‘It’s called Mitchell’s Fold,’ I said. ‘It’s a Bronze Age?—’
‘We’re not here for a history lesson,’ Jeannie interrupted, turning on Randolf and Birch. ‘My granddaughter is missing, and all the while, you two buffoons are up here with us, instead of doing your damn jobs and looking for her!’
‘I can assure you, Mrs Weiss, that my team are on the case,’ Randolf said calmly.
Jeannie folded her arms across her chest. Mrs Harlow was glugging the eggnog and Fergus’s fingers were twitching in desperation for his turn. The kids were inspecting the huge stones as Miles pointed them out. I shot an apologetic look at Randolf for Jeannie’s insult.
‘Right!’ Jeannie ordered. ‘Enough of this. We’ve scattered ashes, seen stones and now we must get back. We need to put our efforts into finding Ceecee if we can’t rely on the establishment.’
Fergus eagerly slurped his eggnog, his face still glowing red from the exertion of getting up the hill. The biting wind made my cheeks numb, but I already felt slightly better for being out of the house. Out here, it seemed insane to think that anyone in this group could be picking people off. Each of the unfortunate deaths could be explained away as a very unfortunate set of circumstances. Until Quentin. It was undeniable now that none of them were mere coincidences or accidents. Someone had packed snow around the bugger, and not just that, they’d shaped it into a snowman! For the first time I wondered if I could trust myself. Had it really happened? Was I going insane? Had I dreamt it all? I pinched myself to make sure I was actually here.
We began to descend. I grabbed Miles’s hand and pulled him closer to me.
‘Did I just imagine it all?’ I whispered.
He looked down at me, a question in his eyes.
‘Did I imagine what I saw today… with Quentin?’
He studied me, his eyes swimming with sorrow. ‘No, darling. I’m afraid it was real.’
‘Hang on!’ Mrs Harlow called over to us against the wind. ‘Fergus needs you to slow down!’
We halted our descent, looking back up towards the pair. Fergus was doubled over, seemingly still winded from the walk.
‘Come on, Fergus,’ Jeannie called up to him like he was a naughty child. ‘It’s all downhill from here.’
You can say that again, said the voice in my head.
‘I’ll stay back with him,’ offered Miles. ‘You go back.’
I huffed in irritation at the hold up, unsure whether it was wrong to leave them. We watched as Miles trotted back up towards the hill. Fergus went from doubled over, to lurching himself upright. He clutched at his throat and I squinted hard against the biting wind. From here, I was sure his face had turned from its usual beet-red to prune-purple.
‘Gosh,’ I muttered, ‘do you think he’s having a heart attack?’
DCI Randolf and DS Birch ran towards him, and the kids and I also started walking back up to see what the matter was.
‘Help him!’ I heard Mrs Harlow shout.
Not a sound was issuing from Fergus, even though he was thrashing about. I was halfway there when I saw he was bluer than a blue tit. Hands to his throat, he noiselessly looked up towards the heavens, before stumbling back, going down like a sack of meat.
‘For the love of Beelzebub, what the fuck’s this now?’ Callum cursed.
As we reached Fergus, Randolf was radioing for an air ambulance, while Birch dropped to her knees. She hesitated, her head bobbing this way and that as she tried to look in his mouth as Fergus bucked and rolled around like he was on a wild bull. I cursed, panic rising. ‘Holy shit, Miles, what can we do? What’s wrong with him?’
Jeannie appeared, mouth tighter than a mouse’s butt. ‘This is what happens when you abuse your body for years and decide to go for a walk. Really, for heaven’s sake, Fergus, will you get a hold of yourself?’
Fergus suddenly went completely still, his face and lips turning blue.
Birch leapt into action, craning Fergus’s head back slightly and pinching his nose to begin CPR. His mouth was open wide, exposing a gigantic purple tongue that had swelled to three times its normal size. On seeing it, Birch hesitated for a moment, seeming to have second thoughts, but she bent down, putting her mouth on his, despite the giant tongue being right there.
I peered through my hands, unable to tear myself away from the horrific sight of that damn muscle going in Birch’s mouth. This woman deserved a pay rise, and then some.
His lips were turning an even darker shade of blue, eyes bloodshot and staring. Martha turned to me and gave me a horrified grimace that was an exact expression of how I felt.
Oh shit.It’s happened again.
Mrs Harlow was quivering, a whisper playing on her lips like a broken record. ‘No.No.No.’
