Author: Amy Cross
Date: 2014-12-16 20:44:59+00:00
Keywords: Horror
Description: One hundred years ago, a horrific mass murder resulted in the permanent closure of Hardstone Women's Prison. Now the prison is being re-opened, but as a new generation of prisoners arrive to fill the cells, something evil is waiting in the shadows. Amanda Weir doesn't remember killing her children. All she knows is that she woke up with their bloody bodies in her arms. Sentenced to life in prison, she arrives at Hardstone and tries to adjust to her new life. All she wants is to forget her old self, and to find some way to live with what she did. After all, there's no way she could be innocent.
Publisher: CreateSpace Independent Publishing Platform

The Prison

- Title Page
- Prologue
- Part One
- Part Two
- Part Three
- Part Four
- Part Five
- Part Six
- Part Seven
- Part Eight
- Epilogue

The Prison
by Amy Cross

Copyright Amy Cross, All Rights Reserved

Published by ACBT Books

First published: November 2014

This edition first published: March 2016

http://amycrossbooks.wordpress.com

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment. If you enjoy it and wish to share it with others, please consider buying them their own copy. Feedback is always welcome. The author reserves all rights in respect of this work.

The Prison

Prologue

December 25th, 1901

Slipping her hand into the man's pocket, she quickly pulled out his wallet before turning and hurrying through the crowd. Her heart was racing, but after just a couple of paces she already knew she'd managed to get away. Even as she heard the man shouting about a thief, she couldn't help but smile. If there was one thing Ellie Cottingham was good at, it was pickpocketing. She'd long considered herself to be the best in London.

Crouching behind one of the market stalls, she opened the wallet with her mud-stained fingers and tipped a paltry collection of coins into her palm. She'd been watching the man for a while and he'd looked pretty well-to-do, but she couldn't help wrinkling her nose up as she saw the extent of her haul.

“Two shillings and threepence,” she muttered, tossing the wallet away before getting to her feet and slipping the coins into her leather pouch. “Not even enough to get a -”

Before she could finish, she spotted movement over on the other side of the market square. For a moment she stood and watched as the large, black gate of Hartstone Prison began to open. That, in itself, was something of a rarity: not many people were ever allowed out of Hardstone once they'd been sent away, so Ellie was curious as she slipped through the crowd and stopped by the old fountain, waiting to see if the person coming out might be someone she knew. After all, plenty of her former associates had ended up being tossed into that cursed place to rot: there was Jo Muir, who'd been caught stealing from the church fund, and who had been put away earlier in the year; Ellie figured there was a chance she might be coming out already.

Once the gate was fully open, however, she realized that there was no sign of anyone. She looked over at one of the nearby stalls and saw that the Begatty Sisters had also noticed what was happening, as had Harry Eltham the butcher. In fact, almost everyone was now looking toward the gate, waiting to see who or what would emerge.

Ellie, however, wasn't one for waiting.

Slipping between two nearby stalls, she made her way to the front of the crowd and finally spotted a lone figure walking out through the gate. To her surprise, she realized that the figure was a child, just a little girl wearing a scruffy white dress under a dirty gray coat, and with an expression of innocent shock in her eyes, blinking as if she was emerging into full sunlight for the first time.

“They don't keep kids in Hardstone, do they?” muttered someone nearby.

“Never 'ave done before,” came the reply. “I pity any poor little bugger who's spent even a second in that place, though. It must've got into her head already.”

Realizing she needed to strike quickly, Ellie hurried across the cobbles and grabbed the little girl's hand, yanking her past the nearby stalls and finally pushing her back against a wall. Several onlookers called after her, but she ignored them as she knelt down and looked the girl in the eye. Her mind was already racing as she thought of all the ways she could profit from the little girl: there were men in South London, after all, who'd pay a fair price for a virgin, no questions asked.

“Alright,” she said with a smile. “What's your name, sweetheart?”

The little girl stared up at her.

“You got a name?” Ellie continued. “Yes? No? What about money? Did anyone give you some coins to help you on your way? I can look after 'em for you if you like. You need to be careful around here, there's some real thieving types.” Reaching into the girl's coat pockets, she searched in vain for anything worth taking.

Slowly, the little girl's lips parted a little, as if she was on the verge of saying something. For the most part, however, she simply looked shocked by the attention.

“What were you doing in Hardstone?” Ellie asked, glancing over her shoulder at the prison just as the gates began to swing shut. After a moment, she looked back at the girl and forced a broad smile. “You don't look more than nine or ten, and they don't send kids in there anyway. They don't 'ave visitors, either, so...” She paused for a few seconds. “Are you alright, love? What's wrong, cat got your tongue? Come on, at least tell me your name.”

She waited, but the little girl just stared unblinkingly back at her. After a moment, however, she reached a hand under her coat, as if she was feeling for something.

“What you got in there, eh?” Ellie asked. “Whatever it is, you should give it to me for safe-keeping. Don't want anyone nicking it off you, do you? Listen, I know a man in South London you should meet. If you've got nowhere else to go, that is. Wanna come with me?”

Smiling, Ellie waited for an answer. Slowly, however, she realized that the little girl was trembling, as if she her fear was building and building.

“I'll look after you,” Ellie told her. “Why don't you let me see what you've got there? Maybe I can help you get a fair price for it. Can't know until we've tried, eh?”

The little girl paused, before finally pulling a large, clean knife from under her coat.

“Jesus,” Ellie said nervously, “who went and gave you something like -”

Before she could finish, the girl thrust the knife straight up toward her, driving the blade under chin and directly into her brain with such force that Ellie didn't even have time to scream as the tip of the blade emerged through her left eyeball. She opened her mouth and gasped, and moments later blood began to trickle down her chin as her horrified eyes blinked furiously. The little girl kept hold of the knife and stared as more blood ran down onto her hand, even as shocked onlookers stared at the scene. Finally, she let go as Ellie's dead body slumped to the floor.

Reaching down, the little girl grabbed the bloodied knife handle and slid it out of Ellie's head. She stared at the blade for a moment, before turning and looking at one of the market-women who was watching from her stall with a horrified look on her face. With a preternaturally calm look in her eyes, the girl walked toward the woman, paused for a moment, and then drove the knife straight into her gut.

Finally, as if it had taken them several seconds to process the fact that a little girl could be responsible for such evil, people started to scream and run.

***

Six months ago

“This is a good, solid British building,” the Minister said as he tapped the black wall. “It's a tragedy for a place like this to be left unused. No, worse than that... It's a disgrace!”

“Absolutely, Sir,” replied his assistant, Graham Downing-Jones, “but... Sir, there is a very good reason why Hardstone Prison has been abandoned for the past century. It's -”

“I don't want to hear excuses,” the Minister replied, marching onward as he made his way past the side door and back around to the front of the building. “This place is an asset, that's what it is, it's a bloody asset and I'm determined to press it back into service for the good of the nation. We're struggling with an expanding prison population and a declining budget, every year the Chancellor demands more and more cuts, and yet Hardstone has stood completely unused for all these years. Opening it up again will solve our budget crisis overnight! For at least six months!”

“But Sir -”

“This is one of my absolute best ideas!” the Minister insisted, turning and making his way across the yard that ran from the main building over to the gate. Once he got a few meters away, he stopped and turned back to get a better view of the entrance. “Just look at that,” he said with awe in his voice. “Isn't it beautiful?”

“Um...” Graham hurried after him and then stopped to look up at the rows of broken windows. “Yes, Sir, it's lovely, but -”

“Are you aware,” the Minister continued, “that for most of its life, Hardstone was recognized as Britain's finest prison? And quite right, too! Some of the most notorious female criminals in this country's history were locked up here. Of course, things were easier back then. There were no whingers in Brussels going on about the need to rehabilitate or educate these people. The dregs of society were simply locked up where they could no longer harm anyone, and in most cases they were put to work.” He took a deep breath, as if he was trying to absorb some of the prison's Victorian grandeur. “Oh yes,” he marveled, “such a wonderful monument to British values.”

“I couldn't agree with you more,” Graham replied, “it's just -”

“I don't want problem-makers,” the Minister told him. “I want problem-solvers, people who know how to seize the day. We live in times of austerity, and every decision we make is scrutinized by the media. I'm sure there'll be a few lone voices complaining about us reopening Hardstone, mostly in the liberal media, but those people can go hang themselves as far as I'm concerned.” He paused, as if he was almost overcome by the brilliance of his own idea. “I could never say this in public, of course,” he added finally, “but if you ask me, it wouldn't be a bad thing at all to instill some good old Victorian values in twenty-first century Britain. We've lost our backbone, boy. We treat our criminals better than we treat our grandparents! If you ask me, we need to be more like our fine Victorian ancestors!”

“But -”

“This current mess is all the fault of the European Union, I might add, and their insistence on labyrinthine human rights directives. The paperwork alone is enough to give a man a migraine.”

“Yes, Sir, of course, but -”

“And I won't have anyone telling me that Hardstone is unfit for use,” he continued, “or that it's squalid or dirty. This place is going to be reopened and put back into service as soon as we can manage. I'm sure it needs a lick of paint and some work here and there, but the prisoners themselves can do most of it once they've moved in. Make 'em work for their board and lodgings. The rest of the project should be fairly cheap, we just need to install a few modern security touches, cameras and whatnot. They say no-one ever broke out of Hardstone and I can understand why. It's built to keep the scum inside.”

“But Sir...” Graham paused for a moment. “It's just... You are aware of the history of Hardstone, aren't you? I mean... You do know what happened here and, well, why it was closed down?”

“You mean the Blake girl and all that fuss?”

“It was a bit more than a fuss, Sir,” he pointed out. “Over five hundred women died.”

“I know, I know,” the Minister blustered, “but that was more than a century ago!”

“Still, it's very...” Looking up at the facade of the building, Graham couldn't help feeling as if he was being watched from one of the dark windows. “There's an atmosphere here, Sir,” he continued after a moment, “and there have been stories over the years about... noises that people here from the street. Even squatters have never touched the place. People talk about voices whispering nearby, and cries at night.”

“Don't be weak-minded,” the Minister told him. “What are you worried about? Things that go bump?”

“No, Sir, but -”

Spotting movement in the corner of his eye, Graham looked over at one of the broken windows on the upper floor. He was certain there'd been a figure standing there a moment ago, but now it was gone. After a moment, he looked over at the next window, and for a fraction of a second he felt the hairs on the back of his neck start to rise as he saw a young girl's face staring out at him. Before he could say anything, however, she stepped back into the shadows and was gone.

“Scaring yourself, are you?” the Minister asked with a smile.

“I...”

“Look, you don't have to set foot inside the place,” the Minister continued. “Not unless something goes very wrong and you have a sex-change, end up calling yourself Shirley and then get yourself banged up, eh?” He smiled, waiting for Graham to laugh at his joke. “This is happening,” he added finally. “I'm the Minister in charge and I've decided to reopen Hardstone, and when I make a decision, it bloody well stays made. In fact, I'm going to turn this into a personal project. There's no reason why we can't move the first prisoners in before Christmas if we really get on with the job.”

“I...” Graham turned to him, and he realized that there was no way he could mention what he thought he'd just seen. He valued his job with the Minister, and he didn't want to see foolish; besides, he figured the Minister was right about one thing: he himself would never have to going into the building. If there were problems, they were for the staff and inmates to deal with. “Of course, Sir,” he said with a forced smile. “I'm sure you're making a very wise decision, as usual.”

“Let's get back to the office,” the Minister replied, leading him across the yard, “and start working on the budget. I'm sure the Chancellor's going to kick up a stink if I ask him for money, but don't worry, I'll make that pompous ass see a little sense. How anyone could not be behind this proposal is beyond me. Quite frankly, I think reopening Hardstone is the perfect tonic for this country! It's a show of strength!”

Graham glanced over his shoulder as they hurried away, taking one more quick look at the building, just in case.

As the two men headed out through the gate, the yard was left quiet again. Up on the top floor, however, a pale face stared out through one of the broken windows. It was the face of a little girl, and she had the same calm expression that she'd worn on the day all those years ago when she'd claimed her first victim in the market square beyond the gate.

Part One

Today

“What'd you do?”

Ignoring the question, Amanda stared straight ahead as the prison van slowed for a turn.

“Come on. What'd you do?”

Glancing at the guard on the other seat, Amanda saw that he was busy reading a newspaper. She'd been hoping that he might tell the other prisoner to be quiet, but no such luck: as he nonchalantly turned to the next page, he seemed almost oblivious to anything around him.

“Hey,” said the other girl, nudging Amanda's arm. “Come on, spill! What'd you -”

“Nothing,” Amanda replied quietly, still not making eye contact.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“They don't lock people away for nothing,” the girl replied. “Everyone's done something.”

Finally Amanda turned to look at her, and was met with a broad grin. Her fellow prisoner was a little younger, maybe early twenties, with dark-ringed eyes and a little acne.

“You murdered someone,” the girl continued. “Yeah, I can see it in your eyes. You're a murderer, aren't you? You've got that steely gaze of someone who's done the deed. What'd you use? Knife? Gun?”

Amanda shook her head.

“Huh. Well, at least I finally got you talking.” She reached out a hand. “I'm Chris. It's short for Christine, but if you use my full name I'll cut your throat. I only told it you so we could get it out the way.” She paused, before finally laughing. “That's a joke, I wouldn't really cut your throat. Well, no, it's not totally a joke. Kinda, let's not find out, huh? Come on, shake my hand, it's only polite.”

“Amanda,” she replied, reluctantly shaking the outstretched hand, which was marked with several scars and cuts.

“So what'd you do, Amanda?”

“Nothing.”

“That's weird. You're sitting in the back of a van being taken to prison, so I'm pretty sure you must've done something. Come on, if you didn't murder anyone, what did you do? Manslaugher? Theft? Violence? Terrorism? Something worse? It wasn't treason, was it?”

“I don't want to...” Amanda paused for a moment, before looking down at her trembling hands. Focusing for a moment, she managed to get them to stay still. “I don't really want to talk about it.”

“Scared?” Chris asked.

“No.” It was a lie, though. She was managing to keep herself together most of the time, but every few minutes she felt a wave of panic and terror starting to wash through her body, and it was all she could do to keep from breaking down. The thought of arriving at the prison, of going inside, of having everyone staring at her and judging her and knowing what she'd done... It was too much for her to bear. As the van bumped along the road, she felt a kind of hot tightness tightening in her chest.

“Must be at the gate,” Chris said as the van slowed again. “If we're where I think we are, we'll be going over cobbles in a minute. This your first time?”

Amanda nodded as the van took another turn, and sure enough it began to bounce more than before as it drove slowly across a cobbled yard. This was the moment Amanda been dreading for months, and as she heard the gate being slammed shut, she felt another wave of panic. Part of her wanted to get up and try to run, but she forced herself to stay sitting.

This was it.

The prison.

“Mine too,” Chris continued. “My first time, I mean. I've been in a few youth places, but this time they decided I was old enough for the big house, so here I am, breaking my prison virginity. I guess they think they're gonna scare me straight or something like that.” She waited for a reply. “So are you really not gonna tell me what you did?”

Amanda shook her head, while staring straight ahead. She was aware that Chris was watching her, but she didn't want to encourage the conversation to continue.

“You want some advice?” Chris said finally, leaning closer. “Don't let 'em see when you cry.”

“I'm not crying.”

“You're gonna, though. I can see it in your face. You're a crier and -”

“I'm not going to cry,” Amanda said firmly, although she reached up and dabbed at her right eye, just to check.

“Alright,” Chris replied with a sigh, as the van came to a halt. “Sorry, didn't mean to offend, I just... It's okay to cry, everyone does, just for God's sake don't do it where anyone can see you. That's what matters. If people know they can make you cry, they'll start doing it on purpose and turning it into a sport. Before too long, you'll be the punch-bag on whatever wing you end up on. You want my advice, make sure you cry just after lights out, and do it real quiet so your bunk-mate doesn't hear. It's hard to really sob without making a noise, but it can be done. Also, that way, your eyes'll have time to stop looking red before morning. Thank me later for that little tip.”

Amanda turned to her.

“Alright, ladies,” the guard muttered as he set his newspaper down, “wait here a moment.” Opening the back door, he climbed out and moments later he could be heard talking to someone.

“You heard about this place?” Chris asked.

Amanda shook her head.

“It's got a bit of a reputation. Only been open for a couple of weeks. Well, this time around, anyway. It was boarded up for, like, a hundred years after being shut down back in the old days. We're some of the first to be sent here. Lucky us, eh? We're the fucking guinea pigs.”

Amanda forced a faint smile as she focused on holding back the tears. After a moment, she realized she was tapping her right foot involuntarily; she forced herself to stop, but it started again as soon as she stopped thinking about it.

“So at the risk of sounding like a broken record,” Chris said after a moment, “what exactly did you do to get yourself sent here? Come on, we might get sent to separate wings, so this could be your last chance to tell me.”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“Do you wanna know what I did?”

“Not really.”

“I stole a car.”

“Okay.”

“And then I set fire to it.”

“Okay.”

“And then I drove it through the window of this wine shop and stole, like, a lot of alcohol.”

Amanda turned to her.

“Seriously,” Chris continued with a smile. “Impressed? To be fair, though, I had a perfectly good excuse.”

“What was your excuse?”

“I was extremely fucked-up on heroin at the time.” She leaned closer and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Extremely fucked-up. Of course, that might be more of an explanation than an excuse.”

“Hey!” a voice shouted from outside, “watch your language in there!”

“Fucking...” Chris whispered. “Who do they think they are? Anyway, they'd better give me the right detox drugs, 'cause there's no way I'm gonna just go cold turkey this time. Some places think they can cut you off and eventually you'll be okay, but they don't understand how the human body works outside of fucking textbooks, they...” She paused for a moment. “Have you ever taken heroin?” she asked finally.

Amanda shook her head.

“It's like...” Again Chris paused, as if she was remembering the good times. “I'm not gonna lie to you, it's amazing. But it's also, like, really bad, and I definitely wouldn't be here right now if I hadn't started on it. Plus -” She held out her arm so that Amanda could see the needle marks. “Not exactly pretty, is it?”she continued with a grin. “How am I ever gonna find myself a prison wife, looking like this?”

“Prison wife?”

“You are so new to this, aren't you?”

“But -”

“Out of the truck!” the guard shouted suddenly, pulling the door open all the way. “Ladies, I'm pleased to inform you that you have reached your final destination. I'd like to remind you that you should keep your language respectful at all times, and that here at Hardstone we have a zero tolerance policy when it comes to violence and intimidation, so I'd strongly advise you to be polite with everyone you encounter. Treat the staff right and the staff, in return, will do their best by you. Treat us like we're the enemy, though, and you'll be setting yourself up for a fall. Now out you come, we haven't got all day.”

“Chin up,” Chris whispered, climbing past and jumping out into the yard. “Stiff upper lip and all that.”

Taking a deep breath, Amanda felt herself coming close to tears again.

“Come on,” the guard said to her, “you've got to go through processing.” He paused for a moment, waiting for her to get out. “It'll be okay,” he added, as if he was trying to reassure her, “there's nothing to be scared about, you just need to get out and follow me for your processing interview. It's boring more than anything.”

“Sorry,” Amanda muttered, feeling the tears recede again as she climbed out of the van and found herself in an open yard in front of a large old building.

“Welcome to Hardstone Women's Prison,” Chris said, with a hint of awe in her voice as she stared up at the imposing edifice. “I've heard stories about this place. Not good stories, either. Like, stories about ghosts. I can't believe I'm actually here, though. It's like... If I have to be in prison, it might as well be spooky old Hardstone.” She turned to Amanda. “Have you heard the stories? Do you know about Leonora Blake and what she did here? It's mental!”

“Come on,” the guard said, heading to a nearby metal door. “You can gossip later.”

“We might get sent to different wings,” Chris explained as she and Amanda made their way toward the door, “so if I don't see you for a while, girl, let me give you one more bit of advice right now. Prison's not exactly a fun place, but if you keep your head down and don't do anything stupid, you can get through it just fine. Be polite, and don't get tricked into thinking you need to prove yourself. That's a load of bull, just keep out of the way and -”

“She doesn't need advice from you,” the guard said firmly, holding the door open. “Her processing supervisor can tell her what's what.”

“Good luck,” Chris added with a smile as she was led away along a corridor. She glanced over her shoulder at Amanda and winked, before being taken into a nearby room. “How long you in for, anyway?”

“Life,” Amanda replied coolly. “Without parole.”

“Life?” Chris's eyes almost popped out of her head. “What the fuck did you -”

Before she could finish, the door was slammed shut, cutting her off.

Amanda took a deep breath as she turned and looked along the bare white corridor. She couldn't help imagining all the other prisoners, and how they might react to a new arrival.

“And you're coming this way,” the guard told Amanda.

“Am I not going with the other girl?”

“Don't worry,” he added, grabbing her by the arm and pulling her through the door, “I'm sure you'll make plenty of friends soon.”

With that, he pulled the door shut and swiped his card against a sensor on the wall, causing a loud beep followed by the sound of the door's locking mechanism being engaged.

“You're in now,” he added with a faint smile. “Welcome to Hardstone.”

Six months ago

“Hello?”

He stood at the top of the stairs, listening to the dark house. Just a few minutes ago, he'd woken in bed and heard... something. Just a faint click, and then a creaking sound. He knew it could be the wind or just the house settling, but in the back of his mind there was another fear.

He waited.

Just as he was about to turn and go back to bed, he heard another creak, and this time there was no doubt: someone was downstairs, in the kitchen.

After grabbing an antique rifle from the wall, he began to make his way cautiously down the stairs. The rifle didn't work, of course, but he figured an intruder would easily be fooled. Raising the rifle as he reached the bottom of the stairs, he looked through toward the kitchen and saw that the light was still off, but he could sense someone nearby. Seconds later, there was the sound of someone bumping against something, and then suddenly a patch of light opened up by the kitchen door, as if the intruder was looking in the fridge.

Making his way along the hallway, David Bradford kept the rifle raised until he could see the silhouette of a figure at the fridge door, picking through the various items as if he or she had just broken into the house for a sandwich. Reaching out for the light switch, David flicked it on and finally he could see the figure standing in a leather jacket and ripped jeans, still rooting through the contents of the fridge.

“Stop right there!” David shouted, aiming the rifle. “Whatever you want, you can just -”

“Hey Dad,” Chris said, turning to him and smiling, before trying to take a step forward and instead stumbling. She caught herself against the kitchen table just in time, wincing with pain as she inadvertently put too much weight on her damaged left foot. “Long time, no see.”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked, keeping the rifle raised.

“Put that thing down,” she told him, her speech sounding slightly slurred. “We both know it doesn't work.”

“What do you want, Chris?”

“I want...” She glanced back at the fridge, as if she was struggling to remember. “I want peace and love for all mankind.”

“Jesus, you're on something, aren't you?”

“I am not!” she replied, as if she was offended. “Oh, wait, maybe a smackerel of the good stuff, but you can't blame a girl for wanting to feel buzzy, right?” She stumbled toward him, but once against she lost her footing and this time she fell against a chair, which slipped out from under her and sent her crashing to the floor with a pained grunt.

“You can't even walk,” David said, with evident disgust in his voice as he took a step back, keeping the rifle aimed at her.

“I can walk,” she replied, rolling onto her back and smiling up at him, “I just... I'm trying to complete the journey to my next evolutionary form, and I'm taking a cue from the fishes.”

“You can't stay here,” he told her. “Your mother and I told you before -”

“Shut up!” she said suddenly, sitting up and looking over at the dark window. There was fear in her eyes now, as if she was deathly afraid of something outside. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what, Chris?” he asked with a sigh. “Do we really have to go through all of this again?”

“It's the Devil,” she replied, turning to him. “I thought I'd given him the slip, but he's found me.”

“Chris, there's no -”

Before he could finish, he heard a faint bumping sound against the window. He turned to look over, but all he saw was the rose bush moving in the wind, scratching against the glass in the process.

“There's nothing out there,” he said, looking back down at Chris. “It's just -”

He paused, before sighing as he realized that she was out cold.

Today

“Two hundred and fifty-one,” Governor Windsor muttered to himself as he watched the prison van from his office window, “and two hundred and fifty-two. With these two new arrivals, we're officially past the point of half capacity.”

He turned to Grace as she sat taking notes by his desk.

“Not bad for a facility that has only been operational for nine weeks, eh? I must send a memo to the minister and remind him of our progress.”

“Should I type that memo up for you this afternoon?” Grace asked.

“Might as well,” he told her, heading back to his desk and picking up the first of the two files that had been delivered during the morning. Opening the cover, he read the first few lines. “Christina Bradford,” he muttered, “twenty-one years old, drug user, vandal, petty criminal who recently graduated to some rather more violent offenses...” He turned to the next page and scanned the rest of the notes. “Quite a career criminal, it seems. In and out of various institutions since the age of twelve. In other words, just another piece of human trash for the pile.”

“Maybe you could put her into the educational program,” Grace suggested.

“Why would I do something like that?”

“Well... To help her, you know? Maybe she just needs some encouragement. Maybe she needs to find what she's good at.”

“It's woolly thinking like that,” he replied darkly, “that'll get you stabbed in the eye with an arts and crafts scalpel. No, these people are far too dangerous to be trusted. They don't need kid gloves, they need to be put to work. I won't have them lounging around in this prison at the tax-payer's expense.”

“But -”

“Besides, it'd be a complete waste of time trying to educate her,” he continued, tossing the file down and picking up the other folder. “Girls like Christina Bradford never learn. It's unfashionable to say it, but some of these people are just doomed. In most cases, they're of very low intelligence. As I said, human trash, the lot of them.”

“If you say so,” Grace replied quietly.

“And this one...” He opened the second folder. “Amanda Weir, also twenty-one, convicted of...” He paused, his eyes scanning the page as a concerned expression crossed his face. After a moment, he muttered something inaudible under his breath.

“Convicted of what, Sir?” Grace asked.

“I...” He turned to the next page, clearly shocked by what he was reading. “Jesus,” he whispered, “this girl is... she's...”

Grace waited for him to continue.

“Is there a problem, Sir?”

“A problem?” He stared at the report for a moment longer before closing it and turning to her. “No, there's no problem. Just a little...” His voice trailed off, as if he was lost for words for the first time in his life. “Just a little reminder that the world can be a dark and wretched place sometimes.”

“Sir? You look a little pale...”

“I'm fine,” he replied, setting the folder down. “Grace, I want you to get Amanda Weir's contact supervisor to come to my office as soon as possible, there are some important matters I need to discuss with him. God knows why nobody thought to inform me about what we were going to have to deal with, a little heads up about Ms. Weir would have been useful but then I don't suppose we can expect the prison service to actually function properly, can we? God forbid that we might have the proper programs in place.”

“Is something wrong?” Grace asked, making a couple of notes before getting to her feet. She looked down at Amanda's file. “Should I take a look at that?”

“No need.”

“But just so that I -”

“Go and type something, won't you?” he said suddenly. “I'd like to be alone for a moment. I need call my wife, to let her know that I'll be thirty minutes late home tonight. She'll start to worry otherwise.”

“Sir -”

“Go and type!” he shouted, briefly losing his temper before taking a deep breath. “I'm sorry, Grace, but these incessant questions are rather unladylike. Go and type, and tell Mr. Dunne or whoever deals with Amanda Weir to come and see me as soon as the processing interview has been completed. I need to...” His voice trailed off again. “Well, just make sure he comes straight here, won't you? This situation needs to be handled with delicacy.”

“Of course,” Grace replied, heading to the door. As she was about to leave, she glanced back at the governor and saw that he was back over by the window. Something had rattled him, but she knew not to ask too many questions. After all, as his personal assistant, she'd get a chance to read the Amanda Weir file soon enough. Whatever was in there, it had clearly been enough to rattle a man who usually showed very little emotion at all.

***

“Hardstone isn't a scary place,” Andrew Dunne explained as he sat opposite Amanda in the interview room. “It's got this whole Victorian vibe going on, which I guess makes it seem a little spooky, but you need to see past that. I don't know if you've heard any stories about things that happened here in ye olden times, but if you have, you can ignore them completely. There's really no such thing as ghosts, okay? I thought we should just get that out of the way right from the off.”

He waited for Amanda to reply, but she simply stared at him.

Above them, the light flickered for a moment.

“That was well-timed,” Andrew added with a smile as he looked down at his notes. “I see from the comments made by your previous doctor that several different medications have been tried on you. Are there any that you feel were particularly successful in managing your symptoms?”

Again he waited for a response.

Again, nothing was forthcoming.

“I just want your input,” he continued. “It's important that this is a discussion rather than a lecture.”

Amanda opened her mouth, as if to answer him, but no words came out.

“So I should go ahead and keep you on the pills you've been taking recently?”

He waited.

“Amanda?”

“I guess,” she replied finally, keeping her voice so low that it was barely audible. “I don't think it matters too much. Not anymore.”

“When was the last time you had an episode?” he asked. “I'm talking mainly about anything that might have manifested as behavior that would be dangerous to other people, or of course to yourself. I'm sure you can understand why we need to keep an eye on that kind of thing in a place like this. After all, you'll be around other people twenty-four-seven, and I can imagine that for someone such as yourself that might be somewhat stressful.”

“Can't I go into isolation?”

“That's not really an option at this stage.”

“It's better for everyone.”

“That's really not true, you know.”

“It's absolutely true. You've read my file, you know how I -”

“Isolation is a last resort,” he replied, interrupting her. “You've only just walked through the door, so I don't think we're at the last resort yet.”

“Just put me somewhere where I can be alone,” she told him, her voice trembling with emotion, “and where I can't hurt anyone, and then leave me there. Shove food under the door if you've got some kind of legal obligation to keep me alive, but I don't need to be around people again, not ever. It's just best that way.”

“It is?”

She nodded.

“And why's that?”

“Because of what I did.”

“Let's not give up on you just yet,” he replied, glancing at her file. “Shoving you into solitary confinement and forgetting about you really isn't an option at this stage.”

“So when will it be an option? After I've hurt someone? After I've done it all again? After I've -”

“None of those things are going to happen.”

“You've read the file,” she said darkly. “You know what happened to me.”

“So you think you're unsafe?”

“I know I'm unsafe. I have a history of being unsafe.”

“That's simply not -” He looked up at the ceiling as the light flickered again. “Sorry,” he added, turning back to her, “I guess some of the bugs aren't out of the system yet. Victorian infrastructure meets modern needs, huh? We had an actual power cut last week. I'm afraid Hardstone still has some teething problems, we haven't been open for very long.”

He watched her for a moment, looking for some clue in her eyes.

“It's okay to be scared,” he continued. “Anyone would be scared in your situation, but my job is to help you settle here and to try to find some kind of positive activity that might make you feel as if you're contributing. I know some people just want to lock people up and forget about them, but I have a more progressive view of the good that -”

“Who's the little girl?” Amanda asked suddenly.

He stared at her.

“I'm sorry?” he asked finally.

“Who's the little girl?” she said again. “There was a little girl out in the corridor just now when I was brought in. She was over by the window at the far end, looking out.”

“Um...” He turned to look at the door for a moment, before looking back at Amanda. “I... can confidently say that there are no little girls anywhere at Hardstone. We don't have a juvenile wing, and we discourage visitors from bringing children. This isn't really a suitable environment for young minds.”

“There was a little girl,” Amanda continued. “She was right at the end of the corridor and she was looking out the window, like she was waiting for someone. I was going to ask the guard who she was, but then you came out to meet me and I didn't get a chance, and when I looked back a moment later she was gone. I was just wondering who she was, that's all.”

“Right,” he replied, with a look of concern on his face as he glanced back down at the file.

“I know what you're doing,” she told him. “You're looking to see which of my pills might cause hallucinations, but I don't get hallucinations. I saw a little girl.”

“Hold on,” he replied, getting to his feet and heading to the door, which he pulled open before leaning out into the corridor and looking both ways. “Well, there's no-one out here now,” he continued, before shutting the door and heading back to the table. “I guess we're going to have to agree to disagree on this one, because I promise you that there is no way a little girl would be wandering around Hardstone.” He paused for a moment. “So I think I know what this is about. I'm guessing that maybe you've heard the stories about this place after all.”

“What stories?”

“About Leonora Blake.”

“Who's Leonora Blake?”

Sighing, he scribbled a note in her file.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Amanda continued, “and I don't know any stories about the prison or someone named Leonora Blake, I just know that I saw a little girl out there.”

“People talk,” he replied. “I get that. I understand that the human mind loves to look for spooky little events and try to turn them into something that they're not. It's a perfectly normal impulse, but I think you should be careful about trying to promote ghost stories while you're here.”

“Never mind,” she said with a sigh. “I was probably wrong.”

“From a diagnostic point of view, it's interesting that you -”

“I was wrong,” she said firmly. “Forget I said anything.”

Andrew looked down at the file as he made another note.

“Please put me in isolation,” Amanda said suddenly, with tears in her eyes. “Please, I know you think it's wrong, but it's the only safe choice. If you put me out there on one of the wings with other people, it's all going to end up happening again.”

“Amanda -”

“You have to put me away!” she added, getting to her feet. “Please -”

“Sit down.”

“You're not listening to me!”

“Sit down,” he said firmly, reaching toward a button under the table, “or I'll be forced to call security.”

“So? Maybe that's a good thing, maybe I should do something really messed-up right now and get myself confined. Is that what it takes? Do I have to grab one of your pens and try to stab you with it before you realize that I'm dangerous?”

“Sit down, Amanda.”

“Please -”

“I need you to sit down,” he told her, pressing the button. “Right now.”

“Why won't you just listen to me?” she asked, as tears ran down her cheeks. “I know it sounds insane, but this is who I am and if you don't do something about me now, I'm going to end up hurting more people, and that's the last thing I want. Just put me in a room where I never get another chance or -”

“Amanda -”

“Or everything will be on your conscience,” she continued breathlessly. “If you don't do the right thing right now, everything else that happens is your fault. Everything, from this exact moment on, because I've warned you!”

Behind her, the door opened and two guards stepped into the room.

“Is everything okay in here?” one of them asked.

“Ms. Weir is just about to sit down and listen to what I've got to say,” Andrew replied, maintaining eye contact with Amanda. “Aren't you?”

“Please,” she whimpered. “If you don't isolate me, you'll regret it, and then when it all goes wrong you'll have no-one to blame but yourself and the guilt will destroy you.”

“I think I can handle my own emotional responses,” he replied uneasily, “and believe it or not, I've read your file so I know exactly what happened to you. Please, Amanda, sit down and let me tell you what's going to happen.”

Slowly, realizing that she had no other options, Amanda took a seat. She was still trembling, and she stared at Andrew as he began to look through the file again.

“You don't know what's going to happen,” she said finally, as the guards left. “I do, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. I promise you one thing, though. Eventually, when this is all over, you'll have no choice but to lock me away in my own room and throw away the key. The only question is how many people are going to die before you realize what a huge mistake you're making.”

Six months ago

“Of course we have to call the police!” Mary hissed. “She's out of her mind on drugs!”

“But what are they going to do?” David asked as they sat at the kitchen table, with the cold light of dawn finally showing outside. “They'll just haul her away, probably put her in one of those rehab places, and it'll all start again, and then we won't see her or hear from her for another year.”

She looked down at her hands as she continued to pick apart a crumpled tissue.

“Is that what you want?” he continued. “Do you want her to just get put away, out of sight?”

“I want...” Her voice trembling, Mary sniffed back some more tears. “I want a normal daughter who doesn't do this kind of thing.”

“We can't give up on her.”

“David -”

“We can't!”

“I already did,” she replied, glancing up at the ceiling for a moment before looking back at him. “And you did too, you just won't admit it. Chris is... just wrong in the head. Sometimes when someone goes wrong...” She paused again. “I was thinking, forty-three isn't too old to have another child. We could try that.”

“You mean you want to replace her?”

“I want to try again. I want to have a daughter who doesn't hate me and who doesn't just come back to take money out of my purse to feed her drug habit.”

“People recover from drug habits,” he said firmly.

“She's not going to get better,” Mary replied, barely able to keep from sobbing as tears filled her eyes. “We've tried to help her so many times, but something just seems to be propelling her deeper and deeper into the mire. Maybe it's time to... I know this might sound harsh, but maybe it's time to cut all ties, move on, and try to live a normal life again. I don't think I can stand to live this way much longer, David.”

“If we just -”

They both looked up as they heard a creaking sound from upstairs.

“She's up,” David whispered.

“Oh God,” Mary replied, closing her eyes. “Why can't she just...”

He waited for her to finish the sentence. “Go away?” he asked finally.

“Or worse,” she continued, opening her eyes again. “Maybe I'm a terrible person, but I'm too tired for this. I just want her to go away and never come back.” Turning to look through at the hallway, she listened to the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, and then she watched as Chris made her way to the door.

“Hey, Mum.”

Mary forced a smile onto her lips.

“Sorry if I woke you up,” Chris continued, blinking rapidly as if she was having trouble with her vision, “I just... I didn't have anywhere else to go, you know?”

“So you came here.”

“No need to sound so pleased to see me.”

“Let's not get into this right now,” David said, interrupting them as he got to his feet and headed over to the kettle. “At the risk of sounding terribly British, does anyone want a cup of tea?”

“I doubt Christine puts anything into her body orally,” Mary muttered. “Maybe put some Earl Grey into a needle for her.”

“Ha fucking ha,” Chris replied, shuffling toward the table. She winced as she took a seat, and after a moment she glanced at her mother and saw the look of scorn. “What?”

Mary shook her head.

“You don't know what it's like seeing the things I see,” Chris said after a moment. “It's easy for you, sitting in your little bubble -”

“That's enough,” David said firmly.

“Why does she get to sit in judgment?” Chris asked, turning to him. “No-one knows the shit I've had to put up with out there.”

“Deny it all you like,” Mary replied, getting to her feet, “but we're all responsible for our own decisions. I'm going to take a shower. You might not understand, Christine, but some people in this world actually have to go out and work for a living, instead of stealing from others.”

Chris opened her mouth to reply, but she managed to hold back as her mother made her way up the stairs.

“Are you still hallucinating?” David asked after a moment, as the kettle finished boiling.

“It doesn't matter,” Chris muttered under her breath.

“Last time you were here,” he continued, “a year ago, you said you were seeing things you thought might actually be real. Is that still the case?”

“I see a lot of crazy shit when I'm high,” she replied edgily. “It's just... Lately I've started to think that maybe some of it's really there, you know? Like, sometimes I think I see this person nearby, just like for a flash, in the corner of my eye. When I turn to look at her, she's never actually there, and I'm pretty sure it's a she, but...”

“You've talked about her before.”

Sighing, Chris put her head in her hands.

“Have you thought about getting help this time?” David asked. “Proper help, I mean. You can still beat this addiction.”

“You don't get it,” she replied, turning to him with tears in her eyes. “I've been that presence since I was a kid. That's why I started taking drugs in the first place, to try to block her out.”

“And does it work?”

“Nothing works. I just wish I knew what the hell she wants from me.”

Today

“I need Benthlacone,” Chris explained, “and I don't want it in liquid form either, I need it in tabs, 'cause the drops make me itchy. And when I say itchy, I don't mean just a bit itchy, I mean properly itchy, like it's an actual problem and I'll end up with a rash all over my body. That's happened before. But I also need Norazma B capsules to help with the shakes, 'cause when I'm coming off heroin I tend to get really shaky, like...”

She held up a hand and gave an example.

“Like that. Seriously, can you believe it? Who the fuck wants to be like that, right?”

She paused, watching as the woman on the other side of the table simply stared at her.

“Aren't you gonna write any of this down?” Chris asked after a moment.

“Write what down?” the woman replied.

“The meds I need.”

The woman raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“You gonna remember it all?” Chris continued, with a hint of desperation in her voice. “You got, like, some super-memory or something? 'Cause I've gotta have these exact meds, no substitutions or any of that crap. It's really important that you give me exactly what I ask for, or there's on way I'm gonna be able to make it. This is life or death shit here.”

“You'll be helped with your withdrawal symptoms,” the woman said calmly. “My name is Doctor Deborah Bell and I -”

“Benthlacone,” Chris said firmly, “in tablet form, and Norazma B in capsule form -”

“Christine -”

“It's Chris! And I need my meds! I need -”

“I heard what you said,” Doctor Bell replied, interrupting her. “Actually, I found it quite interesting. You seem to have very strong opinions about the treatment you want to receive. This isn't particularly unusual. Many addicts have learned to self-medicate, which makes them resistant to alternative regimens. They end up thinking that they know better than their doctors.”

“I've had bad treatment before,” Chris told her. “No offense, you seem nice, but some doctors I've met in the past don't know jack shit about anything.”

“We have language rules here,” the older woman told her. “Please try to refrain from using any curse or swear words.”

“Is this a fucking kindergarten?”

“It's a serious facility with proper rules. We like to maintain order at Hardstone, otherwise the place would descend into chaos. I'm sure you can imagine that we have all sorts of people here, and many of them are from the rougher end of the social spectrum. Putting such a large number of felons together is dangerous enough, without allowing them the freedom to act however they wish. These rules are just one way in which we try to improve the general milieu.”

“Rougher end of the social spectrum?” Chris replied. “Seriously? Improving the milieu? Is that why you're wearing a pair of plastic gloves? You worried about catching something from me?”

“They're merely for basic hygiene.”

“That's a relief. I was worried you were gonna go poking about in my asshole.”

“Most people come around to our way of thinking,” the doctor added, wincing at Chris's continued use of strong language. “I find it's possible to crack even the hardest nut.”

“Well,” Chris continued, “that sounds like a hell of a lot of unnecessary effort, so how about we make a deal instead. You get me the meds I've very specifically told you I need, and in return I'll try really effing hard to cut out the naughty words. Sound like a plan?”

“No.”

“No?”

“No.”

Chris stared at her, as if she couldn't believe the answer.

“I'm not here to make any deals with you,” Doctor Bell replied coolly, “I'm here to tell you what treatment you'll be receiving. We're not friends, Ms. Bradford, and I don't care whether or not you like me and whether you think I'm a good doctor. I simply intend to do what I think is best for you, based on my extensive experience of treating drug addicts. I appreciate your input and I respect your right to have an opinion, but ultimately I'm the one who is responsible for your treatment while you're here. In other words, I'm in charge.”

“Great,” Chris replied, leaning back in her chair and folding her arms across her chest. “One of those.”

“One of what?”

“Someone who thinks she knows better.”

“I am a doctor.”

“But you don't know me,” Chris continued. “You don't know what I, specifically, need – not want, need – in order to -”

“You're different to everyone else, are you?”

“Everyone's different to everyone else.”

“That's really not true. Most people are depressingly ordinary.”

“You reckon?”

“There are various ways to deal with a detoxing heroin addict,” Doctor Bell replied. “Some methods work better than others, some are more suited to certain individuals, some are established and others are a little more experimental in nature.” She paused for a moment, with a glint in her eye. “You don't get to march in here and tell me what treatment you're going to get,” she added finally. “I'm the prison's senior doctor and it's my job to assess you and make a decision.”

“This is bullshit,” Chris muttered. “I'm back to square one, aren't I?”

“Don't use that language. If you say such things again, I'll be forced to call for someone to come and restrain you.”

“Because of a few swear words?” Chris replied. “Are you seriously so fucking fragile that a dirty mouth offends you?”

“Fine,” Doctor Bell replied, reaching under the desk and pressing a button.

“This is ridiculous,” Chris told her. “Of all the stupid rules, I can't believe you're getting your no-doubt dusty panties in a twist just because someone uses a few fucking tough words. I mean, Jesus Christ, it's one thing for you to hide yourself away in this shit-hole and act all prim and proper, but where I come from, on the streets, we -”

“You're just a piece of garbage,” Doctor Bell said, interrupting her. “You're worthless. You're a bad person to your core, you're a waste of meat, and the world would be considerably better off if you'd never even been born. I'm sure your parents agree.” She leaned forward. “You have pure evil in your soul.”

Before a startled Chris could respond, the door opened and two guards stepped into the room.

“Problem?” one of them asked.

“Ms. Bradford is being uncooperative,” the doctor said with a faint smile.

“You think this is me being uncooperative?” Chris asked as the guards made their way over to her. “Seriously? You think this is uncooperative? You should see me when I'm being uncooperative, because this right now is me being very fucking cooperative, as you can tell from the fact that I haven't punched that smug grin right off your fucking face!” She flinched as the guards grabbed her arms. “Don't touch me!” she shouted. “You don't have any right to touch me!”

