Wychwood Day Seven
Early Morning
One
Sandy stirred in his sleep, disturbed by something. He groaned, desperate to get back to his dream. It had been so vivid, so real; he reached down to his groin and was almost disappointed to find his cock. His mouth was dry, his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, no doubt from all he had drunk with Annabelle and Fleur. A headache pounded behind his eyes, and he reluctantly dragged them open, groaning aloud before reaching for the glass of water he had left on the bedside table.
He drank half the glass, and just as his head hit the pillow again, he heard something, or thought he did. Telling himself to ignore it, he pulled the pillow over his head and closed his eyes. But whatever it was came again. And again. And again. It seemed to be coming from the window. It must be a branch scraping against the glass in the wind, he told himself. His eyes popped open when he remembered there were no trees outside the window.
He was awake now, nerves jangling, and his neck prickled as he heard the noise again. Sandy got out of bed, walked to the window, and snatched back the curtains. He leapt back in surprise, nearly falling over, because a large rook was perched on the ledge, pecking at the glass.
“What the fuck?”
The bird stopped pecking for a moment, looked up at Sandy, then jumped off the ledge towards the ground. Bloody bird, thought Sandy, and was about to draw the curtains again when it landed back on the ledge and pecked at the window several more times before jumping off. That’s weird, thought Sandy. As he looked out the window, pale moonlight filtered through the clouds. He squinted but couldn’t see anything, telling himself it was nothing, just as the clouds parted and the moon lit up the garden below like a searchlight.
He was about to turn away when, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a movement. In the moonlight, something had crossed the gap between two garden hedges. Sandy blinked in surprise, and then the clouds covered the moon again, leaving him peering in vain into the darkness. Had he seen something, or was it a trick of the moonlight? After all, he had caught only the briefest glimpse.
The rook was back on the ledge, pecking once more at the glass. Sandy was startled to see that the bird had pale green eyes. It couldn’t be the same one he had seen in the garden, could it?
Sandy decided he should at least check downstairs. Grabbing a robe to cover the nightdress Samantha had left out for him, he opened the apartment door to listen. Nothing. He was about to go back to bed, but he felt uneasy enough to tiptoe to the top of the stairs, his heart thumping in his ears. He stopped, took a slow, deep breath to calm himself, and listened. He heard nothing, and all seemed quiet, but as he turned to go back, an owl screeched outside, and he jumped as he used to on the ghost train as a child. He put his hand on his heart to steady himself, and in that instant, he heard a sound downstairs. His hackles rose in response.
It sounded like the creak of an opening door, and he held his breath, straining to listen in the darkness. He descended the stairs carefully, one step at a time, praying the steps wouldn’t make a sound. But something else nagged at the edge of his mind. Why had that rook appeared, and why had it been so persistent? Halfway down, he stopped and told himself he was being ridiculous. It was all in his imagination, and the bloody bird had nothing to do with it.
As he was about to turn back, he heard a sound from downstairs. This time, he was certain, there was someone downstairs. It must be Annabelle or Fleur moving about downstairs, perhaps fetching a glass of water. But why would they be creeping around in the dark? His heart was beating so hard he was sure it could be heard all over the house. Someone was moving in the hallway, their shoes scuffing on the terracotta tiles. His eyes had adjusted a little to the darkness, and he could make out a shape moving down the corridor towards the back of the house.
What the hell should he do? Should he call out? Raise the alarm? What good would that do? Samantha and Mharie were in their cottage, and Annabelle and Fleur were in Overstrand’s apartment at the back of the house. He let out the breath he had been holding and descended the rest of the stairs into the hallway as quietly as he could. Sandy heard a door squeak as it opened further down the corridor towards the kitchen. His throat had become so dry and tight that he needed to swallow to clear it, but when he tried, it came out as a barely muffled gurgle. As he tiptoed past a side table, he grabbed a silver candlestick, more to shore up his flagging confidence than as a real weapon.
He reached the kitchen door and eased it open, praying it wouldn’t squeak. He let out the breath he had been holding when it opened without a sound, then slipped through into the kitchen, where he paused to listen. Suddenly, the refrigerator’s compressor kicked in, filling the otherwise silent kitchen with an eerily loud hum. The only illumination came from the green LED clock on the oven, and as he watched, the light flickered for a moment as something, or someone, moved in front of it. He was properly scared now and decided to retreat from the kitchen to raise the alarm, but as he took a tentative step backwards, someone grabbed his hair and pulled his head back, and he felt something cold and sharp against his throat.
