone was soothing and he had to keep shaking his head to stop himself falling asleep.

  Eventually Barbara looked across at him and nodded. “She’s under.”

  Nightingale stood up and walked over to the bed. “Can you ask her to talk to me, and to do what I tell her?” he whispered.

  “Yes, so long as it’s not something that sets up a resistance in her.” She turned back to Christine and whispered in her ear. “Christine, Jack’s going to talk to you now, and I want you to do what he asks. Is that alright?”

  The girl said nothing, but gave an angelic smile and nodded. Barbara got up and went to stand next to Mrs Warren.

  “Christine,” said Jack, sitting down on the bed. “Can you hear me?”

  “Of course,” she said quietly.

  “I want you to move aside, Christine, I want to talk to Lydia. Can you do that?”

  “I don’t know anyone called Lydia.”

  “Okay, just relax. Let Lydia talk to me.”

  “Who is Lydia?”

  Nightingale said nothing for several seconds. “Lydia?” he said.

  There was no reply.

  “Come on Lydia, talk to me. There’s no need to hide. I know you’re there.” He put his mouth close to her ear. “I’m a friend of Proserpine’s.”

  Christine opened her eyes. “What the fuck do you want, fool?”

  “I just want to talk to you.”

  “About what?” Her voice was a harsh rasp, almost metallic.

  “About what you’re doing. The way you’re hurting Christine.”

  “Don’t worry, the bitch will be gone soon,” said Lydia.

  Mrs Warren gasped but Nightingale flashed her a warning look and pressed his finger to his lips.

  The girl tried to sit up but Nightingale pushed her back. “Stay lying down, Lydia. And listen to Barbara. She has something to tell you.”

  He waved Barbara over. “You need to put her under,” he whispered.

  “I already did.”

  “No, you put Christine under. This is Lydia. Now you need to hypnotise Lydia.”

  He moved out of the way and Barbara sat down on the bed again. She began to talk to the girl in a soft, low voice. At first the girl seemed to fight it, moving her head from side to side and gritting her teeth, but gradually she relaxed. It took much longer to hypnotise her this time, and it was half an hour before Barbara looked over at Nightingale. “She’s under,” she whispered.

  “Tell her to talk to me,” said Nightingale.

  Barbara nodded, and put her face next to the girl’s ear. “Lydia, Jack’s going to talk to you now, and I want you to do what he asks. Is that alright?”

  “Yes.” The voice was still lower, but had lost its aggression.

  Nightingale and Barbra switched places. “Lydia, listen to me. You’re going to go to sleep, and you won’t wake until I tell you to. Do you understand?”

  “I understand.”

  “You’re to go to sleep and stay asleep. You’re not to bother Christine again ever. You just sleep until I tell you to wake up.”

  And that’s never going to happen, he thought.

  “Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then sleep now. And stay asleep.”

  A shudder ran through the girl’s body. Nightingale spoke again. “Christine?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you okay
?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is Lydia there?”

  “Who?’

  “Let me talk to Lydia.”

  “Lydia isn’t here.”

  Nightingale stood up. He smiled at Barbara. “Can you bring her out of it now?”

  “It that it?” asked Mrs Warren. “Is it over?”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s worked,” said Nightingale. “Though I guess time will tell. To be honest, all we can do now is to hope for the best.”

  * * *

  It was two weeks later that the envelope arrived. Nightingale and Jenny were in the office trying to decide whose turn it was to make coffee when the post arrived. Jenny sorted through it, filing the bills, binning the junk and opening anything which looked interesting. She passed the long white envelope across.

  “Says ‘Personal’ and you know I’m not one to pry,” she said.

  “We both know you’d have opened it if I’d been out.” Nightingale ripped open the envelope and pulled out a letter and a cheque. He looked at the cheque first and whistled.

  “Who’s it from?”

  “Susan Warren. Listen to this. ‘Please accept this with our heartfelt thanks. Christine’s entirely back to her old self and we really can’t thank you enough. It seems our nightmare is over, and it’s all due to you. Once again, thank you so much.’ Looks like it worked.” He grinned at Jenny and passed her the cheque. “Better get that in the bank as soon as possible.”

  As Jenny headed out, Nightingale lit a cigarette and blew smoke up at the ceiling. It was good to hear that Christine was okay, but it was Mrs Warren he was worried about. He hoped that she had gone to Father Mahoney for help. Her soul had been tainted, but least it was still hers. And the pentagram was still behind her ear, the mark that showed she had sworn allegiance to Proserpine. He tried to blow a smoke ring but failed miserably. He still had a bad feeling about the Warren family, but he’d done all he could.

  * * *

  Christine was walking home from school with two of her friends, Emma and Olivia. She tried never to walk home alone, since a couple of older boys from year ten seemed to think she might want to talk to them. She didn’t, of course, didn’t even know their names. The three girls were chatting about how awful the school lunches had become when Christine heard someone call out her name.