“Take her to the isolation wing,” Doctor Bell told the guards. “I think she needs some time alone to reflect.”

“Isolation?” Chris yelled. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Up,” one of the guards said firmly.

“I don't want to go to isolation,” Chris continued, starting to panic. “Please -”

“Maybe full withdrawal is the best option here.”

“Withdrawal? You mean...” She stared at the doctor in horror for a moment. “No way. No, you cannot be such a vicious bitch that you -”

“Up!” the guard said again, this time grabbing her arm and starting to haul her out of the chair, “and mind your language around the lady.”

“Don't fucking touch me!” Chris screamed, trying to push him away before the other guard placed her in a headlock and pulled her back.

“Violent tendencies,” Doctor Bell muttered as she made a note on Chris's file. “Possibly dangerous to others. Also, an alarming recourse to the use of swear words, as if the inmate might have further undiagnosed mental difficulties -”

“Bitch!”

“- possibly brought on by years of substance abuse as well as a rather damaging home background.”

“Get the hell off me!” Chris shouted as she tried to kick out at one of the guards, only for him to grab her by the waist. “Please! I'll do anything, but don't send me to isolation and don't take my meds away! You'll fucking kill me, you psychotic whore!”

“Take her down,” the doctor said calmly. “Maybe some tough measures will teach her to be better behaved.”

As Chris was dragged out of the room kicking and screaming, Doctor Bell couldn't help but allow the faintest flicker of a smile to cross her face. She turned to a fresh page in the patient's notes and wrote a few remarks, taking particular care to mention “the degree of violence used by the inmate as she attempted to fight staff-members. Full restraint required at all times.” After double-checking that everything was in order, and with the sounds of Chris's screams still ringing along the hallway, the doctor got to her feet and made her way out into the corridor. She paused for a moment, savoring every last moment of her patient's agony until finally silence returned. Still smiling, and still wearing her plastic gloves, she turned and headed toward her office, completely ignoring the little girl watching her from a nearby doorway.

Six months ago

“Who's there?” Chris shouted, sitting up in the dark room.

She waited, listening to the hum of the empty house, convinced that at any moment she'd hear... something. The presence was nearby again, hovering on the edge of perception, threatening to move closer at any moment. Reaching up to the window, Chris pulled the curtain aside to let light into the room, but there was no sign of anyone.

“Fuck,” she whispered, putting a hand on her forehead to feel the sweat that was running down her face. After a moment she checked her pulse and found that her heart was racing.

And then she saw it.

Standing nearby, over by the door, there was a human figure. Turning, she tried to look at it directly, only for it to somehow fade away. The presence persisted, however, and Chris was certain she could still feel someone nearby, as if some invisible pair of eyes was staring directly into her own.

Today

Looking up from her desk, Grace stared at the half-open door that led out into the corridor. She was sure she'd heard footsteps a moment ago, perhaps someone running, but now there was nothing but silence.

She waited.

Finally, she looked back at her monitor, where she was drafting a memo to the Minster informing him of the prison's milestone in surpassing a fifty per cent occupancy rate. Usually she had no trouble with this kind of document, but today she was struggling to concentrate. Glancing at the door that led into Governor Windsor's office, she couldn't help wondering about the conversation between her boss and Andrew Dunne. The arrival of Amanda Weir had clearly set the cat amongst the pigeons, but she -

Turning back to the other door again, she realized she'd heard the sound again.

Someone running.

Getting to her feet, Grace made her way over to the door and peered out into the corridor. There was no sign of anyone, but she waited anyway, just in case. Having heard the sound twice now, she was absolutely certain that it wasn't just some figment of her imagination. At the same time, she knew there was no reason for anyone to be running in the corridor. She waited a moment longer, but silence had fallen again.

Heading back to her desk, she tried to get on with the job of writing the memo, but she couldn't help glancing over at the door every few minutes. Deep down, she was certain that she'd heard someone running, and that it had sounded like a child.

***

“I don't know what to tell you,” Andrew said as he sat in Governor Windsor's office. “Based on the processing interview I conducted with her this morning, I'd say that Amanda Weir is a fairly ordinary young woman. She has certain issues, sure, but I've certainly had people pass through my office with much more obvious damage.”

“So you think she's okay?” Windsor asked, as he stood by the window. “You think she's safe?”

“Not exactly. Obvious damage is one thing, but with someone who's been through what Amanda has been through, there has to be something deeper down,possibly something that has been missed. She's had little to no proper psychiatric counseling since the incidents happened, and that was a mistake. Mental illnesses are like their physical counterparts. The longer they go untreated, the worse they get. Frankly, I don't think Amanda should even be here at Hardstone. She needs to be in a psychiatric facility.”

“That's not what the judge thought.”

“With all due respect, he was wrong.”

“It's a little early to be making such sweeping statements, isn't it?” Windsor asked, heading to his desk and picking up Amanda's file. “What I need from you, Mr. Dunne, is your opinion on Amanda Weir's suitability for life on one of our wings. She's been sentenced to life without the possibility of parole, so she's going to grow old and die here at Hardstone. She'll quite possibly outlive us both. I need to know that she's not going to be a danger to the general prison population.”

“I can't give you that assurance,” Andrew replied. “Not about Amanda, not about anyone.”

“Are you sure she shouldn't be placed in isolation?”

“That would be barbaric.”

“Why? She might grow to like it.”

“Throwing her away like that is not a solution,” Andrew said firmly. “I can work with her. It's not going to be easy, but like you said, she's going to be here for a long time and -”

“Sabrina Huntley,” Windsor said suddenly.

“I -” Andrew paused, clearly uncomfortable. “I'm sorry?”

“You heard.”

“I did, but I'm not sure of the relevance.”

“I'm sorry to have to bring it up,” Windsor continued, “but I'm sure you understand my concern. The last time you worked intensively with an inmate, at your last prison, things didn't go too well, did they?” He paused for a moment. “You're lucky I was so desperate to hire someone that I was willing to overlook that mess. You could easily have ended up out of the psychiatric profession altogether. Remind me exactly what happened again? If I recall correctly, Ms. Huntley was eventually found -”

“I was cleared of any wrongdoing.”

“So?”

“It's not my fault that she died.”

“So who's fault is it, then? You were her psychiatrist. You were the one who worked with her five days a week for two years. In fact, weren't you also the one who found her hanging in her cell?”

“If you read the full, independent report, you'll see that Sabrina's problems predated my involvement.”

“And what kind of involvement did you have with her, exactly?” he asked. “When I hired you, I chose to overlook certain... nasty rumors that were circulating. I do hope that wasn't a mistake on my part. We can't have the staff getting involved with the inmates on a personal level.”

“Sabrina Huntley was a damaged young woman who ended up taking her own life because she couldn't deal with her demons,” Andrew said firmly. “I did everything within my power to help her, and an independent panel of my peers examined the case and found that I'd done nothing wrong and that I'd acted absolutely professionally. Sometimes some people just can't be helped, no matter how hard we try.”

“Not very inspiring talk from a prison psychiatrist.”

“Amanda Weir will be different. I've already got some clinical programs lined up and I'm confident -”

“Fine, fine,” Windsor muttered, clearly tiring of the discussion. “Just be aware that if it all goes to the dogs with her, I'll waste no time in dropping the ball firmly in your court. I won't have my career tarnished by any of this nonsense, not when I'm so close to a knighthood. I'm not a big fan of the touchy-feely approach to offenders, but I'm willing to tolerate all this psychiatric mumbo-jumbo for so long as we get ring-fenced funding to pay for it. As my wife constantly reminds me, we must try to operate a tight ship at all times. Refrain from causing me any problems, and I'll let you get on with it. Deal?”

“She's going to be okay,” Andrew replied. “I've got her full case file waiting for me at home and I'm going to go through it with a fine-toothed comb. You know there are actually people who believe she's innocent, don't you?”

“There are also people who believe in the Loch Ness Monster,” Windsor replied, “and little green men from Mars. Let's not go down that avenue. The girl confessed, she entered a guilty plea and she was convicted. Let's just try to have as little fuss with her as possible, eh? Everyone at Hardstone wants a nice quiet life, and I won't allow anyone to spoil that. Not even the infamous Amanda Weir.”

***

“So let's get one thing out of the way at the start,” Robin said as she stood by the door, watching as Amanda arranged her few permitted possessions next to her bed. “We're gonna be spending a lot of time in here together, and it'd be cool if we could bring a little joy to each other's lives. At the same time, I don't want any weird misunderstandings and I don't wanna seem like a stereotype, so I'm just gonna ask straight out. Are you now, or have you ever been, or have you ever considered trying to be, a lesbian?”

“What?” Amanda asked, turning to her.

“A simple yes or no would be enough,” Robin added. “Lesbian? Maybe just a little curious?”

“No,” Amanda replied, “and... no.”

“Sure? I could help you learn the ropes.”

“No,” Amanda said again. “Nothing.”

“Okay, that's fair,” she continued with a sigh. “Shame. Anyway, I just wanted to get it out of the way, in case it made things difficult. You understand, right? I mean, everyone's heard the dodgy stories about prison life, but it's really not gonna be like that. I've got other friends I can go do stuff with. Don't worry, I won't be waking you up in the night with my heavy breathing.”

“Thank you,” Amanda replied, looking over at her bed and then back toward the sink.

“Admit it,” Robin continued with a smile, “you were worried. Especially when you saw my tattoos.”

“It's, uh...” Amanda paused, not used to such directness.

“You'll get used to life here, you know,” she added. “Once you get into a routine, the shock factor'll kinda go away. I was just like you on my first day, I felt like I was never gonna fit in, but I managed to carve out a little spot for myself. You need to think of yourself as a character in a story. Define yourself so that others know how to interact with you. If you don't, the others'll define you for you, and that could get messy. You need to control how you're viewed in a place like this.”

“I'm sure I will,” Amanda muttered as she set her brand new prison-issue toothbrush on the sink, along with a bar of soap.

“It's kinda like being at school,” Robin explained. “You know, you don't really wanna be there, but you have to go, and you're forced to hang out with a bunch of weirdos and all that crap, but eventually you muddle through and you start making friends.”

“I'm sure,” Amanda replied, realizing that she was already running out of non-committal answers. Turning, she looked across the sparse room and realized that there was absolutely nothing for her to do.

“There's a library,” Robin told her. “That's usually the first place to hit. Trust me, you'll end up reading loads while you're in here. Some people even study for a degree. No shitting you, Mona on the fourth floor has become one of the world's leading experts on nineteenth century dolls. Weird, huh? She even gets invited to give lectures, but she can't on account of the fact she's in here for murdering her husband.” She smiled, watching Amanda's awkwardness.

“That's... pretty cool.”

“You don't have a clue what to do, do you?” Robin asked.

“I...” Amanda paused. “What is there to do? I mean, I...”

“So what are you in for?”

Amanda stared at her.

“You might as well tell me,” Robin continued. “I'm gonna find out anyway. Me, I'm here for possession with the intent to supply. Multiple counts. If you ask me, they were a little tough with the sentence, but that's the way it works right now. Sucks, huh?” She waited for some kind of response. “So what about you?” she asked finally, her tone changing a little, as if she was starting to worry. “It's considered common courtesy to talk about it in here. After all, I'm gonna be locked in this room with you every night, so I really think I deserve to know what kind of person you are.”

“My name's Amanda.”

“That doesn't tell me very much.”

“Amanda Weir.”

“So? What's the -”

Pausing, Robin narrowed her eyes for a moment, as if she was finally starting to understand.

“I've heard of you,” she said finally. “You were in the papers, weren't you? Fuck, you're the girl who -”

“So you don't need me to say it,” Amanda shot back at her.

“But -”

“You read about it,” she continued, trying not to panic, “and I already admitted it all in court, so there's really no need to go over and over the details, is there?”

A kind of awkward silence fell between them for a moment.

“I understand if you don't want to talk to me,” Amanda continued. “I won't be offended.”

Robin stared at her for a moment.

“I'm not one to get high and mighty,” she replied eventually, “but... You wanna watch yourself. There might be some vindictive sods who give you grief. Anything involving kids tends to push people's buttons.”

Amanda nodded.

“Okay,” Robin continued, “let's just be clear on one more thing. If you try to pull any shit with me, if I hear so much as a creak in the night, I will hurt you, do you understand? These arms have got some muscle in 'em, and I'm used to fighting my corner. Mess with me and I'll break part of you.”

Amanda nodded.

“That's not me being unfriendly,” Robin continued. “I'm just laying down the situation. I happen to think it's very friendly to warn someone that you might cave their skull in. If you're okay with me, I'll be okay with you. I guess... I guess what happened was pretty specific, so you're not into killing random strangers.” She waited for an answer. “Are you?”

Amanda shook her head.

“Then we're sorted,” Robin added cautiously, stepping forward and reaching out to shake her hand. “It's a one strike and you're out policy, though. I'm not taking any risks with you.”

“I probably won't be sharing this cell with you for very long,” Amanda replied, shaking her hand. “I'm pretty sure they're going to move me before too long.”

“They told you that?”

“They didn't need to. I just figure it's what'll happen.”

“Huh.” Again, Robin seemed a little nervous. “Well, I guess we've both set out our stalls, huh? I'll keep my hands to myself and restrict myself to a few glances in the showers, and you'll keep from murdering me in my sleep. Oh, and one more thing. If anything freaky happens with the Blake girl, you've gotta let me know. I love that shit.”

“What Blake girl?” Amanda asked.

“You know, the one from here.”

“I don't know anything about it.”

“Seriously? You've never heard of Leonora Blake?”

“Not until today,” Amanda replied. “People keep mentioning her name around here, though.”

“She's the little girl,” Robin continued. “You know, the one from a hundred years ago?”

Amanda waited for her to explain.

“Leonora Blake was born right here in Hardstone in, like, the late 1800s,” Robin replied. “Her mother was pregnant when she was banged up here the first time, died during child-birth, you know, typical Victorian crap. Apparently no-one knew what to do with the kid. She was related to some huge, sprawling well-to-do family but I guess it was a bit of a black sheep situation and no-one wanted anything to do with her, so the prison staff the girl her around and raised her in the prison until she was nine years old, which is when they decided to chuck her out. So one year, on Christmas Day, she was sent out the main gate to meet her uncle, 'cause he'd finally decided to grow a conscience or something, only he never showed up, which is when it all kicked off.”

“What did?”

Robin smiled.

“What happened?” Amanda asked.

“The kid was scared,” Robin continued, clearly enjoying the telling. “Like, she'd been raised in here all her life, she'd barely been outside and she sure as hell didn't want to leave. They say she sobbed as they dragged her to the door, and once they'd put her in the yard she spent hours banging on the door to get back in. Nuts, huh? Anyway, eventually she got the message and began to walk away. Turns out, though, she'd nicked a knife from the kitchen, and when she got out the gate into the market square, she stabbed the first person she met and then she went and stabbed a bunch of other people too. All in all, eighteen died and the same again were injured before that little girl was stopped. She was tried as an adult but because of her age they didn't hang her, they just sent her right back here to Hardstone, which I reckon is what she wanted all along. She was blatantly terrified of being outside. According to the story, she saw the staff and inmates here as her only real family.”

“I never heard about any of that,” Amanda told her.

“There's more,” Robin continued. “Do you seriously not know what happened about a year later?”

Amanda shook her head.

“It all got covered up, but you can read about it online.”

“I don't really go online.”

“One night, little Leonora stole the same knife. That's what they say, anyway, but I guess there could be some poetic license with this part. From what the police figured out later, she went sneaking through the shadows and one by one she cut the throats of every guard in the entire facility. She knew her way around, since she'd spent all her life here, and apparently she was pretty much trusted by everyone. I mean, who doesn't trust a ten-year-old kid, right? I don't quite know how she got all the doors open, but she managed somehow. So then she locked all the external doors and went to work on the inmates. Seems she didn't like other people very much.”

“I thought you said she saw them as family?”

“I guess something changed. Like I said, it's never really been explained, not properly.”

“How many people did she kill?” Amanda asked hesitantly.

“How many do you think? All of them. Every bugger in the entire prison.”

“But that must have been -”

“More than five hundred women,” Robin replied. “One by one, cell by cell, she killed them all during the night. Must've taken her a hell of a long time, but when the morning shift arrived to take over, they found all the prison's exterior doors locked from the inside. By the time they broke through, there was no-one left alive in the entire place; they'd all had their throats slit, and Leonora Blake was gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Just gone. Poof, up in smoke. No body was ever found, and there was nothing to indicate she'd left. The whole thing was covered up. After all, the victims were all criminals, no-one really cared too much. Hardstone was closed and left to rot until some bright spark decided to open it up this year. There have been stories, though. Over the years, people claim to have seen things at the windows, and heard noises. Some people think Leonora's still here somehow, and you'll never run out of folks in Hardstone who'll swear blind they spotted a little girl -”

“I saw a -” Amanda began to say, before stopping herself just in time.

“You saw a what?”

“Nothing,” she continued, figuring she didn't want to get sucked into the whole thing. “I didn't see anything.”

“It's okay,” Robin replied. “I said I didn't want to hear ghost stories, but that doesn't mean I don't think there's something to 'em. Maybe I've even seen a few things myself, but the way I figure it, we should all just shut up and hope it passes. Anyway, it's not like we can do anything about it. Every night at ten that door gets locked and we're stuck here, ghost or not ghost. Up until now I've been all alone in this cell, so I figure it might be good to have some company. Just remember, if you do think you see something, for God's sake don't look at her.”

“Why not?”

“Because that's how the story goes,” Robin continued. “I don't know if there's anything to it, but I don't wanna find out either. They say that if you see little Leonora, it'll be out the corner of your eye at first, and if you want to live you need to keep it that way. If you turn and look directly at her, if you make eye contact with this kid for even a moment, then...” She paused for a moment. “Well, let's just say your days are numbered. There have already been a couple of deaths here, and the place has only been open again for a few months. Then again, deaths in prison aren't exactly unusual, so... It could be nothing.”

“I don't believe in ghosts,” Amanda told her. “I can't afford to.”

“Worried about those kids coming back, eh?”

Amanda looked down at her feet, feeling a sudden wave of nausea.

“I guess that was a bit below the belt,” Robin continued. “Sorry. I'll try to keep my trap shut.”

“It's fine,” Amanda said quietly. “I deserve it, I just... I've never believed in ghosts. They can't be real.”

“Then you've got nothing to worry about. Still, if I were you, I'd play things safe. If you see something out the corner of your eye, and you think it might be that little girl... Whatever you do, don't look directly at her. Wait until she goes to someone else. That's the most important thing. Never, ever look Leonora Blake in the eye.”

A few minutes later, once she was on her side in bed, turned to face the wall, Amanda finally allowed herself to cry. Remembering Chris's advice, she forced herself to stay completely quiet, even as she broke down into a series of sobs.

Six months ago

“Just try to be nice,” David whispered as he handed a box of salad to Chris, “and wash this. Show some effort, for your mother's sake if not your own.”

“Dad, I really don't -”

“Jesus,” he replied, “are you okay? You look pale.”

“I just didn't sleep too well this afternoon,” she replied, as she heard the front door opening and then closing. “Great, the bitch is back.”

“Don't talk about your mother like that,” he told her. “Wash the salad. Go!”

“How's the vegetable garden doing?”

He shrugged. “I keep planting seeds, but nothing comes up. Must be the soil. Now cut the small-talk and wash the salad. Make her see that you're actually contributing!”

Sighing, Chris took the salad to the sink and began to run it under the tap, as Mary entered the room and set her bags down.

“You wouldn't believe the day I've had,” she said wearily. “I swear to God, I didn't get to sit down once from the moment I walked through the door until the moment I signed off the shift sheet and went back out to my car.”

“Sounds like you worked hard,” Chris said tersely.

“The world can't all be -” Ruth paused. “Never mind. What are you two doing?”

“Making dinner,” David told her, forcing a smile. “We figured you'd be exhausted and we wanted to do something for you.”

“And whose idea was that?”

“Can you just cut it out?” Chris replied, turning to her with dripping salad leaves in her hands.

Mary raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Everything you say,” Chris continued, “just has these snide little barbs. I don't know if you think you're being smart or clever or funny or what, but it's really fucking annoying. I know your opinion, you don't need to constantly restate it.”

“What's wrong?” Mary asked. “Withdrawal getting you down?”

“Why don't you withdraw from being such a bitch some time?”

“That's enough!” David said firmly.

“See?” Mary asked him. “How am I supposed to work with this? She's constantly against me! I swear to God, I'm going to end up scratching my own eyes out with frustration.”

“Don't bother on my account,” Chris replied, dropping the salad onto the counter and pushing past her, heading into the hallway.

“Oh look,” Mary continued, “you were given a simple job to do and you're quitting halfway, how surprising.”

“Fuck you!” Chris shouted from the hallway.

“Do you see?” Mary asked David. “Every time she comes back, you think that maybe she's changed, that something's going to be different, but the truth of the matter is that she hates me.”

“She doesn't hate you.”

“She hates what I represent. Stability. Hard work. Knuckling down and doing what needs to be done. She knows I won't listen to her -”

Before she could finish, they heard the front door slamming.

“She's running away again,” Mary continued, as David rushed through to the hallway. “There's no point going after her! This is what she always does!”

Opening the front door, David hurried out and looked both ways along the street, but there was no sign of anyone. A moment later, Mary came out to join him, holding her coat in her arms.

“Guess what?” she said with barely-concealed anger. “On the way out, she still had time to dip her fingers into my pocket and take my purse. Not that there was much cash in there, but I'll have to report my cards as stolen.”

“She might come back,” David replied, still looking for any sign of Chris. “She might just -”

“Twelve hours,” Mary said firmly. “That's how long she lasted this time before she stole from us and ran away. Face it, that girl isn't our daughter, not anymore. She's just a junkie. From this moment on, I refuse to dignify her with any attention. As far as I'm concerned, she's out of our lives.”

“Mary -”

Turning, he watched as she marched back into the house.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Chris?” he whispered, glancing along the street one more time. “Why can't you just stay still for five seconds?”

***

Five hours later, with her foot pushing down hard on the pedal, Chris watched as the road ahead raced toward her, with the off-license at the far end of the dark street just a couple of hundred meters away and getting closer fast.

“Funky lights,” she muttered, squinting a little in an attempt to correct her drug-induced double vision. After a moment, she realized that the shop's windows were filled with brightly colored flashing lights. “I didn't think the -”

Suddenly she realized.

The car mounted the pavement and was launched a couple of feet into the air.

“Oh shit,” Chris said with a grin, as sweat poured down her face, “I forgot. It's nearly Christmas!”

With that, the car smashed through the window, sending glass and bright holiday light fittings exploding across the store as the vehicle flew over several aisles and finally came crashing down.

Today

“Hey!” Chris shouted as the door to her cell was swung shut. “Get the fuck back here!”

She waited, listening to the sound of the two guards walking away.

“Hey!” she screamed. “Get back here right now! You can't just leave me here, you fucking Nazi psychopaths!”

Pulling on the leather restraints that were holding her wrists to the side of the bed, she tried with all her strength to get loose but soon she realized that she needed a better plan. The restraints were thick and wide, and no matter how hard she tugged she could tell that there was no way they were ever going to budge; instead, the edges were already digging into her skin, threatening to cut her. Letting out a grunt of frustration, she laid her head back down on the pillow and stared up at the ceiling.

“Fucking assholes,” she whispered, feeling the anger starting to rise through her body. She began to picture Doctor Bell, which only made her feel even worse. “Arrogant bitch,” she muttered. “I swear to God, when I get out of here I'm gonna do her one.”

Pausing for a moment, she was suddenly struck by the thought that she might be being watched.

“Hey, bitch!” she shouted. “You think you're gonna break me? Fuck you!”

Unable to hold herself back any longer, she began tugging on the restraints again, desperately trying to get loose. As her desperation grew, she felt the skin around her wrists starting to rub raw against the leather, but she kept struggling nonetheless, driven not only by her anger but also, increasingly, by the sense of urgency in her gut. She'd gone cold turkey like this before, and she knew that over the next few hours she was going to become increasingly restless and sweaty, until finally the pain would kick in, and that would be when the detox process would really start to hurt.

It was going to hurt more than anything in the world.

“I'll do anything you want!” she shouted, as tears began to run from her eyes. “If you're listening, I swear I'll do whatever you tell me, I won't swear, but please, you can't leave me down here like this! It's torture! Don't you understand? It's like you're literally torturing me! That can't be legal! Come on, you're treating me like some kind of fucking dog!”

She waited, hoping against hope that Doctor Bell might be listening and might have a change of mind.

“Please,” she whimpered, “this is inhuman. I'm not an animal, I'm -”

Suddenly she spotted something moving nearby, and when she turned to look across the gloomy cell she saw to her shock that there was a little girl standing in the far corner, staring straight at her.

“What...” Chris began to say, blinking a couple of times.

The girl was wearing a tattered white dress and her stare was intense, as if she was peering directly into Chris's soul.

“This is... Who the hell are you?”

She waited, but the girl simply continued to stare at her without a flicker of emotion.

“Shit, I know what this is,” Chris continued. “I'm hallucinating. I've heard about this happening to people when they're detoxing, but I never thought it'd happen to me. Fuck, my subconscious mind is dredging up some freaky shit, huh?” Turning and looking up at the ceiling, she concentrated on the fluorescent light above, while hoping that if she stayed focused the hallucination would simply dissipate.

She waited, forcing herself to breathe slowly and steadily.

“You're not really there,” she whispered, keeping her gaze on the light. “No offense, kid, but I'm gonna just ignore you, you're not exactly cheery. Fuck, of all the things to fucking hallucinate and -”

Suddenly she spotted movement again, and the girl came into view, standing right next to the bed and staring down at her.

“Jesus,” Chris muttered, instinctively pulling on the restraints as she looked up into the girl's dark-ringed eyes. “You've got a face on you, kid, you know that? Intense as a motherfucker. Kinda hard to believe my subconscious has decided to bring you up. I mean, if I'm gonna start hallucinating, why couldn't it be fucking rainbows and unicorns and -” Pausing, she realized she was shivering, as if suddenly the temperature in the room was staring to plunge. She took a deep breath, bracing herself for worse. “I've been through withdrawal before,” she continued, maintaining uneasy eye contact with the girl. “I can deal with it, I... It's fucking... Shit, I don't know if I can do it again. Still, I've got you to talk to, right?”

Slowly, the little girl leaned closer, until their faces were just a couple of inches apart.

Chris swallowed hard.

“Great,” she whispered, starting to tremble as she felt colder and colder. “I've got a creepy little kid for company. What's next? You gonna just stand there or are you actually gonna do anything? You could at least keep me entertained, for God's sake.”

***

In the corridor outside Chris's isolation unit, there were no guards, no nurses or attendants. The door had simply been locked, and there weren't even any cameras. Just an empty corridor stretching away toward the stairs at the far end.

So there was no-one to hear Chris as she started to scream, and no-one to go and check on her as her scream became more and more frantic, and no-one to help as the sound of ripping flesh began to be heard from her cell.

Part Two

Today

“I saw Leonora Blake once,” said the woman sitting next to Amanda at their table in the dining hall. “Not directly, obviously, 'cause then I wouldn't be here, would I? I'd be a goner, like... But anyway, I saw her out the corner of my eye, and I knew damn well that it was her. And fuck me, but I was scared. I'm not someone who gets spooked easily, but this was like something straight out of a horror movie.”

Amanda forced a polite smile as she focused on the tray of rice and chicken in front of her, but she knew her dinner companion was watching her, probably hoping to get a reaction.

“Go easy,” Robin said from the other side of the table. “Amanda's new.”

“So?”

“So you don't want to terrify her, do you?”

“I'm just giving her a cautionary tale,” the woman replied. “She needs to know. I mean, hell, you see a little girl in a place like this, it's human instinct to look at her. You really have to train yourself to ignore that kid.”

“It's not easy,” Robin added, glancing at Amanda. “You have to learn to stay strong.”

“I don't really -” Amanda started to say, before stopping herself.

“You don't what? Believe in ghosts?” Robin smiled. “Doesn't matter if you do or you don't, the ghost isn't gonna care when it comes for you, is it?”

“I remember sitting on my bunk this one time,” the other woman continued, “reading a magazine and slowly becoming aware of someone standing in the corner of the cell. Even out the corner of my eye, I knew it wasn't one of the regulars, it was a kid. Plus, the room was starting to get cold and that's always another sign that Leonora Blake is around, the temperature really starts to plummet, like it gets so bad that you end up shivering.” She paused again, as if she wanted to drive home her point. “But I did the right thing, yeah? I did the only thing that can save you when that happens. I kept my eyes on the magazine and I didn't look over at that kid, not even when she came closer to me. It was hard, and she stood there for a good couple of minutes, closer than either of you are right now and I swear, I had to fight to not look at her. I thought she was just gonna stand there forever, watching me, but eventually the temperature went back up and, like, in the blink of an eye she was gone.”

“Same thing happened to me,” Robin replied. “Everyone here can tell you a similar story. Some have just felt a presence, or heard a noise, but everyone knows she's here, even the ones who won't talk about it.”

“What do you think she wants?” the other woman asked.

“God knows, but I'm not giving it to her. She seems more interested in some people than in others, though. I've seen her twice now, and both times I managed to keep from looking at her. Most people haven't actually seen her, but a few have had the pleasure on multiple occasions. Something's twisted about that kid.”

“Well...” Amanda turned to her, fully aware that some kind of response was expected. “That's good. That you survived, I mean.”

The woman laughed as she put an arm around Amanda's shoulders.

“So you're a quiet one,” she said with obvious amusement. “That's cool, I like quiet people, the loud ones get on my tits. My name's Karen, and if you need anything at all while you're in here, come and talk to me. I can help, not just with advice but also with practical things, you know? Plus, unlike certain other people at this table, I won't keep trying to shove my hand down your pants.”

Rolling her eyes, Robin looked down at her food.

“Give over,” Karen added, nudging her arm. “Can't let another six-toed freak get angry with me, can I?”

“Excuse me?” Amanda asked.

“We've both got an extra toe on the right foot,” Karen explained. “Freaky, huh? Even more freaky is that there's another just like us, she's sitting over on the other side of the hall.”

“What are you all talking about?” asked another girl at the far end of the table.

“This is Emma,” Karen continued. “As you might have noticed, she's the only -”

“Weir!” a guard called out from the door. “Visitor!”

Amanda glanced across the room, convinced that there must have been a mistake, only to see to her shock that the guard was waving for her to join him.

“That's fast,” Karen muttered, “and it's not even visiting hours, it's way too late. Must be someone important. They're normally really strict.”

“Weir!” the guard shouted again, more firmly this time, “you have a visitor! Come on, follow me. We haven't got all night!”

“I don't want a visitor,” Amanda said, with shock in her eyes.

“Tough,” Karen replied, nudging her in the ribs. “If they've gone to all the trouble of approving an out-of-hours session, they must think it's important. Go on, kid. You're lucky. Looks like someone in this tough old world actually gives a shit about you.”

***

“Hey,” James said as he got up from the chair and hurried toward the door. “Amanda, how -”

“No physical contact,” the guard said, stepping forward. “Sir, go back to your seat. You'll be allowed a brief moment of physical interaction when you leave, but other than that you must remain a short distance from one another at all times.”

“But -”

“Sir! Sit down!”

“Sorry,” James added, taking a step back while keeping his eyes on Amanda. “How... How are you doing?”

“Sit down,” the guard continued. “Both of you. It's your first time, I get that, but you need to learn the rules real fast.”

“Sure, sorry,” James muttered, heading back to his seat as Amanda was led across the room. He watched her every move, looking for some sign that she was pleased to see him, but she barely even made eye contact with him.

“You have ten minutes,” the guard explained as he pushed Amanda down into her chair. “I'll be present at all times, and there's to be no whispering and no attempt to pass any items to the prisoner. Is that understood? Infraction of any of the rules will result in immediate termination of the visit and suspension or even permanent termination of visiting rights.”

“Absolutely,” James told him.

As the guard made his way over to the door and took up a watchful position, Amanda focused her gaze on the tabletop, as if she was unwilling or unable to meet James's gaze. They sat in silence for a moment, as if neither of them knew how to begin the conversation. Slowly, the silence began to grow, until it was in danger of suffocating everyone in the room.

“So how are things going in here?” James asked eventually. “Are you settling in okay?”

She nodded.

“How's the food?”

She nodded again.

“And are they treating you right? The other prisoners, I mean. It must be... Well, and the staff too, I guess. Are they causing trouble, because if they are, you don't have to stand for it. There are rules and procedures, it's not like a movie where you have to stand your ground and take it...” His voice trailed off as he waited for her to finally make eye contact. “Can you at least look at me, Amanda? I came a long way to see you, and it's been a while.”

“It's okay,” she said quietly.

“It's not okay, I want to see your eyes.”

Slowly, cautiously, Amanda raised her face and looked straight at him.

“You've been crying,” he said after a moment.

“No.”

“Any chance of a smile?”

She stared at him for a moment, before flashing a brief smile that quickly faded away.

“That's better,” he said with a smile of his own. “It's... I've missed you. You have no idea, God, how much I've missed you.”

He waited for her to reply.

“Amanda?”

“Get used to it,” she said flatly.

“Amanda -”

“What do you want me to say?” she asked. She hated talking to him like this, but at the same time she was determined to push him away, to make him realize that she didn't want visits. “I told you not to come and see me. I was really firm about that, I thought you understood! It was the one thing I told you not to do!”

“How can I not visit my wife in prison?”

“I asked you not to. I told you I'd write.”

“So I'm supposed to sit around and wait for a letter?”

Sighing, she leaned back in the chair.

“I've been working on it,” she said after a moment. “It's not an easy one to write.”

“I need to see you,” he replied, with a hint of desperation in his voice. “I need to be in the same room as you, to breathe the same air as you, to...” He glanced at the guard and saw that they were being watching intently. “I also need to tell you that I'm working on some leads, okay?” he continued after a moment. “No-one's forgotten you. Remember I told you that there were some possible angles to try? This isn't over, I'm convinced I can prove your innocence if I can just get the woman next door to -”

“I'm not innocent,” she said firmly.

“Amanda, listen to me.”

“I'm not! I did it all!”

“No,” he continued, “you didn't, and you know I know the truth, so don't even...” He paused for a moment, exasperated but determined to push on. “You might have fooled everyone else, but they don't know you like I know you. I love you, remember? I know why you're doing this, and in some ways I even respect it, but Jesus Christ honey you can be honest with me. I know exactly what you did and didn't do, so let's cut out all the lies. I can get you out of here. It's going to take time, but -”

“I'm fine here,” she replied. “Just forget about me. Please, James...”

“Never. Have you even heard the stories about this place? Hardstone is the last place in the world someone like you should be, it's like something from Victorian times -”

“So?”

“So I can't bear to think of you being here! The history of Hardstone is just... filled with horrific events.”

“I'm not coming out of here,” she continued, with the first hint of tears in her eyes. “Not ever. The past is the past, it's over for the prison and for me. The sooner you accept that and move on, the easier this is going to be. I did what they say I did, and I deserve to be here, and I am never, ever leaving this prison, so it'd make things a lot easier if you weren't running around out there trying to prove my innocence -”

“Honey -”

“Because I'm not innocent,” she hissed.

“Voices up,” the guard said sternly. “No whispering. Final warning.”

“I...” James stared at her for a moment. “I never said you were innocent, Amanda. I just said you didn't kill them. That's two different things.”

“Only in your head.”

“In the eyes of the law, actually,” he pointed out. “It's just that your confession kind of complicated things.”

“I told the truth.”

“You can't stop me doing this,” he continued. “When you were out, when you were waiting for your trial, you managed to get in the way and stop me clearing your name, but now you're in here there's nothing you can do. You can't wipe the files on my computer or block calls on my phone or burn my notebooks, not from in here.” He waited for her to say something, but she simply fixed him with a determined stare. “So maybe that's a good thing,” he added finally, with a faint smile. “You're out of the way for a little while where you can't stop me. Once I prove that you didn't do it, they'll let you out and you'll be able to come back to our -”

“I'm not safe,” she said firmly.

“Not this again -”

“It's better for everyone that I'm in here,” she continued, “and it's better for me if I'm left to get used to my new life. Having people from the past keep showing up like this isn't very helpful.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Just that it upsets me to see you.”

“I can't not come and visit my wife in prison,” he told her. “I love you, Amanda.”

She nodded as she wiped a tear from her cheek.

“I love you,” he said again.

“I know,” she replied, taking deep breaths in an attempt to keep from crying, “and I love you too, but please don't come for a while, and please don't waste your time trying to change things. The only thing worth doing is... Make sure you take some flowers to the cemetery, okay? That'd be good.” Getting to her feet, she turned to the guard. “I'm ready to go now.”

“Amanda,” James continued, getting to his feet.

“You can hug him if you want,” the guard said drily.

“Just get me out of here,” she replied. “I want to go back to my cell.”

“Amanda!”

“Sir,” the guard said, stepping toward him and putting a hand out to stop him getting closer to Amanda, “I need you to sit down while I escort the prisoner out of the room. Someone will be along in a few moments to take you out.”

“But -”

“Is that understood?”

“I...” Pausing, he stared at the back of Amanda's head as she stood by the door. He could tell she was quietly sobbing, and although it broke his heart not to go over to her, he finally realized that there was nothing he could do to change her mind. “I'll be back soon,” he told her. “I'll give you some time, but I'll be back. If you think you can keep me away, you're about as wrong as a person can get, okay? And I sure as hell am not going to accept that this is how your life has to be, how our life together has to end.”

Opening the door, the guard led Amanda out into the corridor.

“I know you're innocent,” James called after her, “and I'm going to prove it, whether you want me to or not!”

He watched, hoping that she'd at least turn back to look at him, but as the door swung shut he was left standing alone. Listening to the sound of Amanda's footsteps heading away along the corridor, he turned to look back at the table. There were tears in his eyes now, and he sighed as he realized that the visit could not possibly have gone any worse.

“You're innocent,” he said again, “and I swear to God, I'm going to prove it.”

One year ago

“I can't help you if you won't talk to me,” Andrew said, keeping his eyes fixed on Sabrina. “We need to establish some dialogue here, something we can use as a starting point. Why don't you tell me what you're thinking?”

Sitting in a chair on the other side of the desk, Sabrina was staring down at her lap, while her thick mop of black hair was almost entirely covering her face.

“You've been cutting yourself again, haven't you?”

He looked at her arms, where several white bandages covered her latest wounds.

“Here's an idea,” he continued. “Instead of internalizing all of this anger, why don't you try to redirect it and use it as a positive force. It's all just energy, after all.”

Slowly, she raised her head to look at him.

“I'm sorry if that sounds simplistic,” he told her, “but if you disagree with what I'm saying, why don't you talk to me about how you view the situation. I'm sure you don't want to stay like this forever, so how do you see the situation progressing?”

He waited for a reply, but she merely stared at him with dark, angry eyes.

Getting to his feet, Andrew walked around the table and crouched next to Sabrina's chair.

“I'm your friend,” he said finally. “I shouldn't say that. We're told when we're training that we shouldn't encourage personal connections with our clients, but I think there's something about you, Sabrina, something different. I want to help you.”

He paused for a moment, before reaching over and placing a hand on her bare knee, just below the hemline of her dress.

“Maybe if I help you,” he said quietly, “you can help me in return.”

Today

“Just give me the short version,” Governor Windsor barked as he marched along the corridor, flanked by two guards on either side. “Tell me what the hell happened down here!”

“The guy from the kitchen raised the alarm,” one of the guards replied hesitantly. “He... He said he delivered her food at the right time and then when he came back to get the tray later, he saw she hadn't touched it. He figured he should take a quick look inside, just to make sure she was okay, and...”

Stopping by the door to Chris Bradford's cell, the governor turned and waited for the rest of the story.

“And what?” he asked finally.

“He saw...what had happened.”

“Jesus Christ,” the governor muttered, as he opened the door to the cell, “can't anyone give me a straight answer around here. What -”

Stopping as he entered the room, he saw that Doctor Bell was already kneeling by the bed and injecting something into the inmate's neck. Or at least, what was left of her neck, since much of her upper body was now little more than a bloody mess.

“It's a sedative,” Doctor Bell said calmly, “combined with something for the pain. It's the strongest stuff we've got, and I'm having to give her a new dose every fifteen minutes because somehow it's wearing off so fast.”

“What...” As he made his way closer to the bed, the governor stared in horror at the sight before him. Strips of flesh had been torn away, and pink flesh was glistening in the electric light. “My God, is she still alive?”

“For now. I wouldn't count on her lasting much longer, though.”

Still strapped to the bed by her ankles, Chris had somehow managed to free her hands from the leather restraints, although in the process she'd torn off most of the skin around her wrists and down to her fingers, leaving strands of flesh on the bed. Her bloodied, de-gloved hands were resting on her chest now, with portions of bone exposed, but the most shocking sight was her face: most of the flesh on her cheeks and forehead had been torn away, and there were two dark red pools of blood where once she had eyes.

“She literally tore her hands out of the restraints,” Doctor Bell explained, “even though that meant leaving the skin behind, and then she proceeded to scratch her face off.”

“How is that even possible?” the governor asked.

“It's not. Well, clearly it's physically possible, but the psychological ability to do such a thing...” The doctor paused for a moment. “She was at the very beginning of the detox process. She's been using heroin for many years, so it was to be expected that she'd experience certain difficulties as she came off the drug, but it should have taken forty-eight hours for her to get even close to a manic stage, and even then...” She looked down at the pieces of skin that were still stuck to the restraints, including the hollow tubes of flesh that were once the patient's fingers. “She literally tore her hands out of her skin so she could attack her own face. The exposed bony tips of her fingers allowed her to gouge the flesh away with particular force. Quite resourceful, really. One can only speculate as to the cause of her terror.”

“And no-one heard her screaming?”

“No-one. And anyway, even if they had, the guards had all been informed to ignore her. She's basically a junkie. Some people are good and some people are bad. This one's as bad as they come.”

“But this is extreme, isn't it?” he asked, stepping closer and peering down at the pulpy, bloody mess of Chris's face. “I've been in charge of prisons where heroin addicts have been a problem, but nothing like this has ever happened. They usually just whimper in a corner and maybe bang their heads on the wall, that sort of thing. Nothing terribly alarming.”

“I blame myself,” Doctor Bell told him. “Partly, at least. I thought that putting her down here and forcing her to go through full withdrawal was the best option. It was the best option, I'm sure of it, but maybe I should have come down personally and made sure that she was properly restrained. It never crossed my mind that she might be able to get her hands free. She's more like an animal than a human being.”

“What could motivate someone to do this to themselves?” he asked.

“Well,” she replied, “put yourself in her position. What could make you start tearing off your own face?”

“I...” He paused for a moment. “Maybe I'm just being unimaginative, but I honestly don't think there's anything in the world.”

“Fear. Paranoia. She probably hallucinated something that drove her insane. We can ask her if she wakes up.”

“And it's not possible that anything else got into the cell?”

“Such as?” She turned to him, waiting for him to reply. “The door was properly secured. What, precisely, do you think could have got in here?”

He stared at Chris for a moment.

“Nothing,” he said finally. “Like you said, the girl's nothing more than a junkie, she's a piece of human trash and none of us should shed a tear that she -”

Before he could finish, Chris let out a faint gasp and opened her mouth, turning her head to one side so that blood began to dribble out of her hollowed-out eye sockets and down the side of her face.

“It's okay,” Doctor Bell said quickly, putting a hand on her arm. “We're here to help you.”

Opening her mouth, Chris seemed to be on the verge of saying something, but no words came out.

“She's drugged up to the eyeballs,” the doctor said as she prepared another injection. “Excuse the phrasing, but you know what I mean. I doubt she's capable of sensible thought.”

“Can she hear hear us?”

“Her ears are undamaged.”

The governor watched as Doctor Bell administered another injection into the girl's neck.

“Will she survive the night?” he asked finally.

“It's fifty-fifty,” she replied, using her plastic-gloved fingers to gently move hair away from over Chris's ears. “If she makes it until morning, we'll see what we can do for her. I'm going to have her moved up to my examination room so that I can get started as soon as possible, and to watch for any signs of an infection. Obviously we have to handle this in-house, though. There's no way I want anyone coming in from the outside to get involved with this case. That would... complicate things.”

“Of course. Do you happen to know if the girl has any family?”

“Not according to her admission forms. She seems to have lost contact with them a long time ago. No siblings or contact names were listed.”

“So if she died...”

He paused.

“Yes,” she said after a moment. “No-one would come looking for her, so... It would be possible to dispose of her body relatively quietly.”

