James shakes his head. ‘Just nonsense, I think. Nothing to worry about.’
Lucy sees Amelia’s mouth draw into a tight line. She’s bothering at the skin around her thumbnail, ripping it off, then balling her hands into fists.
Well, well, well, Lucy thinks. I wonder what’s got Little Miss Perfect so worried?
Amelia
Amelia knows that Lucy is watching her, and she tries not to catch her eye. She looks down at her hands and realises she has ripped the skin off around both thumbnails and they’re now ragged and bleeding. Idiot! Especially after what Lucy and James have just been saying about infectious diseases and quarantined islands. Is that really what’s going on here? Of course not.
She knows exactly where they are now. And although it might seem like rambling nonsense, Brenda knows something too. Not about her – there’s no way she could know that – but about what happened on the island. It was all over the news. Amelia recalled it herself earlier. But there’s one piece of the puzzle she can’t get hold of. Or that she’s blocking, not willing to deal with it just yet.
Is this why Brenda was brought here? Another person with a link – a memory – to force Amelia to remember?
She looks down at the older woman, at her pale, clammy skin, and she can tell that without intervention she’s not going to survive. There’s nothing Amelia can do about it. She’s tried her best to make her comfortable and reduce the fever. She’s not a medic. Brenda’s condition isn’t something that can be fixed with makeshift splints and boiling water.
What she can’t understand is why she didn’t tell them she’d been bitten. If they’d known, she could have taken her down to the boat when they came for Giles, and now she’d be off somewhere warm and safe, getting the help she needs. There must be medical help available at the big house. This is what she chooses to believe . . . because the alternative is far worse.
She hopes she’s wrong about where they are. Despite recognising the lighthouse, and the island in the distance – and the memories that tried to push themselves to the surface – she’s still hoping she’s got it all wrong.
That maybe none of this has anything to do with her at all.
Apart from her recent suspicions about Brenda, she hasn’t worked out any possible link between her and the others yet, and she has a horrible feeling that perhaps there isn’t one. That they’ve been chosen on the strength of their own secrets, to help illustrate a point.
Or maybe it’s nothing. Maybe she’s just paranoid. It’s been a long day.
‘Hey,’ Lucy says, ‘you doing OK there, Amelia? You look like you’re miles away.’
‘Just getting a bit fed up of all this.’ She doesn’t want Lucy to sense any weakness in her. Lucy is on edge after her big reveal, and she’s desperate for something to take the heat off her. Amelia is about to say something else when there’s another beep, and her tracker projects a pixelated screen in front of the entrance to the cave.
‘Oh, great,’ Lucy says. ‘I wonder which poor sod is next for mental destruction, eh?’
Amelia closes her eyes. It’s fine. It won’t be mine. She opens them again. Her heart is pounding. Just start. Just get it over with.
She can tell by the others’ stillness and the odd, glazed looks on their faces that they’re seeing something she’s not. She taps her tracker in frustration, but it stays as it is; nothing but the undulating green line of her heart rate, spiking high.
‘Guys, can one of you—’
‘I’m on a canal towpath,’ Lucy says. ‘I can see a small arched bridge up ahead. It’s dimly lit. Only one dull street lamp. There’s a pile of junk or something on one side, shoved up against the wall. It looks like a ton of black bin liners. Loads of crap spilling out. There’s breathing. But that’s me, I think. Well, not me. Whoever’s vision this is. I can’t work out who it is yet.’
A canal towpath? Amelia relaxes. None of it has anything to do with her. She glances around. Brenda is lying with her eyes closed, not part of this. Scott is staring at one of the cave walls, transfixed. But James is looking down at the floor, his shoulders shaking slightly. He’s gently sobbing.
‘James,’ she says, walking over to him. She lays a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs her off.
His head snaps up. ‘It’s fine.’ He wipes the back of his hand across his face. ‘I’m going to close my eyes now. I don’t need to see this.’
‘OK,’ Lucy says. ‘It’s James, then? We’re still walking along the towpath. Had to swerve to avoid the first pile of rubbish. Christ, what a mess this place is. Need to get the council in to clean up.’ She shakes her head. ‘Someone’s talking to me. I can’t really make it out. I think I’m wearing headphones.’ Lucy takes a breath. ‘Not very safety conscious, in an area like this . . .’
‘Come on,’ Amelia says. What they’re seeing has nothing to do with her, but the green line on her tracker is a steady repeating line of bumps now, much higher than they should be. ‘What’s happening now?’
‘Oh, shit!’ Lucy reels backwards as if she’s been grabbed from behind. She twists round quickly, ducking low. ‘There’s a man . . . It wasn’t a pile of rubbish, it was a den. Ooof. I’m on the ground. I almost felt that. The man . . . the man is after me!’
‘My camera . . .’ James’s voice is flat.
Amelia spins to look at him. ‘Where is your camera, James? I don’t think I’ve seen it since we left the visitor centre.’
‘It’s here, in my bag. I dropped it earlier, cracked the lens. So I put it in my bag.’ He takes his backpack off, opens the top and rifles around inside. Pulls out his camera and hangs it around his neck.
Amelia is puzzled for a moment, remembering the visitor centre – James’s mission was to take promotional shots, but she can’t remember him using the camera at all – but she pushes this aside, turns back to Lucy.
‘What now, Lucy?’
Something flutters in Amelia’s chest as she waits for Lucy to respond. She turns to James, who has his eyes open, glazed like the others’, staring at whatever’s unfolding in his mind.
‘Lucy?’
Tears spring to her eyes as she imagines the next scene. She’s already worked it out. The tramp has attacked James, and James is going to retaliate. An accident. He would never mean to hurt him. He was only defending himself . . .
But that is not what happens.
‘Hang on,’ Lucy says at last. ‘This is weird. The view has shifted. I’m not on the ground. I’m looking down at the man on the ground. He has a camera on a strap around his neck.’ She turns to James. ‘I don’t get it. I thought I was inside your head.’
James is frowning. ‘They’re clever, those Timeo bastards. I’ll give them that. Up to now, we’ve been seeing it unfold from the perspective of the CCTV camera on the other bridge – the one behind you.’
‘Huh?’ Scott says.
‘Keep watching. You’re getting to the good part.’ James closes his eyes again.
‘There’s more light here,’ Lucy says. ‘Closer to that street lamp. There’s blood on the ground, a big pool of it.’ She closes her eyes. ‘Oh God. No. This is horrible . . . I don’t want to watch.’