Two
“Don’t move or make a sound.” The voice was unnervingly soft and feminine, close to his left ear. Sandy was trembling, and for the first time in a very long time, he prayed.
“You sounded like a herd of buffalo following me,” she said. “But this is a bonus.” He felt her breath on his neck. “I won't have to waste time searching the house. Drop the candlestick and take me to Annabelle and her bitch,” the voice commanded. Instantly, Sandy knew she must be the stalker Fleur and Annabelle had spoken of. But how did she know they were at Wychwood? He did as he was told and dropped the candlestick. “I know they’re here,” the voice went on. “So don’t try anything, or I will slit your throat. Nod your head once if you understand.”
Sandy nodded, feeling the edge of the knife prick his throat.
“If you make a sound or try anything, I will cut you. Understand?”
Fear knotted his stomach, and his legs had turned to jelly. Sandy tried to say yes, but it came out as a grunt.
“Now take me to them,” the woman hissed in his ear.
Terror had scrambled Sandy’s brain, and all he could say was, ”Them?”
The woman pressed the knife harder into Sandy’s throat and said, “Don’t fuck me around. Take me to Annabelle and her bitch.”
Left with no alternative, Sandy finally found his voice. “They’re upstairs, but I can't do anything with that knife at my throat.”
The knife left his throat, but she pressed it hard into his back. “Okay, but any funny move and I will gut you like a fish. Now move.”
Sandy led the way to the back stairs, which led to the guest bedrooms where Annabelle and Fleur were staying. He thought his heart was about to burst, and his legs shook as he slowly led the woman up the stairs. She was obviously batshit crazy, and he had no doubt she would do what she said she would. He tried to think of a way out of this mess, but came up with nothing. He stopped halfway up the stairs, his senses returning, only for the knife to dig into his side.
“I’ve warned you,” said the woman. “Just lead me to them, and I’ll let you go.”
A moment of relief surged through Sandy, but he immediately knew she was lying. She had said she was going to kill Fleur, so she wouldn’t want to let him go to raise the alarm. All he could do was keep going and take any opportunity that came along. Sandy stopped at the door to Annabelle and Fleur’s room, and the woman held the knife to his throat again. Her voice whispered into his ear. “Open the door slowly. No tricks.”
Sandy eased open the door to find the room in complete darkness. He heard the woman scrabbling for the light switch, and suddenly the room was flooded with light. He squeezed his eyes shut against the glare and heard Fleur say, “What the fuck?” Followed by Annabelle, who said, “Oh God, no.”
He opened his eyes to see Fleur, sitting up in bed, shielding Annabelle. Both women were naked, and Sandy could see the terror in their eyes.
The woman threw some cable ties onto the bed with her free hand, the knife still pressed against Sandy’s throat. His breathing had become ragged, as adrenaline spiked by his fear poured through his body. He had to do something, or he was sure he would die. Please give me a chance to fight back, he prayed.
“Tie the bitch’s wrists together,” she hissed at Annabelle. Sandy saw Annabelle shake her head, “No, I won’t.” She tried to sound defiant, but there was a tremor in her voice.
“If you don’t, I will slit this one’s throat,” and pressed the knife even harder against Sandy’s throat.
Three
Sandy felt a sharp sting as the knife pierced the skin of his throat. As he closed his eyes, expecting the blade to slice into his throat, a loud crash echoed around the room as a window shattered, sending shards of glass flying into the room. Sandy felt the knife slip from his throat as everyone turned to look at the window. Sandy saw a large rook lying on the floor below the smashed window, motionless, yet with one green eye staring straight at him.
Sandy knew he had to act now, stamping his foot on the arch of the woman’s foot and pushing backwards. Taken by surprise, the woman yelled in pain, staggered, lost her balance, and loosened her grip on Sandy. Realising he wouldn’t get a second chance, he braced his legs for leverage and whipped his head back into her face as hard as he could. He heard the crunch as her nose broke, and they both tumbled backwards onto the floor. Sandy landed on top of her, jammed his elbow hard into her stomach, and heard her grunt as the wind was knocked out of her. Scrambling to his feet, he aimed a kick at her head, but she rolled away, and he overbalanced, grabbing the corner of a chest of drawers to keep himself upright. She clambered to her feet and lunged at Sandy with the knife in her hand.