“Good,” he replied. “I know it's harsh, but we can't have the entire Hardstone project ruined just because the press gets hold of a story like this. You know what the papers are like. They'd haul us over the coals, especially the liberal media. The whole thing would be a disaster.”

“I think we've already established our common view on that matter,” Doctor Bell said, getting to her feet. “We'll continue to deal with all such situations in the same manner that has worked so well in the past. We're lucky that most of the inmates are cut loose from their families, it makes the disposal process so much easier. I just...” She paused. “I really do blame myself for this. I could have handled things so much better.”

“Nonsense,” he told her. “You're a fine doctor and you did what you thought was best. No-one can possibly hold that against you.” He put a hand on her arm, as if to lend her some extra comfort. “Deborah, you're the finest doctor I've ever met and I know that you'll do everything in your power to help this poor girl. She doesn't deserve the wonderful level of care that you provide.

“You're very kind,” she replied. “Thank you for your words of confidence.I'm sure you're right.”

“Keep me informed,” the governor replied, turning and heading to the door. “I'll be at home tonight with my wife, but for God's sake let me know if anything happens here. I want to keep on top of events.”

“Of course,” said with a polite smile, as she looked down at what remained of Chris's face. “I blame myself,” she whispered after a moment, before allowing herself a brief smile. “As if.”

***

“It's one of those nights,” Doctor Bell said calmly a short while later, as she stood next to Chris in the examination room. “They happen from time to time. Difficult, dark nights where one has to focus a little more carefully in order to stay true to one's path in life. The kind of night when demons enter one's mind and threaten to sway one's resolve. Don't you agree?”

She looked down at the mass of blood and torn flesh that covered the upper half of Chris's face.

“I suppose you don't,” she added. “You don't know what it's like to have a path in life, do you? People like you, you just drift along scoring hits wherever you can. You probably laugh at people like me, people who have a calling, people who are willing to sacrifice so much in order to get to where they're going. People who actually matter in this world and make a difference.”

After a moment, Chris turned her head slightly and let out a faint groan.

“What's that? You're in pain?”

Chris's mouth moved slightly, but no words came out.

“I know you could hear every word earlier,” Doctor Bell continued. “That can't have been very pleasant for you, but I'm afraid this is just the way things have to be. I admit, I lied to the governor when I told him I was giving you something for the pain, but he's a fussy man and sometimes he accidentally starts worrying about these things. How is the pain, by the way? Those injections I kept giving you were designed to paralyze your vocal chords and prevent you from screaming.” She leaned closer and looked down at Chris's lips. “You would be screaming now if you could, wouldn't you? That's what those little groans are. They're the closest you can come.”

Again, Chris let out the faintest of moans, almost like a brief sigh.

“The pain must be horrific,” Doctor Bell replied, using a pair of tweezers to carefully lift what remained of her patient's upper-left eyelid, to reveal the blood that had pooled in her eye socket. “Something's leaking in there,” she muttered. “Nasty. I'll try to take a look tomorrow, although that'll involve draining this section, which in turn would take quite a long time if it was done correctly, since there's obviously a need to avoid infection. Then again, it would be good to scoop out what's left of your eyeballs and perhaps some of the optic nerve as well.” She paused for a moment, before letting go of the eyelid and taking a step back. “It's not a priority. We have other work to do.”

Heading over to the nearby work-bench, she carefully took out a small plastic pouch from a box, before starting the job of peeling off her plastic gloves.

“God forbid that I might actually get some usable results this time,” she muttered to herself, wincing as she removed the first glove to reveal her badly-scarred left hand. After flexing her fingers a few times, to test the mobility of the joints, she began the slow and painful process of slipping the hand into a new glove. Once the job was done, she did the same with her other hand.

Behind her, on the examination room's only table, Chris let out another gasp.

“I know the feeling,” the doctor whispered. “We all have to learn to deal with the pain in our lives. Stop complaining.”

Pausing for a moment, she stared down at her damaged right hand, which was even more badly damaged than the left. Thick, torturous scars twisted across the palm and along her fingers, and the tips were mostly missing their nail matter, instead tapering to wrinkled stumps. The sight never failed to make a shiver pass through her body, and she had to force herself to focus on the present, rather than thinking about the past.

“Now here's the thing,” she said finally, once she was done with changing her gloves. “We have a lot of work to do and the only solution is to get started as soon as possible. Let's not start getting nostalgic for the days before the pain arrived.”

Heading back to the table, she began to prepare another syringe, and moments later she slipped the needle into Chris's neck and delivered another dose direct to the vocal chords.

“I can't be dealing with your screams, and I can't knock you out because then the results would be compromised. You're just going to have to accept the pain, and try to console yourself with the knowledge that you are truly contributing toward my understanding of the situation. Doesn't that make you feel at least slightly good? Your suffering will help others.”

She pulled the needle out and watched as Chris's mouth continued to twitch.

“Okay,” the doctor continued finally, with a faint smile on her lips, turning to look at the nearby door that led into her other examination room. “Let's get to work, shall we? Trust me, Christine Bradford, you're not the only person in this prison who can't get her screams out.”

As she opened her equipment case, she seemed completely unaware of the little girl who was watching her intently from the shadows in the far corner.

One year ago

“No,” Andrew said as he closed Sabrina's file, “I actually think I want to continue working with her.”

“I thought you said last week that she's a lost cause?” Turning to him, Anne-Marie smiled. “What changed your mind?”

“I just think we've been making progress. I'd hate to hand her off to another department just when I feel as if something positive is happening. She's a good kid, and I feel like she's starting to trust me.”

“You're the fifth specialist who's seen her in the past six months, and none of them have even managed to get her to say a word. How come suddenly she's showing signs of improvement?”

“What can I tell you?” Andrew said with a shrug. “I guess I just got her attention somehow.”

Today

After switching off the engine, Governor Alistair Windsor remained in his car for a moment. He could see the front door to his house, but he wasn't ready to go inside, not just yet.

He waited for several minutes, imagining the conversation he was about to have, going over the possibilities in his mind. This happened every night: it was almost as if he felt the need to rehearse everything, to go over and over every possible permutation. Why did it have to be like this, he wondered. Other people had normal, simple lives, so why did he have to deal with such heartache? Then again, he also felt that perhaps tonight was the night when everything would stop. After all, at some point, the madness had to come to an end.

Finally, the alarm on his phone went off, and he knew he could no longer delay the inevitable. With a sigh, he opened the car door.

***

“Nothing much,” he muttered a few minutes later, as he closed the front door and slid the first bolt across at the top. “Just your average day as the man in charge of a recently-reopened and rapidly-growing prison. Lots of little problems and, thankfully, no major ones. Well, not so far, anyway.”

“You do so much good,” his wife Ruth said as she hurried toward him and helped him off with his coat. “I really can't see how they can fail to notice you this time, you deserve at least an OBE if not an outright knighthood. When you see some of the riff-raff who get honored each year, while men who keep this country strong are ignored. I mean, without you, that place would fall apart.”

“It just might,” he replied, turning the key in the main lock before sliding another three bolts across. Once the initial security system was in place, he turned to the keypad on the wall and typed in his personal code, activating seven more titanium rods that slid out from the door-frame and into the door itself. Seconds later, a red LED screen on the panel displayed the single word that he waited for every night:

LOCKED.

“Dinner's ready,” Ruth told him. “I made your favorite.”

He allowed a brief flicker of a smile to cross his lips as he turned to see a steaming plate of vegetables and rice on the table. Every night for the past eight years, the same meal... It wasn't that he particularly disliked vegetables and rice, and he'd always been the kind of man who liked to keep things regular and organized, but lately he'd been starting to think that perhaps a little variation would be nice. Watching Ruth as she headed back into the kitchen, however, he knew that his hopes would go unanswered. Some things were just beyond change.

He figured he'd just have to get used to such things.

“I keep thinking about those poor girls,” she continued as she brought her own plate over, “and how much they have to thank you for. I doubt they thank you very often, but that doesn't make it any less true. Without you, Alistair, they'd all be such poor lost souls.”

“Absolutely,” he replied, heading to the table and taking a seat. “I'm glad you're not exposed to the foulness of most of them, but trust me, it's shocking to see how low the human animal can fall. By the way, were there any calls for me while I was on the way home?”

“No, dear.” She took her place on the other side of the table. “A busy man such as yourself must be in constant demand, but I do hope they leave you alone tonight. It's not good to go without a little rest now and again. If you don't get some time off to relax and get your mind off these things, you're going to end up with another ulcer.”

“You're right,” he said. “Whatever would I do without you around to remind me of these things? There's -”

Glancing over at the wall, he saw that one of the windows had been left open just slightly: not enough to allow anyone through but still perhaps sufficient to attract unwanted attention. The sight immediately shocked him.

“Is there a problem?” he asked.

“Oh...” She turned to look at the window. “No, I just thought we could let a little air in. The house was feeling rather stuffy this afternoon.”

“I told you to keep them closed,” he replied, getting up and hurrying over to pull the window shut. There were metal bars outside, of course, but he felt they couldn't be too careful. “What's the point of all these security systems if we never use them? I must have spent thirty thousand pounds on these alarms over the past year, not to mention the new locking mechanisms on the door, but they only make us safer if we use them properly.”

“I...” Ruth paused for a moment.

“Promise me you'll be more careful,” he added.

“I promise, Alistair, it's just... I mean, I...”

“What?” he asked. “What's wrong?”

“I heard a noise in the night last night,” she told him cautiously, with a look of fear in her eyes. “I think so, anyway. It almost sounded like someone was downstairs.”

“It was probably me,” he replied. “I got up for some water.”

“No, you were sleeping right next to -”

“It was probably me,” he said more firmly.

“Of course, dear,” she replied, clearly a little taken aback. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to -”

Before she could finish, they both heard his phone ringing in his coat pocket. Heading over to the stand, he pulled the phone out and squinted at the screen for a moment, before sighing and answering.

“Doctor Bell,” he said, “what -”

“It's the patient from tonight,” she said, not waiting for him to ask. “Christine Bradford, the one who scratched her face off in isolation. I'm just calling to let you know that she died a few minutes ago.”

“I see. And the cause?”

“Trauma. There was just too much damage, and too much blood was lost. Her heart was also weak, so I think that would have failed sooner rather than later. Maybe I was too optimistic earlier, but I had to at least try to save her life.”

“I see. Well, that's a terrible shame.”

“I know. She was only in her early twenties, she had her whole life ahead of her but unfortunately this is often what happens when kids get into drugs. It's just a horrific spiral that leads them further and further down until there's nothing we can do to help them. I've seen it so many times before, but that doesn't make it any easier.” She paused for a moment. “Anyway... Should I go ahead with the disposal plan as we discussed?”

“Of course.”

“I blame myself, you know. Maybe I was too quick to dismiss her fears. If I'd treated her in a different way, if I'd made sure someone was monitoring her -”

“You mustn't do that,” he told her. “You're a wonderful doctor, Deborah, and we're very lucky to have you at Hardstone. We'll have a little chat about the situation in the morning, just to go over a few formalities, but as far as I'm concerned this can be dealt with entirely in-house. After all, she has no family, and the paperwork hasn't even gone through yet following her arrival. Everything will be fine. These kids, these junkies without families... It's a sad fact of life that no-one really comes looking for them.”

“Thank you,” she replied, “I really appreciate all your help, Alistair. Now if you'll excuse me, I should get back to work.”

Once the call was over, Governor Windsor turned and looked back at the table, where his wife was waiting patiently.

“Trouble?” she asked. “I've seen that look in your eyes before. You're worried about something. Remember, Alistair, a problem shared is a problem halved.”

“Don't concern yourself,” he replied, making his way across the room and retaking his seat. “There's just been some difficulty with a new arrival on one of the wards, but nothing to worry about. They just needed to double-check something with me, I'm afraid this particular individual had a troubled history before she came to us. Drugs and so on, plus various petty acts of vandalism.”

“I'm sure it'll be fine,” she told him earnestly. “Whatever's wrong with the poor girl, I'm certain you'll be able to help her. She's in the best possible place.”

“You know,” he replied with a faint smile, “you're right. I think I might be able to do a great deal for this particular individual.”

The rest of the meal passed in silence, although every few minutes the governor happened to glance up at his wife and watch her for a few seconds. There was an expression on his face of slight bewilderment, almost as if he couldn't quite understand what was happening.

Almost as if he expected her to disappear.

***

“But what do you really think of him?” Grace asked as she leaned across Andrew and checked her phone on the bedside table. She brought up a message, read it, and quickly closed it again. “Beneath that veneer of respectability, he's pretty messed-up, right?”

“Hardly makes him unique,” Andrew replied, looking down at her bare breasts as her nipples pressed against his chest. “I hope they don't start criminalizing weirdness, or we'll all end up inside. The thought I'm having right now, for example, are definitely not very wholesome.”

“But that stuff with his wife...” Rolling back onto her side, she smiled. “Don't you think it's kind of creepy?”

“What stuff with his wife?”

“The way he keeps mentioning her like that.”

“And?”

“Well, you know...” She paused, waiting for him to understand, before finally she was struck by a moment of realization. “You do know about his wife, don't you?”

“He... has one?”

“Had one,” she replied, turning onto her side and grinning at him. “Oh my God, I can't believe you don't know! Alistair Windsor's wife died a few years ago. He was away from home, working at the last prison he ran, and someone broke into the house in the middle of the night. It was, like, a home invasion, just some random robbery, but Ruth Windsor went downstairs and disturbed the intruder, and it got violent and the guy smashed her around the back of the head with a lamp. Knocked her out cold and left her to bleed to death right there on the carpet. Alistair discovered the body when he got home the next day. They say he blamed himself ever since, thinking about how he should have been there.”

“I had no idea. You're right, though, he does talk about her like she's waiting for him at home.”

“Uh-huh. Creepy, huh?”

“Sad, more like. The guy clearly hasn't moved on.”

“Sometimes,” Grace continued, “I wonder if...”

Her voice trailed off.

“If what?” he asked.

“Nothing, just...” She paused again, eying him with suspicion as if she wasn't sure, this early in their relationship – or whatever it was – to bring up something so personal.

“Spit it out,” he said, goading her.

“I read about ghosts once,” she continued cautiously, “about how there's this theory that each of us has one ghost in our life. Just one. It might be our Mum or our Dad, a sibling, a friend, someone we knew briefly but who was important to us, just someone significant, but we each have one ghost, and once it starts haunting us, it never really stops. And while we're waiting for our ghost to arrive, we can get haunted by other random ghosts that've got no-one else to haunt, but then when the ghost that's meant for us shows up, it kinda takes over and becomes attached to us forever.”

“That doesn't make a whole lot of sense,” he pointed out.

“It's just an idea. I read it in a magazine.”

“Don't you think it's more likely that he's just nuts? That he thinks his wife is still around and he's kind of losing his mind?

“I guess that's one possibility.” She paused, wishing she'd not said anything but aware that it was too late to back out now. “So who'd be your ghost?”

“My ghost?”

“If we each get only one, who'd haunt you?” She watched his expression for any hint of an answer. “Someone special, someone who's been important in your life.” She paused again. “Sorry, dumb question. I guess it'd probably be -”

“I don't know,” he said quickly, interrupting her.

“Sorry, I just thought maybe it would have been -”

“I don't know,” he said again, more firmly this time.

“Okay,” she said with a forced smile. “I'm sorry, I -”

“Who'd be your ghost?” he asked.

She stared at him for a moment, as if she was deep in thought.

“You,” she said finally.

He raised a skeptical eyebrow.

“Just kidding,” she added, smiling as she leaned toward him. After looking at his lips for a moment, she began to kiss him gently.

One year ago

“Okay,” Andrew said with a smile, as he fastened his belt, “that was... That was good, Sabrina. Maybe we should get on with the assessment program, though.”

Patting her on the back, he made his way around the desk and took a seat.

“Got a lot of experience with this sort of thing, have you?” he asked, glancing at her as he opened the folder. “I saw in your file that you got into trouble for being sexually aggressive with some guys in your neighborhood. You like that sort of thing, don't you?”

Staring at him for a moment, Sabrina suddenly turned and looked over toward the door.

“Remember,” Andrew continued, “no-one else needs to know about our arrangement. It's just my way of making you feel as if you contribute. Doesn't it make you feel good to know that you're helping someone else?”

She opened her mouth, as if she was about to say something.

“It's nice to help people, isn't it?” he continued. “I think that's a problem in modern society, actually. Most people are so obsessed with material things and with themselves, they forget to gain satisfaction from giving pleasure to others, and that creates a void in their lives that just can't be filled by movies or the internet.” Looking down at the folder, he took out the questionnaire. “So now that you've helped me, it's time for me to -”

Suddenly Sabrina got to her feet, swaying a little as if she felt unsteady.

“Are you okay?” Andrew asked. “Sabrina, I'd like you to sit down.”

She took a couple of steps forward, making her way around the desk, before stopping and staring at him.

“Sabrina,” he continued, “I'm glad that you're finally showing some degree of interest in the world around you, but for this next part of the session I need you to take a seat and answer the questions as I ask them. There are one hundred of them, so it'll be a long process, but I need to determined what kind of -”

He stopped as she stumbled toward him.

“Sabrina?”

He waited, but she simply stared at him.

“Okay,” he continued cautiously, getting to his feet, “I think maybe we should -”

Before he could finish, she launched herself at him, knocking him back against the wall and biting down hard against the side of his neck.

Today

“Lights out in twenty!” one of the guards shouted.

“Hear that?” Robin asked, watching Amanda from the bunk on the opposite side of the room. “It means -”

“Lights out in twenty minutes,” Amanda replied, looking up from the notebook she was using as a kind of makeshift diary. “I figured.” She got back to work, but she was uncomfortably aware that her cellmate was watching her every move.

“What you writing in there?” Robin asked eventually.

“Nothing.”

“Sure been at it for a long time.”

“It's just...” She paused, staring down at the jumble of half-expressed thoughts and ideas she'd been jotting down for the past hour. None of it made much sense, not even to her, and she figured it would seem almost insane to anyone else. Insane and pathetic. “Nothing.”

“How'd it go with your visitor?”

“Fine.”

“Just fine? Not fantastic? Not awful?”

“Just fine.”

“So are you always this quiet, or is this just you getting used to a new environment?”

“I'm...” Looking over at Robin, she realized that it was a genuine question rather than an attempt to get under her skin. She felt bad, but at the same time she knew it would be a risk to get too attached to anyone. “I guess I'm always like this. I've got a lot on my mind, too.”

“So who was your visitor?” she asked, getting off the bed and grabbing a towel before heading to the door. “Boyfriend? I bet a pretty girl like you has got some hot stud on the go, am I right?”

“It was no-one.”

“Huh. You've sure got a lot of nothings and no-ones in your life, haven't you?”

“Just someone from the past.”

“Whatever. I'm heading to the powder room to de-stink myself before we get locked in this confined space together for the night. That was a hint, by the way. No offense, but I'd appreciate it if you could do the same. You know, just some basic hygiene, it's only polite when we're living together in such close proximity.”

“I'll be along in a minute.”

“Smells sure can build up in a little cell,” Robin muttered, heading out into the corridor. “That's all I'm saying.” She could still be heard talking to herself as she made her way toward the washroom.

Seconds later, there was the sound of cheering from elsewhere on the wing.

Taking a deep breath, Amanda turned back to look at some of the earlier pages in her notebook. She'd been trying to draft a letter to James, something that would explain to him gently that she didn't want any more visitors, that she just wanted to cut her ties with her old life and start over without any painful memories. The thought of her husband making regular four-hour round trips was too much to bear, and she knew there was a danger that he'd end up ruining his life for her. All she wanted was for him to be happy, for him to move on, and that meant that she needed to be cold and perhaps a little mean. Over and over, she'd tried to find a way to phrase things so that he wouldn't be hurt, but she was starting to realize that it was an impossible ask: they'd married young, just a few years ago, and she knew that he loved her deeply, so breaking things off could never be clean and easy. Nevertheless, she had no choice, because she just wanted to stop hurting him.

“Jesus,” she whispered, wiping a stray tear from her eye. “Why can't I just -”

Before she could finish, she became aware of a shape moving in the far corner of the cell. At first she told herself it was nothing; just as she was about to turn and take a look, however, she froze. The shape was a person, that much was clear, but even without looking at it directly she could tell that it was a child, wearing some kind of white dress that was at odds with the gray uniforms of the inmates. Telling herself that she had to be wrong, that she was jumping to the wrong conclusion, she tried to come up with a better answer, even as she stared straight ahead.

Just look, she told herself. It's not like any of those stories are actually true, so just look. It can't be a child.

She paused.

Slowly, the child – or the shape, whatever it was – seemed to take a step to the side, as if it was trying to get closer to the center of her field of vision.

Forcing herself to keep from turning completely, and focusing instead on the sink over by the door, Amanda felt the hairs on the back of her neck starting to stand up as she realized that she couldn't deny what was happening: there was a little girl in the cell with her, watching intently. Still, that didn't mean it was a ghost.

Ghosts don't exist, she reminded herself, so grow up, stop being irrational, and look at the damn thing.

Outside in the corridor, two women walked past, talking loudly to one another.

Amanda looked over to the door, but although she wanted to get up and run out of the cell, something seemed to be holding her in place, as if her mind couldn't communicate the urgency of the situation to the rest of her body. She tried again and again, but there was definitely some kind of force keeping her in the chair. After a moment, she realized that the room seemed to be getting colder, as if all the warmth was being drawn away and replaced by a creeping chill, as if something cold was moving toward her.

Behind her, she could hear footsteps getting closer. Soft, bare footsteps on the cell's stone floor.

Slowly, she began to turn her head back toward the other side of the room, but she stopped as soon as she saw out of the corner of her eye that the little girl had come much closer, and was now within touching distance. She wanted to turn and look properly, to see the eyes of whatever vision had appeared to her, but she couldn't ignore the warnings she'd heard earlier, even though at the time she'd dismissed them as nothing but a bunch of scare stories.

It's not a ghost, she told herself again. Ghosts don't exist.

“This is ridiculous,” Amanda said out loud, trying to fight off the irrational sense of fear that was starting to burn in her chest. “You're not here. You can be r-”

Suddenly the girl took another step toward her, until she was just a few inches away.

“Okay,” Amanda continued, taking deep breaths as she tried to summon the strength to get to her feet. She looked over at the door again, hoping that Robin might come back at any moment, but seconds later she felt something brushing against her knee and she realized that the little girl was slowly walking around her, as if if to force herself into her field of vision.

She waited.

The girl appeared closer than ever in the corner of her eye, staring straight at her, almost making eye contact.

“You're not real,” Amanda whispered through gritted teeth. All she had to do was turn her gaze a little to one side, only a fraction of a degree, and she'd be looking directly at the girl.

She waited.

The girl leaned closer.

Instinctively, Amanda closed her eyes.

She could still hear the little girl, though, and she knew that if she opened her eyes, she'd be staring straight at her.

So what? she told herself. It's either a hallucination or an actual little girl. It can't be a ghost.

“Go away,” she whispered. “Please, just go away. You're not even real. This is just... I'm losing my mind. It's normal in this kind of situation.” She paused, pitifully aware that she was trying to talk herself out of her fear. “Please,” she continued, “just go away.”

She began to shiver, as the air around her became even colder. Even with her eyes closed, she could tell that the girl's face was less than an inch from hers.

And then, as suddenly as it had started, the experience seemed to fade. The air returned to its normal temperature, and although she still wasn't willing to open her eyes, she felt as if the 'sense' of another person nearby had gone away. Somehow, she could tell she was alone again.

It was over.

Slowly, she began to open her eyes.

She was right.

The girl – the thing, the whatever-the-hell-it-was – had gone.

“Karen!” Robin shouted in the corridor. “Seeya tomorrow! We still on for that game of chess?”

Turning to look at the door, Amanda watched with relief as Robin wandered into the room with a towel over her shoulder.

“You alright?” Robin asked with a grin. “Still doodling in your little book, are you?”

Looking back toward the little girl, Amanda still couldn't quite believe that it was over. She turned to look back at the corner where the girl had first appeared, but there was no sign of anyone.

“So you're still gonna go wash, yeah?” Robin continued, dropping her towel onto a chair before heading over to her bunk. “I don't want to be smelling your clammy lady juices during the night, if you know what I mean. There's a time and a place for that sort of thing.”

“No,” Amanda replied, getting to her feet and looking all around the room, half-expecting to see the little girl again. Her heart was racing and although she was immensely relieved that the experience was over, she was still trying to work out what, exactly, she'd seen. There was one thing she knew for certain, though: ghosts didn't exist. They couldn't, it was just the most insanely ridiculous idea in the world.

“What's wrong?” Robin asked. “Something bothering you?”

“I...” Turning to her, Amanda paused for a moment. “That story you told me earlier, the one about the ghost...”

“Leonara Blake? What about her?”

“You said that the most important thing is to never look directly into her eyes.”

“And?”

“You... didn't finish. You didn't tell me what happens to someone if they do look into her eyes.”

“Yeah I did.” She smiled as she ran a finger across her neck. “I told you, they die.”

“Immediately?”

“Not always. Sometimes it's quick, sometimes it takes a few hours, maybe even a day or two, but it's pretty much inevitable, at least from what I've heard. Hell, I even read about this guy a while ago, he was, like, the assistant to some government minister who came poking about before Hardstone was opened. Apparently this guy told his girlfriend a few hours later that he thought he'd seen a little girl at one of the windows. Seems innocuous enough, right? Except that the next morning, she found him in the bathroom and he'd cut his wrists. Every drop of blood was gone from his body and he was dead as a doornail. Look him up if you ever get online, his name was double-barreled, Downing-Jones or something like that. Seriously, it's freaky. Of course, everyone laughed it off, saying it was a coincidence, but it makes you think, doesn't it?”

“Yeah,” Amanda replied, feeling a shiver pass through her body.

“Why?” Robin continued with a grin, “What's wrong? You didn't get into a staring contest with a spooky little ghost kid, did you?”

“Me?” Amanda paused. “No. Of course not.”

“Good, 'cause that would be some serious bad luck to see the Blake kid on your very first night. Now go on, go wash yourself. Lights out in less than ten. Seriously, things really linger around this place. I don't want some bad stink floating around the room.”

Turning and making her way out of the cell, Amanda told herself that the whole story was rubbish, that there was no way a single part of it could possibly be true. Still, she couldn't help glancing over her shoulder, just to make sure that there was no sign of the little girl.

***

“There,” Doctor Bell whispered as she slid the needle into Chris's neck and depressed the plunger. “That's more than enough to see you through the night. Don't want it wearing off before I can get started in the morning, do we? Don't worry, though, I'll be through to get started nice and early.”

As the needle came out, Chris let out another faint moan.

“I wonder what you'd sound like if I wasn't stopping the screams,” Doctor Bell continued, setting the syringe down and then picking up a piece of white cloth, which she proceeded to lay carefully over her patient's face. After just a second or two, blood began to seep through the fabric, forming a kind of crimson shroud.

Taking a step back, Doctor Bell allowed herself a brief smile as another moan could just about be heard.

“You'll be okay in here,” she continued. “This is my secondary exam room, and no-one knows about it. Anyway, the governor isn't going to be looking for you, not now. Frankly, as long as you're out of the way and you don't present any kind of risk to his precious knighthood, he doesn't give a damn about you. As of tonight, you're all mine. We get to do some wonderful work together, which is going to be very useful. I've been waiting for someone like you to come along, and I most certainly don't intend to waste you.”

Heading to the door, she stopped for a moment and looked back at Chris, whose face had now leaked a substantial amount of blood through the white fabric. After switching off the light, the doctor stepped out of the room and pushed the door shut, leaving Chris to let out occasional, faint moans as she lay in the dark.

Part Three

Today

“Yeah,” Robin said, holding the muddy gray bone up to the light, “that's human alright. I reckon you've got yourself part of a pelvis.”

Amanda stared in shock. She and a couple of dozen other inmates had been spending the morning out in the garden area beyond the yard, clearing the soil and removing any large rocks or other items that might get in the way of the planting process, but no-one had said anything about the possibility of human body parts turning up.

“Chuck it,” Robin continued, throwing the piece of bone into Amanda's plastic sack. “Shame, but there you go.”

“Shouldn't I tell someone?” Amanda asked, glancing at the bored-looking guard who was playing with his phone over by the wall.

“Tell 'em what? That you found a bit of hundred-year-old pelvis? Who cares? He'll just toss it in the garbage.”

“It belongs to someone!”

“Belonged. And besides, it's not exactly a shock, is it?” Smiling, she reached down and pulled up a rock before dropping it into her own sack. “It's just another bit of crap that came up to the surface, like, plate tectonics or whatever the hell it's called. What else do you expect with all those bodies down there?”

“All what bodies down where?” Amanda asked, as she got back to work.

“Right under us now.”

“They... They used to bury people out here?”

“What do you think happened back in the day when some old hag died in prison? A state funeral with all the trimmings and a loving family at the graveside?” She grinned. “Hell, no. They tossed 'em in the garden and forgot about them.”

“I don't see any gravestones.”

“Of course not. Stones cost money, plus they'd be a little creepy.”

“So there are human bodies rotting underground?” Amanda asked, looking down at her feet. “Under this particular piece of ground that we're supposed to turn into a vegetable patch?”

“Gonna be some nice juicy carrots,” Robin pointed out, “what with all those nutrients. I guess it's the circle of life, though, isn't it? People die, other people eat, and so on.”

Unable to quite process the idea that there were bodies somewhere beneath the ground, Amanda carried on working in silence for a few minutes, although she couldn't shake the constant worry that every small rock or pebble she picked up might be another piece of bone.

“Weir!” a voice called out suddenly. “Get over here!”

Turning, Amanda saw that the guard was gesturing for her to join him.

“Not another visitor,” she whispered under her breath. “Please, not another visitor.”

“No-one ever visits me,” Robin muttered. “You should count yourself lucky.”

“Why can't he just leave me alone?” she asked, trying not to panic. “I thought he'd finally got the message!”

“Weir!” the guard yelled. “Here! Now!”

“Typical,” Robin said with a sigh, “so you're getting out of the hard work, are you? The rest of us have to break our backs out here all morning and you get to be nice and warm inside. The world just doesn't seem fair sometimes.” Reaching down, she pulled up another small white object, which she held up for Amanda to see. “You know what? I reckon that's a fingertip!”

***

“Relax,” Andrew said as he led Amanda along the corridor, “you don't have a visitor.”

Stopping at a set of double-doors, he turned to her.

“Would it really be so bad if someone did come to see you, though? You can't cut yourself off from your old life completely. You're still the same person you were on the outside.”

“I just don't want anyone fussing,” she replied, looking up at the sign over the doors:

LABORATORY.

“You're talking about your husband, aren't you?” Andrew said after a moment. “The guy loves you, Amanda, and he clearly -”

“He's deluded,” she replied, interrupting him. “He can't face the truth.”

“That's no reason to give up. You need to at least talk to him.”

“I guess,” she said quietly, “just... not yet. I need to think.”

“We're going to start some intensive therapy sessions soon,” Andrew continued, “but until then, I figured it would be good for you to feel like you're being useful. And I don't mean picking up rocks in the garden. Granted, the vegetable patch program is a very noble endeavor, but I wanted to get you involved with something that you might find more useful, so I pulled a few strings and got you a job here in the medical unit.”

“I don't have any medical training,” she pointed out.

“You don't need any,” he continued, opening the doors and leading her into a large, well-lit room with a set of empty beds over by the far wall. “Hardstone is still way under its full capacity, so as you can imagine, the medical unit isn't exactly over-stretched. In fact...” He paused as he looked around the empty room. “I don't even know where the doctor is right now. She should be here and -”

Hearing a noise nearby, he turned just in time to see a middle-aged woman coming through a door at the far end.

“Doctor Bell,” he called out. “I've brought you a little helper.”

“I told you I don't need anyone,” Doctor Bell replied as she crossed the room and shook his hand before turning to Amanda with a barely-disguised frown. “Have you ever worked in this kind of environment before?”

Amanda shook her head.

“Do you have any experience at all that might be relevant?”

“I don't think so.”

The doctor turned to Andrew. “Listen -”

“I've already cleared it with the governor,” Andrew replied, having clearly anticipated her protest.

“You have?” she replied. “I must remember to thank him some time. You're both so... thoughtful...”

“You'll have to ignore the doctor's somewhat abrasive bedside manner,” Andrew continued, heading back to the doors before turning to Amanda. “She's got a heart of gold underneath, so just keep persevering and make sure she gives you proper jobs to do. I've got a feeling this is going to be good for both of you.”

With that, he headed back out into the corridor, leaving Amanda and Doctor Bell standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“Don't touch anything,” Doctor Bell said finally.

“I won't.”

“And...” She sighed. “As you can probably tell, I don't exactly feel the need to have an assistant poking around the place, so your primary job is going to be very simple: stay out from under my feet. Without any patients to deal with at the moment, I'm mainly focusing on getting the facility up to scratch and conducting a few studies on the side. I like working alone, without too many annoying questions, but I suppose I can find a few things for you to do, like...” Glancing over at a nearby workbench, she seemed lost in thought for a moment before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a small security pass. “What are you in here for?”

“I... Do I have to say it?”

“Yes, you do.”

“I... I had two children. They died.”

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-two.”

“So they were babies?”

Amanda nodded.

“Young mother, then. Sweet. How did they die?”

“They bled to death.”

“Spontaneously?”

“No, I...” She paused. “They... I'm just a very bad person. I'm evil.”

“Jesus Christ,” Doctor Bell muttered after a moment, slipping the security pass into the breast pocket of Amanda's shirt. “Don't get excited about the pass, it only allows you access to the stairwell and the storage facility at the bottom of that stairwell, all the way down in the basement, understood? Don't get any ideas, because it's useless on any external doors but I will know if you try it. This part of the facility is run to slightly looser rules than the rest, but don't take advantage of that fact. It's simply that I can't be bothered monitoring your every movement. Anyway, I want you to go down to the basement and find the boxes marked 'Slides' in the storage area. There should be two. Bring them up here.”

“Okay,” Amanda replied.

“And take your time. The faster you come back up, the faster I'll have to think of something else for you to do.”

***

“Slides,” Amanda muttered as she made her way down the stairwell. Reaching the bottom, she took the security pass out of her pocket and ran it against a sensor on the wall, and sure enough the door immediately unlocked.

Glancing over at a nearby wall, she spotted another sensor, next to a door that led out into the yard. The thought of going out there, however, made her shudder. Trying to escape from Hardstone was the last thing on her mind.

Stepping into the next room, she found herself in a dark, cramped space lined with shelves. There were boxes and crates everywhere, and it was clear that she was in some kind of medical storage area. Taking a look at one of the nearest boxes, she opened the top and looked inside, only to find packs and packs of plastic gloves, and the next box contained exactly the same. Making her way along the aisle, she finally stopped as she spotted two cardboard boxes on a high shelf, with the word 'Slides' scribbled on their sides.

“Great,” she muttered, grabbing a rickety old chair and climbing up.

Reaching up, she struggled for a moment before managing to slide the first box off. Finding it to be much heavier than she'd expected, she quickly placed it on the floor. Just as she was about to turn and grab the other box, however, she noticed a small white object resting in an inch-wide crack that ran across the concrete floor. Picking the object out, she held it up to the light and realized that it appeared to be another piece of human bone.

Five years ago

“What the hell are you doing?” he shouted, grabbing Robin's arm and pulling her away from the counter before slamming a plate down in front of her. “This is the fifth order that's been sent back since your shift started!”

“It's a burger,” she replied. “That's what the ticket said!”

“It's supposed to be a chicken burger,” Mike continued, opening the lid of the bin and tipping the burger into the trash. “You're never the most reliable cook, Robin, but this is the first time you've been so totally incompetent. Do I need to send you home?”

“No! I'll... I'll redo it.”

“And the loss is coming out of your pay-packet,” he told her. “All the losses today are coming out of your pocket, understand?”

“Fine,” she muttered, turning back to the counter.

“One more mistake, and you're out of here,” he continued. “This is getting ridiculous. Don't you think I can just go out into the street and easily find someone to replace you? This isn't a high-end fucking restaurant, Robin, it's a glorified burger bar. All you do is -”

“I know what to do!” she hissed, tossing a chicken burger onto the grill. “Don't fucking patronize me!”

“What did you say?” he shouted, pushing her back against the wall. “Did you just fucking swear at me?”

“I...” Pausing, she realized she'd gone too far. “I'm sorry. I'll get right on things, okay? No more mistakes.”

“Whatever,” he replied, taking a step back. “If I have to come in here one more time to fix your screw-ups, you're gone, do you understand? And good luck getting another job if I fire you, 'cause with your attitude, Robin, you're never gonna fit in anywhere.”

With that, he headed back through to the main part of the restaurant, leaving Robin watching the back of his head as he started talking to one of the waitresses.

“Fuck you,” she whispered, struggling to stay calm. “Fuck you and fuck your fucking restaurant.”

Today

“Christine Bradford,” Governor Windsor said carefully, as if he'd never heard the name before in his life. Leaning back in his chair, he frowned, as if to give the impression that he was giving the matter some serious thought. “Christine Bradford. No, I'm afraid that name doesn't ring any bells.”

“It's just,” explained the other man earnestly, “I was specifically told that she was sent here, to Hardstone.”

“You were?”

“It's right here in black and white,” he continued, holding up one of the documents he'd been clutching ever since he entered the office a few minutes ago. “The movements of all prisoners get recorded by the prisons service, and I was able to get hold of the relevant details. Christine Bradford, sentenced to three years at Hardstone Women's Prison and transported here on -”

“Yes, I can see the document,” the governor replied, “it's just that I've already checked our files for you twice, and there's absolutely no record of a Christine Bradford among our inmates.”

“She has to be here,” the man said, still holding up the document. “She can't have just disappeared.”

“Of course not.”

“I went to the magistrates' court,” he continued, as he started to look through the rest of his papers, “and they told me she'd been sent to the crown court, and from there I was able to find out where she'd been sent after her case was heard. I mean, there's no doubt about it. She was brought to Hardstone.”

“So your piece of paper would seem to suggest.”

“So now I need to know where she is.”

“Might I ask,” the governor continued, “why you are so interested in this Christine Bradford girl?”

“I'm her father,” the man replied. “My name is David Bradford.”

“Her...” At this, the governor paused, fully aware that a concerned father would be rather difficult to fob off. “I see,” he continued, narrowing his eyes a little, “and you're searching the nation's prison system in a desperate attempt to locate your daughter?”

“No, I've already located her,” David replied. “She's here, in your prison. Check your system again.”

“But as I said -”

“Fine, then where is she? Because I have proof that she was delivered here to Hardstone just over a week ago. She definitely arrived, so if she's not here now, you must know where she was sent and why. She must have been moved on to some other location.”

“This is a very awkward situation,” the governor replied. “Clearly there has been a mistake somewhere along the line regarding the paperwork and -”

“We're talking about my daughter,” David said firmly. “An actual human being.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“It's...” He paused. “It's been a while. Things were awkward, we lost touch when she got into trouble and then when she ran away from home, it was impossible to keep track of her. She came back occasionally when she needed money or help, but she never stuck around for long. Her mother, my wife, disowned her completely, but I can't do that. Christine's my daughter and I have to see her. Do you have children, Governor Windsor?”

“I do not.”

“But surely you can understand that I can't just walk away. I've spent six months trying to find her, and I finally tracked her down to this place, only to come in here today and have you tell me that she's never set foot in Hardstone. Now, I can go back to the courts service and ask them to double-check, but I don't see that there's any room for error. They're going to tell me the same thing again, so...” His voice trailed off for a moment as he watched the governor's awkward expression. “I'm going to ask you again. Where the hell is my daughter?”

***

“Have you disposed of the body already?” the governor asked as he followed Doctor Bell across the examination room. “If it's still here, we can tell him something happened to her and there was just a bit of a foul-up with the paperwork.”

“The body's gone,” she replied, picking up a file from her desk. “By the way, did you authorize Andrew Dunne to send me a little helper?” She turned to him. “I don't need a little helper.”

“This is serious!” he hissed. “I've got a concerned father waiting in my office right now for me to go back and tell him where his daughter has gone. I don't think he's going to be fobbed off too easily, do you? I mean, what am I supposed to tell him? That we lost her? You can't lose a human being!”

“Her father seemed to have managed it.”

“This is my worst nightmare,” he continued. “How are you managing to stay so calm? We have to do something!”

“This is your job,” she sighed. “Remember? We agreed very early on that we'd each have certain responsibilities, and one of yours is the admin work. I'm very sorry that this man has shown up, and I agree that it's very bad luck. After all, the Bradford girl seemed like a typical no-hoper, it's hard to believe anyone actually wants to find her, but...” She paused for a moment. “You need to deal with this situation, Alistair, and you need to deal with it fast. The ball is in your court.”

“What do I do? The man has copies of the records showing that his daughter was brought here.”

“That's certainly unfortunate.”

“If he goes back to the prisons service and tells them the girl isn't here, they'll start asking questions too. We need to shut him up. Where's the body now?”

“Gone.”

“Can you get it back?”

“Of course I can't get it back.” She paused again. “I can, however, do your job for you. There's one way you might be able to get this man to stop looking for his daughter, but you're going to have to follow my instructions to the letter. Understood?”

***

“Terrorism?” David replied, clearly shocked by the suggestion. “What the hell are you talking about? Christine was convicted for vandalism and theft, not anything to do with terrorism!”

“Yes, I'm aware of that,” the governor replied, once more in the chair behind his desk, “but I'm afraid that sometimes, where terrorism-related charges are in play, the public record can be a little... inaccurate.”

David looked down at the papers in his hands.

“This must be difficult for you to believe,” the governor added.

“It's impossible for me to believe,” he replied after a moment.

“We're dealing with a very sensitive area,” the governor continued. “This is obviously a terrible shock for you, and I do apologize for being unable to go into too much detail, but my hands are tied by red tape. However, I am authorized to tell you that your daughter had unfortunately become involved with some very undesirable elements who were involved in certain plots. Thankfully, the police uncovered those plots before anything untoward happened, but it seems Christine might have been at least tangentially involved with certain radicalized individuals. For reasons linked to national security, therefore, she is currently being held at a location that I cannot disclose to you.”

“But -”

“Those documents in your hands,” he added, “are, I'm afraid, designed merely to obfuscate any attempt made to find her.”

“But...” David paused. “My daughter is not involved with terrorists.”

“Take my advice,” the governor replied. “Go home, Mr. Bradford. You have other children, I believe? And a wife? So go home to them, take care of them, and hopefully one day Christine will return to you. It might take many months, or even years, but if she responds well to whatever de-radicalization procedures she undergoes, it's entirely possible that your daughter will one day be deemed fit to return to society. In fact, you might even find that she has improved considerably.”

“This is insane,” David said after a moment. “Are you seriously telling me that Christine was involved with terrorists, and that she's been spirited away... and I'm not allowed to know the details?”

“National security.”

“My daughter is not a threat to national security.”

“I've really told you all that I'm allowed to divulge,” the governor replied. “I do so desperately wish that I could tell you more, but the Official Secrets Act specifically -”

“This is bullshit,” David said suddenly, getting to his feet.

“I'm sorry?”

“Something stinks here. Do you think I'm a complete idiot?”

“I think you're a loving father who is struggling to come to terms with some very distressing and shocking news. Perhaps you're in denial?”

“I'm not going to stop looking for her,” David continued. “I don't believe this terrorism crap, not for one second. As far as I'm concerned, my daughter was delivered to this prison a week ago, and now she's vanished. If you think that I'm going to be satisfied with some spiel about her being spirited away because of national security, then it's very clear to me that you don't understand what it's like to be a parent.” Folding the papers with trembling hands, he slipped them into his pocket as he headed to the door. “You'll be hearing from me,” he added as he left the room. “Soon.”

Sighing, the governor picked up the phone on his desk and hit a button, before waiting for Doctor Bell to answer.

“It's me,” he told her. “Yes, it went perfectly. Exactly as you predicted.” He listened for a moment. “Oh yes, he's very angry, he didn't believe me for one moment. I only hope that the rest of your plan goes just as well.”

Five years ago

“So I heard you almost got fired tonight,” Marcia said as she watched Robin working in the kitchen. “That sucks. What'd you do, piss Mike off somehow?”

“Don't you have tables to wait on?” Robin asked.

“It's dead out there. Half an hour to closing, there's no-one else gonna come in tonight. Just this last order you're doing now.” She paused, smiling as she watched Robin adding a steak to the pan. “You make a lot of mistakes, don't you?”

