Dark Deity: Asylum Series Book 3

Chapter 8

They found Ella curled up on the sofa in her grandmother’s living room, wrapped in a blanket, and clutching a cup of hot milk. The girl was looking at a nature documentary, the soothing voice of David Attenborough turned low. Paul remembered that, in happier times, Ella had loved natural history, and had been a keen observer of birds, insects, flowers, and the like.

“Hello,” said Ella, her voice weak, as she tried to smile.

Neve took her mother into the kitchen to try and explain the situation while Mike and Paul chatted with the girl. As expected, she explained Liz had been ‘reaching up’ to her from the bad place where the long-dead girl dwelt. Paul asked tentatively if he could see Ella’s arms. The girl reached out one hand, and the sleeve of her pink dressing gown fell away to show a red welt circling her wrist. He looked down and saw a similar red ring around the girl’s ankle. She quickly pulled her bare foot back under the blanket.

Restraints, Paul thought, examining the mark. Barbaric, old-school asylum methods. I can even see the mark of the buckle.

He let go of Ella’s hand, but the girl suddenly clutched at his fingers. Her strength surprised him. It was, he realized, born of desperation. Her eyes seemed huge, pupils dilated, as she peered up at him.

“Help me, Paul,” she said quietly. “She wants to live, escape from the bad place with all the mirrors. Because she saved me once, she thinks I owe her my life. That’s not true, is it?”

The girl looked from one man to the other as Paul and Mike struggled to find the right words. Neve reentered the room and Ella let go of Paul’s hand.

“I’ve tried to explain to mum,” Neve said. “She knew something was up, but she never expected something like this. That said, all the weird stuff that’s been going on has convinced her that Rookwood—well, let’s just say she’s suspended her disbelief. And she won’t object, she just doesn’t want to get involved.”

Paul looked past Neve and saw Ella’s grandmother pouring herself a glass of wine.

Wish I could join her, he thought, hunkering down next to the couch. Mike went into the kitchen and started to talk in a low voice to Mrs. Cotter, closing the door behind him.

“Okay,” said Paul. “I think we’re connected, Ella, because of Liz. So if we both concentrate hard, like we did last time, I think we can get in touch with her. And then…”

He hesitated and looked up to Neve, who was hunched forward in her armchair. Paul chose his words carefully.

“If we work together, we can get her out of the bad place, and lift her up, help her move on. I think I’ve come close to helping her escape, lately. We just have to be positive, and brave, and not let anything that happens scare us. Okay?”

Ella nodded.

“That was quite a good pep talk, Paul,” she said. “You’re doing your best, I know. But I think we’ll both be scared, won’t we? It’s only natural.”

He had to smile at her commonsense approach and reminded himself that a bright twelve-year-old sometimes saw things more clearly than a so-called adult. He reached out both hands this time, and she once more clutched at his fingers. Paul closed his eyes, took a breath, and tried to focus. He could not hypnotize himself, but he knew the essence of suggestion was relaxation.

“Close your eyes, Ella. We’ll go together.”

Without vision, the small sounds around him became louder. He could hear Mike still talking to Ella’s grandmother, his voice reassuring, no doubt stressing how competent Paul was, describing him as a real-life hero. He could also hear Neve Cotter’s breathing, fast and shallow, a mother stressed to an almost unbearable degree by a stranger leading her child into a dangerous place. And he could hear something else, now, a restive whimpering that must be coming from Ella. The sound was faint, and somehow remote, as if coming from a vast distance.

An illusion, he thought. Mind playing tricks again.

Suddenly there was light, his inner eye opening to a vista of the purgatory Liz had inflicted upon herself. The vast labyrinth of grotesque, funhouse mirrors spread below. As in previous sessions with Doctor Blume, Paul descended toward the maze, and waited for Liz to become visible.

At first, he saw nothing but shining corridors, over-bright and crazily chaotic in their layout. Then he glimpsed a small figure, dressed in the familiar stained cotton robe of Rookwood Asylum. He got closer and felt something was wrong. The mirrors around him showed nothing, none of the distorted and vile images of Liz he had seen so often before. He scanned them as he drifted ever nearer, waiting to glimpse the sore-covered plague bearer, the murderous whore, the pious hypocrite. But none of the twisted variants of Liz appeared.

“Liz?” he said, turning to the huddled figure in the corner of the cell at the heart of the maze. “Liz, does this mean you’ve stopped condemning yourself? Because that means we can go now, leave this place.”