What happened next seemed to Sandy to be in slow motion, but it took only a few seconds. She was almost upon him when he stepped towards her, deflected her knife arm with the back of his hand, and, in one move, swivelled into her, wrapping his right arm over her outstretched forearm, bracing it against his left arm, and thrusting down hard. She screamed as a bone snapped, and she flopped to the floor, dropping the knife. Sandy kicked the knife away just as the door imploded with a crash, and a voice yelled, “Armed police! Down on the floor! Now!” In an instant, the room filled with men in black helmets and body armour, machine guns pointed at them. Sandy dropped to the floor, face down next to the woman, who was moaning and crying. Sandy felt his arms yanked behind his back and his wrists bound with a cable tie. He glanced at the window and saw the broken glass, but there was no sign of the rook. It had vanished.
“Stay down,” ordered a male voice above him. Sandy heard Fleur shouting something about her rights as she was pushed to the floor and cable-tied. Bloody lawyers, thought Sandy.
Four
Some time later, after most of the police had left, along with Annabelle’s stalker, handcuffed to a stretcher, Sandy, Annabelle, and Fleur sat in the drawing room, drinking black coffee with a slug of brandy that Samantha had brought them. She took the opportunity to give Sandy’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. He smiled up at her in appreciation just as a man in civilian clothes, wearing a police lanyard, entered the room.
"I’m DCI Appleyard, the senior officer in charge. I’m sorry you’ve had such a nasty experience, but I’m glad to see you’re all unharmed. Sorry, except for..." He glanced at a notepad and said, “Mister Rossi, is it?” He raised an eyebrow at Sandy, still wearing the bright floral silk robe he had grabbed from his bedroom.
Sandy nodded and said, “I’m okay, thanks.” His throat was still sore where the knife had cut the skin, but the paramedic had cleaned the wound and applied a plaster to stop any bleeding.
“Good. First of all, I know some of you objected to being restrained.” Fleur was about to speak when Annabelle stopped her with a glare. Appleyard continued, “It’s standard procedure when we breach a room because we don’t know who is who at first. Our priority is to neutralise the situation for everyone’s safety before we decide what to do next.” He paused to emphasise his words and looked at Fleur. “In this country, we try not to shoot first and ask questions later. We don’t want the wrong people getting shot.”
Fleur couldn't hold back any longer. “How the fuck did she know we were here?” she snapped at Appleyard.
“It’s still not confirmed, but from what we know, she followed you both to the Heliport at Battersea, where you boarded the helicopter. She apparently bribed someone there to learn where the helicopter was taking you. He’s under arrest. We had someone shadowing you, but after the helicopter took off, we stood them down. A team went to her address to arrest her, but there was no sign of her. Knowing you were here, we immediately authorised the local firearms unit as a precaution.”
Fleur snorted. But you had someone stationed here. Didn’t you? What good were they?”
Sandy could see a vein pulsing on Appleyard’s forehead and guessed the policeman was struggling to keep his temper. He turned to look hard at Fleur and said in a voice as sharp as broken glass, “He’s in surgery now. She stabbed him and left him for dead. It’s touch-and-go whether he’ll pull through.”
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” she said, her voice cracking. Appleyard looked at Sandy and said, “She came ready to kill, so you did a good job, Mr Rossi.”
Annabelle stood up and hugged Sandy, closely followed by Fleur. Sandy felt tears begin to flow, and soon all three of them were crying.
Appleyard gave them a moment before continuing. “We were late arriving because the bridge over the river was down, so we had to ford the river. By the way, we found a motorbike there, which we believe is how she got here so quickly. The unit deployed outside the house, and when we heard the window smash, I ordered entry. But there’s one thing I’d like to clear up.” He paused and looked at each of them. “Which one of you smashed the window?”
“We didn’t,” said Sandy. He looked at the others. “We all saw it, didn’t we?”
Fleur and Annabelle looked at each other and shook their heads. Annabelle said, “I heard the glass smash, that's all. I don’t know what caused it. Did you see what happened, Fleur?”
Fleur shook her head, and all eyes turned back to Sandy. “It was a bird,” he said, unable to believe that Annabelle and Fleur hadn’t seen it. “A bloody great rook smashed straight through the window. You must have seen it.”
“I didn’t see a bird,” said Fleur. “Didn't you shoot out the window?” she asked Appleyard.
He shook his head. “No, I didn't give an order to shoot, and no firearms have been discharged. Are you sure about the bird, Mister Rossi?”
“Yes, I saw it. It was lying on the floor in front of the window.”