“And you don't?”

“I make a few, but...” Marcia paused. “Can I ask you a question, and you'll promise you won't get offended?”

“You can try.”

“It's just something that me and a few of the other waitresses have been wondering. I mean, we've all seen you working, and the way you sometimes seem to move your lips when you're reading, so I wanted to know... No offense, but do you have, like, a condition?”

Robin turned to her.

“Like, a learning disability or something?”

“No,” Robin said firmly, “I... I guess I just move my lips when I'm reading, that's all.”

“Huh. 'Cause I just wondered, if you had a learning disability, that'd also explain -”

“Maybe you should go check on the diners,” Robin replied, cutting her off. “No offense, Marcia, but I really need to just get on with preparing this steak and cleaning up.”

“Gotcha,” Marcia said, heading to the door. “Like I said, I hope I didn't speak out of turn. It's just something a few of us have been wondering.”

Once Marcia had left the kitchen, Robin took a moment to lean back against the wall and regather her thoughts. She'd been feeling all night that she was about to explode and take her anger out on someone, and now that sensation was getting stronger by the second. Looking down at the counter, she spotted one of the carving knives, and suddenly a strong image burst into her mind, as if from nowhere:

Marcia, on the floor, with the knife embedded in her chest.

Today

“My plan will work perfectly,” Doctor Bell replied, glancing over her shoulder as Amanda carried the first of the boxes into the room. “A concerned father is difficult to deal with, but an angry concerned father should be easy to fix. He can rant all he likes about Christine Bradford, but he's just going to sound like a lunatic. Did he leave your office just now?” She listened for a moment. “Okay, that's great. Let me know when he comes back.”

Putting the phone down, she looked over at Amanda and saw that her new helper was watching her with a frown.

“Go on,” the doctor told her, “fetch the other box.”

“Were you talking about Chris Bradford?” Amanda asked.

“Why?”

“I just... I met her, that's all.”

“You did?” The doctor paused for a moment. “When exactly did you manage that?”

“We were in the same van when we arrived. We talked for a few minutes. Is she okay?”

“Christine Bradford is...” Doctor Bell paused again, trying to come up with an answer. “She's already been transferred to another facility. We quickly discovered that her needs would be better met if she was sent to a place where she could get some proper help with her substance abuse problems. The girl was addicted to heroin.”

“And her father -”

“God knows, but can you hurry back down to the basement and fetch the other box of slides? I really need to get on with some work.”

“But -”

“Now!”

“Sure,” Amanda replied, turning and heading to the door. Just before she left the room, however, she glanced back at the doctor, only to make eye contact with her again. Realizing that she clearly wasn't being told the truth, she hurried out into the corridor.

***

“It's me,” Doctor Bell whispered a few minutes later, leaning down until her lips were less than an inch from Chris's left ear. “I'm sure you love it when I come in to check on you, don't you? I'm sure you wait for the sound of the door opening and you long to hear my voice.”

With the bandage still covering her ruined face, Chris let out a faint moan.

“I'll take that as a yes,” the doctor replied, turning to the work-bench and opening a pack of cotton buds. “I wouldn't be surprised if you're fantasizing about all the different ways you want to get away from me. That would only be natural.” She held up one of the cotton buds and examined it for a moment. “Let's be honest, Christine. You must hate me with a passion.”

Smiling, she headed over to the bed and glanced at the leather restraints that were holding the patient down.

“Remind me to check on those some time,” she added finally, as she prepared the first cotton bud for use. “It would be terrible if you got loose and attacked me.”

***

“Something's not right here,” the voice said. “The governor said Chris has been taken away because she was involved with terrorists, but there's no way that can be true. I mean, it's just come completely out of left-field. They're covering something up, they have to be.”

As she took the second box of slides down, Amanda looked over at the small window at the top of the wall. She maneuvered the box to the floor before hurrying over and peering out at the yard, where a man was standing by one of the doors, talking to someone on his phone as he smoked a cigarette.

“I don't know,” he continued, “but I can't just leave without finding out where she is. I guess I have to go back in there and make him tell me the truth. So far, all the governor's told me is that Chris was never brought to Hardstone at all, like he wants me to just accept that and forget about my own daughter, but I could tell from the look in his eyes that he's lying.”

Hurrying out of the room, Amanda made her way to the stairwell and then up to the ground floor, where she found an external door and looked out at the yard: the man was still talking on his phone, pacing up and down as if he was filled with nervous, agitated energy. Amanda waved at him, hoping to attract his attention, but he was looking down at his feet as he talked. Finally, after banging on the glass, she managed to get him to look her way, and she waved at him again.

“Hang on,” he told the person on the other end of the phone as he made his way across the yard and stopped on the other side of the door. “What do you want?”

“I met your daughter,” Amanda told him, raising her voice slightly so she could be heard through the glass. “Chris? We were in the same van when we arrived last week.”

“I'll call you back,” David told the person he'd been talking to, before putting his phone away. “Are you sure it was Chris?” Holding the cigarette between his lips, he pulled some papers from his pocket and rifled through them for a moment, before holding up a photo that Amanda recognized immediately. “This is my daughter, she -”

“That's her.”

“You're sure?”

“I was with her in the van,” Amanda continued. “She said she was here because she'd stolen a car while she was on drugs, and she set it on fire and drove it into a shop or something. She was a little hyper, she said she'd been to youth offenders' institutions before but never to an actual prison.”

“That tallies with what it says on these forms,” David replied, checking another of the documents. “It says she was sent here to Hardstone and that she arrived in a prison transport van last Tuesday afternoon, and as far as the prisons service is convinced she's been here ever since.”

“She definitely arrived. I was with her.”

“Have you seen her again?”

“No, I...” She paused, glancing up the stairwell to make sure that no-one was listening. “I heard something about her being transferred to another facility because of her drug problems.”

“Then why didn't they just tell me that? Why isn't it on any of the official documents? The governor said she'd been involved with terrorists.”

“She didn't say anything about that to me. I just talked to the prison doctor a few minutes ago, and she specifically said that Chris was moved to another facility.”

“And you're a prisoner too?” He paused for a moment. “If you're lying to me, hoping to get me to give you money or something, that's not going to happen.”

“I'm not lying to you,” she continued. “I don't know what happened to Christine after we got out of the van, because we were taken to separate rooms for our processing interviews, but I promise you that she definitely walked through the door and entered Hardstone. Anyone who says anything different is lying to you.”

“Then where is she now?” he asked.

“I've told you everything I know. I can try to ask around, though, and I get access to a payphone sometimes. If you give me your number, I can try to memorize it and let you know if I hear anything.” She paused, waiting for him to take her up on the offer. “I'm not after anything,” she added finally, “I just want to know that she's okay.”

***

“You took your time,” Doctor Bell muttered, not looking up from the forms she was completing as Amanda carried the second box of sliders across the laboratory. “Did you have trouble finding it?”

“No, I just...” Setting the box down, Amanda looked over at her. “You said not to hurry, so I didn't. I spent a few minutes looking in some other boxes.”

“Security pass,” the doctor replied, pointing to an empty spot on her desk.

Heading across the room, Amanda set the pass down.

“So can I ask you something?” she said after a moment.

“No.”

“But -”

“Clean the floors.”

“I'm sorry?”

“You heard me,” Doctor Bell continued, looking up at her. “I don't want to be disturbed, and right now you're disturbing me a great deal, so I want you to go through to my main office and clean the floor. When you're done, come back through here and do the same. Work hard and work slow, and above all work quietly, because I can absolutely assure you that I do not want to have these constant interruptions. Mr. Dunne is going to ask me about you, you know, and things would be better for you if I can tell him that you were at least marginally useful.”

“Fine,” Amanda replied, figuring that antagonizing her new boss probably wouldn't get her very far. “I'll start now.”

Heading across the room, she spotted an unmarked door and grabbed the handle, hoping to find some cleaning supplies. Finding that the door was locked, however, she turned to ask for a key.

“There's nothing in there,” Doctor Bell said firmly, having already noticed. “Keep away from that door. You'll find what you need in the cupboard out in the corridor. Now please, get to work and don't utter another word for at least the next two hours. Understood?”

“Understood,” Amanda replied, heading out to find the supplies. Five minutes later, however, once she'd gone through into the adjoining office and shut the door, she began to look through the papers on Doctor Bell's desk, determined to find proof that Chris Bradford was still at Hardstone – or just that she'd ever been there at all.

Five years ago

“You fucking bitch!” Mike shouted. “You can't -”

Before he could finish, Robin grabbed his head, tilted it back and forced the blade straight down his throat. She began to carve through his jaw, as blood erupted from his mouth and covered her hands. As he died, Mike let out a gurgled scream and -

“Hey,” a voice said suddenly, “wakey wakey.”

Turning, Robin saw that Mike was standing next to her.

“No time for daydreaming,” he continued. “The front's all shut up, but I need you to stay late and to an inventory. Someone's been stealing from the storeroom and I need to get on top of it.”

“It's midnight,” she replied. “I have to get home.”

“Call your girlfriend and tell her you'll be late. It should only take a couple of hours.” He grabbed his coat from the rack. “Do you want this job or not, 'cause if you don't, there are plenty of other dip-shits who'll come running. Don't worry, though, I arranged for someone else to stay and keep you company.” With that, he headed out the door, leaving Robin standing alone.

“Fuck,” she said finally, turning and heading toward the storeroom, and when she pushed the door open she saw that someone had already started work on the inventory project.

“Great,” Marcia said with a sigh, “looks like we're pals for the night.”

Glancing back through to the kitchen, Robin saw the knife still resting on the counter.

Today

“Tell him I'll wait all day if necessary,” David told Grace as he stood in the reception area. “Tell him I'm going to camp out until he agrees to see me again.”

“If you could just make an appointment and come back another -”

“He can't ignore me,” David continued, struggling to contain his anger. “I know my daughter is here somewhere, and I'm not going to go away and come back when it's more convenient! For all I know, he could be planning to cover his tracks.”

“Take a seat,” Grace told him as she got up. “I'll go in and speak to Governor Windsor, and perhaps he can fit you in.”

“Fit me in? Oh yeah, he's going to fit me in alright. Tell him I'm onto him. Tell him I'll take this mess all the way to the media if necessary. Tell him I've already got one inside source right her at the prison who's directly contradicted all the bullshit I heard earlier!”

As Grace headed through to the governor's office, David walked to the sofa in the corner before turning and making his way out into the corridor. Too frustrated and anxious to sit down, he paced over to the window and looked out at the yard for a moment, running through the possibilities in his mind. He didn't want to admit it to himself, not yet, but he was starting to feel as if something was seriously wrong. There seemed to be no reason for anyone to lie about his daughter's whereabouts, not unless there'd been some kind of accident.

Spotting movement in the corner of his eye, he turned and looked along the next corridor, only to see to his surprise that a young girl was standing a little way off, staring directly at him.

“Hey,” he said after a moment, feeling a little uneasy. “You okay?”

He waited, but the girl simply continued to stare at him.

Smiling uncomfortably, David couldn't help but notice that the girl's clothes were old and faded, and that there were dark rings under her eyes.

“You here to visit?” he asked.

No response.

“Here with family?”

Again, no reply.

“This isn't really a place for kids,” he continued, taking a few steps toward her before stopping as he realized that the air was getting much colder. “Then again, it's not a place for anyone at all. Are you lost? Do you need me to help you find someone?”

Crouching down in front of the girl, he couldn't help but feel a shiver pass through his body. There was something chilling about her eyes, as if they were filled with anger.

“What's your name?” he asked, forcing a smile. “I'm David.”

The girl opened her mouth a little, almost as if she was going to say something, but no words left her lips.

“Come on,” he continued, getting to his feet and holding his hand out to her. “Let's go and see if the useless idiots around this place can at least help you find your Mummy or Daddy, yeah? We can't just have you wandering the corridors.”

He waited for her to take his hand.

“Just follow me,” he added, turning and making his way along the corridor. When he got to the door that led into the reception area, however, he looked back and saw that the girl hadn't moved. She was still just watching him. “Come on,” he called out to her. “Seriously, there's no point just standing there. I know you've probably been told not to talk to strangers, and that's great, but there are people in here who can help you.”

He waited.

“Okay, hang on,” he muttered, heading into the room and hitting the buzzer on Grace's desk. “Goddamn place,” he added under his breath. “I swear I've never -”

“The governor will see you now,” Grace told him as she stepped out from the adjoining room. “He's found time in his busy schedule and -”

“There's a kid out there,” he replied tersely. “A little girl, standing in the corridor. Don't you think someone should go out and check if she's okay?”

Grace stared at him for a moment. “Excuse me?”

“Jesus, is it that hard to understand? There is a small child standing in the corridor out there, and I think she's lost or something 'cause she doesn't seem to know where to go. I figured you should probably check on her.” Heading back to the door, he looked out into the corridor, only to find that the girl was nowhere to be seen.

“There's no-one here,” Grace said as she joined him.

“But she was -”

“I can't do anything if she's not there,” she added.

“So you're just gonna let a kid go wandering around in a prison?” he asked incredulously.

“Of course not, but I don't see a child. Do you?”

“Mr. Bradford,” the governor said suddenly, stepping out of his office. “I understand that you wish to speak to me again?”

“This place is off,” David told Grace. “You've got a weird set-up going on, I can smell it a mile off.”

“Really? I hadn't noticed.”

Turning to the governor, David pulled the pieces of paper from his pocket and headed to the desk before dropping them one by one them into the bin.

“I don't need these,” he said calmly. “You know why? Because they're just copies, and the originals are lodged with various court and police offices, so there's an official paper trail that shows my daughter coming to this prison. There are also witnesses, Mr. Windsor, who have told me personally that they saw her here.”

“Really? And who might have said such things?”

“That's for me to know,” David continued, “but I swear to God, I am not going to let my daughter just disappear. I want to see her now!”

“Please,” the governor replied, “why don't we step into my office?”

“So you can lie to me some more?”

“Mr. Bradford -”

“I've spoken to someone who saw Christine arriving,” he added.

“That's quite impossible.”

“I don't know what the hell is going on here,” David continued, “and I don't think for one moment that you're gonna tell me, but that's okay, I've already got more than enough to get the authorities involved. You said you've never had children, Mr. Windsor, and that really shows. It's almost as if you think I'll just shrug my shoulders and walk away, like I'll forget that Christine ever existed, but you're wrong. She's a difficult kid and we've had our problems, but I'm her father and I love her, so there's no way I'm going to abandon her.”

“Please come into my office,” the governor replied, “and we'll try to come to an understanding. It will be much more civilized if we can talk privately.”

“Save it,” David told him, taking a step back. “I don't need your lies.” Turning, he headed to the door, only to find a middle-aged woman standing in his way, smiling at him.

“Mr. Bradford, I believe,” she said holding out a plastic-gloved hand for him to shake. “My name is Doctor Deborah Bell, I'm the chief medical officer at Hardstone. I'm terribly sorry if there has been some confusion, but I think I can clear everything up. Why don't you follow me?”

“Why would I do that?” he asked cautiously.

“Because I'm going to take you to see Christine,” she replied with a smile. “Isn't that what you wanted?”

***

“When she was brought here,” Doctor Bell explained, leading David into the main examination room, “Christine unfortunately had to be brought straight here to the medical department due to certain withdrawal issues she was experiencing. This meant that her documents weren't processed in the usual way and that, in turn, caused the system to incorrectly log her arrival since the relevant paperwork stalled on my desk. I'm afraid you'll just have to accept my profuse apologies.”

“Where is she?” David asked, looking around the room but seeing just a few empty beds.

“I'll take you through to her in a moment, but first I need to talk to you about her condition.”

“I want to see her now. No more bullshit.”

“Please,” she continued, gesturing toward her desk, “won't you sit down?”

“What was that old fool going on about earlier?” he asked as he took a seat. “Governor Windsor was going on about Christine having been caught up in some kind of terrorist operation. I knew it couldn't be true, but was he just flat-out lying to cover the fact that he thought he'd lost her?”

“I can't imagine,” she replied, sitting opposite him and taking a moment to look at the papers on her desk. “To tell you the truth, Governor Windsor can be rather forgetful at times and he's fond of the occasional flight of fancy. He's not the youngest man in the world, and I feel his age is catching up to him. Still, he's done very good work here, I'm sure. Some people even think he might be headed for a knighthood when the next honors list comes out.”

“Is she okay?”

“Your daughter?” She paused. “She's going to be fine, Mr. Bradford, of that you have my absolute word. It's just that in the period of time between her trial ending and her transfer to us here at Hardstone, she developed certain... health problems related to her substance abuse. It would seem that she has been using a variety of drugs for many years, and her body has begun to show signs of wear and tear.”

“We tried to get her off that stuff,” he replied, interrupting her. “I don't want you thinking that we're bad parents. I swear, we did everything to...” His voice trailed off for a moment. “We tried, we really did, but she just wouldn't listen...”

“I understand,” she said calmly, offering him a reassuring smile. “I've been around enough cases over the years to know that the parents often go through quite terrible periods as they watch a loved one struggling with something like this. That's one of the reasons why I was so keen to help Christine and get her back on her feet. I saw on her form that there were no family contact numbers, which made me worry that she'd fallen out of contact with you.”

“Things became difficult.”

She nodded.

“Family means everything to us,” he added. “We have to find her again.”

“Of course. I completely understand.” She took a look at one of the forms on her desk, before turning it over. “Your daughter began to hallucinate shortly after her arrival here at Hardstone, and unfortunately she became convinced that... Well, to be honest, we don't know exactly what she thought she saw, but whatever it was, it must have been absolutely horrendous, because she caused herself some serious injuries. She seems to have been driven by whatever she thought she was seeing.”

“What kind of injuries?”

At this question, Doctor Bell paused, as if she wasn't quite sure how to explain the situation.

“What kind of injuries?” David asked again. “What's happened to her?”

“Perhaps I'd better show you,” she replied, getting to her feet. “She's in one of the side rooms, and I'm keeping her heavily sedated at the moment so that she doesn't have to deal with the pain, so you won't actually be able to talk to her. I know that must seem unfortunate, but it's for her own good.”

“Why isn't she in a proper hospital?”

“We have everything here that Christine needs,” she told him as she unlocked the door and pushed it open, revealing the darkness of the room inside. “Would you like me to come inside with you, or should I wait out here?”

“I want to be alone with my daughter,” he replied, pushing past her.

“As you wish,” she replied with a smile, pulling the door shut and quietly turning the key in the lock.

***

“Hey!” David called out as he flicked the light switch several times, without any luck. “It's dark in here!”

Looking across the room, he realized there was a bed over by the far wall. The only light came from a small high window that had been partially covered by a section of chip-board, but as he made his way across the room, David was just about able to see that the bed was empty.

“Christine?” he called out, reaching down and touching the ruffled sheets and finding that there was still a little warmth. “Christine, where -”

Hearing a noise nearby, he turned and saw to his shock that there was a figure in the gloom over by the door, almost as if it had been hiding from him when he first came in. Although there was some kind of dirty white bandage over the figure's face, there was something about its height and its way of standing that David immediately recognized. Taking a deep breath, he felt a sense of deep sorrow in his chest.

“Christine?”

He hurried toward her, but he stopped as he saw that there was thick, dried blood all over the bandage that covered her face. All he could do was stare in horror at the sight before him.

“Christine? Is that you?”

Suddenly she took a step toward him, swaying slightly on unsteady legs as she let out a faint moan. Reaching out, she seemed to be trying to grab hold of him, but with bandages over her face she could only stumble in the direction of the bed before bumping into the wall and turning.

“It's me!” he told her, hurrying after her and grabbing her arm to steady her. “Christine, it's -”

Swinging her arm toward him, she hit him in the side of the face, knocking him a few steps back.

“Christine, it's me!” he shouted. “What the hell's wrong with you? What have they done to you?”

He stopped as she turned to him, and he realized with shock that her face was unusually flat, as if there was no nose under the bandage. Fresh blood seemed to still be leaking through the fabric, particularly from around her eyes.

“I'm going to get help,” he told her, hurrying to the door, only to find that it was locked. “Let me out of here!” he shouted, banging for attention. “I need help! There's something wrong with my daughter! She's hurt, she needs -”

Hearing something over his shoulder, he turned just in time for Christine to swing the bed's metal head-rest straight at him, catching him on the side of the temple and sending him crashing down to the floor. Still groaning with pain, Christine knelt next to him and spent several minutes crushing his skull with the head-rest, only stopping with the resulting pool of blood and cranial fluid had spread as far as her own knees.

Finally, dropping the head-rest, she leaned back against the wall and let out a different kind of groan, one that seemed softer and more sorrowful. It was almost as if she was trying to cry.

A few moments later, there was a clicking sound nearby and the door was unlocked. Peering inside, Doctor Bell stared at the horrific scene for a moment.

“Is everything okay?” she asked calmly. “I thought I heard a commotion.”

She looked down at what was left of David Bradford. The man's head had been cracked open, with the contents spilling out onto the floor.

“Right,” Doctor Bell said finally, turning to look over at Christine, “it looks like you've made quite a mess here, young lady. I do hope that I wasn't your intended victim, that this wasn't some kind of attempt to fight back at me. I suppose that makes sense, though. Maybe if I hadn't plugged your ears so effectively with those cotton buds, you would have heard his voice before it was too late. Still...”

Reaching into her pocket, she took out a pair of tweezers.

“I'm sure you'll be so very happy when you realize what you've really done.”

***

“People will come looking for him,” Governor Windsor pointed out a short while later, as he watched Doctor Bell zipping David Bradford's corpse into a bag. “The guy has a family, friends... He can't just disappear without there being any questions. You've turned one problem into two!”

“Of course they'll come looking,” she replied calmly. “They'll look everywhere, but it'll take quite some time before anyone starts thinking that he might have had something bad happen to him while he was here. The police investigation will plod along at an exceedingly slow pace, and they'll pursue all the most obvious angles first. Meanwhile, I'll dispose of his mobile phone somewhere interesting, somewhere that leads them on even more of a wild goose chase. It'll be months before they work out that he ended up here.”

“But they'll still be onto us eventually!”

“Not before it's too late,” she replied, getting to her feet and grabbing hold of the leather strap on the bottom of the bag. “By the time anyone links any of this to us, we'll be long gone. Hardstone isn't a permanent project, remember? We're here to do a job and get out.”

“Some of us would like a knighthood on the other end,” he muttered.

“Oh, you and your stupid knighthood.”

“I want one, damn it! Do you know, it actually hurts when people refer to me as Mister Windsor? I should be Sir Alistair Windsor by now!”

“Stop being so vain,” she muttered, as she started the hard job of hauling the body-bag across the examination room. “There are more important things at stake than you getting a trip to the palace.”

“And you said that you did this to Mr. Bradford?”

“Who else could have been responsible?”

“It's just...” He paused, glancing briefly over at the locked door. “When you fetched him from my office, you told him you were going to take him to see his daughter. You sounded so convincing, for a moment I actually wondered whether you'd lied to me and the girl was still alive somewhere.”

“Don't start getting paranoid, Alistair. It's unbecoming.”

“What's in that room, anyway?” he asked. “I don't recall you ever requisitioning a side-room during our original planning.”

“Please,” she replied a little breathlessly, before finally dropping the body-bag next to the elevator door and hitting the Call button. “I've never said a word of a lie to you, so I'd like to believe that these silly questions can stop. I told you what happened: I brought Mr. Bradford here and then I finished him off, for the good of the project. One life isn't really much of a sacrifice, not when you consider the potential our work is already showing.”

“I hope you're right,” he told her.

“I'm always right,” she continued, as the elevator's silver doors opened and she began to drag the body-bag inside. “A problem arose and we fixed it. Or rather, I fixed it, but I hope you were taking notes. If this is the first and only major problem we have here, we can count ourselves lucky.”

“But -”

“Go home,” she added, as the doors slid shut. “Have a nice evening with your lovely wife. Do give Ruth my regards, by the way. Such a lovely woman.”

“Oh, I -”

Before he could finish, the silver doors closed. Faced with his own hulking reflection, the governor sighed, but just as he was about to turn and walk away he saw something else reflected in the metal: a little girl, standing a little further back and staring straight at him. Blinking a couple of times, he told himself that he was imagining everything, that somehow he was wrong, but the girl remained resolutely in place, her gaze fixed on him.

Slowly, he turned and looked across the room, only to find that it was empty.

Five years ago

“Hey, I saved pizza for you!” Claire called out from the front room. “Robin! You hungry?”

Pushing the door shut, Robin dropped her backpack by the chair and then made her way across the hallway.

“Hey,” Claire said with a smile, looking over at her from the sofa, “there's -” She stopped suddenly, clearly recognizing that something was wrong. “Robin? Honey? What is it?”

“I need you to tell me something,” Robin replied, her voice trembling with fear. She was still wearing her coat, with her hands conspicuously tucked inside.

“What?”

Getting to her feet, Claire headed over to her.

“I'm not sure if... I suddenly started getting all these bad thoughts in my head tonight,” Robin explained. “I don't know where they came from, but they just burst into my mind like bullets, and...”

“And what?” Claire asked cautiously. “What happened?”

“I don't even know what's real,” Robin replied, slipping her hands out from under her coat to reveal the blood-stained knife. “You have to come with me to the restaurant. I need you to tell me if I've really killed someone.”

Today

The front door had warped a little over the course of the past year, so James had to use his shoulder to force it open all the way. Finally, stepping into the hallway, he was met by the fusty stench of a house that had been left undisturbed ever since the forensic crime scene investigators had last visited. Unanswered bills and junk mail had piled up on the mat, and dust was drifting through the air.

He'd sworn to never return to the house, but now he had no choice. He had to find a new angle for his investigation. Somewhere, there had to be something that could prove Amanda's innocence.

He couldn't even contemplate the possibility that he might fail.

Making his way through to the kitchen, he was shocked to find that all the blood had been cleared up. Then he remember: his brother had arranged for a bio-hazard team to give the place a once-over shortly after the police had formally relinquished the scene. Still, as he made his way over to the sink, he realized there were faint reddish stains running through the grouting between the tiles.

Looking over at the kitchen table, he couldn't help but think back to the horrific scene he'd witnessed on that dark day when he'd come home from work and found the children. With tears in his eyes, he crossed the room and looked down at the very same chair that Amanda had been sitting on, rocking back and forth as she cradled Andrea and Jonathan in her arms; for a moment, he could almost see them right before him, even with all the blood running down Amanda's body and onto the floor.

“Why did you do it?” he whispered. “Why did you confess to something so horrific?”

Outside, in the street, a man in a black car raised a camera, adjusted the telephoto lens, and took a photo of James with his head in his hands.

***

“I cleaned the floors,” Amanda explained, “and I cleaned the windows, and then I organized the slides like you asked, and then I even cleaned the corridor outside the laboratory, and -”

She glanced up at the clock on the wall.

“It's four. What time do I finish for the day?”

“I believe four seems suitable,” Doctor Bell replied. “Mr. Dunne is going to want to talk to me later, to get an idea of how you've performed.”

“And?”

“And my appraisal will be absolutely confidential,” she said firmly, before pausing for a moment. “All I'm willing to tell you is that if he is particularly keen on you coming back to help me again, I suppose I might as well agree. I mean, I won't go out of my way to block the idea. After all, once you stopped bugging me, you did a good job, and you seem smart enough, so perhaps I can train you to keep out of my way a little more. Would you be interested in working here on a permanent basis?”

“I guess.”

“Try not to let the enthusiasm overwhelm you,” the doctor muttered, turning and taking a fresh packet of plastic gloves from the box before peeling the first glove from her left hand, revealing the burns and scarring underneath. Her hands were trembling so much, she struggled to get a fresh glove out of its wrapper.

“What happened?” Amanda asked, shocked by the sight.

“Nothing of any consequence,” Doctor Bell replied, wincing a little as she slipped a new glove onto her hand. “Anyway, it was a long time ago.”

“But if -”

“How did your children die?” she asked, interrupting her. “If we're in the mood for life stories, perhaps you could tell me what really happened to you.”

“Haven't you read my file?”

“I don't have time to read files,” she replied, carefully replacing the glove on her right hand. “If usually find that they're full of mundane, trivial details that bore me to death. Just tell me what happened.”

“It was on the news.”

“I don't have time for that either. Tell me.”

“We had twins,” Amanda said hesitantly, “Andrea and Jonathan. They were just a few months old when...” She paused, feeling a little surprised by the fact that she felt able to finally tell someone the story. “I'd been having these dark thoughts for a while, like really twisted ideas. I found myself thinking about what it would be like if the babies both just... died... in some horrible way.”

“You were suffering from a form of depression?”

“I don't think it was that. It felt more visceral. Eventually I started to worry that I might act on these thoughts, but when I saw a psychiatrist he dismissed the whole thing. He said I was an attention-seeker, and at the time I just went along with that idea because I didn't want to consider the possibility that I was actually sick. I still had the thoughts, though, and they were getting worse and worse as time went by. Sometimes I'd imagine stabbing the children, or burning them, or drowning them, or putting them into the oven...” She paused, with tears in her eyes. “I didn't want to do any of those things. You have to believe me, I hated thinking about them, but I couldn't help myself, it was as if the images were just appearing in my head from nowhere and...”

Doctor Bell waited for her to continue. “And what?”

“I was starting to think that I was dangerous,” she continued, her voice trembling a little. “Like, I was seriously wondering if I should get my husband to look after the babies so I could just go away and fix whatever was wrong with me. I felt like I was the most unnatural person in the world. I mean, no woman should have those thoughts about her children, should she?”

“No,” Doctor Bell said calmly, “she shouldn't.”

“I was still trying to decide what to do,” Amanda explained, “when one morning, my husband went out for a while. I begged him not to leave me alone with Andrea and Jonathan, but he told me I'd be fine. I don't think he realized what a monster I'd become.” She paused, seeing the whole scene again in her mind. “I remember changing them, and feeding them, and then sitting down with them at the kitchen table, and then...”

She stared straight ahead in silence, as a tear rolled down her cheek.

“And then what?”

“The next thing I remember is my husband screaming at me. For a couple of seconds, I had no idea what was wrong, but then I looked down at my arms and I saw them... and I saw the knife down on the floor by my feet, covered in blood. There was more blood running from Andrea and Jonathan, just pouring from huge holes in their bodies, and... I could tell immediately that it was too late.”

She closed her eyes as more tears began to fall.

“You used the knife to kill your babies?” Doctor Bell asked after a moment.

Amanda nodded.

“And then you let them bleed to death while you waited for your husband to come home?”

Another nod.

“Do you remember doing it?”

She shook her head.

“So you remember being home alone with them, and then the next thing you remember is sitting with them dead in your arms.”

“My husband still clings to the hope that I didn't actually kill them,” Amanda said finally, opening her tear-filled eyes. “He can't accept that I could do something like that. I guess he's just not willing to go to that place yet. He's in denial.”

“But you can accept that about yourself?”

“There's no other possible explanation.”

“No,” Doctor Bell replied after a moment, “I suppose there isn't.” She paused, watching Amanda intently. “Still, it's very good that you seem to have accepted your guilt. Some people would have tried to find a way to avoid all responsibility, to plead insanity or some other mitigating factor.”

“I just want to...” She took a deep breath. “I tried to turn the knife on myself when I saw what I'd done. James was just about able to stop me, but all I wanted was to escape, to get away from the knowledge that my two beautiful babies had... I felt I couldn't ever draw another breath. It was too painful.”

“And the dark thoughts stopped?” Doctor Bell asked.

Amanda nodded. “I tried to kill myself again while I was on remand, but they just wouldn't let me go. Finally I realized that I had no choice. I'm never going to be free again, so I'll never have a chance to end it. All I can do is try to shut off my emotions as much as possible, try to exist without being me, and hope that the other people in my life are able to find some peace. My parents have already disowned me.”

“And your husband?”

“He came to visit, and he says he's coming again soon. I just want him to move on.”

“You can always have his visiting rights revoked.”

“I can?”

Doctor Bell nodded. “You have the right to put his name on a list and prevent him from ever being let into this prison again.”

“I should write to him first,” Amanda replied, wiping away her tears. “I need to explain.”

“No,” the doctor replied, “you don't. Explanations and letters will only give him hope. Cut him off immediately, cold turkey. Eventually he'll have no choice. He'll have to get the message.”

“Do you really think that's the best way?”

“It's the only way,” she continued, heading over to Amanda and putting her arm around her, while steering her toward the door. “Your husband is addicted to your love, to the extent that he can't even accept the reality that's right in front of his eyes. He can't accept that you killed your children. Like any kind of addict, the only treatment is to cut him off. Believe me, I've used that approach with substance abusers many times, and it has never, ever failed.”

“I guess,” Amanda said as she headed out into the corridor and turned back to the doctor. “I'll think about it. Thank you.”

“My please,” she replied. “If there's anything else I can help you with, Amanda, don't hesitate to let me know. I think that perhaps, over time, I might be able to help you out a great deal.”

As Amanda headed to the stairs at the far end of the corridor, Doctor Bell couldn't help but smile. She hadn't wanted anyone helping her out in the lab, but slowly she was coming around to the idea. In fact, now that she knew Amanda's full back-story, she was already coming up with ideas about how to use her.

Part Four

Today

“And you'll be back on time?” Ruth asked, handing him his briefcase. “Remember how much I worry if you're late, Alistair.”

“I expect to be back at six on the dot,” he told her as he reached the door and began to deactivate the various locks and alarms that kept them safe at night. It was a complicated process that always took a minute or two, although he'd somewhat learned the process by heart. “If I'm going to be more than a few minutes late, I'll call.”

“You're such a considerate man,” she continued. “I'm convinced that this time next year, you'll be Sir Alistair Windsor. It's coming, you know. They can only ignore a man of your stature for so long.”

“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” he replied, opening the door and stepping out onto the front step. In the driveway, his driver had already pulled up and was waiting to take him to work. 6am pick-ups were a little extreme, but they always seemed to get the day off to a sprightly start. Most mornings, he wouldn't hesitate to go to the car, but this time Governor Windsor turned to his wife and paused for a moment. For the first time since Hardstone had reopened, the thought of arriving at the prison's large black gates felt somewhat unnerving.

“Is anything wrong, dear?” she asked.

“No. Only... Do you remember the night of the intruder?”

“I... I'm not sure...”

“I'm sure you must.”

“I...” She frowned, as if a gentle mist was getting in the way of her memory.”I... think so...”

“Did it hurt?”

“Did what hurt?”

“When he... I mean, when you...” He watched her for a moment, but it was clear from the blank look in her eyes that she didn't know what he was talking about. “I just wondered how it felt, that's all,” he added finally. “To pass beyond the physical realm. To die.”

“Die?”

“Yes, when...”

Pausing again, he realized that this was probably not the time to broach such an important subject. He'd never been sure whether Ruth was truly aware of her situation, and he worried that pushing her too far might alter the delicate balance between them. Sometimes he desperately wanted her to be free and leave him, but whenever he felt the chance might be at hand, he could never bring himself to give her a gentle push.

“Never mind,” he said finally, kissing her forehead before turning and heading out into the bright morning. As he made his way to the car, he could already hear Ruth activating the various locks and alarms behind him.

***

Sitting in his gloomy office, he stared straight ahead. His eyes were fixed on the door, as if he was waiting for someone to arrive. Grace hadn't buzzed to let him know of any arrivals, and his appointment book for the morning was completely empty, but still...

He was expecting someone.

Someone was coming.

They might not be outside the door yet, they might not even be in the corridor, but he could tell that a presence was making its way toward him. When it arrived...

Thinking back to the previous evening, he couldn't get the little girl's image out of his mind. He'd seen her only briefly, reflected in the elevator door, but he knew enough about the history of Hardstone to be worried. All those stories that he'd scoffed at in the past, all those jokes about the superstitions that surrounded the place; the stories suddenly seemed much more possible now.

“Now do remember that you're taking on a haunted prison,” he remembered the Minister telling him over drinks at the club, “so watch out for things that go bump in the night, eh?”

“I shall do my best,” he remembered replying as they clinked their glasses together to toast the new project. “Cheers!”

Suddenly the intercom on his desk cracked into life, pulling him out of his memories.

“Governor Windsor?” Grace asked, with a hint of hesitation in her voice. “I'm sorry to bother you, Sir, but I just received a rather strange message from one of the guards who's been supervising the labor force down in the yard. You remember, the inmates who are working on the vegetable patch? You ordered them to get to work at first light.”

“Well?” he asked wearily. “What's wrong?”

“He asked if you could go down and take a look at something. It sounded important.”

“Down there?” He turned and looked out the window, and a shudder passed through his body as he saw how many inmates were working in the yard. “Why can't he just tell me while I'm up here?”

“He said he couldn't explain,” she continued. “He said you really have to go down there and see it for yourself.”

***

“At first,” Ferguson replied, leading the governor toward the patch, where two dozen inmates were milling about aimlessly with their work tools piled up against the wall, “it didn't seem important. But as more and more pieces turned up, we started to think... Well, that maybe it was something after all.”

“Pieces of what?” the governor asked impatiently as he reached the edge of the patch. Looking down at the small gray and white items laid out on a pair of sheets, he frowned. “What are these things? They look like -”

“Bones, Sir,” the guard replied. “Human bones. We've managed to identify quite a lot of them.”

“How can you be sure they're human?” he asked. “These could be from a bunch of cats or -” He paused as he spotted what appeared to be a human jawbone; a little further away, there was a complete skull. “Well... I mean, this isn't so bad, not really. There can't be more than twenty or thirty individual bones here.”

“This is just the latest haul,” Ferguson replied, indicating a group of large black sacks over by the wall. “Those are full of bones too. When you dig down more than about a foot, you start finding them and the deeper you go, the more you keep finding. These aren't even the lot. After a while, I told the girls to just stop and wait for you. I mean...” He turned his back to the inmates and lowered his voice. “This shouldn't be happening, Sir. Where are all these bones coming from?”

“They're certainly old,” the governor replied. “They must be from the days when the prison was open in the past.”

“One of the inmates has got a theory.”

“One of the inmates? Which one?” He turned to look at the women, who were all watching him with suspicion. A shudder passed through his body as he imagined how much they must all hate him. “Which of these women claims to have a theory? Tell her to speak up!”

With a sigh, Robin stepped forward.

“Ask her what she thinks,” the governor said to Ferguson.

“Tell the governor,” Ferguson said to Robin.

“If you look at the necks,” she replied, “you'll see it for yourself. They've all got these little nicks on 'em, see?”

“What nicks?” the governor asked Ferguson. “Ask her what she's talking about!”

“Um, Sir, you could just -”

“Ask her!”

“Is he refusing to actually talk to me?” Robin asked the guard. “Seriously, is he only willing to do it through you?”

“Answer the governor's question,” Ferguson said firmly.

“You didn't tell it to me yet,” she replied drily, “so I don't know what he asked, do I?”

“Tell us what nicks you're talking about,” Ferguson continued, clearly unimpressed. “And don't act dumb.”

“And tell her to hurry up,” the governor muttered. “I don't have all day!”

“And hurry up!” Ferguson parroted.

“Knife nicks,” Robin explained, running a finger across her own neck. “They all had their throats slit, didn't they? All of 'em, and you know what that means.”

“What does it mean?” the governor asked Ferguson. “Ask the woman!”

“What does it -”

“I heard!” Robin replied, rolling her eyes. “It's obvious. These are the bodies of Leonora Blake's victims, aren't they?” She reached down and picked up one of the half-broken skulls. “They were all buried out here, and now they're, like, coming up.”

“Get these women inside,” the governor muttered, turning to Ferguson. “Now!”

“Alright, ladies!” Ferguson called out. “Everyone back in. Work's canceled for the -”

“No, wait!” the governor added, seemingly in a state of panic. “No, keep them here, tell them to...” He turned and looked down at the bones for a moment. “Tell them to bury the lot.”

“Bury them, Sir?”

“These bones. It's disgraceful and disrespectful to have them up here on the surface like this. Why, I would have thought that any decent human being, upon discovering such things, would leave them down there rather than hauling them from their resting place. Tell the inmates to rebury every last bone, and then... And then move the vegetable patch. Put it somewhere else.”

“Where, Sir? This is the only part of the yard that isn't concreted over.”

“Do I have to micro-manage every little decision?” the governor asked, clearly becoming frustrated. “For God's sake, man, just work it out! I have more important things to be worrying about.”

Turning, he hurried back toward the main door, as if being anywhere near the inmates was an experience he couldn't handle for too long.

“What crawled up his arse and died?” Robin asked Ferguson after a moment. “I was trying to help and he wouldn't even look me in the eye or ask me a question without filtering it through you.”

“You all heard the governor!” Ferguson called out. “He wants these bones buried, and do it deep! Six feet or
more! We don't want them coming up again! It's disrespectful!”

“Isn't that kind of creepy?” Robin asked. “I mean, surely there are better places to put them than just... here, right outside our windows.”

“You've got your orders,” Ferguson said firmly. “I'd suggest you all get digging. It's going to be a long morning.”

“This place is nuts,” Robin muttered, grabbing her spade and glancing at the governor as he headed into the building, “and that guy, he's the most nuts one of all.”

Three years ago

“So I'll be back on Monday,” Brad said, kissing the back of her neck as she prepared breakfast. “Do you think you can wait that long?”

“I'll try,” Emma replied, unable to hide a smile as she felt her boyfriend pressing his crotch against her. She tired to focus on chopping fruit for a smoothie, but finally she had to put the knife down. “Good morning, soldier,” she added. “You're standing to attention, huh?”

“My flight's in four ours,” he continued, kissing her shoulder, “so I have to be out the door in forty-five minutes. Now, I have time for breakfast, and I have time for some fun in the bedroom, but I don't have time for both. Which one should I choose?”

She bit her bottom lip, already fully aware of how things were going to develop.

“How am I going to get by without you for a whole weekend?” he asked as she turned to him. He reached down and put his hands on her waist. “You drive me crazy, you know that? Before I go on this business trip, I need you to know something, just in case the plane comes down or -”

“Don't say things like that!”

“You know what I mean.” He paused for a moment. “I love you, Emma. There, I finally said those three magic words.”

“I love you too,” she replied, leaning up and kissing him gently, before pulling away. “Why don't we take this into the bedroom?”

“Come on,” he said, reaching out and taking her hand, before turning to lead her out of the kitchen, “I hope you don't mind if this is a very quick one.”

“I don't mind at all,” she replied, following him across the room before suddenly stopping. The smile left her face as she felt a kind of unfamiliar echo in her mind, bringing flashes of dark thoughts.

“Honey?” Brad asked, turning to her.

“Yeah, I...” She hurried back over to the counter and picked up the knife. Staring down at the blade for a moment, she felt a chill pass through her body and then, with no further warning, her mind became completely blank.

“Something up, babe?” Brad asked, heading over to her. “You seem -”

Before she could even realize what she was doing, Emma turned and forced the knife into his chest, directly through the heart.

Today

“So you use a small amount of this iodine solution,” Doctor Bell explained as she put some drops into Emma's wound, “and then place the gauze over, like this.”

Carefully she placed a small piece of fabric over the damaged knee, before grabbing a roll of bandage and wrapping it around the limb.

“That hurts,” Emma winced.

“Well next time, be more careful,” Doctor Bell muttered. “Congratulations though, inmate. You're officially the very first person who's had to seek medical treatment here at Hardstone since I arrived.”

“So I'm breaking your virginity?” Emma asked with a smile.

“I wouldn't say that,” the doctor added, clearly not amused. “Amanda, pass me the scissors.”

As Amanda grabbed a pair of scissors from the nearby bench, she couldn't shake the feeling that Emma was watching her with unnatural interest.

“So you're new, right?” Emma asked after a moment. “We met briefly before.”

Amanda nodded.

“And you've already got a cushy little job here in the medical room?”

“I'm just helping out,” Amanda replied. “Mr. Dunne -”

“Amanda has proven herself to be very useful,” Doctor Bell interjected. “It's only natural that over time, people should display different sets of competencies that make them more effective in different working environments. Everyone can't be the same, you know.”

“Wish I could get a job like this,” Emma continued, watching as her knee was bandaged up. “I spent all morning out there digging up bones before I scraped my knee.”

“Are there more bones?” Amanda asked keenly.

“Bloody sea of them.”

“Language,” Doctor Bell said firmly.

“What? I only said bloody? What's -” She let out a gasp as the bandage was pulled tight. “That hurt!”

“Perhaps there's a little too much pressure,” the doctor replied with a knowing smile, easing the bandage a little. “Is that better?”

