Mike Shevdon - The Road to Bedlam

Martha was standing in the hallway with a look of sour disapproval on her face. Behind her was the larger bulk of Greg, the vicar. "Never mind that," he said over her head. "She's gone."

"Who's gone?" I asked.

"Shelley, Karen's sister. She's vanished."

"What do you mean, Shelley's vanished?" I asked Greg.

It crossed my mind for a moment that she was the same age as my daughter. If she had fey ancestry then maybe she truly had vanished from sight. Is that what was going on? Were these girls disappearing because they were fey?

Greg looked at Martha and then at me. "I need a word."

"What kind of a word?" I glanced from one to the other. Martha's scowl did not improve.

Greg eased around Martha, steering her towards the stairs. "Thank you, Mrs Humphries, you've been most helpful. Neal will be able to help me out now. Done all you can do in the circumstances. Thanks very much for your help."

"There's something going on here. I can smell it," she protested.

Greg wasn't to be distracted. "I'll handle it, don't you worry."

He escorted her to the fire door and waited until it swung closed behind her. I could hear her disgruntled tread on the staircase, all the way down. I left the door ajar and picked up my sword, keeping my body between the doorway and the weapon until it was an umbrella that I held in my hand.

Greg appeared in the doorway.

"Don't know how long we've got."

"Until what?"

"She was meant to come straight home from school. She's not home and she's not at friends'. Her mum's worried sick. She's already called the police. Her dad's going spare, saying it's all Karen's fault."

"You're worrying too much. She'll be behind the bus shelter with a boy or down the chip shop with her friends. I have to go."

"Where?"

"London, Shropshire… I'm not sure yet. I have a message to deliver."

"Can't leave now. We need you."

"I'm needed elsewhere."

I moved towards the door, but Greg filled the doorway. I halted in front of him. "She's probably fine. What makes you think she's not?"

He dug into his coat pocket and pulled out a small bundle of plastic. He placed it in my open hand. It was pink and crushed. "Her mobile phone."

"Where was it?" I turned it over in my hand. The screen was cracked and the innards hung out, dangling on little ribbons of wire. It looked as if it had been comprehensively stamped on.

"Small park between school and home. More of a play area. Her mum followed the route back to school. No sign of her. Then she spotted this. Kicked under a hedge at the edge of the park, next to the road."

"This should go to the police. It's evidence."

"You've never seen it before?"

"No, why should I… you think I had something to do with this?"

Greg sagged and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Neal. I had to ask. You knew so much about them. You knew about Helen's pregnancy, Debbie's clubbing… when I found out you knew Gillian and Trudy were dead, I realised there could be more than one way of knowing."

"Not because I had anything to do with their disappearance! I'm not some sick…"

"I know that now. You do understand, don't you? Had to ask." His eyes held a sadness from hearing lies too often, seeing what people truly meant and knowing too much.

"I really have to go." I needed to get a message to Garvin.

"No, don't you see? It means something. You were sent to us. You were meant to be here."

"I'm really meant to be somewhere else."

"Shelley needs you. You may be the only one who can find her. Would you put her family through what you've been through? Not after losing your own daughter, surely?"

That stopped me. "That's not fair, Greg."

"No, it isn't. But who else will find her? At least tell us if she's still alive."

The need to be on my way burned in me, but I could not just abandon him. "Come inside. Shut the door."

He came in and closed the door behind him.

"I want your word, Greg. On whatever you hold most sacred. You tell no one about this. Are we agreed?"

"I swear on the Holy Cross, on Him who died there and on the Father who raised him up to heaven." It rang as true as anything I've ever heard.

Tossing the umbrella on to the bed, I turned to the mirror. I placed my hand flat upon it, watching Greg as I did so.

"Shelley Hopkins?"

The mirror clouded under my hand and Greg's face held a mixture of hope and uncertainty.

As the mirror started to glow from within he said, "That looks like…" He faltered before the word he was going to say.

"Shhh! You wanted to know. Now we find out."

The mirror cleared slowly and through it came the sound of the town. It wavered above the harbour and I thought it would rise and dissipate. My heart fell at explaining what that meant to Greg, and he must have seen it in my face, but then it focused, suddenly and vividly. There was a clunking scraping and a low murmuring, indistinct and fuzzy. Then a whimpering, a lost sound, more like a wounded animal than a girl.

"Shelley? Shelley, is that you?" My voice echoed strangely.

The whimpering sound continued. Then the clunking came again. It sounded metallic.

"Where is she?" Greg asked.

I shook my head, straining to hear. He came closer, trying to decode the sounds.

"It's indoors. She's not outside. Can she hear us?"

"Only if there's a mirror close to her. Wait, listen."

The distinctive call of a gull, keeeya, keeya, keya, kya, kya kya, came from outside and echoed through the mirror into the room in a double image of sound.

Greg said it first. "She's here! By God, she's right here!"

"No, listen," I said. "The sound is delayed, further away from the gull than we are. Wherever she is, she can hear it."

"A warehouse? There are some around the harbour. Or maybe another guest house?"

"Outside," I said. "We need to be outside. I'll bring the mirror."

I unhooked the mirror from the wall. Greg held the door open as I went through and we barged open the fire door and ran down the stairs. Martha came out of the kitchen and waited at the bottom of the stairs as we barrelled down.

She pointed at the mirror. "You can't take that. That's private property, that is!"

Greg intercepted her. "Don't worry, we'll bring it back."

I slipped past them out into the street. Holding the mirror pressed to one ear I turned slowly. The sounds were confusing, on one side muffled and indistinct, overlaid with scrapes and shuffles, and on the other, clear but wide open. I closed my eyes, turning slowly. There was an abrupt blare of a car horn as a car swerved around me.

"Watch where you're going, ya prick!" The voice was female, but the car had gone before I could see the face.

The gull call came again, and I turned towards the harbour, but then another joined in, and another. The rooftops echoed to the call of the gulls and I couldn't get a fix on it.

Greg appeared. "Where?"

I shook my head, waving my hand at the gulls, then gestured towards the harbour. We walked together slowly, me listening to the mirror, him watching out for me. He stepped out in the road, gesturing the traffic to a halt as we came out on to the harbour front. No one questioned the stern-faced vicar. He stood in the road, holding the traffic while I scanned the rows of shops and houses, the chandlers, the fishing shop. There were windows above the shops, facing on to the harbour. She could be behind any one of them. I stepped back on to the pavement, following the line of the shops.

A truck rumbled past, changing gear, and the echo of the sound reverberated through the mirror. Close – I could hear she was close. I trotted down the front of the shops, scanning side alleys, looking for dumpsters and bins, anything that might be metallic and big enough for a person. I saw a skip and raced for it. Greg followed and started pulling off tangles of polythene, slabs of plasterboard, pitching them on to the floor. There was just rubble. Nowhere big enough for a girl.