Appleyard said, “There’s no bird there now, Mister Rossi.”
Sandy was about to reiterate that there most definitely had been a bird when he remembered that, as he lay on the floor next to the woman, there had been no sign of the rook. Something told him to keep quiet.
“Oh,” he said. “I must have imagined it. Everything happened so suddenly. It was all so confusing.”
Appleyard gave him a look but moved on. “One of my officers will be here shortly to take a statement from you all, and that includes you two, if you don't mind?” He looked at Mhairi and Samantha, who nodded their agreement. “It’s purely formal, so there’s no need to worry.” He paused before saying, “But can any of you tell me how the intruder ended up with a broken arm?”
Fleur jumped in. “It’s a goddamn shame she didn't end up with a broken neck, but Sandy was fantastic doing what he did. He was awesome.”
“Oh,” said Appleyard, turning his gaze to Sandy. “And what did you do that was so awesome?” Mister Rossi?”
Before Sandy could answer, Annabelle butted in. “Sandy took the mad bitch out before she could do anything. He was a fucking ninja. It was like something out of Killing Eve.”
Appleyard’s eyebrows zoomed skywards. “Is that right, Mister Rossi?”
Sandy had blushed scarlet. “I’ve taken a few self-defence classes: street fighting, that kind of thing. I’ve been bullied a lot in the past. It all just kicked in. I didn't have much choice. She was about to cut my throat, so when the window smashed, I took my chance.”
“Ah, yes. The mysterious smashed window. Let’s see what the forensics team has to say. I look forward to reading your statement, Mister Rossi. By the way, the intruder is in hospital under armed guard, and she will be transferred to prison afterwards. We have informed Sir Robert, and although he’s abroad, he’ll be here as soon as he can.”
Annabelle reached over to take Sandy’s hand. “Thank you, Sandy. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t dealt with her. Fleur and I owe you big time.”
Fleur hugged Sandy and kissed him on the cheek. “I owe you plenty, Sandy. Thank you from me as well.”
Five
Sandy was in a blissful half-awake, half-asleep state, luxuriating beneath the finest Swiss-made Egyptian cotton and Hungarian goose-down duvet money could buy. His body ached when he moved, so he decided not to move.
He had given his statement to a police officer, omitting any mention of a rook crashing through the window, and played down his involvement. The adrenaline high from the excitement had worn off, leaving him exhausted and aching, with a pulsing headache behind his eyes. He went up to his room, slipped off the robe, dry-swallowed a couple of painkillers, and, for once here at Wychwood, fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
He didn't know how long he’d slept, and he didn’t care. He knew he’d been close to death. If that window hadn’t smashed when it did, he wouldn’t be alive. It had given him the chance to fight back at the last possible moment. He buried his head under the duvet, closed his eyes, and tried to remember what had happened. The window had exploded inwards. The glass on the floor inside the room proved it. So, logically, something had smashed the pane from the outside. The police had said they didn't shoot it out, and he didn't believe that glass could spontaneously shatter at just the right moment. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t the hand of God.
It was true that everything had happened so quickly and been very confusing, as he had told Appleyard. However, despite what he had put in his statement, Sandy knew there were certain undeniable truths: that the earth is round; that man has stood on the moon; that pistachio is the best flavour of gelato; that the greatest view of Venice is from the Campanile of San Marco; and that he had seen a rook lying on the floor after it crashed through the window.
So why had it vanished? And why did everybody else claim not to have seen it? There was an answer, he thought, though he knew it would defy rational explanation. There had been so many strange things that had happened since he arrived at Wychwood that he was beginning to question what was real and what may be his imagination playing tricks on him. Before he arrived at Wychwood, he had laughed at people who believed in the supernatural, yet he was now convinced he had met and spoken to a ghost.
The weirdness had started when he arrived at Wychwood: the dreams, the odd vanishing text messages, the video on his laptop, the ghost, and finally the rook that had disappeared after breaking the window. He shook his head, trying to make sense of it. A chilling thought took shape in his mind. If it had all begun when he arrived here, then was it the house that was causing it all? His blood ran cold at the idea, but at that moment he heard the bedroom door creak open. He was still under the duvet, and he thought that must be Samantha, come to check on him. She had been so lovely to him, fussing over him, hugging him when he began to shake, holding his hand, and stroking his hair when he cried. He should get up and thank her for taking care of him. Sandy pushed the duvet down and sat up in bed, then his world collapsed.