“There's loads of bones out there,” Emma continued. “We worked out what's going on, though. It's all the victims from that little girl. It's all the body parts that are left after they've been rotting out there for a hundred years.”

“You really don't know that for certain,” Doctor Bell pointed out.

“Their throats were cut,” Emma told her. “There was damage to their neck bones. It's obvious, isn't it? After what happened, the people in charge just took all the bodies and buried them out there in a mass grave, left 'em to rot into the ground. Pretty callous if you ask me, but I guess no-one really cared. Plus, five hundred dead women is a lot to deal with at once.” She paused for a moment, as the doctor finished bandaging her knee. “If the same thing happened today, to all of us -”

“Don't be foolish,” Doctor Bell said firmly.

“No, but if it did... They'd probably do the same thing, wouldn't they? They'd hush it up and toss us all into a big pit, just the same way.”

“They most certainly would not,” Doctor Bell continued, taking a step back. “This is the twenty-first century and we're not barbarians, you know. Anyway, your knee will be fine. Come back in two days and I'll check it just to be safe, but you can get back to work.”

“It's cold out there,” Emma replied. “Can't I just get a sicky for one day?”

“Absolutely not. There's nothing wrong with you, Ms. Tate. If you're cold out there, I'd suggest that you simply work harder. That should soon warm you up.”

“Wanna swap for a bit?” she asked, turning to Amanda.

“Get out of here,” the doctor said firmly.

“Fine,” Emma muttered, getting to her feet but immediately letting out a gasp of pain. Turning, she began to limp toward the door, but it was clear that she was exaggerating her difficulty in an attempt to gain sympathy. “I don't know what kind of doctor sends someone back outside to do back-breaking work in this condition,” she went on, “but there's nothing I can do about it. God knows, I already have enough to be dealing with, what with being the only black woman in the entire prison.”

“What did you say?” Doctor Bell asked, looking up from her notebook.

“Haven't you noticed?” Emma asked, turning to her as she reached the door. “The whole of Hardstone is a sea of white faces, except for me. I mean, statistically speaking, that's pretty odd, isn't it?”

“It...” The doctor paused for a moment, as if she was genuinely surprised. “Given the general make-up of the national population,” she said finally, “it's extremely improbable.”

“So what's going on, then?” Emma asked. “Are they segregating the prison population, and they just forgot about me?”

“Your ancestry,” Doctor Bell replied, “is... What, Caribbean?”

“Good catch,” she replied with a faint smile. “My great-Grandad came on the Windrush in 1948 and settled in Brixton. Met himself a nice English lady, integrated himself into society by knocking her up, and the rest is history. So I guess I'm only, like, one eighth or one sixteenth Caribbean. Maybe that's not a high enough percentage to get me noticed.”

“It's certainly a fascinating point,” the doctor continued, typing her password into the computer and bringing up the prison's database of inmates. She began to look through the profile photos. “You're absolutely right. With the notable exception of yourself, Ms. Tate, every other person in Hardstone is white. Given that the local courts serve parts of the city that have above-average non-white ethnic populations, I can't begin to imagine how this situation has occurred.”

“Beats me,” Emma replied. “If you like, though, I could stay the rest of the day in this nice warm office and help you with -”

“You're dismissed,” Doctor Bell said firmly, still staring at the monitor. “Get back to work.”

Limping out of the room, Emma muttered something under her breath as she let the door swing shut.

“So what do you think is going on?” Amanda asked, joining Doctor Bell by the computer. “I hadn't noticed, but she's right, isn't she? Everyone else here is white.”

“It can't have happened naturally,” the doctor replied. “If I didn't know better, I'd say that someone has been implementing a policy of only sending white prisoners to Hardstone. Why they'd do that, I can't even begin to imagine, but it makes absolutely no sense to me.”

“Apart from Emma,” Amanda pointed out.

Doctor Bell turned to her.

“Well, she's here. If there's some kind of policy, why would they break it for just one prisoner?What's different about her?”

“I...” Pausing, the doctor turned back to look at the screen. “I don't know, but I'm going to find out.” Getting to her feet, she headed to the door. “While I'm gone, I need you to start going through the patients' files. Look for any mention of non-white ethnic mixes, even if they're as weak as third or fourth generation. There has to be something going on here, some kind of pattern.”

“Are you sure you want me to do that?” Amanda asked. “You said yesterday that I'm not allowed into the patients' files. Something about privacy rules?”

“You're my assistant,” Doctor Bell told her. “I never thought I needed one, but now that you're here, it's only natural that you should do whatever is required.” Glancing back at her, she allowed herself the faintest of smiles. “And Amanda... You've done a very good job this morning. I'm impressed.”

***

“What are you talking about?” Governor Windsor asked as he stared blankly at Doctor Bell in his office.

“The latest statistics show that around twenty-five per cent of the UK prison population is from ethnic minority groups,” she replied, “and yet here at Hardstone, the figure is half of one per cent. Does that not strike you as being a little strange?”

“Well, yes, maybe, but it's certainly nothing to -”

“Is there some kind of policy in place to only send white prisoners to Hardstone?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Then what's going on? Don't insult my intelligence, governor, by trying to claim that this is just a coincidence.” She paused for a moment, trying to hide her anger. “If someone else is conducting an experiment here, I need to know. It could get in the way of my own work, it could ruin everything!”

“No-one else is doing any such thing,” he replied. “Clearly there has just been... an anomaly. We only have two hundred prisoners here so far, so we're hardly up to full capacity. Whatever's happening -”

“I'm a woman of science,” the doctor replied, interrupting him, “and I won't be persuaded that this is a natural occurrence. Somewhere in the system, someone is doing something that has deliberately loaded the ethnic make-up of this prison in one particular direction, and I want to know the cause.”

“I can look into it, if you like,” he muttered, “but I doubt I shall come up with anything. It's just a coincidence, doctor; a very surprising coincidence, but a coincidence nonetheless. Then again, I suppose we should be celebrating, shouldn't we? The do-gooders out there are always complaining that the proportion of ethnic minority groups in the UK prison system is too high. Perhaps Hardstone has, by some strange turn of events, become an outlier for social progress?”

“I'm not going to ignore this,” the doctor replied, turning and heading to the door. “There's some kind of -”

“Have you seen her?” the governor asked suddenly.

Stopping, she looked back at him.

“Have you?” he continued, his voice trembling with fear.

“What are you talking about? Seen who?”

“You know... Her. The girl.”

“What on earth do you mean?” she asked, making her way back over to his desk. “My God, man, you look pale.”

“You've heard the stories,” he continued. “You must have, everyone has. That little girl, Leonora Blake, the one that did all those awful things here more than a century ago.”

“Of course I've heard, but why are you bringing it up now?”

“There's a rather unsettling story being bandied about among the inmates,” he replied. “It's on the internet, too. There are people who think the little girl can be seen around the place still, and that anyone who looks her in the eye is... Well, that they end up... I mean...”

“I know the story,” Doctor Bell replied patiently, “and that's all it is, a story. It's exactly the kind of fluffy nonsense that propagates in a place like this when you've got lots of impressionable minds all cooped up together with insufficient external stimulation. It certainly shouldn't penetrate the offices of the staff, though. We're supposed to know better.”

“I know, I know,” he hissed, keeping his voice low, “it's just... They say that if you look her in the eye, you're doomed. That you'll soon die.”

“I don't see fresh corpses piling up, do you?” she asked.

“Apparently David Bradford was muttering something about seeing a little girl the other day,” he continued. “The man seemed otherwise quite sane and bright.”

“People can surprise you.”

“And then...”

She waited for him to continue.

“And then what?” she asked finally. “Did you... Please, Alistair, don't tell me that you think you saw a ghostly little girl?”

“I saw something...”

“And had you been drinking, by any chance?”

“Of course not! I never drink at work. It was in your examination room, as a matter of fact. When the elevator doors closed on you last night, for just a moment, I saw a little girl's reflection, as if she was standing right behind me.”

“Let me guess. When you turned around, she wasn't there?”

“As if she'd vanished in the blink of an eye.”

“You were tired,” she continued. “Stressed, too. You've been through a great deal, Alistair, and it's bound to affect you. My advice would be to go home early tonight, take tomorrow off as well, and try to get some rest. The place won't fall apart if you miss one day and I'm sure it won't ruin your chances of getting that knighthood you've always craved. On the other hand, if you start ranting about spooky little girls, you might draw some attention and then the powers that be are liable to take a dim view.”

“Do you think so?” He paused. “Yes, you're quite right. I mustn't allow my imagination to get the better of me, must I? I'm sure it was just an unusual reflection that I misinterpreted, that's all. I merely... After everything that happened with Ruth, I suppose I allowed my thoughts to wander a little.”

“Don't. Focus on the task at hand. We've got enough to be doing without listening to stupid ghost stories. You know there's not a shred of scientific evidence to support the idea of such things, don't you?”

The governor nodded.

“And you also know that most folk tales get mangled in the telling? Which means that the stories about Leonora Blake have undoubtedly become mangled. There are very few contemporary reports to back up some of the more ludicrous elements of the story, no-one knows what actually happened, not for certain.”

“There's a yard of bones just outside my window,” he pointed out.

“Do you know, I actually took a moment to look into the prison's archive room and read up on the Leonora Blake story?” she continued, clearly unimpressed. “The record-keeping back then was patchy, to say the least. Some of the files even misspelled Leonora's name as Elenora, for God's sake, so I hardly think we should put too much stock in them. The whole story has grown out of all proportion. Please, Alistair, I had hoped that you might have a better mind.”

“Of course,” he replied with a faint smile. “It's all nonsense, isn't it? Just...” He paused, and the desperation in his eyes was impossible to miss. “It's just not true. Is it?”

Rolling her eyes, Doctor Bell turned and headed to the door, before looking back at him one more time.

“Those bones out there,” she continued, “what are you going to do with them?”

“I've told the inmates to bury everything again.”

“Good,” she replied. “Best place for them. Just make sure they put them deep enough this time, so they don't ever come up again.”

***

“My husband put in a request to visit me again,” Amanda said a little while later, as she was still going through the files one by one. “He wants to come on Monday.”

Doctor Bell looked over at her.

“And?”

“And I... I did what you suggested. I had him placed on a block list, so he can't come and see me again unless I specifically agree to it.” He paused, feeling a knot of emotion in her chest. “And I won't ever agree.”

“Good. I'm impressed, this way you can both move on. Your old life is behind you now.”

“I know. I just worry that I've been too harsh. I keep trying to write a letter -”

“Don't.”

“But if -”

“Don't. You've done the difficult part now, Amanda, you've cut contact with him. Soon he'll get the message, and I'm sure it'll be painful but he'll move on nonetheless. He'll find a new wife, a new family, and he'll be happy.” She paused for a moment. “I'm proud of you, you put someone else's needs above your own. Not everyone can do that.”

“I still haven't found anything in the files,” Amanda replied, keen to change the subject. “It's as if every inmate at Hardstone comes from more or less the same ethnic background. All very white families going back at least a couple of generations.”

“And that's impossible,” Doctor Bell replied, heading over to join her at the computer. “We're going to find out what's really going on here, because something just isn't right.” Pausing for a moment, she turned to Amanda and smiled. “See? You don't need to worry about your old life, not when a nice juicy mystery has been dropped right into your lap here at Hardstone.”

Three years ago

“M'am, please be more specific. What kind of injury has your boyfriend sustained?”

Sitting on the floor with her back against the wall, Emma continued to sob as she held the phone. Nearby, Brad's dead body was face-down in a pool of blood.

“M'am,” the emergency operator continued, “I'm tracking your location now, but before the ambulance arrives, I need you to tell me what's happening.”

“I killed him,” she whimpered through the tears.

“I'm sorry?”

“I killed him,” she continued, looking down at the knife on the floor. “I don't know why, but I just killed him!”

Today

“So it's come to this,” Emma muttered as she reached down and tipped another bag of bones into the pit. “Burying the dead.”

“Good honest labor,” Karen replied as she began to shovel soil into the pit, beginning the process of covering the bones. “These were all women like us once, you know. Forgotten people, people at the margins, people society just wanted to throw out like garbage.”

“They did throw them out like garbage,” Emma pointed out. “Can't have buried them very deep, either. Not if the bones started to come to the surface so easily.”

“Either that or they were forcing their way up on purpose,” Karen continued.

Emma turned to her.

“Think about it,” she added with a smile. “All those bodies down there, slowly crawling up over the years. I mean, we only found the top layer, didn't we? There must be a lot more buried here. Maybe they're sick of being in an unmarked mass grave. Hell, do you think when we're finished with this pit, the governor's gonna pay to have any kind of memorial put in place? Course not. It's back to everything being hidden again and -”

Spotting something down by Emma's foot, she paused.

“Was that always like that?” she asked after a moment.

“What?” Looking down, Emma saw that an almost-intact human hand was right next to her, its fingers curled slightly around the heel of her boot, almost as if it was trying to take hold of her. Horrified, she immediately stepped away, but the hand took a moment to become dislodged.

“How did that happen, eh?” Karen asked with a smile. “Seems like that thing was reaching out to grab hold of you.”

“Don't talk rubbish,” Emma muttered, not finding the situation funny as she kicked the bony hand down into the pit, where it fell apart harmlessly.

“It was! It was actually trying to get you. I guess it could only move slow, like, but that doesn't mean it's not dangerous. Maybe all these bones are listening to us, maybe they're -”

“That's enough!” Ferguson called out from nearby. “Get back to work, ladies. Save the ghost stories for tonight when you're in your cells and you've got no work to be doing!”

“He spoils all our fun,” Karen muttered, shoveling more soil into the pit.

“It's not exactly fun,” Emma replied, wincing as she felt a twinge of pain in her knee. Determined not to show weakness, she got to work, and soon the bones at the bottom of the pit were covered. Turning, she saw that there were still several more sacks to bury.

“You in pain?” Karen asked.

“No, I'm fine,” she hissed, glancing over at her. “I just -”

Pausing, she immediately felt her blood starting to run cold as she realized that off to the left, in the corner of her eye, she could see a short figure wearing what appeared to be a white dress. She continued to stare straight at Karen, not daring to turn and look at the figure as she tried to convinced herself that it was nothing, that she was imagining the whole thing.

“What's wrong?” Karen asked after a moment. “You not feeling well?”

Emma opened her mouth, but no words came out. She felt compelled to turn and look at the little girl, even though she'd heard all the stories and she knew she had to fight the urge.

“What?” Karen continued, turning and looking around. “You're staring to freak me out.”

“Don't you...” Emma paused as she realized that the little girl was stepping closer, as if she was trying to move to the center of her field of vision. “Don't you see anything?”

“I see a gray and depressing yard,” Karen replied, “with a bunch of knackered women working grave-digging duty. Why, what do you see?”

“She's looking right at me,” Emma whispered under her breath. “She wants me to look back at her. How am I supposed to not do that?”

“Huh? I can't hear what you're saying.”

“Go away,” Emma hissed, turning to look away but almost immediately seeing the girl again, still in the corner of her field of vision but getting closer and closer. “What do you want? Just go away!”

Karen wasn't the only one watching now; several of the others had stopped work and were looking over at Emma as she dropped her shovel and took a couple of faltering steps back.

“She's staring right at me!” she shouted, still not allowing herself to look directly into the girl's eyes. “Can't you see her? She's right there!”

Karen looked over at Robin, but no-one else in the yard could see anything untoward. They all glanced at one another, as if they were worried Emma was losing her mind.

“Tate!” Ferguson shouted. “Get back to work!”

“What do you want?” Emma shouted, close to tears as the girl edged closer. “Leave me alone!”

“Shit,” Robin said suddenly. “She's seeing her.”

“You mean -”

“Go away!” Emma shouted finally, unable to stop herself. She knew it was wrong, but she couldn't help herself: turning, she looked straight into the little girl's dead eyes. “Leave me alone!” she screamed. “Whatever you want, just go to someone else!” Taking another step back, she tripped over a mound of dirt and fell to the ground. When she looked back up, she saw to her surprise that there was no sign of the girl.

“What do you see?” Karen asked, hurrying over and helping her to her feet. “Where is she?”

“She's...” Turning, Emma looked all around the yard, but the little girl was nowhere.

“Calm down!” Ferguson shouted. “Everyone get back to work! Tate, stop causing trouble!”

“You saw her, didn't yo?” Robin asked. “You saw the Blake girl?”

“She was right there,” Emma replied, turning to her. “She was right in front of me!”

“But you didn't look in her eyes, did you?”

“I...”

“Emma,” Robin continued, clearly starting to worry, “tell me you didn't look into her eyes!”

***

“Look,” Robin said a couple of hours later as she sat with Emma in one of the cells, “I know we all joke about this sort of thing, but that's probably all it is. It's a joke!”

“You really think so?” Emma asked, turning to her. “I looked at her! I did the one thing that no-one's ever supposed to do! It's just, the way she was staring at me, it was like I couldn't help myself. I kept telling myself over and over again not to do it, but her eyes were...” She paused for a moment. “You've seen her, right? You know what it's like!”

“Yeah,” Robin replied cautiously, before looking over at the door to check that no-one was listening to their conversation. “Actually,” she continued, turning back to Emma, “I kind of... haven't seen her. I was bullshitting. Hell, most of the people in here who say they've seen Leonora Blake are just laying it on thick, know what I mean? You hear a bump in the night, next day you tell everyone you saw a ten-foot poltergeist. You exaggerate. It's how things go.”

“You said you'd seen her twice -”

“I was bigging myself up a bit,” she continued. “Truth is, I once thought I maybe saw something moving near me in my cell. I turned to look, without thinking, but it was nothing, just a trick of the light. That was just after I arrived here, and everyone was telling their Leonora Blake stories like they were part of some big club, so I kinda embellished it and made out that I'd actually seen the kid.” She sighed. “That's what you're doing, right? Come on, Em, tell me you're just pulling the same stunt. It's okay, I won't tell anyone. We'll keep each other's secret.”

“I saw her,” Emma replied, with fear in her eyes.

“Seriously -”

“I saw her,” she said again. “This wasn't a trick of the light, okay? She was right there, she was just a few feet away, and even before I looked right at her I could tell she was staring at me.”

“It was probably one of the other girls,” Robin replied. “Look, all those bones we found, they made everyone feel kinda jumpy.”

“I'm not an idiot,” Emma said firmly. “You don't always have to look directly at something to be able to make out some of the details. Even before I looked, I could tell it was a little girl, just like all the stories say. And then when I did look... Jesus, that kid has got dark eyes, like...” She paused, as if she was reliving the moment. “They're pale, and her pupils are small, and under her eyes she's got these dark rings, almost like her eyeballs have sunk a bit into her skull. And the way she stares, it's like she's concentrating real hard, and it's like she hates you when she looks at you. It was cold, too. I mean, it was cold out there anyway, but it got even colder when she was there.”

“You really believe you saw her, don't you?”

“I know I saw her.”

“Maybe you should get checked out by Doctor Bell -”

“You think I'm making it up?”

“No,” Robin replied quickly, “no, of course not, I just... I think maybe you think you saw it, and you managed to get it all worked up in your head like it was real.”

“Don't you believe in the story?” Emma asked. “You're always one of the first people to go on about it!”

“It's just a story, though, isn't it? It's fun to tell, it's fun to make up things and pretend like it's all real, but do I really, honestly believe that there's the ghost of a dead little girl haunting Hardstone?” She paused for a moment. “I don't know, and that's the truth. It's kinda hard to accept.”

“I didn't believe it,” Emma told her, “not until today. I liked hearing about it, it gave me goosebumps, but I didn't really think it was true. But now, if it is...” She paused. “I'll die, won't I? That's what the story says! There's no way out!”

“You're gonna be fine.”

“How long does it take? How long does someone have left after they see her?”

“They have a long life left,” Robin replied, putting an arm around her shoulders in an attempt to give her some comfort, “because nothing's gonna happen. Come on, there's no need to wind yourself up.”

“I don't have a cellmate.”

“So?”

“So when it's lights out tonight, I'll be all alone in here and the door'll be locked.”

“You'll be fine.”

“What if I'm not? What if she comes to get me?”

“Won't happen, I promise. We'll laugh about this in the morning, okay?”

“I might not make it to the morning.”

“Course you will,” Robin replied, pulling her closer and kissing the top of her head in an almost motherly fashion. “You'll be fine. We'll all be fine.”

Three years ago

“Had you been arguing?” the police officer asked.

Staring straight ahead, her eyes dry now after all the tears, Emma shook her head.

“Was there any kind of tension in the relationship? Money? Other people? Future plans?”

Again, she shook her head.

“And you'd been together for how long?”

“Um... Eighteen months.”

“I've spoken to the neighbors,” said another police officer as he entered the room, “but none of them heard any kind of argument.”

“We're going to have to go down to the station,” the first officer told Emma, “because what happened here is very serious. Do you understand what I'm saying to you, Emma?”

“I don't know why I did it,” she sobbed, putting her head in her hands. “It's like it wasn't me. It's like someone else took control of my body for a few seconds!”

Today

“I'm afraid I haven't been quite honest with you so far,” Doctor Bell said as she led Amanda across the examination room. “For various reasons, I keep some of my work very much hidden from the rest of the staff here, but if you're going to be my assistant, I feel that I have to let you in to a few of the secrets. After all, I can't keep scurrying around trying to hide things from you, can I?”

Watching as the doctor began to unlock the door, Amanda couldn't help but notice that she was fumbling with the keys slightly, almost as if her damaged hands weren't quite working properly.

“Do you want me to help?” she asked finally, before reaching over and helping to get the key into the lock. “Sorry, I just thought...”

“Thank you,” Doctor Bell replied awkwardly, clearly unused to having anyone help her. “My fingers can be a little stiff when it's cold.”

Amanda watched as she unlocked and opened the door, revealing a gloomy room inside with a bed at the far end, tucked into the space beneath the window. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she realized with shock that there was a heavily-bandaged figure on the bed, its chest slowly rising and falling as if it was in a deep sleep. Nearby, a couple of machines were blinking and beeping.

“We do, in fact, have a patient,” Doctor Bell continued. “I don't want to go into details, suffice it to say that she's a young woman who suffered the most horrific injuries shortly after arriving here at Hardstone. I'm keeping her sedated with a combination of drugs, and to be honest, the reason I'm doing that is that I don't know how to proceed from here. I think I can keep her alive more or less indefinitely, but whether I can actually patch her up and help her to live a normal life is another matter entirely.”

“What's her name?” Amanda asked.

“I think you know her name.”

“But... Is this Chris?”

“Christine Bradford,” the doctor replied, making her way over to the bed. “I couldn't tell anyone about it, because I wanted to buy myself some time. The poor girl has suffered so horrendously, she went through so much pain before I managed to sedate her. Her father came to look for her, you know, but we had to send him away empty-handed. He'll be back at some point, I'm sure, but hopefully by then I'll be able to be honest with him. I want to be able to give him some good news about his daughter.”

“What happened to her?” Amanda asked, hurrying over to the bed and looking down at the white bandage that was covering Chris's face. A small amount of blood had begun to leak through already, and it was clear from the shape of the bandage that sections of flesh around the nose and cheeks were missing.

“She's a drug addict,” Doctor Bell continued. “That's the root cause of her problems. She was placed into isolation on her first night here, and she was properly restrained using all the usual procedures but still... She literally fought so hard to get her hands free that she de-gloved herself and scratched most of her face away. That's not even something I ever believed could be possible.” She held up one of her own plastic-gloved hands. “Somewhat ironic, don't you think?”

“Why would she do that?”

“The mind of the drug addict is very difficult to understand. My best guess is that she hallucinated something that filled her with terror, in which case we might find, even if we're able to bring her around, that her mind is damaged beyond repair. There are, I believe, some sights that, once seen, can never be forgotten.” Reaching down, she brushed the hair from across Chris's bandage. “It's not a very popular thing to say, but all lives have a point of no return. Cross that point, and you can never get back to how you thought your life was going to be.”

“But you told her father -”

“I'm not a bad person,” she continued. “Really, I'm not, I just couldn't tell him what had happened, not while I had no hope to offer. You see, I blame myself for this, I should have done more for the poor girl. It's not my fault that she's a heroin user, of course, but once she was in my care, I really should have done whatever was necessary to save her from herself, and now I feel an obligation to help her, to fix her somehow...” She paused, before turning to Amanda. “You can't tell anyone about this. Even the governor thinks that poor Chris is dead. I needed to buy myself some time.”

“Can't you send her somewhere else? Maybe a specialist facility -”

“I can do everything for her here. I change her bandage daily, I monitor her vital signs, I spend hours online looking for anything that might help. So far, however, all I can manage is keep the poor girl from feeling too much pain.” She paused again, before taking a roll of bandages and a pair of scissors from her pocket and setting them on the side of the bed. “I need to show you how to do this, so that you can do it sometimes, when my hands are particularly bad.”

“Do what?” Amanda asked cautiously.

“You'll see,” she continued, pulling off the pieces of tape that were keeping the bandage in place over Chris's face. “My hands,” she muttered, “they're not able to perform delicate work, especially not when the temperature is low, they kind of seize up...” After a moment, she began to lift the bandage away, revealing the horrifically destroyed face beneath. There were still pools of blood in Chris's eye sockets, but the rest of her face was a red-and-pink mess of torn and churned flesh, with clear liquid seeping from some of the deeper wounds, running down and staining the bed-sheet a pale yellow color.

Instinctively, Amanda took a step back.

“Cell plasma,” the doctor said quietly, keeping her voice hushed. “The damage is immense.”

“How can she even be alive like that?”

“Think of it as a much bigger version of that girl's knee from earlier,” Doctor Bell continued, taking a small bottle of clear liquid and dripping some of its contents directly onto Chris's face. “This is the same iodine solution, in fact. We're looking to prevent infections while promoting the optimum conditions for regrowth. It's not easy, and obviously regrowth in this context means little more than the formation of scar tissue, although there's no hope for the wound to close itself, there simply isn't enough skin left. A graft might be possible, though. The aesthetic results would be poor, but it could form the foundation for more extensive reconstructive surgery in the future. Given time, anything is possible, or at least that's what I keep telling myself.”

Setting the bottle aside, she began to unwind a section of bandage from the roll.

“At first I drained the eye-sockets, but they just filled up again so I decided to leave them like this. I honestly don't know what I'm going to do about them in the long-run, but look...” She took a pair of tweezers and, with her trembling right hand, dipped the tip into the pool of blood that had filled Chris's right eye-socket. A moment later, she pulled the tweezers out again, this time with a small white-and-yellow string-like item clamped in place. “This is all that's left of the optic nerve on the right side,” she explained, holding the strand above the surface of the blood-pool for a moment before letting go and allowing it to sink back beneath the surface. “I'm praying that as medical science advances, something might be possible. The deterioration is far worse on the other side.”

Carefully, she placed a section of gauze over Chris's face, and then a fresh white piece of fabric.

“So you change this every day?” Amanda asked, sickened by the sight but unable to look away.

“Every day.” She took a roll of tape from her breast pocket and began to fix the bandage in place. “Do you think, in future, you might be able to take over?”

“You want me to do all of that?”

“It would help me a great deal. It would also help Christine, obviously.” She stared at Amanda for a moment. “You can do it, you know. You've already shown great aptitude, and this might seem rather forward but... I believe in you.”

“But this is an actual medical procedure,” Amanda pointed out. “I don't know if -”

“Relax,” she replied, taking a syringe from the shelf and filling it with a clear liquid. “I'm not asking you to do anything too invasive. I'll still administer the injections.” With that, she slid the needle into the side of Chris's neck and depressed the plunger.

“What's that for?” Amanda asked.

“Just a pain-killer. Nothing more.” She pulled the needle out again, as Chris let out a faint moan.

“Is she conscious?”

“Not to any useful degree. She responds to certain external stimuli, but -”

She paused as Chris moaned again.

“What's she doing?” Amanda continued, feeling a shiver pass through her body.

“It's probably just a reflex action. Trust me, she can't feel any pain, not while I'm giving her the injections.” A faint smile crossed the doctor's lip. “Well, not that we can detect, anyway. One can never truly know what is happening in the mind of a patient who has suffered such injuries.”

“I really don't know if I can do this,” Amanda told her. “I mean, it's -”

“There was a fire,” the doctor said suddenly, interrupting her.

“A fire?”

Slowly, Doctor Bell began to remove her plastic gloves, until her scarred and damaged hands were bare.

“It happened when I was at university,” she continued. “There was a terrible fire in the dorm room, it took hold in a matter of minutes. My roommate was trapped, I could get out but I couldn't bring myself to leave her there, not when she was screaming, so I tried to reach through the flames and help her. The pain was intense, like nothing else I've ever experienced, but what else could I do? She was my best friend. Even though I could feel my skin burning away, I had to keep trying. Eventually the fire response team arrived and pulled me back. I was screaming, not because of the pain but because I wanted them to let me try again. I had to go through six months of agonizing work to restore my hands, and my plan to become a surgeon was ruined. For a while, it seemed as if I might never be able to use my fingers properly again, but in fact I've recovered a great deal of use.”

She held her hands out and turned them so that Amanda could see the full extent of the damage. Wincing slightly, she clenched her fists briefly before opening them again.

“I wear the gloves because I don't want people to see them,” she added. “However, if we're going to be working together... Touch them, please.”

Not wanting to cause offense, Amanda reached out and took the doctor's hands in hers, holding them for a moment.

“Are you disgusted?”

“No,” Amanda said quickly. “I'm just... What happened to your friend? The one you were trying to save?”

“She burned to death, screaming in agonizing pain.”

Pulling her hands away, she began to slip them into a new set of plastic gloves.

“I'm sorry,” Amanda told her, “I can't imagine what that must have been like.”

“I still dream about it sometimes,” the doctor replied, “but the biggest problem, as you've seen, is the trembling. That's why... Well, it would just be very useful if you could take over a few of these jobs for me. I don't really know what possessed Mr. Dunne to bring you to work with me, but he seems to have been very astute. I think you'll fit in extremely well here. If you're willing to do so, at least.”

“Of course,” Amanda replied, looking down at the bandage on Chris's face, which was already starting to show a hint of blood leaking through the fabric. “I can do this,” she said finally. “Totally. Maybe you could watch me the first time, tomorrow, but after that... I'm happy to do anything that might help.”

“You have no idea how glad I am to hear you say that,” the doctor told her. “For now, however, I think we should leave the patient alone. There's always a chance she can hear us, and it must be awfully distressing for her.” Leading Amanda back to the door, she stopped and looked over at the bed again. “I will find a way to help this poor girl,” she added. “Even if it has to be my life's work, I will save her.”

With that, she switched off the light and shut the door, leaving Chris once more in darkness. After a moment, a faint moan came from under the bandage.

Three years ago

“I remember feeling... strange,” Emma said as she sat in the psychiatrist's office, “and then, I don't know, I just felt this urge to...”

She paused, staring into space.

“Go on,” the psychiatrist said after a moment.

“I just felt... no, I knew that I... I had to do it. I didn't have a choice, it was like I was a robot and suddenly someone had changed my programming.”

“And do you think you're a robot?”

She shook her head.

“Has anything like this ever happened to you before, Emma?”

She shook her head again.

“And this urge to kill your boyfriend... It just popped into your head?”

“It was like a switch,” she replied, “and then as soon as it was over, it switched back and I saw what I'd done.”

“And how did you feel at that moment?”

He waited for a reply, but Emma seemed lost for a moment, as if she was reliving every painful second of her experience.

“Emma,” he said finally, “how did you feel when you saw what had happened to Brad? What was the first thought that came into your mind?”

“It should have been me,” she said, turning to him. “He was the most wonderful man in the world. I'm the one who should be dead. I should have used the knife on myself.”

“I really don't think that's a healthy way to look at things,” the psychiatrist said, before hearing a knock at the door. Turning, he saw one of his colleagues waving for him. “Just wait here a moment, Emma,” he continued, setting his folder down and getting to his feet. “I just need to speak to someone.”

Emma watched as he made his way out of the room. Through the small glass panel, she could see them talking, and she was convinced that she must be the topic of their conversation. Looking over at the psychiatrist's pen, she noticed that the lid featured a sharp, tapering edge. She leaned over and grabbed the pen, removing the lid and running the tip of her finger against it. Realizing that she didn't have long, she decided this was probably going to be her only chance: she began to gouge the sharp end of the lid into her neck, with enough force that after just a few seconds she'd already managed to break through the skin.

“No!” the psychiatrist shouted, spotting what she was doing and rushing back in to stop her. “Emma! Give me that!”

Grinning, she continued to cut.

Today

“Lights out!” the guard shouted. “Into your cells, ladies. Time to get your beauty sleep! Some of you need it a great deal more than others!”

“Don't leave me!” Emma hissed, grabbing Robin's hand.

“I don't have a choice!”

“You can't leave me alone in here!”

“Em -”

“Maybe we can explain to them,” she continued desperately, with tears in her eyes. “Tell them something, tell them anything, even the truth, just don't leave me alone in here tonight! They'll understand, right? If we just tell them what happened, they can't just leave me to die!”

“You're going to be fine,” Robin replied, trying to help her stay calm. “The most important thing is that you stop letting yourself get hysterical. There's no ghostly little girl and nothing's going to happen to you. Just focus on getting a good night's sleep, and try not to magnify every bump in the night until it seems like something awful. The human mind can really twist things, you know.”

“Don't go, please,” Emma continued, following her to the door and finally grabbing her arm, as if to physically prevent her from leaving the cell. “We have to find a way for you to stay!”

“Em -”

“Hide! Just hide under my bed! They won't notice!”

“Ladies,” Ferguson said as he reached the door, “I hate to interrupt, but you'll have to finish whatever you're doing in the morning.” He sniffed derisively. “What's up, we got a budding romance going on, have we? I never would have guessed that you were each other's types, but I suppose it's a free world.”

“Emma's just a little jumpy,” Robin explained, “and I was trying to calm her down.”

“Well, it's lights out now,” Ferguson said, reaching out and pulling Emma's hand away from Robin's arm, “so you'll have to pick things up in the morning.”

“I can't sleep alone,” Emma told him, as her level of panic continued to rise. “I'm sick, I'll die!”

“What's wrong with you this time? You've already had one trip to the medical unit today.”

“Nothing's wrong,” Robin interjected, “she just... Is there no way she can be moved to a shared cell for the night? I know it's against protocol, but if an exception could be made...”

“Give it a rest,” Ferguson replied, turning to Emma. “Get in there. Now!”

“Please,” Emma whimpered, with tears running down her face, “don't do this! I don't want to be alone in there! You can't make me!”

“I can't make you?” he asked, pushing her back into the cell. “Really? Are you actually aware of where you are, eh? It's a prison, and I'm a guard. I bloody well can make you stay in there.” With that, he stepped back and swung the door shut, ignoring Emma's attempts to force it back open. “You want my advice? Sleep it off. Things'll seem much better in the morning.”

“No!” Emma screamed, banging on the inside of the door. “You can't do this! She's going to come for me!”

“Is this more of that ghost bollocks?” Ferguson asked, smiling as he closed the cover on the little glass window. Turning to Robin, he grabbed her arm and began to lead her back to her own cell. “God, you women really do sit around nattering about crap, don't you?”

“Can you do me a favor?” Robin asked. “Can you at least get the night-watch to check on her regularly?”

“We check on all of you every three hours. That's more than enough.”

“Check on her more,” Robin continued. “She's... She's scared, and I'm scared for her.”

“You think she's gonna get a visit from the gray lady, do you?”

“I think she could get so wound up that she hurts herself. Listen to her, for God's sake!”

Stopping, Ferguson looked back along the corridor. Emma could still be heard banging on her cell door and desperately calling out for help. Her cries were echoes throughout the wing, and even with the door closed it was clear that she'd be causing a disturbance.

“There's nothing we can do for her,” Ferguson said finally. “She's just gonna have to learn not to be afraid of the dark, isn't she?”

***

A couple of hours later, curled up in the corner of her dark cell, Emma stared at the door. She'd spent so long crying out for help that her voice had begun to become hoarse, and finally she'd decided to sit in the corner, hoping against hope that somehow the ghost might not notice her if it came.

And now she was waiting.

She barely even dared to blink, convinced that at any moment one of the shadows in the room would shift its form and take the shape of the same little girl she'd seen earlier. In her mind, she kept replaying that moment over and over, thinking back to the way the girl's eyes had seemed to look directly into her soul.

“Why me?” she whispered eventually. “What do you want with me? I never did anything to you, I never did anything to deserve this. There are so many people here, why are you coming after me?”

She waited, her eyes darting about the room, looking for even the faintest hint of a presence.

Nothing.

“Dear Lord,” she continued, her voice trembling with fear, “I know I haven't exactly been good, and I've made a lot of mistakes, but if you get me through tonight I swear I'll change. I'll be good, I'll dedicate my life to helping other people and to making sure that the world is a better place. I'll undo every bad thing I ever did and I'll fix everything, but please, just let me be okay tonight. Don't let her come for me...”

With tears rolling down her cheeks, she began to sob,

“Please,” she whispered, “please please p -”

Suddenly she saw it: There was a dark shape in the far corner, a shadow that hadn't been there a moment ago. Holding her breath, she watched as the shadow seemed to alter its shape slightly, becoming more and more like the form of a young girl until there could no longer be any doubt.

“No,” Emma said under her breath, “please, no...”

The shadow remained in place for a moment as the cell began to get colder and colder.

“No!” Emma shouted. “No! You're not here! You can't be here!”

Slowly the shadow seemed to move, coming closer, until finally its features could just about be made out in the gloom: the little girl stared straight at Emma with the same dark, dead eyes as before.

“I know who you are,” Emma said after a moment. “You're Leonora Blake, aren't you? You're the girl who... You're the one who was here all those years ago. It's okay, I don't want to hurt you, I've never done anything to you, so you can't do anything to me, can you? You're not evil, you're a little girl, you're -”

She took a sudden, deep breath as the girl edged closer, still staring straight into her eyes. She was in the middle of the room now, and she seemed so calm and determined, as if she knew exactly what was going to come next.

“Please,” Emma whimpered, shivering as the temperature of the cell continued to plummet, “you don't want me. Go to one of the others. There's hundreds of us in here, there's people who've done much worse things than me, so why do you want me?”

The girl took another step forward, and then another, and finally she was standing directly over Emma, staring straight down at her.

Struggling to her feet, Emma felt her heart pounding in her chest.

“You can't hurt me,” she said after a moment. “Look at you, you're just a little girl, yeah? You can't do anything to me!”

Slipping past the figure, Emma ran to the door and began banging for attention.

“Help me!” she shouted at the top of her voice. “You can't leave me in here! Get me out of here!”

Realizing that there was something ice cold behind her, she turned to find that the little girl had followed her to the door and was now staring up at her.

“Help me!” Emma screamed again, slamming her fists against the door. “Somebody help me!”

***

Outside in the yard, no screams could be heard. Moonlight bathed the abandoned vegetable patch in an eerie blue haze, with several small white objects having begun to poke through the soil. Despite having been buried six feet deep just a few hours earlier, the bones were once again pushing their way up to the surface, including a fractured skull that stared up at the prison wall with deep, hollow eyes.

Part Five

Today

“Everyone to the dining hall immediately!” the guard called out. “No stopping in the corridor, no talking!”

“What's wrong?” Amanda asked as she followed Robin to the door of their cell. “It sounds like something's happened.”

“It's probably nothing,” Robin replied, stopping and looking along the corridor. There were several guards outside the door to Emma's cell, and the door itself was wide open. “It's probably...” she muttered, as if she was suddenly too shocked to speak. “I...”

“Is it Emma?” Amanda asked.

Without replying, Robin hurried along the corridor, quickly breaking into a run.

“Hey!” the guard called after her. “Get back here!”

“Has something happened?” Amanda asked, turning to him.

“Go to the dining hall,” he replied firmly. “Now!”

“But -” Glancing along the corridor, she saw that Robin was standing outside Emma's cell, staring through the door with a look on utter disbelief on her face. Seconds later, two guards hurried out and forcibly turned her around, but it was clearly too late. Whatever she'd seen, it had drained all the color from her face and brought tears to her eyes.

***

“I heard her screaming,” Karen said quietly as she picked at her breakfast. “She was banging on the door, telling them they had to let her out, and then... Nothing.”

“Nothing?” Amanda asked.

“Not after about two in the morning. Didn't you hear it?”

She shook her head.

“Emma's a good kid,” Karen continued. “She can get a bit sarcastic sometimes and she gave the guards trouble, but that's no reason for them to ignore her. I mean, I know we sometimes act up, but there's no way they could've thought she was trying to pull one over on them. Someone should've at least gone to check she was okay and -”

Before she could finish, she spotted Robin entering the room.

“What?” she asked. “Is she okay?”

“She...” Ignoring the serving hatch, Robin took a seat next to Amanda, but it was clear from the look on her face that she was in shock. Staring ahead for a moment, she seemed to be still processing the news. “She's... gone.”

Taking a deep breath, Karen looked down at her food.

“What do you mean by gone?” Amanda asked. “Is she... dead? She can't be dead!”

Robin nodded.

“But how?”

“I heard them talking about a heart attack,” Robin continued, “but... I don't know, it's like...”

The others waited for her to continue.

“It's like what?” Amanda asked eventually.

“The look on her face... In her eyes...” She paused again, as if she was reliving the moment over and over in her mind. “I've never seen someone look so terrified. Her eyes were wide open and it was like she was screaming when she died, and she just froze that way. I can't even describe it, it was just...” She held up her hands. “She seemed like she was clawing at something too, like she went stiff the moment she died and ended up all... twisted.”

“I heard her screaming,” Karen said again. “If I heard her, you know they could hear in the observation room. Why haven't our cells got panic buttons, anyway? These people don't give a crap, do they?”

“I told them to check on her,” Robin continued, with tears in her eyes. “I told them something was wrong, I begged them, I told Ferguson he had to keep a special eye on her. She said she'd seen -”

Again, the others waited.

“She'd seen what?” Karen asked.

“You know,” Robin replied, her voice trembling with sorrow. “Her.”

“Is that what was wrong with her in the yard yesterday?”

“She told me about it,” Robin continued. “I tried to talk her out of the whole thing, I tried to make her realize it was all in her head, but she was convinced she'd seen Leonora Blake. I told her... I told her the truth, which is that I'd never actually seen her.” She turned first to Amanda, then to Karen, and finally to the others who were at the table. “I made it all up. Those times I said I'd seen the little girl out the corner of my eye, it wasn't true. I just said it 'cause it was a fun story and I wanted to join in, I never truly thought...”

Again, her voice trailed off.

“Me too,” Karen said finally.

The others looked at her.

“I mean, I thought I saw something once,” she continued hesitantly, “maybe, just something moving nearby, but I definitely added something to the story.” She turned to one of the other women. “What about you? You said you saw her too.”

“Sort of,” the woman replied defensively.

“But?”

“Well... Like you said, sometimes you exaggerate thing a bit.”

“We've all told these stories,” Robin interjected. “We've enjoyed it, it's been fun in a twisted kinda way, to think that there's a ghost here and all that shit, it's been something for us to think about instead of the fact that we're banged up in this fucking place, but... What if it's true? Did any of us ever really consider the possibility that it might be the gospel truth? Hell, I can't even remember what parts of the story are original and what parts we started making up.”

“I heard about Leonora the first day I came here,” said another woman. “I just heard she was this little girl ghost and no-one was supposed to look her in the eye.”

“Okay,” Robin said, getting to her feet. “Everyone, listen up!”

She waited, but most people were still excitedly talking about what had happened to Emma.

“Everyone!” Robin shouted, suddenly climbing up onto the table, almost knocking several plates of food off the side in the process. “For fuck's sake, listen to me!”

“Get down!” a guard called out, making his way over.

“I want everyone in the room to listen real fucking carefully!” Robin continued. “This is really important, so pay attention. I need to know if anyone in here has actually seen Leonora Blake. I know we all tell stories about it, we bullshit all day, but things just got serious and we need to cut through all the crap. Has anyone actually seen that kid, either right in front of them or out the corner of their eye?”

“Inmate, get down,” the guard said firmly. “I won't tell you again.”

“Anyone?” Robin called out.

A sea of faces stared back at her, but no-one said a word.

“No-one?” Robin continued, as a tear ran down her cheek. “Jesus Christ, all this time have we all been -”

Before she could finish, the guard grabbed her around the waist and hauled her back, immediately pushing her to the floor and using his knee to press her down.

“Leave her alone!” Karen shouted.

