Witch(50)

“How did you get those dents?” I shot back.

With a look of exasperation on his face, Grayson leapt forward and gripped my arm. He shoved me across the kitchen and yanked open the kitchen door. It was twilight outside, and the sky was so overcast with bluish-black clouds, it looked like a piece of bruised and battered skin.

“I’ll show you how I came by those dents and scratches,” he huffed, frogmarching me down the short, overgrown lane, past the parked 4X4, and to the wide gate which barred anyone from driving onto his property. “Look! Look! Look!” Grayson barked, pointing at the gate frame with one thick, grubby-looking finger.

I pulled my arm free of his strong grip and looked at where he was pointing. At once, my heart sank and I felt foolish. The gate post was dented inwards, leaning to one side where it had been struck. I could see that the bend in the metal frame was at the height consistent with being hit by the cattle grill on the front of his 4X4.

“What have you got to say about that?” He glared at me. “Mm?”

What did I have to say to that? What did I have to say about any of it? I looked at Grayson, then at Michael, who was now standing behind his father. Again he stared at me with that same look of bewilderment and hurt in his eyes.

What had I done? I just wanted to curl up and crawl away.

“So what have you got to say for yourself?” Grayson boomed, unwilling to let me off the hook, even though he had proved me wrong and left me feeling humiliated.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. What else could I say? It would seem I’d screwed up, yet again.

“Sorry don’t cut it,” he breathed just inches from my face. “How dare you come onto my land and start making these wild accusations against me and my son! How dare you!”

“Sorry,” I whispered again, unable to force myself to meet his stare.

“I’ve got a good mind to ring your father and make an official complaint about police harassment,” he threatened.

“Cut her some slack, dad,” Michael said, coming to my rescue. “I’m sure Sydney didn’t mean anything by it. I guess it’s been a difficult time for her lately – it can’t be an easy thing to come to terms with – what, with killing those people and all.”

“Well, she better learn to live with it,” Grayson sniffed.

“C’mon, dad, you’ve said your piece, let her be,” Michael said, trying to coax his father back towards the farmhouse.

Grayson looked at Michael then back at me. “Okay,” he huffed. “But I’m warning you, if I see you back on my land, I’m going to make sure you lose your badge. Call yourself a copper? God only knows what your father must think of you? What a joke!”

Grayson turned his wide back on me and stomped away, leaving Michael and me alone.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said.

Looking at him, all I could see was sadness in his eyes. “You have nothing to be sorry for, Michael,” I said.

Turning my back on him, I walked slowly away. I didn’t look back once. I couldn’t. Feeling foolish and ashamed, I headed back down the road towards town. How could I have been so stupid? I guess I’d been so desperate to pass the blame.

You never face up to your responsibilities, I heard my father whisper in my ear. You need to start taking responsibility for your actions. You’re not a little girl anymore.

Feeling sick, I lowered my head in shame. As I reached the spot where the accident had taken place –where I had killed those people – I looked up to see Vincent standing next to his bike, propped against the wall. He was smoking a cigarette. It was almost dark now, and Vincent stood in the cold, blowing out jets of smoke from his nose.

“Are you okay?” he asked, stepping away from the wall and pushing the bike towards me.

“No,” I whispered, not stopping but walking straight past him.

“Where are you going, Sydney?” he called after me.

“To see my mum,” I snapped.

“I’ll walk with you,” he said, catching up.

“What, all the way to Spain?” I said, walking into the darkness which lay ahead.





Chapter Thirty

“Spain?” Vincent said, following me into my apartment.

We had walked in silence on the way back from the farm, both of us lost to our thoughts. I felt stupid for daring to go up to the Grayson farm and accuse both Michael and his father of being killers. I must have lost my freaking mind. Then again, what else is new? Hadn’t I spent the last few days or more dreaming of dead people? Chasing ghosts! Maybe that was the curse Jonathan Smith had cast upon me when he had called me a witch? Maybe Grayson was right – the Smiths had been nothing more than a family of witches? I’d been cursed to go out of my tiny little mind. To spend the rest of my life dreaming about them until I went insane?