Witch(32)

“What night?” I asked him.

“I can’t remember exactly what night,” he said. “It was about ten years ago.”

“Before or after you left for the Army?” I quizzed him.

“What is this?” he said, sounding confused and hurt. “I know you’re a copper, but there is no need to treat me like a criminal. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Seeing the hurt in his eyes, I looked away and said, “I’m sorry. I’m a bit freaked out, that’s all. I mean, how come I’m dreaming about a girl who died in a well ten years ago, and whose father I killed a few days ago?”

“You’re a cop, right?” Michael said, taking my hand in his again. “Perhaps you heard someone mention it at work or something, and it’s played on your mind. You’re gonna be stressed out because of the accident the other day. Your brain is just putting two and two together and coming up with five.”

I remembered how I’d heard of the girl dying in the bottom of the well from Vincent last night. So maybe Michael was right, it had stuck in my subconscious somewhere and crept back out again while I slept. Maybe it was nothing more than that. “I’m just spooking myself, aren’t I?” I said, looking at him. I wondered if I said that to convince Michael more than myself.

“Look, why don’t I take you home,” he said, wrapping one of his muscular arms about me. “Have a nice warm bath, relax, and get a good night’s sleep? You’ll feel so much better for it. I could stay with you if you like.”

“I thought I was meant to be getting some sleep?” I half joked.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Michael said. “I’ll stay with you, keep you company – keep you safe from the nightmares.”

Looking at him, I gently stroked the side of his face with my hand and said, “Thanks, Michael, but this is something I need to sort through myself.”

“Okay,” he smiled, taking my hand and kissing it gently. “Whatever you think is best.”

Michael led me from the barn and towards the farmhouse. It had grown dark outside, and I could see the warm orange glow of lights burning from inside. There was an old 4X4 parked out front, its thick tyres clogged with mud. Michael went to the driver’s side. As I passed in front of the vehicle, I noticed a large dent to the front offside and scratches where paint was missing.

“Had an accident?” I asked, climbing into the passenger seat.

“My father had a knock the other day. Hit a wall of something,” Michael said as he started the engine and drove the vehicle away from the farm.

The 4X4 lurched and bounced onto the narrow roads. I remembered taking the same road as I raced away from the farm in my patrol car just a few days before. As we passed the field surrounding the farm, I glanced up at the hill were the well stood, hidden by the crop of trees. The girl said she had been pushed, but Michael said she had fallen. I pictured the well and the waist-high wall which surrounded it. How would anyone trip over that and fall into the well? I wondered. What of the bottle and the folded piece of paper? That had been in my dream, too, but Vincent hadn’t mentioned that.

Pulling my coat around me, I settled back into my seat and tried not to think about it. Michael steered the vehicle along the stretch of road where I had driven into the horse and cart and its passengers. The headlights lit up the road, and in their glare, I could see the tyre marks running diagonally across the tarmac, but that was all that was left. There was no horse and cart, and there were no more dead people. Apart from the tyre marks I had left behind, no one would have never known what had happened there. My father had done a good job at clearing it all away. As Michael drove past the scene of the accident, I closed my eyes and remembered hearing the sound of my father’s patrol car approaching from the distance. I was looking through the cracked windscreen of my upturned car, the word ECILOP across the bonnet, looking wrinkled through the web of cracks.

“Are you okay?” Michael asked me.

I opened my eyes. He was glancing sideways at me, that look of concern in his eyes again.

“I’m fine,” I lied, turning and looking back at my own reflection in the car door window.

We drove the rest of the way back to my apartment in silence. Michael brought the vehicle to a stop just outside. He left the engine rumbling and purring like a giant lion. He looked at me and said, “Are you sure you don’t want some company?”

“I’m sure,” I smiled weakly and reached for the door handle.

Michael gently took hold of my arm. “When you’re feeling a bit better about things, how about you and me go someplace – you know, somewhere nice – away from here?”