“Back off!” a second guard told her as he hurried over.

“Don't hurt her!” Karen continued as the two guards hauled Robin to her feet. “She's got a bad back!”

“She'll have a worse one if she doesn't behave!”

“No-one's seen her,” Robin muttered, as if she couldn't quite believe it was true. “No-one except Emma, and she's...”

“You're going back to your cell,” the first guard told her, as she was led away. “You're getting written up, too. Disorderly conduct and attempting to provoke dissent.”

“This is fucked up,” said one of the women at a nearby table. “If Emma really saw that little girl -”

“We don't know it for sure,” Karen pointed out.

“But if she did, and if she's the first one...” She paused. “That means it's real. Like, really real. Like, the bullshit's over and now there's an actual ghost here!”

“Where are you going?” Karen asked as Amanda got to her feet.

Without answering, Amanda ran out of the room.

***

“I saw her.”

Sitting on her bunk, Robin slowly turned to look at Amanda, who was standing in the doorway.

“I saw her,” Amanda said again.

“Listen, don't -”

“I'm not lying,” she continued, heading into the cell. “I didn't say anything before because I just felt like no-one would believe me, like they'd think I was just making it up to get attention, but... I saw that little girl the other night.”

“Where?”

“Right here.” She turned to look at the chair in the corner. “I was sitting there, working on a letter and out of the corner of my eye, I saw her.”

Robin turned to look over at the chair.

“A little girl?” she asked finally.

Amanda nodded.

“And... did you look at her?”

“Almost. I felt like she was trying to force me to turn to her, and it was so hard not to, but I just kept telling myself that I had to stay strong. It sounds... I know it sounds crazy right now, almost like a dream, but I swear to you, I'm not making this up. She came closer to me and I felt really cold, and I had to concentrate so hard to make sure I didn't turn and stare into her eyes. I can't explain it, it's like she had some kind of power over me. Eventually she just vanished, but I swear, if she'd stayed even a second longer, I think I would have looked.”

“If you're just shitting me so you can -”

“I'm not!” Amanda said firmly. “Do you really think I'd lie at a time like this?”

Robin stared at her for a moment.

“I believe you,” she said finally.

“You do?”

“I guess we all kinda knew before that we were bullshitting,” she continued. “It was just this accepted thing, we all told a bunch of stories and we accepted that we were adding things on top, but when Emma said she saw something, I could tell she really believed it. There was something different about the fear in her eyes, like she'd been scared to the core of her soul, and then...” She looked over at the door. “When I saw her just now in her cell, it was like she was frozen in fear, like frozen in the moment when she died.”

“So that's two people,” Amanda replied, trying to stay calm. “I've seen the girl, and so has Emma. The only difference is, I didn't look into her eyes, and Emma did.”

Six months ago

“There,” Grace said as she ran the warm sponge across her mother's bare back. “Doesn't that feel nice?”

Sitting hunched naked in the bath, her mother stared straight ahead, as if she hadn't even heard her daughter's words.

“It must do,” Grace continued, dipping the sponge into the soapy water before wiping her back again. “You always make such a fuss about taking a bath, but it's never that bad, is it?” She glanced at her mother's scowling face. “Do you remember when you used to bathe me? It's funny how things work out, isn't it?”

Slowly, her mother turned to her.

“Almost done,” Grace told her. “I just -”

“Whore.”

“That's not a nice word,” Grace continued, forcing a smile as she began to wash her mother's armpits. “We've talked about it before, you shouldn't say things like that.”

“You're nothing but a dirty little whore,” her mother spat. “Everyone knows it. They talk about you down at the center. You're a disgusting trollop!”

“You haven't been to the retirement center for years,” she replied, “and I'm sure no-one thinks any such thing.”

“Why don't you have a boyfriend?”

“I don't have time.”

“Your cunt's probably diseased,” she continued. “Men can smell that a mile off, you know.”

“I spend all my time looking after you,” Grace pointed out, as she reached down between her mothers legs and pulled the plug out, allowing the soapy water to start draining away. “When would I have time to go and meet a nice man?” She grabbed a towel. “Now come on, let's -”

“Whore!” her mother shouted, swinging her arm at Grace and catching her cheek with her elbow, sending Grace crashing back down onto the cold bathroom floor. “Filthy whore!”

“Jesus,” Grace whispered, feeling the side of her face. “That's going to bruise.”

“Whore!”

“I'll just...” Getting to her feet, Grace hurried to the door. “I'll just fetch something. Wait right here.”

As soon as she was out in the corridor, she stopped and leaned back against the wall. Putting her hands up to her face, she finally began to sob uncontrollably.

Today

Sitting alone in his office, Governor Windsor stared straight ahead at the door. He could hear voices outside in the reception area, and he knew soon there'd be people hurrying in to tell him all about the inmate who'd been found dead. They'd want him to take charge, to inspire and to lead... and he felt he could do none of those things.

He was waiting.

Turning to look over at the far side of the room, he was convinced that at any moment the little girl would appear to him again. He hadn't slept at all during the night, and even when morning came he'd felt no relief. She was coming, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he saw her again.

***

“Has somebody notified her family?” he asked a couple of minutes later, pacing past his desk and heading to the window.

“I've contacted the local police station,” Grace replied. “They're going to send officers round to tell them.”

“And the media?”

“Nothing's got out so far.”

“But it will.”

“Undoubtedly. We need to prepare a statement.”

“Draft it,” he replied, turning to her before looking over at Andrew Dunne. “What have you got to say for yourself? Did this dead woman not show any signs that she might be unstable?”

“None,” Andrew replied, “and to be honest... I know it's a little early to say for certain, but I don't think this was a suicide. When I spoke to her two days ago, Emma seemed to be very optimistic about things. She was due for a parole hearing in less than a month, and I think she had a good chance of getting out on early release. To be honest, it was the happiest I've ever seen her. I just don't see how this could have been a case of suicide.”

“Of course it was,” the governor snapped back at him. “Healthy young women don't just drop dead in their cells during the night. The girl probably had hidden problems, she quite clearly took her own life.”

“No,” Andrew said firmly, “she didn't.”

“And you're suddenly a medical expert, are you?”

“No, but I'm sure Doctor Bell will agree with me once she's examined the body. There's no way this can be brushed under the carpet as a suicide, governor. Emma Tate didn't show any behavioral changes that made me worry at all.”

“Huh,” the governor replied, clearly unimpressed, “I suppose you would say that, wouldn't you? After all, it'd look very bad on your C.V. to have another girl killing herself so soon after the last. What was the first girl's name again, the one at the prison you worked at before? Sabrina something?”

“Sabrina Huntley,” Andrew said firmly, “and I really don't see what that's got to do with anything.”

“Apart from the fact that young women in your care have a tendency to end up dead?” He sighed. “One is unlucky, Mr. Dunne. Twice is suspicious. If it happens again, I think there will have to be very serious questions about your level of competence.”

“Emma Tate did not kill herself,” he replied. “I'll stake my professional reputation on that fact.”

“Jesus Christ,” the governor muttered, heading over to the window. “This is a disaster. There'll be press coverage, questions from the minister, anger among the inmates...”

“Your knighthood might be in danger,” Andrew pointed out.

The governor turned and glowered at him, and silence fell in the room for a moment.

“Some of the inmates are saying -” Grace began, before thinking better of it.

The governor looked over at her.

“Well?” he asked. “Out with it, girl. What have the fine ladies of Hardstone been saying now?”

“It's just,” she continued, “I know it's probably silly, but they are saying it. Apparently yesterday in the yard, Emma Tate, the dead girl, claimed she'd seen...” She paused, turning to Andrew and then back to the governor. “You know, the little girl, Leonora Blake.”

The governor stared at her.

“That's what she said,” Grace continued, already regretting having brought the matter up. “I talked to one of the guards, too, and he confirmed that she suddenly seemed terrified of something. It was all a bit of a mess out there, you know how these things can be, but she definitely seems to have believed that she saw it. I mean, that might be relevant, mightn't it?”

“Maybe she suffered from some kind of seizure,” Andrew suggested. “A hallucination like that could be a warning sign for something else, in which case the autopsy should tell us a lot more.”

“There are no ghosts in this prison,” the governor said firmly. “I won't have such stupid ideas being spread around.”

“Of course not,” Grace said quickly.

“I want you to find every inmate who's talking about such foolish things, and make them understand that they are to stop. Is that understood?”

“How -”

“Is that understood?” he shouted. “There will be immediate and direct punishments for any inmate who is heard uttering the name Leonora Blake! Ram that into their thick heads!”

“Yes, Sir,” Grace replied, getting to her feet. “Right away, Sir.”

“And that goes for you as well,” he continued, clearly struggling to control his anger. “If I hear one more word about this from your lips, Ms. Hooper, you will very swiftly find yourself in need of alternative employment. I refuse to allow stupid urban myths to spread through my prison, and I understand that many of the inmates are of low intelligence and find these things to be an easy source of amusement, but I would have expected better from my own assistant!”

“Absolutely,” Grace stammered, “I just... I didn't say I believed it, I just thought you should know what people were talking about on the wings.”

“Make them stop talking about it,” he said firmly. “The idea is simply preposterous, ghosts can't possibly be real. When a person is standing right in front of you, that means they're alive, they're really there, they...” He paused for a moment, as if he was in danger of losing his temper. “Leave. Both of you, get out. I want to be alone for a little while before Doctor Bell comes.”

“Sir,” Grace began to say, “we -”

“Get out! Just get out of my office immediately before I call a guard to come and take you out by force!”

***

“It's just horrible,” Grace said quietly as she stood by the elevator. “To think of that poor girl, all alone in her cell and -”

“Try not to think about it,” Andrew replied. “Please, Grace, I know what you're like. You need to learn to shut yourself off to these things or they're going to eat away at you.”

“How can I shut myself off to the pain and suffering of -”

“You need to find a way,” he continued. “There are hundreds of women in this prison and all of them have a story to tell. None of them just arrived at Hardstone after living an easy life. Trust me, some of the things I've heard, some of the things these women have been through, are more horrific than you can possibly imagine. If you try to engage fully with each of their stories, to contemplate them to their fullest extremes, you'll end up losing all faith in humanity.”

“So how do you do it?” she asked. “Without becoming some kind of cold-hearted, unfeeling monster, I mean.”

“I...” He paused, seemingly finding the question a little uncomfortable. “Practice, I guess. Believe me, I'm fully aware that I've had to toughen up over the years. It would be so easy to wallow in the misery, but then I wouldn't be able to do my job properly, would I? I owe it to the women in this prison to stay on top of my emotions and give them what they need, rather than just sympathizing with them.”

“I just can't stop thinking about it,” she replied with tears in her eyes, “and... The stories about the little girl, Leonora Blake -”

“They're just stories.”

“I heard her.”

He sighed.

“I did, Andrew!” she continued. “I heard a little girl, and that man who was here the other day, the father who was looking for an inmate, he said he saw a girl right here in this corridor! He walked into reception and he told me there was a girl right out here, but when I came to take a look there was no sign of her.”

“He was just messing with you,” he replied. “He'd probably read about Hardstone online and figured, while he was here, he'd try to freak a few people out. People love ghost stories, Grace, and they love pretending they've seen something, but for once the governor was actually right about something. Ghosts aren't real. They can't be.”

“Why not?”

“Because the world doesn't work that way. Little Leonora Blake lived a tragic life, but when she died, that was the end of it. She's not still here, haunting the prison and scaring people to death.”

“Then what did I hear?” she asked. “It sounded like a child running in the corridor.”

“I have no idea what it was, but you can't assume that because you don't have an answer, it has to be a ghost. There are hundreds of things that could have sounded like a running child without being a running child.” As the elevator door slid open, he leaned closer and kissed the side of Grace's face. “Do you want to meet up after work? You seem like maybe you could use some company.”

“You think I'm an idiot,” she replied.

“No, I think you're very perceptive and extremely perceptive,” he continued, stepping into the elevator before turning back to her. “In fact, you're too sensitive and too perceptive, even though those are two of the qualities I like the most about you. You need to learn to let go a little, especially in a place like this. If you don't, and if you listen to all these dumb stories, you're going to end up losing your mind. A woman died this morning, Grace. That's sad enough without adding a whole load of supernatural rubbish to the story.”

“There's something in this hospital,” she told him.

“Grace -”

“There's something here!”

“There are lots of things in this hospital.” he continued. “They're called living people, and I have to go and talk to some of them.”

As the elevator door slid shut, Grace took a step back and glanced both ways along the corridor, just to make sure that there was no sign of anyone nearby. Despite everything Andrew had said to her, she had no doubt: the little girl was real, and whatever she wanted from the people of Hardstone, her appearance were becoming increasingly frequent.

Six months ago

“I'll just go and check,” Grace said. “Hold on.”

Setting the receiver down, she glanced at the alarm clock just as the display flicked over to 8am. She was used to her mother's friends calling early in the morning, and since the phone was for some reason in Grace's room, she always ended up going to wake the old woman.

“Mum?” she called out, knocking gently on the bedroom door a moment later. “Geraldine's on the phone for you.”

She waited.

“Mum?” she said, knocking again.

Silence.

“Mum,” she continued, easing the door open and looking into the gloom, “it's Geraldine, she -”

Stopping suddenly, she saw her mother's motionless form on the floor next to her bed.

“Mum?”

She stepped forward, but after a moment she realized that there was an overpowering smell of urine. Turning, she hurried out of the room and went back to the phone.

“She can't come to the phone right now,” she told Geraldine, trying not to panic. “Can I get her to call you back?”

Without even waiting for an answer, she hung up before heading back to her mother's bedroom. Stepping inside again, she made her way over to the body and looked down. Her mother's dead eyes were staring up at the ceiling.

“Oh,” Grace said, taking a step back. “Thank God.”

Today

“I hope this doesn't hurt,” Amanda said quietly as she slid the pipette's tip into Chris's bloody eye-socket. After drawing some of the blood up, she moved the pipette over to a bowl and discharged its contents.

As she moved to do the same thing again, Chris let out a faint moan.

“Chris?”

She waited, but no reply came.

“If you can hear me,” Amanda continued, “I'm just doing this because Doctor Bell wants to try something new. She's worried about the pressure build-up if the blood is left to accumulate, and she also wants to get a better look at the damage. Believe it or not, she's really trying to find a way to help you, and I think she might have a chance. She's not like other people, she actually cares.”

Again, Chris moaned.

“I'm so sorry that this happened to you. It feels like only yesterday that we were in that van together. I know I didn't talk much, but I was just overwhelmed. Now I'm starting to settle in a little more, I feel like...” She paused as she took another pipette's worth of blood from Chris's eye-socket and squirted it into the bowl. “I feel like my old life is over,” she added finally. “It came to an end and now it's done. I know that sounds weird, but it's the only way I can keep going.”

Looking down at Chris's mangled face for a moment, she felt a wave of sadness pass through her body.

“It should be me,” she said finally. “What I did... I deserve something like this to happen to me. You don't. You had your whole life ahead of you. Mine's done.”

***

“That man is insane,” Doctor Bell muttered as she stormed into the laboratory and set her files down on the bench. “I swear he's more worried about protecting his knighthood than he is about completing our work here!”

Looking over at her, Amanda could tell that she was genuinely angry, which was new: usually the doctor seemed so calm and implacable, as if she had everything under control.

“He's an idiot,” she continued after a moment. “There's no way around it. The man is just fundamentally moronic.”

“I took the blood out of Chris's eyes,” Amanda told her, “like you wanted, but... I think it was already starting to leak through again from the back. If anything, it seemed to be leaking faster.”

“He's going to jeopardize everything,” the doctor replied, as if she was so deep in her fuming mood that she hadn't even heard what Amanda said. “He keeps ranting on about how there's no such thing as ghosts, and about how he refuses to let the prison descend into anarchy, but it's as if he can't even understand that he's got everything wrong. I mean, of course there aren't ghosts, but you can't force people to stop talking. These women are locked up all the time, they have nothing to do but fabricate stupid stories.”

“But -”

“It would help if the average level of intellect wasn't so low,” she continued, still getting into the stride of her rant. “When you put that many unintelligent, uneducated people together, you're bound to end up with this kind of idiocy. Sometimes I think it'd be kinder to them and to society to just euthanize the lot of them. Lead them into the showers and turn on the gas.”

“I'm sure you don't mean that,” Amanda replied, shocked by her outburst.

“Don't I?” She paused. “Present company excepted, of course. A few of the prisoners here are worth keeping around, obviously, but the majority... Human waste, pure and simple. We'd be better off without them.”

“You don't know that they're -” Amanda started to say, before catching herself just in time.

“That they're what?” Doctor Bell asked, turning to her. “Please, don't tell me you believe in such stupid things!”

“Of course not,” Amanda said quickly.

“Thank God. I had you pegged as a rational woman, Amanda, but you made me wonder for a moment there.” She paused, as if she was lost in thought. “He's a fool,” she added finally. “He's a complete fool.”

“Who is?”

“The governor. I can't put my trust in him at all. My God, I'm surrounded by idiots. I mean, I'm literally surrounded by them! Whichever way I walk when I leave this laboratory, I'll bump into a moron sooner or later!”

“As long as you can work without being interrupted -”

“That's the problem,” she continued, “I can't, not when that knighthood-seeking cretin keeps causing problems. Do you know how often I have to stop what I'm doing and go fire-fighting to fix whatever mess he's caused? It happens almost every day. I should have found someone better to work with, someone who could actually pull his weight.” She glanced over at Amanda. “We have an arrangement,” she added after a moment. “The governor and I are conducting a little work on the side, or rather...”

Amanda waited for her to finish.

“Can I trust you?” the doctor asked finally.

“Of course.”

“No, I mean can I really trust you?” Stepping closer, Doctor Bell seemed to be studying Amanda intently. “I let you know about Christine Bradford's condition because I needed your help, and you've been very good with that so far. There are other things, though, that I haven't told you about yet, things I've been keeping hidden. With Alistair Windsor seemingly on the verge of losing his marbles, I could use someone else to...” Another pause. “Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself. You're doing a good job, Amanda, and we have a major task ahead of us later. We should probably focus on that for now.”

“Are we going to do some more work on Chris?”

“I'm afraid she'll have to take a back seat for now,” she replied. “Amanda, I realize this is plunging you in at the deep end, but this afternoon I'm going to need your assistance as I perform a full autopsy on the dead inmate.”

Amanda stared at her, hoping against hope that she'd misheard.

“Well,” the doctor added with a faint smile, “we have to find out how Emma Tate died, don't we?”

***

“1.51 kilograms,” Amanda said as she looked at the read-out, before turning to Doctor Bell. “Is that normal?”

“It's absolutely normal,” she replied as she continued working on Emma's body. “In fact, it's right in the middle, completely perfect. Now put it in the metal dish and come help me over here.”

Turning back to look at Emma's brain, Amanda couldn't help but feel a little shell-shocked. Twenty-four hours earlier, she'd been in the same room as Emma, talking to her and even helping her fix her damaged knee. Now she was weighing and measuring her body parts, which were being cut out of her chest cavity one by one.

“Amanda,” Doctor Bell said after a moment, “are you okay?”

“Sure,” she replied, reaching over to the scales and gently picking up the brain before carrying it over to the metal dish on the counter, where she set it down again. It was lighter than she's expected, but also firmer.

“You're looking a little green around the gills,” Doctor Bell continued. “You're not squeamish, are you? If you need to vomit, for God's sake go to the bathroom.”

She shook her head.

“Then come and help me with the lungs.”

Heading over to the body, Amanda looked down and saw that Doctor Bell was elbow-deep in the chest cavity as she worked to remove the left lung. After a moment, however, she couldn't help but look at Emma's face, which was still staring wide-eyed up at the ceiling, as if she was still frozen in the moment of a scream. Having never seen an adult dead body before, Amanda couldn't shake the feeling that the whole situation seemed unnecessarily surreal.

“Are you sure we shouldn't close her eyes?” she asked.

“Try it.”

“Me?”

“Try it!”

Feeling a little uneasy, Amanda reached across and closed Emma's eyes, only to see them immediately blink open again.

“Is she -”

“It's quite normal,” the doctor replied, clearly amused by the shocked look on Amanda's face. “Well, not normal, but explicable. In this case, the eyes were open when she died and since she wasn't found until the following morning, rigor mortis set in while the eyes were in that state and now there's not much we can do. It's the same for her jaw. I could break it and force her mouth closed, but somehow that doesn't seem very respectful.” She smiled. “Haven't you noticed yet?”

“Noticed what?”

“Her feet.”

Glancing toward the other end of the table, Amanda frowned as she saw an extra little toe on Emma's right foot.

“It's called polydactyly,” Doctor Bell explained. “It's pretty uncommon.”

“There are three other women with it,” Amanda replied, turning to her. “In this prison, I mean. They were talking about it.”

“Three others? Add Emma, and that's almost a 2% rate.” She paused for a moment. “Do you happen to know if the extra digit is a toe on the right foot in all those cases?”

“I think so.”

“The odds of that must be pretty high,” she continued. “The more I learn about the population of this prison, the more I feel as if it's all a little strange, almost as if someone has been gathering together certain types of people for some reason.” She paused again. “I guess that's impossible, though. What would be the point?”

“Do you know what killed her yet?” Amanda asked.

“Ms. Tate? I'm almost certain that she suffered a cardiac incident.”

“Is that possible? She was only twenty-five!”

“These things can strike at any age,” she continued. “Obviously they're more of a danger the older we get, but some people have congenital defects that make them a risk in their twenties or even earlier.” She paused for a moment. “I'm not sure that was the case with Ms. Tate, however. From what I can see so far, her heart was most likely healthy before she suffered the cardiac incident, which means...”

“Something caused it to happen?”

“An external event.”

“Like... electrocution?”

“Nothing so simple.” Lifting the lung out of Emma's chest cavity, she carried it over to the scales and set it down, before making a note of the weight. “There's still a lot of work to do,” she continued, “but so far, I'm leaning toward the hypothesis that the inmate died because she was terrified. That might sound dramatic, but actually it's a recognized condition called capture myopathy. Fear caused her body to be flooded with hormones designed to help her run from whatever she thought she could see, but at the same time that same fear was also preventing her from running, so the excess energy simply shook her heart until it burst.”

“What could make someone feel that much fear?”

Heading back over to the body, Doctor Bell carefully picked up the dead woman's heart.

“You can see the damage here,” she said calmly, before turning the heart around, “here, and here. It's quite obvious once you know what you're looking for. The organ basically burst.”

“But what caused it?” Amanda asked again.

“Something that terrified her beyond all reason.”

“She was alone in her cell,” Amanda pointed out. “There was no-one else in there.”

“The mind can create powerful sensations,” Doctor Bell replied. “It's quite possible that Ms. Tate thought she saw something, and that in her mind's eye the image seemed completely real.”

“But why would she start hallucinating like that? She wasn't on any kind of medication and her notes don't mention anything about psychiatric problems.”

“Again, it comes back to the power of the mind. Apparently she had convinced herself that she'd seen some kind of phantom earlier in the day, so with hindsight that could have been a warning sign. I'm sure you know the story about Leonora Blake. If Ms. Tate was in a particularly suggestive state of mind, or perhaps she was starting to develop a kind of psychological disturbance, it's absolutely possible that she built up an experience that seemed so real, it effectively scared her to death.”

“Unless there really was something there,” Amanda replied, looking down at Emma's terrified dead eyes. “Maybe it wasn't all in her mind.”

“Careful,” Doctor Bell replied with a faint smile. “Go too far down that line of thought, and you'll end up agreeing with all the other idiots in this place.”

Six months ago

“It was an acute aortic aneurysm,” the coroner said as he sat awkwardly in the kitchen. “It would have been very quick for your mother, I doubt she suffered at all.”

“That's good,” Grace replied meekly, setting a cup of tea next to him before taking a seat on the other side of the table.

“She most likely felt tired,” the coroner continued, “and then just slipped away. She most likely wasn't aware of it happening.”

Grace nodded.

“Do you... have any questions?”

“No.”

“None at all?”

Grace shook her head.

The coroner turned and looked through toward the hallway for a moment. “So you live here alone now?”

“My mother left the house to me,” she replied.

“And you just...” He turned back to her. “Are you planning to stay here?”

“I guess. I mean, I don't really have anywhere to go. I'll need to get a job, though. She didn't leave much about from the house.”

“How old are you?” he asked. “If you don't mind me asking, that is.”

“I'm twenty-one.”

“And you've always lived here alone with your mother?”

She nodded.

“That's...” He paused for a moment. “Well, I'm very sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you,” Grace replied. “To be honest, my mother has been slipping into dementia for the past few years, so I had to care for her. It's quite strange now, not having anyone to look after.”

“Are you lonely?”

“No, not lonely, just... Getting used to a change of pace.”

“Well...” Checking his watch, the coroner got to his feet. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to abandon that cup of tea, I have another family to visit, but once again, I'm very sorry for your loss, Ms. Hooper.”

“Thank you,” Grace replied, standing up and shaking his hand. “It's all been quite a shock.”

Today

Stepping through the door, Robin looked across the chapel and saw with relief that she was alone. She'd been worried that the place might be full following the events of the previous few hours, but to her relief she realized she was the only one who had come to seek a little peace away from the crowd.

Making her way to the steps at the front of the room, she stared with tear-filled eyes at the cross that hung on the wall.

“I don't talk to you much,” she said finally, “because, frankly, I didn't see much point to it. Anyway, after a certain while, I just felt ashamed of all the stuff I did that led to me being put away, but... I used to talk to you sometimes, in my head, and I figure there's still a part of me that believes in all this crap, so it's worth a try, right?” She forced a smile. “Hey, if that little moment of honesty doesn't get you on my side, what will?”

Pausing, she realized that she should probably kneel. Wincing a little at the pain in her knee, she lowered herself and look up at the cross again.

“I feel so damn silly right now,” she continued. “I mean, fuck... Sorry, I shouldn't say that here, should I? I just came because I figure, if you're real, that means you can see this place, like all of it, even the parts we can't see, so you know what's really happening and you know what happened to Emma in her cell last night. Maybe she's even up there right now with you, in which case look after her, she's a good kid. Just...”

She bowed her head.

“If there's really a lost soul here, like a little kid or something, can't you give her what she wants? It's not fair to make her haunt the place, not if she's so young. It's not like you can still blame her for all those people she killed in the past. I mean, at some point, everyone can be forgiven, can't they? Even...”

She paused as a tear dripped down onto the floor.

“So I'm asking you to spare the soul of Leonora Blake. Bless her, help her, whatever the term for it is, but just ease her soul so she doesn't have to go around doing stuff like this anymore. I believe in you, Lord, and I think you'll do the right thing. Amen. And... get to work. That little girl needs your help.”

***

“These records are a mess,” Robin said a few hours later as she opened a book in the prison library. “I mean, I know they didn't have computers or stuff like that back in the old days, but you'd think they could have at least got people's names right.”

“What do you mean?” Karen asked, looking up from the book she was trying to read.

“Look here,” Robin continued, placing the prison's original register in front of her. “They misspelled Leonora's name wrong there, called her Elenora, and then...” She turned to the previous page. “They listed her birth-date twice, and there's not even any record of her mother's full name. It's patchy as fuck.”

“You were banging on about this once before,” Karen replied with a sigh. “So what? You said it yourself, their record-keeping was awful. You know why? It's simple: they didn't care!”

“You know what I think? I think that 'cause Leonora Blake came from this huge, respectable family, the government agreed to cover things up to save them from embarrassment. Did you know, it's reckoned that there were members of the Blake family living in almost every London borough by the start of the twentieth century? They're still going, too, and some of 'em are right up there in high society. I doubt they'd have wanted to be associated with some dirty little girl, especially after she went around knifing a load of people. There was a cover-up.”

“And?”

“And maybe that's what the kid's so pissed off about. I mean, maybe she's haunting the place 'cause she wants the truth to come out.”

“So that's what you're going to do? You're going to free us all from this terrible ghost by ending a century-old cover-up?”

“You got any better ideas?”

“It's just... If I was a ghost, and I'd murdered hundreds of women, I'd be quite happy if someone covered it up. I wouldn't mind at all.”

“You know your problem?” Robin asked. “You're not thinking like a ghost.”

“Jesus Christ...”

“It's the classic ghost story, isn't it?” she continued. “Something awful happened years ago and the truth got buried, and now the ghost of that little girl wants everything to get out.”

“I'm not sure that quite makes sense.”

“It makes total sense. Leonora Blake feels like she was wiped from history, like everything she suffered was hidden and made to seem like it never happened. She's not gonna rest until someone brings this whole murky thing to light. Sure, the current Blake family might get embarrassed along the way, but that's just something they'll have to live with. It's tragic, having this little girl's misery being airbrushed from history. It's a fucking disgrace.”

“You think you've got it all worked out, don't you?” Karen asked.

“Someone has to do something before there's another death.”

“Do you really think that's likely? There's no way some spooky little girl is gonna go on another killing spree. This is the twenty-first century, not Victorian England.”

“I just want to get rid of her,” Robin replied. “You didn't see the look on Emma's face when they found her this morning, but I did, and I'm tired of worrying that I might spot that kid at any moment. If she's starting to appear to people, any one of us could be next. Maybe she's just trying to prompt us to do the right thing? For Emma's sake, I have to fix this.”

“Maybe you should keep the ghost talk under your hat,” Karen pointed out. “I mean, it was fun for a while, but now someone's dead and it kinda feels disrespectful to go on saying that a ghost killed her. You're gonna start freaking people out.”

Before Robin could reply, the door opened and one of the guards leaned through.

“Come on, ladies. You've got a job to do.”

“Like what?” Karen asked. “It's a rest period.”

“What do you think?” he replied. “You've got to re-do the shitty work you were supposed to get finished yesterday.”

***

“I told these women to bury the bones!” Governor Windsor shouted at Ferguson, one of the guards, a few minutes later as they stood out in the yard. “Now look at the place!”

“They did bury them, Sir,” Ferguson replied, turning to look at the dozens of human bone fragments that had somehow forced their way up through the soil again. “I watched them do it.”

“He's right,” said one of the inmates, as they all stood nearby with shovels in their hands. “We buried those bones six feet if we buried 'em an inch.”

“I'm not having this!” the governor shouted, still addressing Ferguson rather than the women directly. “When I give an order, I expect it to be followed to the letter, do you understand? This isn't the public sector, this is a prison and I expect these women to work properly!”

“It must be something to do with the ground around here,” Ferguson replied. “I watched them, Sir. They buried those bones six feet down, just like you said.”

“Then tell them to do it again, and this time make sure they bury them twelve feet!”

“That's -”

“It's an order!” he shouted, before turning breathlessly to the group of inmates who had been charged with the job. “I won't have any excuses!” he continued. “You might be prisoners, you might be scruffy ne'er-do-wells, but my God I am going to make you lot work until this job has been completed to my satisfaction! Have any of you ever done an honest day's labor in your miserable lives without cutting corners? Look at you, you're all a bunch of feckless idiots with bad attitudes!”

Turning, he took a few steps toward the door before changing his mind and heading back to them.

“And I want this job finished today,” he continued, “and if I ever see another bone out here in this soil again, I will withdraw every privilege I've ever granted in this prison, is that understood?”

He waited for a response.

“Is that understood?” he shouted.

A general murmur of assent rose from the gathered women.

“See to it that they don't screw it up this time,” the governor told Ferguson before heading back inside, slamming the door as he went.

“You heard the governor,” Ferguson said wearily. “Get to work, and this time bury everything twelve feet, not six.”

“You know he's losing his mind, don't you?” Robin asked as she grabbed her shovel. “You can see that, right?”

“Let's just get on with it,” Karen muttered.

“He's literally going bat-shit crazy,” Robin continued. “The man's lost his marbles.”

“Shut up,” Ferguson told her. “It's not your place to question orders, it's your place to carry 'em out.” Looking down at a fragment of human skull, he felt a shudder pass through his body. “In fact,” he added finally, “just to be on the safe side, bury them fifteen feet.”

***

“Five minutes!” the guard called out.

All across the visiting room, people began to say their goodbyes. Over in the far corner, however, one man sat completely alone.

“She's not coming again, huh?” asked the woman at the next table as she got to her feet.

James turned to her.

“I've seen you here the last few times I've come,” the woman continued, with a hint of compassion in her voice. “You just sit there like you're waiting for her, whoever she is, but she never shows up. What's wrong? You two had an argument?”

“No,” he replied, “it's nothing like that.”

“She'll come around,” the woman added as she and her husband headed to the door. “They always do eventually.”

“I hope so,” James muttered under his breath.

A few minutes later, once visiting hour was over, he joined the small gaggle of friends and family-members who were making their way out past the large black gate. Zipping up his coat against the cold weather, he glanced back just as the gate swung shut, and then he checked his watch. There was just enough time to get to the shop and then head home. After all, he had an evening's worth of files lined up as he continued to try to prove Amanda's innocence, and then he'd back at Hardstone again the next day, to sit at that empty table and hope against hope that she might actually see him.

As he crossed the road, he paid no attention to the black car parked nearby.

***

“He was here again today,” Amanda said, stopping by the door and turning back to look at Doctor Bell. “He comes every day. I put him on the block list like you suggested, but they said they can't stop him turning up, they can just let me know that it's him so that I decide whether or not to see him. I guess he just sits there, hoping I'll change my mind.”

“You're not weakening, are you?” the doctor asked as she changed her plastic gloves for the tenth time that day.

“No, of course not, I just...” She paused. “I was wondering if maybe I should see him, though, just one more time, just so that he can understand I don't hate him. I love him with all my heart, it's just that I want him to get on with his life.”

“Of course you do, but by going to see him you'll merely be offering false hope. How many times has he sat alone in that waiting room now?”

“Nine.”

“So if you see him next time, he'll think he can wear you down. He'll visit another nine times after that, and then another, and eventually you'll decide to see him again, to really get the message across, and so on until it becomes a self-repeating pattern. Trust me, Amanda, I've seen things like this before, and a sudden disassociation is the only approach that can ever work.”

“I guess,” she replied, clearly troubled by the idea.

“Do it for him,” the doctor added. “I know it's hard, but you love him, so let him be free. Think of him as a ghost from your past life. You wouldn't encourage a ghost to keep haunting you, would you?”

“You're right. I guess I'll see you in the morning.”

“I'm always right,” Doctor Bell muttered to herself as she looked down at her notes.

She heard the door swinging shut, followed by the sound of Amanda's footsteps heading back to the main wing. Finally, once she was certain she was alone, she looked across the laboratory and allowed herself a faint smile, and then slowly she got to her feet. Making her way across the quiet room, she reached into her pocket and with trembling hands took out a set of keys. She glanced over her shoulder, just to make absolutely certain that Amanda hadn't come back, and then she winced as she struggled to get the key into the lock.

“Damn it,” she muttered, frustrated by her disability, “just get in!”

For almost an entire minute, she fumbled with her shaking hands, but finally she managed to get the door open.

“Good evening, Christine,” she said as she entered the next room and pushed the door shut. “I trust that you had a pleasant day. I know you can hear me, so we'll dispense with any foolishness. How did it feel to have your wounds being cleaned by the closest thing to a friend that you have in this place? Is it comforting, or does it merely seem vaguely tragic? I could see it from either point of view.”

Making her way over to Chris's bed, she looked down at the blood-stained bandage that covered the girl's face.

“Still leaking, I see,” she continued. “That's unfortunate. I just don't understand what's wrong with you. Everything I do, every attempt I make to cauterize and fix your wounds, it all goes to waste.” She reached down and began to loosen the bandage, before pulling it away to reveal the ravaged face beneath. Leaning closer, she peered at the eye-sockets. “Only half full this time. That's a slight improvement, I suppose.”

Smiling, she dipped a shaking finger-tip into one of the sockets, coating the very end with blood before bringing the finger to her lips and holding her tongue out.

“Huh,” she said finally, “it tastes rather good. I hope that gives you some comfort, Christine. You might not realize it, but you're doing some very useful work for me here. Tell me, though, how is the pain?”

Grabbing a fresh syringe, she filled it from a nearby bottle and then slid the needle into the side of Chris's neck.

“I still hear your little groans, you know, and I suppose they're still your best attempt at a scream. It must be so difficult to have all that energy directed inward, but I simply can't have you raising a fuss, can I? There'd be plenty of do-gooders rushing to help if they heard the pain you're in, and I can't possibly allow that. Don't worry, though, it won't last forever. I'm so close to using you for your final purpose, and when that happens... There'll be no more pain, no more suffering. I know you're in a dark place right now, but soon I'll allow you to sink so deep, your mind will fall apart entirely. Then again, I can only imagine what state you're in at the moment. Perhaps the fragmentation of Christine Bradford has already begun.”

She paused for a moment, before leaning closer and gently pressing her lips against the raw, pink flesh of her patient's ruined face, and giving her a brief, gentle kiss. As Chris moaned with pain, Doctor Bell sat back.

“I thought would make everything better,” she continued, checking her watch. “Did it hurt instead? I'm so sorry. Anyway, you'll just have to be patient, I have somewhere to be, so if you don't mind...” Heading to the door, she glanced back at Chris. “Good night. Tomorrow I have something very special planned, something that will help make sense of all the pain you've been enduring. Until then, sweet dreams, and wish me luck. Oh, did I forget to tell you? I'm going on a date!”

***

“One more,” James said, gesturing to the barman.

“You sure?”

“Just one. Why? Do I seem drunk to you?”

“Not drunk,” the barman replied as he grabbed a bottle of bourbon and began to refill James's glass, “just... worse, you seem sad. I don't mind serving drunks, but people who are sad... Well, it just seems wrong.”

“I'm just catching up on some work,” James told him, as he looked down at the papers he'd laid out on the bar. “I figured it'd be easier to concentrate if I was here. The house is too...” He glanced at the photo of Amanda that was on one of the old news cuttings about the case. “Ghosts,” he added under his breath.

“I heard about her,” the barman replied, putting the lid back on the bourbon bottle. “That's the woman who cut up her two little babies, isn't it?”

“Allegedly,” he replied. “She didn't actually do it.”

“Oh? I could've sworn I heard that she got put away. Life in prison, wasn't it?”

“That doesn't mean she did it.”

“But I thought she confessed and -”

“She still didn't do it!” he said firmly, almost losing his temper. “I'm sorry, can I just get back to work? I've got so much here to read, and I need to have it ready for tomorrow in case she lets me...” He paused. “I just need to get it done.”

“No worries,” the barman replied, as another customer came through the door. “Just let me know if you need a top-up.”

Looking down at the article on repressed memories, James tried to get back into the zone. He'd been in the bar for several hours now, knocking back whiskeys as he trawled through medical articles about cases that seemed similar to Amanda's, but although he kept telling himself that the alcohol wasn't affecting him, he could tell that his concentration levels were dipping dangerously low. Frowning, he got to the end of a paragraph, only to start it again since he'd not managed to take in any of the information; when he finished the paragraph for a second time, he realized it had happened again.

“Damn it,” he muttered, taking another sip of whiskey. “Come on.”

After a moment, he realized that a faint glimmer of light was dancing on the page, as if it was being reflected by something shaky.

Turning, he saw that the smartly-dressed woman a few stools along was wearing a metallic watch, and her shaking hand was causing the irritating reflection.

Suddenly she turned to him, and then she looked at the patch of light.

“Oh,” she said, “I'm so sorry, was I doing that? It must have been the most annoying thing in the entire world.”

“It's fine,” he replied, “really.”

“I just wasn't thinking,” she continued, slipping the watch off and dropping it into her pocket. “My hands have been shaky for so long, I kind of don't even notice anymore, like it's become a part of who I am. Not unless I'm dealing with a patient, anyway, and then...” She paused. “Too much information, I guess. Please, I'm sorry I disturbed you.”

He watched as she looked back down at her drink, but a moment later she looked over at him again.

“Sorry,” he said, turning back to the article.

“What are you reading about?” she asked.

“Nothing much. Autonomic repressed memory syndromes.”

“That's a fascinating subject area,” the woman replied. “I did some research into it when I was in school. I even wrote a paper on the subject, but I didn't pursue it too far since, well, other things sort of got in the way. I still remember a few of the most important issues, though.”

“You're a doctor?” he asked.

“For my sins.” She smiled. “Actually, I have a background in neuro-science. My aim all through medical school was to become a surgeon, although things didn't pan out that way. Do you mind if I ask why you're reading about this particular subject? It's not something that people go over in bars usually.”

“It's a long story,” he replied.

“People always say that like it's a bad thing,” she told him, getting up from her stool and walking over to join him. Her figure-hugging black dress left little to the imagination, especially with the amount of cleavage on display, which became even more prominent as she leaned over to take a closer look at the papers on the bar. “Long stories are the best, don't you think?” she continued as she scanned the titles of the articles. “They give you more to sink your teeth into.”

“I'm just looking for any information I can find about repressed memories in times of stress,” he told her.

“Why? Are you -”

Pausing, she reached out and picked up the old newspaper cutting that showed Amanda's face.

“I read about this poor woman,” she continued. “She was accused of that dreadful murder, wasn't she? The one with the two darling little babies and -”

“Yes,” James said quickly, interrupting her. “That's her, she's...” He paused, feeling a little restless. Having never really talked to anyone about Amanda's case before, it felt strange to be opening up to this woman, but something about her put him at ease. “She's my wife,” he said finally.

“Oh.”

“Oh,” he replied with a frustrated smile. “That's what everyone says when they find out. Oh. Like they've got no idea how else to react.”

“I'm so sorry.”

“Why?”

“Because... Well, I mean, they were your children too, weren't they?”

He nodded.

“To lose them in such a horrible way, and then to effectively lose your wife as well -”

“I haven't lost her,” he replied firmly. “I'm going to get her out of there.”

“Out of prison? How do you intend to do that? A file hidden in a cheesecake?”

“She didn't do it,” he continued. “I know she confessed, but that's just because she's got other problems. I don't fully understand, but basically the situation made her believe that she must be responsible, even though she doesn't actually have any memories of the incident itself.”

“I see. But...” She paused. “I mean, she was the only one in the house with the children when it happened, wasn't she?”

“Yes, but -”

“And from what I remember reading, the gap in her memory is supposed to be only a few seconds, isn't it? A minute at most.”

“Yes, but that still -”

“So even if she repressed the memory of those events, surely it's highly improbable that someone else could have broken into the house, killed the children, and then left without being seen. I understand that you want to exonerate your wife, but... Surely there comes a point where you have to accept the obvious?”

“You think I'm wrong,” he replied. “You're not the first. Basically everyone else, including her parents, has written her off.”

“I think you obviously love her very much. You love her with all your heart and she's a very lucky young woman, but still...”

James looked down at the papers, and for the first time he felt a hint of doubt creeping into his soul. Until that very moment, he'd never even contemplated the possibility that Amanda might have killed the children, that the woman he loved so much might be capable of such a horrific act, but now... Deep in his gut, there was a deep, dark twisting sensation, and he began to feel as if he was barely even himself anymore. It was as if there was a threshold approaching, and if he began to consider the possibility that Amanda was guilty, he might never be able to stop.

“I'm sorry,” the woman said after a moment, “I've clearly opened my mouth a little too -”

“No,” he replied quickly, “it's fine, I just...” He stared at the photo of Amanda. “She won't let me see her,” he said finally.

“I'm sorry?”

“I go to visit her every weekday, and I sit there waiting but she refuses to come out and even say hello. It's like she's trying to push me away.”

“Maybe she just feels guilty.”

“She didn't do anything,” he replied, although he could hear the uncertainty in his own voice. “She can't have, she loved the children so much...”

“Then perhaps she's sick,” the woman replied, “or... No, I suppose I shouldn't say that.”

“Say what?”

“Just that maybe you don't really know her as well as you think you do. I mean, people are capable of surprising us, aren't they? Even when they've been in our lives for a long time.”

“I've known Amanda since we were both at school,” he replied. “We grew up together, we were childhood sweethearts, we got married so young, too young most people said, and -”

“And you don't want to admit that you might have been duped,” she continued. “I understand that, but at the same time, it sounds like she's trying to get rid of you. Maybe she's accepted what she did and she just wants you to do the same?”

“I think she just wants me to move on,” he replied. “It's her way of trying to get me to start a new life, but I can't do that. I have to help her.”

“She doesn't need your help,” the woman told him. “It sounds to me like you really do need to let go.” She stared at him for a moment, with a faint smile on her lips. “Why don't you come home with me?” she asked finally.

He turned to her.

