The Shadows: A Poppy Farrell Mystery

Chapter 19

Isabelle shoved Poppy into her room, and then slammed the door behind her. There were scratching and banging sounds on the other side. Isabelle was probably installing a lock and chain, maybe two or three, to keep Poppy in.

Can't let the genie out of the bottle now can we? Poppy thought. Hmmm?

They'd unpacked her bags.

Poppy checked her wallet. They hadn't touched her money. She still had the same coins and notes as before. Her uniform and blouses were in a cleaner's bag in the wardrobe, her one cotton dress hanging beside it with another jumper, a grey cardigan, a lace shirt, and her corduroy jacket.

She went to the window and peered out into the forecourt. The fountain was splashing. The chapel was dark. The little Greek temple was white as a tomb on its mound, marking the beginning, when she'd found the tennis dress, and the possible ending of her life.

Alpha and omega...

Where did that come from?

She should sleep. But how? Clair's bed was all tidy and perfectly made as if waiting for its next occupant. Hers was rumpled. She should get into it and pull the covers over her head. Or watch a DVD. Something silly and stupid to distract her from the ominous feeling that she was probably next on Wick's hit list.

She wandered into the sitting room and sat on the sofa, looking at the TV screen. As she stared at it, images of the terrors she'd witnessed played out in her mind: Georgie, Clair, the ceremony in the chapel... She toppled over, put her head in the cushions and fought against the movie in her mind.

What was Diana Harrow doing there? Why hadn't she shown her face in all this time.

And Aurora Blight. Those eyes!

Zooming in from the depths of her mind, the eyes looked at her again.

Poppy let out a small scream, and put the cushions over her head.

*

Morning came with Poppy waking up on the sofa, feeling like she'd been run over by a train. She shuddered and drove that image from her mind. Was that what they'd planned for her? The signs were all there.

Sitting up, every muscle shrieking from her climb to the roof last night, she put her hands over her eyes. Things were really bad. How long did she have?

Someone should call the police.

She dragged herself to her bedroom. A tray of food was on the window seat again. Someone had come in.

She tested the door. It opened.

They expected her go to class. That was it. There was rehearsal this morning, for Macbeth.

She couldn't stand it. Not now. Not ever again.

Though she felt like she was starving to death, she didn't trust the food they'd sent up. There was that pay phone under the front stairs, in a corner that promised privacy. Grabbing her coin purse, she slipped out of her room, and then started down the hallway toward the right. She didn't kid herself. This was the direction of Georgie's room.

Perhaps she'd been drugged again, and all the events of last night had been a dream...if only... She would knock on Georgie's door, and Georgie would answer. Everything would be all right. She'd know she was certifiably mad, but Georgie would be alive. That was all that mattered.

At the end of the hallway before Georgie's door, Harvey and Hervey, like toys come to life, appeared in the morning darkness. Wearing little red beanies on their round heads, dressed, as always, in their black school uniforms, they were licking identical red lollipops with their little red tongues.