Eddard squinted. He could see something over there. A figure was pacing back and forth on the other side of the window frame. “That’s no ghost,” Eddard said. “That’s a woman of flesh and blood.”
“It’s a ghost, I tell thee. It has to be. How else could she just appear like that?”
“I dinnae ken but the easiest way to solve a mystery like this is to go have a look.”
“Not likely. I’m not going back over there. It’s haunted.”
“Suit yourself.”
Eddard walked across the open toward the abbey, looking at the window the whole way. The abbey itself had long since crumbled. Plans had been made to rebuild but that was before little Morag had gone missing. The new abbey had been built over on the far side of the island. This place was little more than a crumbling ruin.
The old abbey had a look of utter desolation about it. The tower had long since collapsed, the roof gone. Only a few walls remained, that of the west side of the church being the tallest. It contained four windows without glass or shutters. Below them a long drop on either side to the rock strewn ground.
Back when the abbey was first built a walkway ran along that level to a spiral staircase at the end. The stone from the staircase was long gone but the walkway remained. It was there that the figure stood, looking out at Eddard as he drew nearer.
He squinted again, seeing her face in more detail. He knew that face. He’d seen it somewhere before. But where? He quickened his pace. The only way to get an answer to his question was to ask her. As he looked up again, she slipped from view, a scream reaching him from behind the wall.
She was falling. It was at least twenty feet to the ground from there. If he didn’t do something she’d be dead before he had chance to ask her a single thing.
He broke into a sprint, praying he would get there before it was too late.
Chapter Three
Jessica woke up after her dream with something stuck to the side of her face. She lifted her head slowly, reaching for her cheek at the same time. Had she fallen asleep halfway through a candy bar?
She’d done that before in a hotel and the results had looked like a dirty protest against the cleaning standard of the First Class Inn, which ironically was a surprisingly clean establishment.
It wasn’t candy. No brown smears on the pillow. She peeled the object from her face. It was a key. Why did she have a key stuck to her face?
The memory came back to her a second later. It was the key she’d been sent in the mail the previous day. The flyer was on the floor beside the bed, no doubt blown through by the gusts of wind that had woken her in the first place.
Getting out of bed, she slid the window closed, paused a second, then locked it. She might as well prepare for the road trip to Scotland.
There wasn’t much point getting breakfast. She knew for a fact that all she had in the kitchen was a six month old half box of crackers she was sharing with the mice, and a bottle of milk in the fridge she dared not touch, in case it moved again.
She had visions of opening the door and finding it emerging from the bottle like something out of Little Shop of Horrors. Her plan was to hire an exorcist and hazmat removal team at some point when she had enough cash in hand. Until then, the fridge was like her lovelife, better not to think about it.
She dug her one suitcase out from under the bed, ignoring the dust bunnies that tried to come with it. With the case open and ready, she turned to her closet, picking something that would be suitable for August in Scotland. Snowsuit? Parka?
It couldn’t be that cold, even in Scotland. Eventually, she settled on a couple of pairs of black pants, her cleanest shirts, red check for that lumberjack vibe. On top of them she added underwear for two nights, just in case. Then a pair of boots followed by sunhat and shades, no harm in being optimistic, right?
She thought about bringing suntan lotion but decided against it. That would be tempting fate. She left the case open and went through to the bathroom, finding herself humming as she packed her wash bag.
“I left my babby lying here, lying here, lying here.” She stopped, wondering where she knew that song from.
Catching a glimpse of herself looking confused in the mirror, she grabbed a hairbrush and began to belt out Aretha Franklin, collapsing into laughter as she managed to misspell R-E-S-P-E-C-T twice in quick succession.
She knew she should be more miserable about the fact she was rapidly running out of cash and had no cases coming in but she found herself surprisingly optimistic as she brushed her teeth before packing the brush into the bag.
A road trip was still a road trip and she hadn’t been to Scotland before. It was just one of those places that was eternally on her to do list, a bit like learning French and doing Ryan Reynolds. She’d tick off that list eventually.
This was a start. If Ryan Reynolds happened to be shacked up in Glasgow teaching French while she passed through? Well, that would be a bonus.
With the case closed and waiting by the door she scanned the apartment a last time. Windows locked. Curtains closed. Bed made. Dishes done. She even left the light on in the bedroom so it would look like someone was home while she was gone.
Not that it mattered. If a burglar happened to break in, he’d be more likely to leave something for her out of pity than take any of her paltry possessions.
She pushed the case on its wobbly wheels as it reluctantly slid out into the corridor. She turned to lock the door and when she turned back Caroline was standing at the corner near her apartment, as if she’d been waiting for her.