“I believe in being up-front and direct,” she continued, “so let me make this very easy for you to understand. I'm having one of those nights, and I could really use some company in bed. I've got a good body, I know how to please a man, and I'm most certainly not the type of woman who gets clingy in the morning. It will absolutely be a one night stand, and I think it could be just the thing that you need to help you move on with your life.”

“I really -”

“If your wife could see you now, she'd beg you to take me up on this. She'd realize that it's the best offer you're going to get, and that for your own sake as well as hers, you need to move on. It's not pity sex, it's...” She bit her bottom lip for a moment. “It's just a bit of fun.”

“I appreciate the sentiment,” he replied, feeling a little embarrassed, “but -”

“Come on,” she continued, reaching up and pulling one side of her dress away to expose her left breast, before covering it again. “I'm just offering some pure, adult fun for a few hours. Let's get hot and sweaty, and let me show you that there's life after the tragedy that struck your life. If you don't do it now, you're only going to have to do it later, and then it might be too late. Right now, right here, you've got someone who's very much willing to do this with you.”

“Look, I don't even know your name -”

“Deborah.”

“Okay, Deborah, this is really flattering -”

“It's my hands, isn't it?” she replied, with a hurt look in her eyes.

“I'm sorry?”

Holding her hands up to the light, she turned them over so he could see that not only were they trembling, but they were covered in scars.

“Don't be sorry,” she continued, with tears in her eyes. “I guess I should have known better. I throw myself at men all the time, but they usually turn me down. I always see the exact moment, too, when they realize that I'm hiding such ugliness. I know my hands are hideous -”

“They're not hideous,” he replied, “it's just -”

“This is why I had to abandon my plans to be a surgeon. The nerve damage was too great.”

“Listen, I -”

“I have other burns too,” she told him. “My legs, my inner thighs, my belly. I showed you my left breast because it's the only one that's...” Pausing, she pulled the other side of her dress away, revealing a burned and damaged breast with a large scar where there had once been a nipple. “Look at me,” she continued, keeping her voice low. “There was a fire, years ago, when I was at college. My room-mate was caught up in it, and when the firemen managed to get to us they found me standing by her bed, desperately trying to reach through the flames and get hold of her. I don't remember things too well, but I'm pretty sure they had to drag me away kicking and screaming. Perhaps I would have died if they'd not arrived in time.”

“I'm sorry to hear that,” James replied, looking over to see that the barman was busy changing the channel on the TV, “but I don't see what I can do to help you.”

“Make love to me,” she continued. “We both need it.”

“I really can't just -”

“Don't you think I've learned to compensate for my scars?” she asked. “I know they make me hideous, but Jesus Christ, I've learned better than anyone how to do other things. Sure, I've got burns on more than half my body, but I make up for that in so many other ways.” With that, she leaned toward him and tried to initiate a kiss, but he pulled back. “We're both damaged people,” she whispered, “and we both need to move on with our lives. Even if you don't feel like it, even if you think it's wrong, can't you just give it a try? I promise you, in the morning you'll feel so much better. After all, when was the last time you were with a woman?”

“I don't want to move on with my life,” he told her. “I want to get it back.”

“Why? Was it really so great? Was Amanda such a wonderful human being that you can't imagine ever being with another?”

“She was... She is... my wife. That means something to me.”

She stared at him for a moment, almost as if she was trying to read his mind.

“You really love her, don't you?” she said finally, as if she found the idea shocking. “My God, it's a rare thing... Love so strong, so blind, that it can withstand anything that's thrown at it. I swear, I didn't really think people loved one another that way in the modern world. I thought everyone was just so transitory and impatient, but you really love your wife.”

“I understand how this must seem,” he replied, choosing his words carefully, “and you probably think I'm pathetic, but I'm determined to prove that she's innocent and to get her out of prison. Yes, I know I might be deluded, I might be wrong, but I love her and I refuse to believe that she'd ever do anything so horrific. So you see, I have to keep going until I work out what really happened. I have to keep faith in her, even if she wants me to move on.”

“I've never met anyone who felt true love for someone before,” she said with a hint of sadness in her voice, before taking a step back. “I can't imagine how it feels, but I can only hope that you succeed, and that she's worth everything that you're giving up for her, because... You might not realize it yet, but you're giving up a hell of s lot. One might even say that you're giving up everything, and for what? Some child-killing monster who deserves to rot with the rest of the scum in that prison.”

“She's my wife,” he said firmly, “and I'm getting her out of there.”

***

“Goddamn woman,” he muttered, hurrying away from the bar.

A light sprinkling of rain had begun to fall as James made his way along the street and then took a left turn, heading toward the bus stop. He walked fast, determined to get home so that he could -

“Hey.”

Turning, he saw that the woman from the bar had followed him.

“What do you -”

Before he could finish, he felt a sharp pain in his chest as the woman pushed him back against the wall. She twisted the blade of the knife, tearing his heart in two, before pulling the knife out again and stepping back to watch as he slumped to the ground.

Six months ago

“Assistant to the Governor,” Grace muttered, as she clicked on the link. “Hardstone prison...”

She read the information and made a few notes, before pressing the button to start applying. She'd spent the evening looking online for various job opportunities, but there were very few around. Although she couldn't really imagine herself working in a prison, she needed the money and she figured that her life had already changed so much in the few days since her mother's death.

“Probably won't come to anything,” she told herself once the digital application had been filed. She tried to go back to the search page to look for more possibilities, but the browser timed out and she realized that her internet connection had stopped working. She tried a few workarounds before resigning herself to the fact that she might as well stop for the night. Leaving the lid of her laptop open, she looked toward the hallway.

Silence.

Every night, she felt as if there was some other kind of presence in the house. After checking that the door was locked, she headed upstairs, stopping for a moment to look over at the door to her mother's bedroom. She'd cleaned the room out, but since then the door had remained closed. Stepping across the landing, she pushed the door open and looked into the bare room, half-expecting to find that it had all been a dream and her mother was still alive.

She felt a wave of relief pass through her body as she saw that there was no sign of anyone.

“I'm sorry,” she said out loud, staring at the spot where she'd found her mother's body. “I know I should mourn you, and miss you, but the truth is...”

She thought back to all the fights they'd endured, even before the dementia had begun to turn her mother from a bad-tempered woman into a creature of pure rage.

“It's not my fault,” she continued, with tears in her eyes. “I'm not a bad person, I swear, I just... I couldn't live like that anymore, but I couldn't leave you. I was trapped. I'm sorry you died, but I'm not sorry that I'm free.”

She paused for a moment, before pulling the door shut and going through to her room.

Downstairs, a single pinging sound came from her laptop, as a response came through regarding her job application, direct from the head office at Hardstone Women's Prison. At the bottom of the screen, the laptop's taskbar showed the time: 1:13am.

Today

“You're up late.”

Glancing over at the door, Governor Windsor saw that Doctor Bell had appeared as if from nowhere, wearing a tight black dress that revealed enough cleavage to immediately send his blood pressure rising.

“I wanted to get some work done,” he blustered, trying very hard not to leer at her body as she made her way over to his desk. “I... I felt that I'd be disturbing Ruth if I went home and worked there, so I called her and let her know that I'd be -”

“Ruth's dead, Alistair.”

He stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”

“Your wife is dead,” she continued, “and you know it.”

“I most certainly do not know any such thing!”

“She died several years ago when a burglar cracked her skull open. It was in the papers, everyone knows, so don't try to maintain this pathetic charade any longer. I'm really, really not in the mood.”

“I...” He paused for a moment. “I see her.”

“I know you do.”

“When I go home,” he continued, his voice betraying a hint of panic, “she's there, every single night! She talks to me! She makes dinner! What am I supposed to do?”

“Move house?”

“And leave her behind?”

“That's what we're supposed to do with ghosts,” she told him. “Living with them is just tragic. We all have to move on eventually, not let them linger like bad smells.”

“What would she do if I wasn't there?”

“I don't know,” she replied, picking up the letter-opener from his desk and walking around the desk until she was right behind him. “Let's find out, shall we?”

With that, she reached around and sliced the letter-opener across his neck, immediately cutting his throat wide open. As he gasped for breath, she grabbed the top of his head and tilted it back until he was looking up at her, before using the blade to cut a little deeper into his neck, ripping through the layers of skin and fat. Pulling his head back a little further, she made sure that the slit in his neck was forced wide open, spraying blood not only across the desk but also onto the floor a little further away. He tried to get up, but she forced him back down into his chair.

“I was going to do this later,” she hissed, “but you've been annoying me, old man, and I've been starting to think that you're a liability rather than an asset. Do you have any idea how many of your mistakes I've been having to fix lately? I suppose it was a blessing, though, because I finally realized I don't actually need you anymore. I can complete the work from now on, and besides, I've had a very disappointing night and I need to take it out on someone. I'd have gone for a prisoner, but given that one of those pieces of human trash already died today, I figure you'll be easier to keep off the radar. After all, who's going to miss you? The ghost of your dead wife?”

He tried to say something, but all that emerged from his mouth was a faint gurgle, followed by a torrent of blood that began to ooze down his chin.

“Try this,” she muttered, digging the blade deeper into the hole in his neck.

Seconds later, a fresh burst of blood began to spray across the desk.

“Something unusual is happening in this prison,” she continued, struggling a little to keep hold of his head as he began to spasm, “and I fully intend to make it work in my favor. Do you remember all those ideas I explained to you? I know they seemed crazy at the time, but look now, turns out I was right on the money. But you?”

She paused for a moment, watching the look of desperation in his eyes as his spasms began to pass.

“That was always the problem with you, Alistair. You claimed you were on the same page as me, but you were too keen on getting that knighthood. It was all you could ever think about and it clouded your judgment. So you see, I had to get you out of the way. In fact, right now I'm even -”

She paused, staring down at his dead eyes, and finally she let go of his head.

“Typical,” she muttered, wiping blood from her hands onto the sides of her black dress, “just when I was going to tell him the truth about my plans, he goes and dies on me.” Making her way back around to the front of the desk, she looked down at the blood. “This is going to take a while to clean up, but I suppose I can get started. People will only start asking awkward questions if they come in here tomorrow and find big scarlet pools everywhere.”

Setting the letter-opened down, she made sure to align it so that it was exactly parallel to the edge of the desk.

“By the way,” she added, smiling at the corpse, “did you know that the process for finding a new governor is going to take at least two weeks once you're out of the way? In the meantime, they'll need someone else to run things, so I guess that as the senior staff member I'm going to be taking temporary charge. It's a hassle, but I figure it's the only way to get my work done to the original timetable. Then again, I suppose I could just say you've gone away for a while. That might be easier.”

Taking a step back, she took a moment to admire the scene.

“Okay,” she said finally, “I've had some fun and let my hair down. Now it's time to really start with the hard work. Two hundred prisoners should be enough to get this show on the road.”

***

“Revenge?” Amanda asked as she dried her face. “Do you really think that's what has been happening?”

“Think about it,” Robin called out from one of the toilet cubicles. “The little girl got her life wiped out, all her suffering erased from the record books, and she's mad about it. That's what's going on, she's trying to drag it all back into the light so that people know the truth.”

“Sounds like the plot of a horror movie.”

“That's because it makes perfect sense!” There was the sound of the toilet flushing, and moments later Robin emerged from the cubicle and began to wash her hands. “It's logical. The kid has been wronged, dude, and she wants it all put right. She wants everyone to know the truth about what happened to her, she wants restitution, and she probably wants us to find her body and bury it in, like, consecrated ground. Wouldn't you feel the same way?”

“I guess, but...” She paused as she caught sight of her own reflection in the mirror, and for a moment she couldn't help but notice that she seemed to have aged a few years in just a couple of weeks, as if her time at Hardstone had begun to drag her down. “Why would she want to kill Emma?” she asked finally. “That's what I don't understand. If she's really here and she really wants revenge, why go for the prisoners and why start with Emma of all people? It just seems too random.”

“Maybe she's just angry at the world,” Robin muttered as she headed to the door. “Maybe she sees all adults as evil, hell, maybe the little ghost is a little racist! I dunno, I haven't got it all figured out yet, but I will. If there's one thing I'm good at figuring out, it's this kind of thing, you know, mysteries and shit.”

“Emma had a sixth toe on her right foot,” Amanda said suddenly.

“She did?”

“I guess it's not important, but...” She paused for a moment. “I just thought it was strange, that's all.”

“There's a lot of little things about this place that don't add up,” Robin replied. “Do you ever get the feeling that you're just seeing little hints of something way bigger that's going on behind the scenes?”

“Here, or in life in general?”

“I'll get to the bottom of it,” Robin continued, “don't worry about that. There hasn't been a mystery invented yet that can outsmart me. Anyway, we owe it to Emma to find out why she died. That shit just isn't right, know what I'm saying? Something pretty fucked up is happening here at Hardstone, and I'm gonna find out what.”

Once Robin had left the room, Amanda finished washing for the night and then headed out into the corridor. Most of the other prisoners were already in their cells, and the guards were coming along to check on everyone. Reaching her own cell, Amanda found that there was no sign of Robin anywhere. After setting her toothbrush on the sink, she headed to her bunk and began to get ready. As she arranged her pillows, she heard Robin entering.

“I think there has to be more to it,” Amanda said, as she turned to face her cellmate. “I don't think Leonora Blake is -”

Stopping suddenly, she saw that it wasn't Robin behind her at all. Instead, she was staring straight into the dark, dead eyes of the little girl.

Part Six

Today

Sighing, Evans tried again, but the truck still wouldn't start. Figuring he was in danger of running late, he grabbed his kit bag, opened the door and climb out before making his way over to the dispatch hut. A light rain was already falling, and the weather forecast had been warning of worse to come.

“That heap of junk is dead,” he told his boss, Symonds, as soon as he walked through the door.

“Try holding the clutch down for ten seconds.”

“I tried that, it doesn't work. You need to get it serviced. This whole fleet is falling apart.”

“Fine,” Symonds replied, leaning over and grabbing another set of keys from the rack, “take number nine.”

“Nine? Did you get the brakes fixed yet?”

“I think you're a tight old bastard who cuts corners.”

“Of course I got the brakes fixed,” his boss replied, clearly exasperated. “Do you really think I'd send you out in a truck that can't stop properly?”

“I dunno, last time there was -”

“The brakes are fine!” Symonds hissed, sliding the keys to him. “Come on, get moving. There's a storm coming tonight so we've got no margin for error, these deliveries have to go out on time, so stop jabbering and get to work.”

“You'd better not be shitting me about those brakes,” Evans replied, making his way to the door. “I don't want to hit the pedal and suddenly find I can't stop, end up crashing into something.” With that, he headed outside.

“Yeah yeah,” Symonds muttered as he turned back to the spreadsheet on his monitor, “whatever. There was never anything wrong with those brakes anyway, they just stuck once or twice. I'll get 'em looked at next week.”

***

“So what's up?” Robin asked, stepping out into the corridor and blocking Amanda's way.

“Nothing,” Amanda replied, barely making eye contact as she slipped past. “Why do you keep asking? That's like the tenth time already this morning.”

“Because you've been acting weird ever since the lights came on,” Robin continued, hurrying after her. “Come on, Weir, you know you can't keep these things from me. I know you better than anyone else in here, which doesn't mean much, but still...”

“I have to get ready. Doctor Bell's expecting me at ten.”

“Screw Doctor Bell. That woman freaks me out anyway, there's something not right about her if you ask me.” Slipping back past Amanda, she stopped in the doorway that led into the bathroom. “Something happened last night,” she continued. “I can tell it from the look in your eyes, it's almost as if...” She paused for a moment, fixing Amanda with a determined stare. “You're scared.”

“I'm not scared.”

“Then quit acting scared.”

“I'm not acting anything! I just want to get to the bathroom!”

“Then say the password.”

Sighing, Amanda began to consider going to one of the other bathrooms.

“Say the password,” Robin repeated.

“What's the password?”

“Same as always. The truth.”

“There's no truth,” Amanda continued, “I guess I'm just having an off day.”

“It can't be the red visitor. You had that last week, not that it seemed to affect you much. Wait 'til I get mine in a week or two, I'll turn into a fucking ogre.”

“I just need to get ready for Doctor Bell,” Amanda explained, “and I have to do something else before that.”

“Like what?”

“Like...” She paused for a moment. “Like none of your business,” she added finally.

“You didn't see anything last night, did you?”

“No!”

“Like the spooky little kid? Did it come again? Did you look at her eyes this time?”

“I didn't see any damn kid,” Amanda hissed, pushing past her and making her way into the bathroom.

“You'd tell me if you did, right?” Robin asked, turning and watching as she hurried into one of the cubicles and pushed the door shut. “You'd tell me, yeah?” she called out again. “Amanda? If you saw Leonora Blake, you'd tell me, wouldn't you?”

***

“I thought he showed up every morning,” Amanda said an hour later, as the first visiting session of the day came to an end. She watched as various people filed out of the room.

“Maybe he got caught in traffic,” the guard replied.

“But he's been here every morning so far, right?”

He nodded.

“This is the first time since I arrived at Hardstone that he hasn't shown up?”

“Tragic, huh?”

“Then maybe...” She looked over at the empty seat where she'd expected to find James waiting for her, and slowly a sense of sadness began to creep through her gut. “Maybe he finally got the message. Maybe he decided that there's no point coming anymore.”

“What's the big deal?” the guard asked. “You always jilt him anyway. The guy just sits there every time he comes, watching the door in case you decide to show your face. Why are you suddenly not being a bitch today?”

“Because...” She continued to stare at the empty chair for a moment. “Because I think today might have been my last chance to say goodbye.”

***

“All these metrics are good,” Andrew said as he studied the print-out. “You'll be pleased to know, Amanda, that according to the various tests we've run since you arrived at Hardstone, you're in the top group in terms of both emotional stability and personality control.”

“So what does that mean?”

“It means that we don't need to enforce any special measures. Some of the women here have been in the prison system for decades, and that does something to a person's mind. I'm sure you've noticed that a few of them are a little unusual, so we like to keep track of these things and, in theory, deal with problems before they have a chance to get out of control. The psychological impact of incarceration can be -”

“Are we done?” she asked suddenly.

“Well, I -”

“It's just that I have things to do.”

“Such as?”

“Doctor Bell wants me to help her.”

“I see. And how are things going with Doctor Bell? She's told me that you're a very good worker, but I'd like to know how things are going from your perspective. I know the good doctor can be a little abrasive from time to time, so I'm sure you've had to adapt so that you can deal with her. Is everything okay?”

“Fine.”

“And -”

“Everything's fine. Can I just go?”

“You're fidgeting.”

Looking down at her hands, Amanda realized she was drumming her fingertips against the side of her chair. “I'm not fidgeting,” she muttered, putting her hands in her lap, “I just don't have time to sit here like this.”

“You do have time, because this hour of your day was specifically set aside for a session with me.”

“You don't understand!” she hissed.

“So explain it to me,” he replied. “In all our sessions so far, Amanda, you've been quiet and polite, but this time it's like something's wrong. I know you've been enjoying your work with Doctor Bell, but something seems wrong this morning and I'm not letting you out of this room until you tell me the truth. You can either come out with it right now or we'll sit here until you change your mind. The choice is yours.”

“I saw...” She paused, immediately aware that there was no way she could tell him the truth. “I went to talk to my husband this morning during the visiting session,” she said finally, switching to a half-truth, “and he didn't show up. That's all.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

“Like... Like I might not get another chance.”

“Because you think he won't come again?”

“Not before...”

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

“Did you sleep last night?” he asked finally. “You look tired, Amanda.”

“I'm fine.”

“Maybe you should get Doctor Bell to check your blood sugar levels and -”

“I'm fine,” she said again, getting to her feet. “I just don't have time to sit around making smalltalk when...” Spotting movement out of the corner of her eye, she turned to look at the door just as a guard made his way past the small window. Her heart racing, she waited a moment, just in case she saw Leonora Blake again, but finally she realized that it had been a false alarm.

Not like the previous night.

“Are you scared of something?” Andrew asked after a moment. “Amanda, the idea that prisons are full of fights and gang violence is thankfully blown out of proportion, but if someone is threatening you, you know you can come and talk to me, don't you?”

She turned to him.

“If someone's causing problems, you only have to tell me. There are things I can do to help.”

“I don't think that would be much use,” she replied darkly.

“Are you being deliberately cryptic this morning, or -”

“Do you believe in those stories?” she asked. “You know, the ones about the little girl?”

“I see,” he replied, clearly a little concerned by her question. “Is this linked to the recent unfortunate passing of Emma Tate? I know some rather wild stories have been circulating among the inmates. Leonora Blake is being blamed, isn't she?”

“Do you think it's possible?”

“That a ghostly little girl is haunting Hardstone? No, not for a second.”

“But what if -”

“I'm absolutely certain that Leonora Blake was a real person,” he continued, “a long, long time ago. From what I've read, it also seems that she killed some people when she was released, but apart from that, I'd caution against believing too much of the story. Over an entire century, facts can become distorted and whole new parts of the tale can be added. As for the supernatural elements of the whole thing, I certainly don't think there's any chance that Ms. Blake is still wandering the corridors, or that she'll ever do so. I do, however, think that the human mind -”

“My hour is up,” Amanda pointed out, watching the clock on the wall.

He turned and saw that she was right.

“I'm worried about you,” he replied, looking back at her.

“Don't be.”

“It's my job.”

“I'm fine,” she told him. “Like you said, I didn't sleep too well last night, and everything that happened with Emma, plus my husband not showing up this morning... I guess it all got on top of me, that's all.” She forced a faint smile, hoping to ease his mind. “There are lots of people here who need your attention, I'm just... I'm late for work.”

“Then you'd better get going,” he replied, “but I'm scheduling an extra session for tomorrow morning at nine. I want to check on you again, just to see how you're doing.”

“Fine,” she said, heading to the door. “Do whatever you want.”

As the guard led her away from the room, she couldn't help glancing both ways along the corridor, just in case there was another hint of the child's presence. She had no idea why she'd been left alive after her encounter the previous night, but she was convinced that it would only be a temporary reprieve. Still, all she could think was that she wanted to get it over with rather than living with the shadow constantly hanging over her head. In fact, she figured she'd more or less worked out why she was being targeted by Leonora Blake: it was retribution for the fact that she'd murdered her own children.

Twenty-four hours ago

“And will you be taking tea at the usual time?” Jefferies asked as he opened the window and looked out for a moment at Hyde Park.

After a moment, hearing no reply, he turned to see that his employer was reading a newspaper.

“M'am?” he continued. “I was just -”

“It's happening,” the old lady said, her voice filled with fear as she turned to him. “I always knew it would, but I fear the day has finally arrived.”

“I see,” Jefferies replied cautiously. “In that case, M'am, should I start making the necessary arrangements?”

“I'm a fool,” she said, staring over at the window. “I thought I was in control, but now I see... I was just fooling myself. Something has to be done before she kills again.”

Today

“Gone?” Grace replied, clearly startled. “What do you mean? Where has he gone?”

“North,” Doctor Bell replied, smiling as she sat behind the desk in Governor Windsor's office. “He left last night for a conference.”

“He didn't tell me anything about a conference.”

“He must have forgotten.”

“But he had several meetings scheduled for today.”

“He must have forgotten.”

“And the board of trustees is due to call after lunch to discuss the new extension for the main wing.”

“I'll talk to them. I've already had a chance to look over his diary, actually. He said that rather than canceling everything, he felt I could easily slip into his shoes for the next few days. I have to say, it's a great honor and I'm very pleased that he trusts me.” She paused for a moment, studying Grace's face for any hint of suspicion. “There's really nothing to worry about,” she added finally. “He'll be back soon.”

“I'm sure,” she replied, “it's just...”

“Just what?”

“This doesn't seem very much like him, that's all. He usually tells me everything.”

“I think I know how we can settle this,” Doctor Bell replied, reaching into one of the desk drawers and taking out a phone, which she slid toward the other woman. “Give him a call.”

“I don't know that I -”

“Give him a call,” she said again, more firmly this time. “That's an order, Grace. I am in charge, am I not?”

Smiling nervously, Grace picked up the phone and brought up Governor Windsor's number, before hitting the Call button and waiting for it to connect. Glancing over at Doctor Bell, she couldn't help but notice a hint of excitement in the woman's eyes, as if she was already enjoying her new role.

“It went to voice-mail,” she said finally, lowering the phone.

“I guess he must be too busy to answer,” Doctor Bell replied.

“Must be. He's probably -”

Before she could finish, the phone began to ring. Looking down, she saw that it was Governor Windsor trying to get in touch.

“Well answer it,” Doctor Bell said calmly. “What are you waiting for?”

Tapping the front of the phone, Grace raised it to her ear.

“Sir?”

Immediately, she heard what seemed to be a wall of static, at such a high volume that she had to hold the phone a little further from her ear.

“Something wrong?” Doctor Bell asked, clearly amused.

“I don't know, it's...” Pausing, she realized that mixed in with the static, there was another sound: a kind of swirling, rhythmic noise that occasionally threatened to resolve into a human voice, but which apparently couldn't quite break through. “It sounds as if -”

“Grace?” the governor's voice asked suddenly, emerging from the static. “Is that you?”

“It's me, Sir,” she replied, feeling a sense of relief wash through her body. “I just wanted to see if you were okay. You left so suddenly and I was wondering if something's wrong.”

“I'm...” His voice faded for a moment. “Yes, I'm somewhere dark. Very dark, in fact. I can't quite...”

“Dark?”

“I'm not sure if...”

She waited.

“Doctor Bell told me you'll be back next week,” she said finally. “Is that right?”

“Next week?” He sounded confused, as if he was struggling with even the simplest of answers. “I suppose so. If that's what she says... Yes, next week. That sounds right. I'll be back next week.”

“You don't have your diary with you, do you?” Grace asked. “You should have taken it, Sir. You know how hard it is for you to keep track of things when you don't have your diary.”

“Absolutely. It's very hard to... It's dark here. And cold. I'm really not sure whether -”

Suddenly the call ended, leaving Grace to look over at Doctor Bell's smiling face.

“Well?”

“It was him,” Grace replied cautiously. “The connection was very bad.”

“I told you. He went north.”

“He said it was dark. And cold.”

“Probably Newcastle. Sounds like Newcastle.”

“And he's coming back on Monday,” she continued, setting the phone down on the desk. She paused for a moment, unable to shake the feeling that something was most definitely wrong. She'd long had doubts about Doctor Bell, and now those doubts seemed more important than ever. “I suppose that's okay.”

“It's absolutely fine,” the doctor replied. “I'm sure the whole place won't burn down just because I'm in charge for a few days. Don't worry, I have no desire to make any major changes. In fact, apart from when I have to attend specific meetings, I intend to spend all my time in the laboratory, getting on with my regular work. After all, the women of Hardstone won't stop needing medical attention just because their physician has to moonlight as governor for a few days. In fact, knowing them, I wouldn't be surprised if they require extra attention, purely to cause me problems.”

Grace smiled weakly, even though she still felt that something wasn't right.

“Well go on, then,” Doctor Bell said finally. “Don't just stand there, don't you have any work to be getting on with?”

“Of course,” Grace replied, taking a step back.

“And I heard that there's a storm coming,” Doctor Bell continued, “so do make sure that the leaky roof on the third wing has been fixed. We wouldn't want the inmates getting wet, would we?”

“I'll get right onto it.”

“And have someone do something about those horrible bones in the yard. I thought they'd been buried, but this morning I noticed a few of them poking up from the soil. I mean, how hard can it be to bury a few pieces of bone? Sometimes I wonder about the basic functional intelligence of the people around here.”

“I'll speak to Ferguson.”

Grace watched as Doctor Bell took a file from the desk and opened it. Realizing that she had nothing left to say, she turned and hurried out to the reception area, but before she could sit at her desk she noticed a figure standing in the doorway. Turning, she saw to her surprise that there was a little girl staring straight at her.

***

“You didn't see anything,” Andrew said as he kissed the top of Grace's head a short while later. “I warned you that this might happen. You let these ideas get into your head and they burrowed deep until -”

“I'm not insane!” she hissed, pulling back from him. “I know what I saw! It was a little girl and she stared at me for a moment and then she turned and walked away.”

“Well that's a good thing, isn't it?” he asked. “Clearly she's not interested in you.”

“Can't you take this seriously?”

“Take what seriously? The whole prison is buzzing with talk of this Leonora Blake girl, just because of that incident with Emma Tate the other day. Impressionable minds breed illusions, which breed -”

“Do you think I have an impressionable mind?” she asked.

“I think you're very sensitive.”

“I saw her!” she continued, clearly starting to become agitated. “She was right there, as clear as day, as clear as you're standing here now and -” Pausing, she stared at him for a moment with a slowly dawning sense of horror. “You think I'm just some idiot who gets over-excited after hearing ghost stories, don't you?”

“No, I -”

“I can see that look in your eyes!” she told him. “It's like... pity, mixed with compassion. You're totally certain that you're right, and you think anyone who believes in this kind of thing must have some kind of mental weakness! You're looking down on me!”

“I know how the human brain works,” he replied, “and I know that it can create sensations that are extremely powerful and that seem totally real.”

“I believe in these things,” she said firmly. “We've skated around this problem before, Andrew, but if you really think that my beliefs make me a fool, then I don't know why you even want to be with me.”

“Let's not get dramatic -”

“It wasn't something that came rumbling up from the depths of my mind,” she continued. “It was a little girl, standing right there in the doorway, looking directly at me, and she was real. She stared at me for a moment, and then she just walked away. You can try to explain it however you want, but you'll never convince me that I imagined it. I saw the same little girl that David Bradford and Emma Tate both saw, and look what happened to them!”

“So you think you're in danger?”

“I...” She paused. “I don't know what to think. The story always goes that people die when they look straight into her eyes, but I'm still here so... Something must be different. It's almost as if she decided she didn't want me.”

“Listen,” he replied, stepping toward her and putting a hand on her waist, “why don't we get dinner tonight? We'll go somewhere relaxing and -”

“There's a storm coming, remember?” she told him. “I don't think it's the kind of night where you want to be caught out. From what they said on the weather, this storm is going to be a once in a decade kind of thing, so it might be better to just sit it out at home.”

“Then we can -”

“And I'll talk to you tomorrow,” she added finally, making it clear from her tone that she intended to be at her own home, without him. “Don't worry, though. I won't get so scared that I start hallucinating again. God forbid that I'd let my weak little mind get the better of me.”

With that, she turned and headed back to the door.

“I didn't mean it like that,” he muttered with a sigh. “I just meant that the chances of an actual ghost being here at Hardstone are pretty much below zero. It's just not possible.”

Twenty-four hours ago

“Are you sure you're up to this, M'am?” Jefferies asked as he wheeled her out into the courtyard, where the limousine was waiting. “After everything that has happened lately -”

“I have no choice,” she replied. “You heard what that young man said yesterday. So many innocent people have had their lives ruined by this mess. I should have put it all right a long time ago.”

“Is such a thing even possible?” he asked as he eased the wheelchair up a small ramp and into the back of the car. “You've said yourself, M'am, that the situation is most likely beyond your control.”

“I have to try,” she said firmly, her eyes filled with tears. “The tragedy of Hardstone was bad enough the first time around. It can't be allowed to happen again!”

Today

“Doctor Bell is very busy today,” Amanda said as she lifted the bandage from across Chris's face, “so -”

Stopping for a moment, she looked down at the mangled flesh and blood-filled eye-sockets beneath the bandage and realized that there seemed to be no improvement at all. In fact, if anything, Chris's injuries seemed to be getting worse, and there were several areas where pus had begun to gather, almost as if an infection was forming.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

No reply.

“So I'm going to be looking after you today,” she continued hesitantly, turning to the trolley and taking a moment to prepare the equipment she'd need. “Don't worry, though. I've been told exactly what I need to do, and I'll make sure you don't feel a thing.” Opening a fresh pack of pipettes, she realized her hands were trembling a little with nerves, and after a moment she glanced back across the room, just in case there was any sign of Leonora Blake.

Nothing.

Just another faint moan from Chris.

“I saw something last night,” Amanda continued, turning back to the trolley. “I can't tell anyone else, but... I saw something that made me question my sanity. It was the girl, or at least I think it was... Either there really is a ghost here at the prison, or maybe I'm just cracking up. I mean, how do you know when you're losing your mind? I guess you just have to wait for other people to tell you, 'cause otherwise everything just carried on making total sense to you.” She paused for a moment. “After everything that happened before, I was examined by two psychiatrists, but they both said that I seemed okay. Maybe they were wrong.”

Grabbing the pipette and a metal tray, she turned and made her way back toward the bed, but at the last moment she fumbled with the tray and let it slip from her hands.

“Damn,” she muttered, getting down onto her knees and reaching under the bed to grab the tray. “I'm sorry, I'll try to pull it together, I just -”

Before she could finish, she heard the bed starting to creak above her, and a moment later she saw blood starting to drip down onto the floor. Pausing for a moment, she managed to grab the tray, before finally looking up and seeing to her horror that not only had Chris begun to sit up, but she'd turned to look down toward the floor, which in turn was causing the blood in her eye-sockets to start draining out onto the floor.

“No!” Amanda shouted, dropping the tray again and getting to her feet before taking hold of Chris's shoulder and easing her back down onto the bed. “You can't get up! You mustn't -”

“I saw her,” Chris whispered suddenly.

Amanda stared at her, shocked by what she'd just heard.

“What did you say?” she asked, trembling with fear.

“I saw her,” Chris said again. Her voice sounded so weak and fragile, it was almost as if it might fall apart under the weight of each word. “I saw the... girl...”

“What girl?” Amanda asked, her heart pounding in her chest.

“The... same one... you saw...”

“Wh -” She paused. “I need to get Doctor Bell.”

“No!” Chris hissed. “Not her!”

“She'll know what to do.”

“She hurt me” Chris replied, letting out a gasp. “She wouldn't let me scream, but she didn't give me anything for the pain...”

“She gave you injections,” Amanda told her. “I saw her giving them to you!”

“Those weren't for the pain,” Chris replied. “She was paralyzing my throat to keep me from screaming, she... Why can't I see? I remember... I saw the girl when I was in isolation, and then I think I...”

Her voice trailed off for a moment.

“You scratched your own face off,” Amanda replied, unable to think of a lie. “Doctor Bell feels responsible, but you did it to yourself!”

“The girl's eyes,” Chris continued, “were looking straight into my head. It was like... like...”

“But she didn't kill you straight away,” Amanda pointed out. “Why did she let you live? Why does she let some people live, but she kills others?”

“I couldn't look at her any longer, that's why... I had to get rid of my...” She paused again. “My eyes,” she continued finally. “I remember now, I had to tear them out... I felt like I couldn't help it, I couldn't stop myself look at her, so the only things I could do was...”

“I really need to call Doctor Bell.”

“It was the only way I could force myself to stop looking at that girl's eyes,” she added breathlessly. “I was going out of my mind, I thought at first she was a hallucination but then...”

Amanda waited for her to continue.

“But then what?”

“But then... then she... The last thing I saw, after I'd got one of my eyes out and I was digging out the other, was the girl... She was... smiling...”

“Smiling?” Amanda replied. “What do -”

Suddenly the door burst open and Doctor Bell hurried into the room, grabbing a syringe from the side and starting to fill it with clear liquid from a bottle. Her hands were trembling more than ever as she struggled to get the needle through the bottle's rubber covering.

“She's awake,” Amanda stammered, “and... She's talking.”

“She's delirious,” Doctor Bell hissed, “and you should have called me immediately. I've been so busy, I forget her latest dose of pain medication.”

“But she -”

“Get her away from me!” Chris shouted, trying to get her hands free from the leather restraints that were holding her to the bed. “Get this mad bitch out of here, she's -” Running out of breath, she started gasping for air as she pulled harder and harder against the restraints.

Forcing Chris back down onto the bed, Doctor Bell struggled to aim the syringe before finally managed to get the needle into the side of her neck and depressing the plunger. Chris struggled for a moment longer, refusing to surrender, until finally she let out another faint gasp. Moments later, the doctor let go of her shoulders and took a step back.

“I'm sorry,” Amanda told her, “I was about to call you but -”

“What did she say?”

“Just a few -”

“What did she say?” she shouted. “Answer the damn question!”

“Just that she'd seen...” Amanda paused, shocked by the anger in Doctor Bell's eyes. “She said she'd seen Leonora Blake, and that was why she did this to her face. She also said...” After glancing at the empty syringe for a moment, she looked down at Chris's face. “What's in those injections you give her?”

“It's for the pain.”

“But she said -”

“It's for the pain,” Doctor Bell said firmly. “You've been working here barely a week, Amanda. Please don't start thinking that you know better than me. When I say something, I don't want to have to endlessly explain why it's true. You're still just a prisoner here, remember. If you start getting in my way, I can send you back to work with the other idiots.”

“But if she's conscious -”

“That was my mistake,” she replied, slipping a cap back onto the needle before tossing it into a medical waste bag. “The injection contains a number of drugs, and some of them are designed to sedate her so that she doesn't have to experience the pain. It's no wonder she was confused just now, I was planning to bring her out of her sedation slowly and carefully, so as to ease the strain on her mind. Instead, she came blasting out, the poor girl must have been so confused.”

“I just -”

“You could have ruined everything!” she continued, clearly struggling to contain her anger. “You shouldn't have let her talk at all, you should have...” Pausing, she finally let out a sigh. “No, it's my fault. I was so caught up in things last night and this morning, I neglected to give her the next injection on time. I can't blame you, Amanda, you're just my assistant. This incident was entirely my fault and mine alone.”

“What are you going to do with her now?”

“Now?” The doctor looked down at Chris. “I'm not entirely sure, but one thing's clear. I have to make a decision quickly, because time is most definitely not on our side. Even without my mistake, Christine shouldn't have woken up so easily, which means the effect of the sedatives is starting to wear off, which in turn means...”

“Which I turn means what?” Amanda asked.

“She's dying,” Doctor Bell replied, with a hint of sadness in her eyes. “It's all or nothing. If I'm going to save her, it has to be in the next twenty-four hours.”

***

“This is ridiculous,” Robin muttered as she picked up another piece of bone from the yard. “We can't keep burying this stuff, it just keeps coming right back up!”

Turning to Ferguson, she could see the look of concern in his eyes.

“We're going to be out here again tomorrow,” she pointed out, “and then again the next day, and the day after that, and -”

“Shut up,” he replied wearily.

“I'm just -”

“You're not gonna bury them!” he told her. “Okay? Just put the bones in these bags and then we'll get rid of 'em another way. Jesus Christ, you women rabbit on sometimes.”

“How are we gonna get rid of them, then?”

“You don't need to know,” he replied, “until I decide you do, so just get on with the job and stop nattering.”

Turning and making his way over to some of the other workers, he clearly had no intention of explaining anything to her.

“Asshole,” she muttered.

“Look at this,” Karen said, holding up a jawbone. “Seriously, who do you reckon all these bones belong to?”

“It's her victims, isn't it?” Robin replied. “Clear as day, it's all the prisoners who were murdered by the Blake girl. They tossed 'em out here, figuring they could just bury the truth, but...” Looking down at the soil beneath her feet, she paused for a moment. “They won't stay down, not now there's people around. Just 'cause they're dead, that doesn't mean they'll just stay in the mud and let everyone forget what happened. No-one should ever have opened this place back up, it's disturbed things and now the dead want retribution.”

“Yeah, but...” Karen smiled uneasily. “It's not like... I mean, exactly how far do you think this thing could go?”

Hearing a distant rumble of thunder, Robin looked up at the darkening sky.

“I think Amanda Weir saw the kid again,” she said finally, turning back to Karen. “She was blatantly freaked out this morning, and she's usually got a pretty solid head on her shoulders, so I can only think of one thing... She denied it, of course, but I reckon I can tell when someone's lying.”

“So you think she's gonna be next?”

“I think someone's gonna be next, and someone after that, and it's not gonna stop unless Leonora Blake finishes us all off or we manage to work out what she wants. Sure, revenge is part of it, but there has to be something else, something we can give her that'll make her spirit rest.”

“Ladies!” Ferguson called out from the other end of the yard. “Shut up and get to work!”

“I don't like it,” Robin continued, dropping some more bones into one of the bags. “It's like something's going on in the background that we're not allowed to know about and -” Hearing another rumble of thunder, she looked up, and then she glanced at the main building. “That guy freaks me out, you know. There's something not right about him.”

Following her gaze, Karen looked at the windows and finally spotted Governor Windsor staring out at the yard impassively. She'd seen him watching the workers before, of course, but this time he had a strangely impassive look on his face.

“He acts all high and mighty,” Robin added, “but do you know what I think? I think the guy's a world-class pervert and he gets off on watching us bending down and doing whatever he wants. I wouldn't be surprised if he's jerking off every night to thoughts of all the things he could make us do. Face it, anyone who pursues a position of power is clearly fucked in the head.”

“Right!” Ferguson shouted. “When you've filled your bags, you're gonna pile 'em up by the wall while we wait to work out where they're gonna go next! Understood?”

“How long are they gonna be there for?” Robin asked.

“For as long as I fucking want!” he replied. “Got a problem?”

“He doesn't know,” she said quietly, turning to Karen. “He's making it up as he goes along.”

“Meanwhile we get to play with things like this,” Karen replied, holding up a near-complete human skull. “I just hope these bags of bones aren't left out overnight. With a storm coming, I figure that could get real messy, real fast.”

***

“Lights out can be brought forward an hour,” Doctor Bell said as she leaned back in the chair behind Governor Windsor's desk, “and start getting the prisoners up an hour earlier too, I feel as if my predecessor was much too easy on them. Short breakfast and cut it down so they only have two choices, I don't see why the state should provide a full buffet for these criminals.”

“Of course,” Grace replied, making a note, “and -”

“How much do we spend on food for each prisoner?”

“Um... I think it's about forty-one pence a day.”

“Halve it. No, quarter it. No, get it down below ten pence. That should be more than enough.”

“But -”

“Change suppliers, get cheaper materials and maybe cut dessert if necessary. This is a prison, not a holiday camp.”

“I think there might be rules about -”

“There are rules about saying no to me,” Doctor Bell continued, “and those rules are sacrosanct. I've been thinking about the way this place is run and I figure I have a very short period of time in which to make a few improvements, and -” Hearing a rumble of thunder outside, she turned and looked over at the window. “Are they making progress out there with those bones? I don't ever want to see those things again, it's disgusting.”

“I think Officer Ferguson has a plan.”

“Good. Get him to report to me once he's done. I've already begun to think of some more jobs for the prisoners, and I want to get things started as soon as possible. Hardstone is a prison, and it's going to start resembling one a little more clearly so that -”

Stopping suddenly, she noticed a shape standing near the door. She didn't look at it directly, not at first, but finally she allowed her gaze to wander until she was looking straight at the little girl, who remained half hidden in the shadows.

“Is that everything?” Grace asked after a moment.

“Yes,” Doctor Bell replied, keeping her eyes fixed on the girl. “Get out of here.”

Smiling awkwardly, Grace got to her feet and hurried out of the room, pulling the door shut as she left.

For a moment, Doctor Bell simply sat and stared at the girl. Her heart was pounding and she knew she needed to do or say something, but so far all she could do was wait.

“What are you doing here?” she asked finally. “I thought you were gone. It's been...”

She paused, before finally getting up and walking around the desk.

“It's been a long time,” she continued. “I never thought that I'd...” Pausing again, she began to realize the truth. “It's you, isn't it? My God, I never realized, but the little girl people say they've seen around here... You're the Blake girl? Then why... I mean, how come I saw you all those years ago?”

She paused again, her mind racing with the possibilities.

“He saw you too, didn't he?” she asked. “Alistair Windsor, I mean. He saw you and so did the Tate girl, and Christine Bradford too and now two of those people are dead and the third will be soon, but... Other people have seen you as well, haven't they? People who survived.” She took a step closer, still maintaining eye contact with the girl. “All this time,” she continued, “I can't believe I never put two and two together, but... How did you know that I'd come here?”

She stopped just a few feet from the girl and got to her knees, so as to get down onto her level.

“What do you want?” she asked finally, with tears in her eyes. “You've been appearing to me on and off throughout my life, so you obviously want something from me.”

The little girl stared at her, her cold eyes filled with death.

“Maybe I can help you,” Doctor Bell continued, shuffling toward her. “I'm a scientist now, you know. A lot has changed since the last time I saw you and I -”

Before she could finish, the little girl took a step forward, opened her mouth, and screamed with such force that the doctor instinctively crawled back toward her desk. By the time she was able to recover her composure, the girl was gone.

“Interesting,” she said breathlessly. “I think I'm starting to believe in ghosts after all.”

***

“This must be the worst job in the world,” Robin muttered as she struggled to haul a bag of bones across the yard. Spots of rain were already starting to fall, hinting at the downpour to come. “I mean, literally, can you think of anything worse?”

“At least we won't have to bury them again,” Karen replied, setting a bag against the wall. “They're surprisingly heavy, aren't they? You'd think bones'd be lighter.”

“Maybe they're weighed down by the souls that are still attached to them,” Robin said, taking a step back. “Sorry, that was meant to be a joke, but it sounds pretty morbid, doesn't it. Still...” Turning to look back at the churned soil on the far side of the yard, she couldn't help wondering if there might be even more bones buried deep, slowly making their way to the surface.

“This job could've taken half the time,” Ferguson muttered as he wandered over to check their progress, “if you'd spent less time gossiping.”

“Can we go inside now?” Robin asked as the rain began to fall with greater intensity. “It's pissing it down!”

“Gotta rake it all over first,” he replied, stepping back under a small awning that gave him a little relief from the bad weather. Smiling, he lit a cigarette. “The governor's gonna want this place looking neat, isn't she?”

“She?”

“Just get on with it.”

“No chance of a toke on that thing, is there?”

“Get back to work! Now!”

Heading back across the yard, with rain now pounding down all around them, the women grabbed their shovels and began to fill in the areas where they'd earlier had to dig down into the soil. The sound of the rain was so loud, none of them even bothered to talk, since they figured no-one could hear them anyway.

High above, darker clouds continued to roll toward the prison.

***

“I'm glad you changed your mind,” Andrew said as he eased the car out of the parking lot and joined the flow of early evening traffic that was clogging the roads around London. “I was thinking about everything I said earlier and I -”

“It's fine,” Grace replied over the phone, keeping her eyes on the road ahead. “I'll come by your place later. You don't need to apologize.”

“Yes, I do. I was wrong. It's clear that you really believe this stuff, and...” He paused as he took a left turn, joining the main arterial road that led around the north side of the city. “Who's to say that I'm right and you're wrong? Who's to say it even has to be that binary? I guess I just feel like... You know, with everything that happened after Sabrina Huntley died, I kind of -”

“Do you blame yourself for her death?” Grace asked suddenly.

“Do I...” He took a right turn and began to speed up. “No, I don't.”

“Why not?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You had a duty of care to that girl, and she hung herself in a prison cell after attacking you. I'm not saying it's your fault, Andrew, but shouldn't you at least feel some guilt?”

“Huh,” he replied, clearly a little annoyed. “You know, a lot of people over the past few years have tried reassuring me, telling me that I'm not to blame for what happened to her. You're the first person who's ever gone the other way.”

“I just think we all have to take responsibility,” she replied. “That's all.”

“Sabrina Huntley was a troubled young woman,” he continued. “I don't know if anyone could ever have really saved her.”

“Convenient,” Grace muttered under her breath.

“You're really out to make me feel bad tonight, huh?”

“I just think you washed your hands of the whole thing pretty easily,” she continued. “I'm not saying you should eat yourself up with guilt, but Jesus Christ, have you never even reflected on what happened? Have you never thought about things you could have done differently?”

“Maybe I should,” he replied. “After all, if I hadn't left my last job, I never would have ended up at Hardstone. Would that have been better?”

“We'll talk later,” she told him. “I still have a few things to finish up here before I can leave, and I need time to think. I'll call when I'm done.”

“How long do you think you'll be?”

He waited for an answer, but finally he realized that she'd hung up.

“Nice,” he muttered, “way to -”

Suddenly he spotted her. Up ahead, he saw that there was a little girl standing in the middle of the road, as if she was waiting for him to hit her. Instinctively he spun the wheel, sending the car screeching past her and bumping over the verge that separated the two lanes of traffic. Before the car had even come to a halt, he turned and saw the little girl standing nearby.

Just as he opened his mouth to say something, he heard the horn of a speeding lorry as it plowed straight into the back of the car.

Twenty-four hours ago

“Can't we go any faster?” she called out from the back of the limousine. “It's getting dark!”

“There appears to be a storm moving in, M'am,” Jefferies replied, as the limousine waited at a set of traffic lights. “The rain has intensified significantly since we set off.”

“Maybe it's her way of trying to keep me away,” the old woman said, looking out the window and watching as Londoners tried to dodge as much of the downpour as possible. “I wouldn't put it past her to be able to do something like that. If she thinks I'm going to interfere, she might very well try to stop me.”

“I can try to take an alternative route,” Jefferies told her, “but I would think that even with a strong wind behind us, we shall not reach the prison within the next hour.”

“Then we must pray that an hour is not too late,” she replied, “and that when we get there, at least some of those poor souls are still alive.”

Today

Darkness had fallen and the rain was coming down with greater intensity than ever, as a black car pulled up to the main gate of Hardstone Prison. The front window was wound down, and a middle-aged man wearing a chauffeur's uniform leaned out and hit the intercom buzzer on the wall.

“We're closed for visits,” a voice replied seconds later. “Visiting hours are -”

“We're not here to visit an inmate,” the chauffeur replied. “We need to come inside. It's very important.”

“Visiting hours are from -”

“We're not here to visit!” the chauffeur said again. “We're here to -”

“Tell them it has already started,” said a female voice from the back of the vehicle.

“We really need to get inside,” the chauffeur continued. “Please, we need to speak to your governor as a matter of great urgency.”

“The governor has gone home for the night,” the voice replied.

“He's lying,” said the female voice.

“The governor is still inside,” the chauffeur continued, “and we need to speak to him immediately. Can you at least ask him to hear us out?”

“Hold please,” the voice replied.

Sitting back, the chauffeur looked in his rear-view mirror and saw a pair of old, tired eyes staring back at him.

“They must let us in,” the elderly woman continued, “they simply must. We're already running very late.”

“I'm sure they'll see sense,” the chauffeur replied.

“If not, I shall have to call the ministry myself,” she added. “Perhaps I should have done that from the very beginning, but I didn't want to...” She let out a faint gasp.

“Are you okay, M'am?” he asked, turning to her.

“I'm fine. Just press the button again and see if -”

“Hello?” the voice called out from the intercom on the wall. “I'm very sorry, but the governor is away at the moment and the acting governor, Doctor Bell, is just about to leave for the evening. She asked if you would be so kind as to come back in the morning and she'll be happy to make some time for you. It would also help if you could leave a name and contact number.”

“That'll be too late,” the elderly woman said, as the high black gate began to open.

“Someone's coming out,” the chauffeur said, as the bright lights of a car came toward them.

“Are we blocking the way?” the woman asked.

“I suppose we are,” he replied, with a faint smile. “He did just say that the acting governor is on her way out.”

“Open my door,” the woman said with a hint of urgency in her voice. “Open it immediately!”

“M'am, the weather -”

“Don't argue with me! Open it at once!”

As the chauffeur climbed out and hurried around the car, he saw that a figure was getting out of the other vehicle.

“Hey!” Doctor Bell shouted, holding an umbrella above her head in an attempt to stay at least somewhat dry. “You're blocking the way!”

“One moment!” the chauffeur shouted as he slid open one of the car's rear doors and reached inside. Seconds later, he began to maneuver a wheelchair out onto into the rain.

“What the hell are you doing?” Doctor Bell called out to them. “What the hell gives you the right to stop me getting out?”

“Remember what I told you,” the old woman said, looking up at the chauffeur. “There must be no regrets, no doubts, no fear.” She reached up and took his hand in hers. “Things always had to go this way.”

“I'm calling security!” Doctor Bell shouted. “This is absolutely ridiculous!”

“Wait!” the chauffeur shouted, pushing the wheelchair-bound old woman toward her. “This is important!”

“I'm sorry,” Doctor Bell continued, fishing her phone out of her pocket, “but I simply have to get out of here, you can't block the way like this.”

“I'm so sorry to inconvenience you,” the old woman said as her wheelchair came to a halt, “but I had no other choice.”

“You're getting soaked,” Doctor Bell replied, stepping toward her and using her umbrella to shield them both. “Listen, I don't know who you are, but whatever you want here tonight, you're going to have to leave it until tomorrow.”

“I fear tomorrow will be too late.”

“That's as may be, but -”

“You need me here,” the old woman continued, “and you need me tonight.” Reaching up with a frail hand, she paused for a moment. “My name is Leonora Blake, and I've come to put right a mistake that was made many years ago.”

Part Seven

Today

“You must understand,” Leonora Blake explained, as a rapidly-building storm battered the dark windows beyond the prison office, “that my mother was part of one of London's great families. The Blakes have been influential beyond measure in every walk of this city's life. Industry, politics, the arts... I don't think I'm overstating things when I saw that we and our various offshoots have been one of the most important families in London for almost two centuries, stretching back to the Regency period. With such privilege, however, there also comes a certain degree of responsibility, and inevitably – over time – a certain degree of darkness sets in.”

“It's getting late,” Doctor Bell replied, with a kind of distracted, dismissive politeness. “Ms. Blake, I think we're all fascinated by your family's history and we'd would love to hear more of your stories, or maybe read about it some time, but the weather is -”

“Let her finish,” Grace said suddenly, interrupting with uncharacteristic boldness. “I mean... Sorry, I just... This seems important.”

“You're perky tonight,” the doctor muttered under her breath.

“My mother was the black sheep of the family,” Leonora continued. “When she was sent to Hardstone for theft, she was cut off by her parents, and her siblings were told to forget that she even existed. Shortly after her arrival in this prison, however, she was found to be pregnant, and when she died during childbirth a telegram was sent to her father, my grandfather, informing him of the news. After all, it's one thing to excommunicate a woman for her crimes, it's quite another to ignore the next generation, but Jeremiah Blake was a harsh man. It's said that no reply to that telegram was ever sent from his desk.”

Her voice trailed off for a moment, as if some long-dormant memory was stirring.

“There were two children,” she said finally. “Leonora -”

“There was one child,” Doctor Bell replied, interrupting her. “We've all heard the story a thousand times. I've seen the records, too. One child.”

“There were two children,” Leonora said again. “I should know, because I was one of them, and there was my twin sister Elenora, who arrived a few minutes after me. At first, our births were not even recorded. After a number of years, however, one of our uncles learned of our existence. He broke the party line and agreed to take one of us in, but just one. I don't know how the wardens chose between us, but in the end I was the one who was sent off to Uncle George's family estate. I remember being led away, holding my uncle's hand, and looking over my shoulder to see Elenora watching from a window. The look on her face was one of... hatred, I think. It must have been so difficult for her, remaining in this awful place once I had been rescued.”

Grace looked over at Doctor Bell for a moment, and saw that she was finally listening.

“I received a wonderful education,” Leonora continued, “and my life was turned around. I am fully aware that the opportunities I was given were rare gifts indeed. And now here I am, one hundred and thirteen years old and still, if I might say so, rather sharp in the head. I have lived a blessed life since I left this prison, and I have seized the chance to help push the Blake family forward, yet there is one matter that still demands my attention, one... tragedy that I think has spurred me to keep pushing along until this chance arrived to set things right.”

She turned and looked across the room, as if she was expecting to see something else. Above, the lights flickered for a moment.

“This place is falling apart,” Doctor Bell muttered.

“You must understand,” Leonora continued, “that I had no choice but to leave my sister behind. I was just a child myself. Eventually my uncle, bless him, saw how much I had blossomed and decided to rescue Elenora too. Unfortunately, by that point my twin sister was... different, somehow. Her heart had become dark and twisted, and I'm sure you all know the story of how she emerged from the gate, alone and terrified. On the day of her supposed departure, my uncle had been delayed, so Elenora walked out alone from Hardstone into the market square beyond the gate. As it turned out, she had hidden a knife under her dress, so as to murder my uncle as punishment for having left her behind previously, but it seems that she panicked and instead she used the knife to slaughter the very first people she encountered. And then later, when she was back at Hardstone as an inmate, she carried out another terrible crime, killing everyone in the prison. The Blake family had friends in high places and ensured that the whole thing was hushed up as much as possible, but I always felt that more should have been done for Elenora, that I should have done more.”

Outside, a strong gust of wind rattled the glass in the old windows.

“There's not really much you could have done,” Grace suggested after a moment. “I mean, her body was never found, but...”

“It must be here somewhere,” Leonora replied. “I imagine that after she'd killed everyone, she hid herself away where she knew she'd never be found. As you can imagine, after growing up here, we both knew nooks and crannies to which others were oblivious, since we'd explored Hardstone as children for many years. Elenora was always a rather timid girl, so I can only imagine that she crawled away somewhere and was too afraid to ever come out. Eventually, she must have simply wasted away. Meanwhile, because her birth had technically never been recorded, the legends about Hardstone tended to confuse some of the facts, merging us together and treating us as if we were just one child. Since those legends only existed on the fringes, and since I have long since gone by my middle name of Elizabeth rather than by my birth name, I have rather ignored the whole matter.”

“Until now,” Doctor Bell said darkly. “Tell me, what brings a centenarian old woman out in a storm to visit a women's prison? Sentimentality? Nostalgia?”

“I should have come sooner,” she replied, with tears in her eyes, “but I suppose I was... delaying things. I tried to put it out of my mind, and God forgive me but I managed for quite some time. I would think of Elenora regularly, but only as a passing memory, as a thought in the corner of my mind's eye, something to never be considered directly. Now, though, I realize that with the reopening of Hardstone, I can no longer ignore the truth. I always knew this day would come, and I learned some time ago that Elenora has been working hard to get what she wants.” She paused again. “There have been disturbances, have there not? My sister is still here, in a manner.”

“Some of the -” Grace started to say.

“There have been stories,” Doctor Bell said firmly, cutting in. “We have more than two hundred delinquent women in this prison, many of them of limited intelligence, so it's only natural for foolish gossip to spread. The place is like a giant campfire.”

“Has anyone died yet?” Leonora asked.

At this, Doctor Bell fell silent for a moment.

“Then it is as I feared. She has been waiting all these years for the prison to fill up again. She wants...”

Suddenly she turned, as if she'd heard something nearby. Her tired eyes watched the shadows for a moment.

“She's close...” she whispered.

“What does she want?” Grace asked.

“The same thing that any little girl wants when she can't grow up,” Leonora replied sadly, turning to her. “She wants her family back, or at least her idea of what a family should be. You must understand that she lived a dark life that left her mind twisted and ruined. Her idea of family would seem abhorrent to most people, but the poor girl...” She paused again. “The only family she ever knew was the family she experienced here at Hardstone, but she was aware of the other Blakes out there in the world. When we were together, we used to talk about them, to imagine what it would be like if we ever got to take our place in high society. We imagined the wonderful dresses and the balls, the parties, the international travel... I was eventually able to live out that dream, but Elenora never got her chance. She hasn't given up, however, which is why I have come here tonight.” She turned to Doctor Bell. “I understand that Mr. Windsor is away. You are temporarily in charge of this place, I believe?”

“I am.”

“Then it falls to you. You must evacuate the prison at once.”

“Excuse me?”

“No-one is safe here.”

“I see,” Doctor Bell replied cautiously. “Well, sure, I guess can get everybody out. There are loads of places where we can stick two hundred dangerous women without any warning while a storm rages across London. It should be child's play.”

“You don't understand,” Leonora told her, with great urgency in her voice. “They will all die if they remain here.”

“Because the scary little ghost wants to hurt them?”

“Because she wants to keep them here forever, “Leonora replied. “To her, the world outside the prison gates is a terrifying place, so she wants to create a world in here, sealed off from everywhere else and filled with the family she never had when she was alive. She cares so much about -”

“Hold up,” Doctor Bell said suddenly, interrupting her. “No offense, Ms. Blake, but if your sister is still here and if she's desperate to have a family, then why did she slaughter all those prisoners a century ago? I understand that you're biased, that you don't want to accept the truth, but... If this is all true, Elenora Blake sounds like a monster. She sounds evil.”

“Have you seen her?” Leonora asked.

“No-one can see her and live,” Grace interjected, inadvertently saving the doctor from having to answer. “Everyone knows that. If you look at her, you die.”

“How so?”

“Well...” Turning to Doctor Bell, Grace paused for a moment. “Different ways, I guess. One of the inmates, Emma Tate, suffered a heart attack.”

“Caused by fear, I imagine,” Leonora continued. “Elenora probably didn't mean for that poor girl to die. She's testing to see the extent of her influence now that she's managed to get all these people here. She has grand plans, but she by no means has full control over every facet of the situation.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Doctor Bell asked. “She didn't get anyone here.”

“You have no idea how hard she's worked in order to reach this point,” Leonora replied darkly. “What do you think Elenora has been doing for the past century, while Hardstone was empty? She hasn't just been haunting the abandoned rooms. She's been reaching out, manipulating events in an attempt to get exactly what she wants. It wasn't enough for her to simply wait for the prison to re-open. I already told you that she wants to belong, that she wants to be accepted by the Blake family after it rejected her all those years ago.”

“So she was trying to draw you here?” Grace asked.

“Not only that,” Leonora replied, turning to her. “She has far grander plans. Nobody in this prison is here by accident. Elenora brought each one of the inmates here by design, and in some cases she made them pay a terrible price. She has been influencing the lives of everyone in this prison for many, many years.”

Fifteen years ago

“Deborah,” she said with a smile, reaching out to shake her new roommate's hand. “Deborah Bell.”

“Julie,” the other girl replied with a grin. “Julie Bond. Are you studying mathematics as well?”

“Medicine,” Deborah said as she set her suitcase down on one of the beds. “Long-haul.”

“Wow,” Julie said, watching as she began to unpack, “that's so cool. You must be pretty smart, huh?”

“I don't know about that.”

“Do you drink?”

“I...” Deborah paused. “I do, sometimes. In moderation. When there's a special occasion.”

“A group of us are going to a bar down the street tonight,” Julie continued with a grin. “Do you wanna come? My friend Rachel knows this guy who's been living around here for a few years, so he's gonna show us all the cool places. It's gonna be, like, a crash course in getting wasted.” As she spoke, she took a cigarette from the desk and lit it, before taking a slow drag.

“I don't think you're allowed to smoke in here,” Deborah pointed out.

“Oh, it's okay, I disabled the smoke alarm. Don't worry, this is only regular tobacco, although I think Rachel's friend might know where to get hold of something a little stronger, if you know what I mean. Do you smoke weed?”

“I've never tried it.”

“Wanna?”

“I... will have to think about that.”

“Bit stiff?”

“I'm sorry?”

“You seem a bit stiff,” Julie continued, eying her up and down, “like... No offense, but you seem kinda awkward.”

“Sorry, I'm just tired.”

“Well I've got to be somewhere,” Julie replied, “but I'll be back later and we can head down to the bar together and un-stiffen you. Deal?”

“Sure,” Deborah said, forcing herself to be far more sociable than she would have preferred. “That sounds great.”

Once Julie had left the room, Deborah stood for a moment and looked around at her new home. Having for the most part led a fairly sheltered life so far, she felt out of sorts now that she was living in a student block, but at the same time she knew that it was the only affordable option. Taking a seat on the end of the bed, she looked down at her hands and reminded herself that all the discomfort was bearable so long as it allowed her to achieve her great goal in life: she'd dreamed since childhood of being a surgeon, and now she was well on the way.

Spotting movement nearby, she turned to look at the door, only to see to her shock that a familiar figure was standing outside in the corridor.

“You followed me?” she asked, getting to her feet and crossing the room. Looking down at the little girl, she felt a pang of regret as she realized that getting away from home had not, as she'd hoped, ended the strange visitor's interest in her life. “I don't know what you want, and I don't know why you keep following me, but I don't have time to sit around making guesses. You're just a figment of my imagination, so if you don't mind...”

With that, she pushed the door shut, before turning to look back across the cramped dorm-room.

“A new start,” she whispered to herself. “I'm not going to do bad things anymore. From this moment on, I'm going to be a good person for the rest of my life.”

Today

“Calm down, ladies!” Ferguson shouted as the lights flickered and he struggled with the control console. “I'm sure this all seems very funny to you, but it won't in the morning when I start taking away privileges!”

As he jabbed at one of the buttons, every door on the wing clicked shut for a moment and the locking mechanisms engaged, only for them to unlock seconds later. On a nearby wall, the status lights were blinking furiously, as if they were completely out of control.

“Fucking technology,” he muttered, as the lights flickered again. “Give me a simple key and lock any day. At least a key can't get short-circuited.”

“It's the same on all the other wings,” reported another guard, hurrying through. “Something's messing with the security system.” He leaned closer and lowered his voice. “You know what this means, right? We've literally got no way to keep the prisoners in their cells overnight!”

“What's going on out there?” shouted one of the women. “Are you gonna let us get our beauty sleep tonight or what?”

“This is what you get,” Ferguson said wearily, “when a bunch of cheapskates try to tack twenty-first century technology onto a Victorian building. Do you know there's even a safety release switch in the basement? One turn to lock every door in the building.”

“We might need that soon,” the other guard replied.

“Problem is, it also works the other way. It can unlock all the doors as well.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Makes you feel safe, doesn't it?”

“I don't fancy going down to the basement unless I have to,” the other guard muttered. “The lights are out, plus when it rains all the water drains down there and starts flooding the place.”

“Great,” Ferguson sighed. “I'm gonna go and see what they know in the governor's office, so you stay here and keep trying the console. And if you hear anyone causing trouble, note their name down. I'm not gonna have these women using a technical balls-up as an excuse to let their hair down.”

***

“What do you think's happening out there?” Amanda asked, turning to look over at the door as she heard some of the other prisoners jeering. “It seems like the doors are malfunctioning.”

Robin smiled uneasily, not looking up from the book she was reading on the other bunk.

“It's like -”

Before Amanda could continue, the lights flickered again, while outside the storm could be heard getting stronger and stronger.

“I don't like it,” Amanda said after a moment. “Something seems -”

“You're in a prison!” Robin replied suddenly, clearly annoyed. “Jesus Christ, woman, are you expecting bloody luxury conditions?”

Amanda stared at her for a few seconds. “Sorry,” she said finally.

Robin glanced nervously at the door.

“Did I do something to offend you?” Amanda asked. She waited for an answer, but none came. “Listen,” she continued, “I just -”

“Did you think people wouldn't find out?” Robin replied suddenly.

“About what?”

“About why you're in here.”

“I...” Pausing, Amanda began to realize that her cellmate's animosity was genuine. “I thought...”

“There's a lot of different types in here,” Robin continued, setting her book down and getting up from her bunk. “Thieves, murderers, all sorts, it's a real mixed bag, and we all sorta bump along with each other, but... There's one thing that everyone's agreed on, and that's that people who hurt kids are the lowest of the low. I'm sorry, I tried to ignore what you did, but when the others got wind of the truth... That kind of settled matters, if you know what I mean. If they think I'm being soft on you, I'll end up getting just as much grief.”

“I get that,” Amanda replied nervously, “you think I'm some kind of monster, it's just -”

Before she could finish, she heard a noise over by the door, and she turned to see it slipping open as a handful of inmates entered. Immediately getting to her feet, Amanda began to back away.

“Figured we should do it now,” said Karen, one of the women who had just entered. “We were planning to jump her in the yard, but tonight seems like as good a chance as any. Heaven sent, you might say. I guess God wants us to finish things off.”

“I'm sorry, honey,” Robin said to Amanda. “This is just how it goes in a place like this. No-one wants a kid killer around, it lowers the tone and even scum like us have got standards. You seem like a nice enough kid, but this is just the way things work in here.”

“The guards are distracted,” one of the other women added. “They're running around like headless chickens, so we should have plenty of time. They're not gonna get nothing fixed for a while yet. I reckon the storm must've flooded the generator room like it did last month. This whole fucking place is falling apart, took 'em a couple of hours to get it fixed when it happened before.”

“Don't do it in here,” Robin told her.

“You not joining in?” Karen asked.

“For fuck's sake, she's my cellmate. I can't afford to get implicated, can I?”

“What are you going to do?” Amanda asked, her heart racing as she backed all the way into the corner. “If you want me to keep away from you all, I can do that! I can request a transfer to another wing!”

“Why'd you kill 'em?” one of the women asked as they made their way toward her. “Why'd you kill those two innocent little babies?”

“I... I don't know,” Amanda stammered. “I don't remember the exact -”

“You don't remember?” Karen replied. “Oh, well that's convenient, isn't it? That way, you can still hope to get some sympathy, right? Play the old amnesia card. You must take us for idiots. Sorry, love, but we're not like the bleeding heart lawyers and judges you came up against before. Now you're in here with us, things work a bit different. Justice is quick and fair.”

“What was it like when you sliced them open?” asked one of the others. “Did you get a kick out of it?”

“Please, I don't remember the -”

“I don't remember!” Karen hissed, mimicking Amanda's tone. “Poor little me, I murdered my babies but no-one can really get mad at me 'cause I don't remember it!”

“What do you want,” asked one of the other women, “a cuddle?”

“Just get it over with,” Robin said darkly. “Do what you've gotta do, but don't turn it into some kind of jolly. There's a fine line between justice and a bloodthirsty crowd.”

“What are you going to do?” Amanda asked. “Are you going to hurt me?”

“Make it quick,” Robin told Karen. “I know she doesn't deserve it, but no-one likes hearing a bunch of screams.”

“Showers?” one of the other women suggested.

“Showers,” Karen replied. “Robin's right. We're doing this 'cause it's our duty. Doesn't mean we're gonna enjoy it.”

“Please,” Amanda said, with tears in her eyes, “whatever you're planning -”

“You'll find out,” Karen told, her stepping closer.

“Help me,” she begged, turning to Robin. “Please, you have to do something!”

Robin shook her head.

“Help!” Amanda shouted, trying to push past before two of the women grabbed her and clamped their hands over her mouth, holding her tight as she struggled. Desperately trying to get free, she finally let out a gasp of pain as her head was pulled back by the hair and one of the other women punched her in the belly.

“Let's get this show on the road,” Karen said as Amanda was dragged toward the door. One of the other women leaned out to check that the corridor was clear, before the rest of them bundled Amanda away.

“Make it quick!” Robin called after them. “I mean it!”

“What do you care?” Karen asked, turning to her. “You know what she did. Why should anyone show her any mercy?”

“Yeah, but...”

“What's wrong? You feel sorry for her?”

“I just got to know her a bit, that's all.”

“But that was before you knew what she did, right? You didn't know before the rest of us?”

“Of course I didn't, but -”

“I get that you don't want to join in,” Karen replied, interrupting her as the lights flickered again, “but don't get all holier than thou on the rest of us. Some of the other girls are already talking about why you're not coming with us. I've managed to cut the gossip out so far, but there's only so much I can do. Try not to let people think you're sympathizing with the bitch.”

Robin opened her mouth to reply, but the words seemed to catch in her throat.

“Exactly,” Karen added finally. “Now if you'll excuse me, the rest of us have got some scum to get rid of.”

Once she was alone, Robin sat on the edge of her bed and stared down at her trembling hands. After a moment, she looked over at Amanda's empty bed and tears began to roll down her cheeks.

“Alright,” Ferguson said suddenly, opening the door, “ladies, we -”

He paused as soon as he saw that Robin was alone.

“Where's your cellmate?” he asked.

Robin turned to him.

“Where's your cellmate?” he barked.

“I don't know,” she said finally, wiping away her tears. “Don't ask me, 'cause I can't tell you anything.”

***

“Break it up!” shouted one of the guards as he raced into the shower unit, only to be confronted by half a dozen angry inmates huddled in the corner. “Who gave you permission to be out of your cells?”

“Give us another minute,” one of the women replied, turning to him. “We're just -”

Before she could finish, a cry of pain erupted from somewhere in the huddle.

“Everyone out of here now!” the guard shouted, as one of his colleagues ran through to help pull the inmates away. “What are -”

Stopping as he pulled the last of the women back, he stared down in horror at the crumpled heap on the floor. Blood was flowing from a heavy wound on the side of Amanda's face and running down the drain, while a makeshift knife had been left sticking out from the side of her torso.

“She had it coming,” one of the women said proudly. “After what she did to those kids, she had this coming from the moment she walked through the fucking door.”

Fifteen years ago

“Debbie!” the guy shouted, leaning toward her so he could be heard above the music. “What are you drinking?”

“I'm fine,” she replied, “I'm still on my first.”

“Come on, you need to keep up!”

“I'm not really used to drinking so much.”

“That's okay,” he said, patting her on the back, “everyone has to start somewhere, right? Don't worry, I know a drink you'll love. Wait right here!”

“Dan!” She tried to argue with him, but he was already pushing his way through the crowd, heading no doubt for the bar.

“He likes you,” Julie said, nudging her arm.

“I'm not really into that sort of thing,” she replied.

“Why not? Oh my God, are you into girls?”

“No! I just... I don't have time for relationships.”

“Not even a one-night kinda relationship? Dan's pretty hot.”

“I'll pass,” she replied, preferring not to go into the details. She'd always known that she could never sustain a relationship, that her natural instincts would come out, and she preferred to keep herself to herself. Glancing across the bar, she saw the main door and found herself longing for the moment when she could slip away and go home to read and then sleep.

“Killer!” Dan said suddenly, setting a drink down in front of her.

“I'm sorry?”

“That's the name of this drink! Killer!” He smiled. “It's good for loosening you up a bit, yeah? Gets you all supple and limber, less... stiff.”

“I think I should go,” she replied, turning away.

“Don't you dare!” Julie hissed, grabbing her by the arm and physically turning her back to face them again.

Smiling awkwardly, Deborah suddenly felt a familiar tightening sensation in the pit of her stomach. She knew what would happen next, and within seconds her mind was inexplicably filled with horrific images of Dan being brutally murdered. Frozen in shock, she imagined him being tortured and abused in the most awful ways possible, each time in excruciating detail, until finally she realized that someone was trying to speak to her.

“Debbie?” Dan said, nudging her arm. “Are you okay? You look kinda pale.”

“I'm fine,” she stammered, pulling free and grabbing her bag before pushing her way through the crowd. “I have to go!” she called back to them, although she had no idea whether they heard her.

By the time she managed to fight through the sea of bodies and emerge in the street, she was feeling breathless and disorientated, and she had to take a moment to regather her composure. The images had stopped flooding her mind, but she still remembered each and every one of them in excruciating detail.

“It's going to happen again,” she whispered, horrified by the prospect. “It's all going to happen again.”

Today

“She doesn't believe me, does she?” Leonora Blake asked as Grace wheeled her into the kitchen. “She thinks I'm a mad old woman ranting about the past.”

“Doctor Bell is a very rational woman,” Grace replied, stopping the wheelchair by the table before heading over to fetch a glass of water. She looked up at the ceiling as the lights flickered again. “I think she struggles to accept that something like this could be real. I don't know her very well, but I get the impression she sees things in very black and white terms.”

“But you accept it, don't you?”

“I...” Grace checked her phone and brought up Andrew's number, but when she tried to call she was put straight through to voice-mail. “I don't know, I -”

“You've seen something in the past?”

“I don't know. Maybe... I've definitely heard things.” She paused, aware that she should say more. “Like a child was running in the corridors.”

“Elenora always loved to play. When we were young, before I was taken away from here, we used to have all these wonderful games. There were no toys, of course, but we had nothing to do all day so we invented our own amusement. Sometimes we even hid and watched the prisoners from the windows in the administrative buildings. It all sounds so strange now, almost like a dream, and it's hard to believe that it happened more than a century ago. Sometimes I think...” She paused. “Well, sometimes I think the only reason I've clung to life for so long is that I was waiting for the right moment to come back and see my sister again.”

“Come on, pick up,” Grace whispered as she tried Andrew's phone again.

“What's your surname?” Leonora asked suddenly.

“My... Um, Hooper. Grace Hooper.”

“From Hackney?”

“How did you know that?”

“There are a lot of Hoopers in Hackney. Your grandparents must have been engineers, I believe.”

“Yes, but...” Setting the phone down, Grace stared at her for a moment. “How do you know so much about me?”

“I did my research,” Leonora replied, with a hint of sadness in her eyes. “I've noticed you seem to be trying to get hold of someone on your mobile telephone. A gentleman, by any chance?”

“Oh, it's just... one of the staff psychiatrists, that's all.”

“Someone you care about?” A faint smile crossed her lips. “What, if you don't mind the question, is his surname?”

“Does that matter?”

“It matters a great deal.”

“Dunne,” Grace replied. “Andrew Dunne.”

“Dunne...” Leonora paused.

“I suppose you're going to tell me all about his family history too?”

“No,” Leonora replied, “sadly I'm not. There were no Dunnes in my research.”

“You're not telling us everything, are you?” Grace asked. “What are you holding back?”

“This Mr. Dunne, is he missing?”

“I can't get hold of him right now.”

“I shouldn't imagine,” Leonora replied, “that you'll have much luck at all. Unless my research missed a branch of the family, I'm afraid my sister will have dispensed with poor Mr. Dunne.”

“Branch of the family?” Grace asked. “What are you talking about?”

“Haven't you realized by now?” She paused for a moment. “With one or two very small exceptions, all the women in this entire prison – and that includes not only the inmates but also the staff – are related to one another. They're all members of the Blake family, and the ones that aren't are going to be Elenora's first victims.”

***

“It must be the generator room again,” Ferguson explained as he hurried along the corridor with Doctor Bell. “I told Governor Windsor it needed reinforcing after the last time it flooded, but he didn't listen to me.”

“Governor Windsor is no longer in charge,” Doctor Bell replied, stopping and turning to him as they reached the door. “If the generator's down, we just have to wait until morning and -”

“The cell doors won't lock,” he added, interrupting her. “Technically, right now, all the prisoners could walk out of their cells and do what they want. There's an old emergency system to lock or unlock the doors using a lever, but -”

“Use it.”

“It's in the basement, right next to the generator. Pitch black and probably under ten feet of water by now.”

“Jesus Christ,” the doctor muttered, “what kind of ridiculous system is that?”

“Modern technology,” Ferguson replied. “When they reopened Hardstone, they spent so much money on some fancy automated locking system, they didn't have anything left over to buy a bunch of keys. Everyrhing's supposed to be smart tech, but of course it doesn't work properly. Never does. It's a bloody scandal how this prison was rushed back into service.”

“Then get to the generator room and find a solution.”

“But -”

“You don't want to get wet?” she asked, clearly not impressed. “Tough. If it makes you feel any better, I'll have Grace make you a nice hot cup of tea when you get back in.” Turning to walk away, she stopped as she spotted something at the other end of the corridor: the ghostly image of a little girl, walking straight toward them both.

“I'm not an engineer,” Ferguson protested. “I'm just -”

“Shut up,” she hissed. “Do you see it?”

“See what?” He turned and looked along the corridor. “What are you talking about?”

“You don't see her?” Doctor Bell asked, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on Elenora began to walk toward them. “Do you seriously not see anyone coming this way?”

“Huh?” Stepping forward, Ferguson stopped just as Elenora reached him. “You sure the shadows aren't playing tricks on you?” he asked, clearly oblivious to the presence. “There's no-one here.”

Doctor Bell watched as Elenora slipped a knife from her pocket and held it up toward Ferguson's neck.

“Listen,” the guard continued, turning to her, “okay, I can go to the generator room, but I'll need a torch and I can't promise I'll actually be able to do anything. I mean, I can't perform miracles, can I? There's only -”

Before he could finish, Elenora ran the blade across his neck, causing him to take a step back.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, his voice filled more with confusion than fear. “I just felt -” His words abruptly came to a gurgling halt as a thin line of blood began to run from the sliced wound across his neck. He reached up as more and more blood flowed down, and finally he stared in shock at his fingers. Opening his mouth again, he seemed to be trying to speak.

“Fine,” Doctor Bell said, staring at Ferguson as he stumbled back against the wall, “I suppose I'll have to find someone else to fix the generator.”

Ferguson let out a gasp of shocked pain before turning and taking a couple of faltering steps along the corridor. Finally, however, he dropped to his knees and then fell to the floor, leaving smeared blood on the wall and floor. Gasping again, he rolled onto his front and tried to drag himself away.

“Well you're not a very nice little girl, are you?” Doctor Bell asked, as Elenora turned to her. “What did you do that for, and why have you...” She paused, staring deep into the girl's dead eyes. “What do you want from me?” she asked finally. “I've seen you all my life, long before I ever even heard of Hardstone prison, before I even considered going to medical school, so why are you so interested in me?”

The lights flickered again, briefly plunging the corridor into darkness before coming back to life only to reveal that Elenora had vanished.

“Come back!” Doctor Bell shouted, stepping over Ferguson's spluttering body as she hurried along the corridor. “Just tell me what you want! Elenora, come back!” Hearing her phone ringing in her pocket, she slipped it out and answered. “This is Doctor Bell, I can't -”

She paused for a moment.

“I'll be right there.” Cutting the call, she looked back at Ferguson and saw that he had finally fallen still. “Huh,” she muttered. “For once, not my fault.”

***

“She was found in the shower unit,” explained one of the guards as he and a colleague carried Amanda's motionless body into the medical room. “Looks like a revenge attack.”

“Revenge?” Doctor Bell asked, immediately starting to examine Amanda as her body was placed on one of the tables. “For what?”

“What do you think? The other inmates found out what she was in here for.”

“Animals,” the doctor replied, checking the area around the knife, which was still embedded deeply in Amanda's side. “What the hell is wrong with these people? Why do they expect to be treated with dignity when they act like a bunch of savages?”

“Always happens,” said the other guard. “People who hurt children never last long in prison.”

“She's still alive,” Doctor Bell muttered as she grabbed some equipment from a nearby trolley. “She has a pulse, but it's weak.” Turning Amanda around, she began to cut her clothes away. “What are you two standing there for?” she asked the guards. “Bring some order back to this place. I want every prisoner in her cell and I want those doors locked!”

“But -”

“Get down to the generator room!” she shouted, finally losing her patience. “This is not acceptable! I'm trying to save a woman's life here, I don't have time to micro-manage everything you do!”

As the guards made their way out, Doctor Bell took a pad and applied pressure to the area next to Amanda's wound.

“If you can hear me,” she said after a moment, “I promise you'll be okay. I'll fix whatever these monsters did to you, and I'll -” She watched as blood poured out from either side of the pad, and no matter how hard she tried to keep the wound closed, there seemed to be nothing she could do. “Jesus Christ, how do -”

Before she could finish, she spotted movement nearby and she turned to see that Elenora was watching once again, standing on the other side of the table and staring with dead-eyed intensity at Amanda's wounds.

“What do you want?” Doctor Bell shouted, as the lights flickered and once again Elenora disappeared.

Looking down at Amanda, the doctor took hold of the knife's hilt and began to ease the blade out. As soon as the tip was clear, a torrent of dark blood began to flow from the injury, and although she tried to ease the loss with a series of pads, Doctor Bell soon began to realize that she was losing control. Blood was falling from the body so fast, it was already dribbling off the side of the table and onto the floor.

“Come on,” she hissed, grabbing some gauze from the trolley, “you have to stay with me, Amanda. Are you seriously going to let those animals do this to you?” Reaching across the body, she checked for a pulse. “Damn it, just stay with me!”

Fifteen years ago

Hurrying along the dark path that twisted between the campus buildings, Deborah couldn't help but glance over her shoulder, just in case someone was following her. She could feel a presence again, and although she was sure it must be the little girl, she couldn't discount the possibility that Dan or Julie had followed her from the pub.

“Hey!” a drunk guy shouted suddenly from one of the windows. “Want to come up for a party?”

Ignoring him, she made her way toward the door to her building.

“What's wrong,” the guy continued, “got a rod up your ass? Free booze!”

“Go to hell,” she muttered, pushing the door open.

As soon as she reached the stairwell, however, she saw the ghostly little girl standing on the top step, staring down at her.

“What do you want?” she shouted, finally starting to lose control. “Are you just going to follow me around and stare at me for my whole life? Can't you -”

Hearing someone coming through the door behind her, she turned to see two other students drunkenly staggering into the hallway.

“You okay?” one of them asked cautiously.

Turning to look back up the stairs, Deborah saw that the girl had gone again.

“She's the weird one,” a voice whispered.

“Which one of you said that?” she asked, turning to them with anger in her eyes. “Have people been talking about me?”

“What's up?” asked the other drunk student, stepping forward and putting a hand on her shoulder. “If you -”

“Don't touch me!” she screamed, pushing him away with enough force to send him thudding against the wall. For a fraction of a second, she felt an impulse to really hurt him, and an image flashed into her mind of a knife sliding into the idiot's chest. Taking a step back, she forced herself to stay calm.

“Okay, psycho,” the student said, as he and his friend made their way up the stairs, walking right past the spot where the little girl had been standing just a moment ago.

“I'm losing my mind,” Deborah whispered to herself out loud. “That's the only explanation that makes sense. I'm finally cracking up.”

Today

“It might be him,” Grace muttered, hurrying out of the kitchen and grabbing the phone from her desk. “Andrew, is -”

“I have to speak to Alistair!” a voice cried on the other end of the line. “Please, hurry! Where is he?”

“I...” Grace paused for a moment, disappointed that Andrew still hadn't responded to her most recent calls. Her mind raced as she tried to work out who she was speaking to, until finally she realized: “Mrs. Windsor, is that you?”

“Where's my husband?” the woman sobbed. “He hasn't been home for so long! He's never late!”

“I... He went away,” Grace explained. “He went to a conference. Didn't he tell you?”

“Please,” Ruth continued, “just put him on for me. Even if he's busy, I just want to speak to him! I have to know that he's okay!”

“I... I can't. I'm sorry, but he's not -”

“Ruth?” a voice asked suddenly, sounding a little crackly over the line.

“Oh, Alistair!” his wife replied, sounding overjoyed. “I'm so glad to hear from you! Wherever have you been?”

“Sir?” Grace said, turning to look toward the door that led into the governor's office. “Are you -”

“When are you coming home?” Ruth asked. “I miss you so much, and I keep hearing noises from downstairs!”

Setting the phone down, Grace made her way to the door and pushed it open. The governor's desk was unattended, and there was no sign of anyone, yet somehow he seemed to be using his phone. Heading back to her own desk, she picked up the phone again and listened as the governor continued talking to his wife.

“It's very dark here,” he explained. “I'm not sure... I don't know where everyone seem to have gone.”

Leaving the phone on her desk, Grace made her way back to the kitchen, where she found Leonora looking through some notebooks.

“What's happening?”

Looking up at her, Leonora seemed troubled by the question.

“I believe you,” Grace said finally. “I believe every word you've said tonight, but I also think you're holding back. There are ghosts here, but you didn't just come here to warn us, so what do you really want?”

***

“The Blake family is enormous,” Leonora explained as she was wheeled along the corridor by Grace. “There are so many different branches, and it's very difficult to keep track of them all. People marry into other families, of course, and that just makes things even more complicated. I doubt that any of the women in this prison are aware that they're distant relatives of the Blakes.”

“Including me?” Grace asked.

“Elenora wanted to fill Hardstone with family, and that includes the staff. Not all the staff, of course, she wasn't able to exert complete control, but most of them... I'm afraid that in her eagerness to gather family members, Elenora manipulated most of them into committing crimes that would get them sent here. It's a quite monumental feat, but then my sister was always the smarter one, and she has had so much time to prepare. From the little I've managed to discern, it would seem that she has spent most of the past century working on her plan, influencing events far from the prison in order to draw us all here.”

“But how could she do that? How could she manipulate so many people to commit crimes? And how could she make sure that they'd get caught and end up in this prison?”

“You'd be surprised,” Leonora replied, “how easy it can be to gently nudge some people onto a darker path. Not everyone, of course, but enough for Elenora to get the prison to half its usual capacity, which I believe is more than enough for her. She wants enough people gathered here for it to feel like home again, and then she hopes to...”

“To kill them?”

“No, my dear, just to have them around as family. You must remember that her mind is terribly damaged after all the trauma she experienced when she was alive. She sees things differently, there's bitterness and anger in her heart, alongside all the loneliness and fear.”

“Then why has she been killing people?”

“She's only killed people who aren't members of the family, people she views as interlopers. Or perhaps in a few cases, she killed by accident. She's misguided and foolish, but I can assure you that she's not evil.”

“Emma Tate suffered a heart attack.”

“I researched every prisoner in this place,” Leonora replied. “Ms. Tate was, I believe, the only non-white person in the whole of Hardstone, since she was from the one branch of the family where a Blake had married someone from out of the country. I imagine the poor girl rather stood out here among the general population of Hardstone. She did, however, have the famous Blake birth defect.”

“What's that?”

“Stop for a moment,” Leonora told her, before reaching down and carefully untying her shoelace and pulling her foot free to reveal a sixth toe. “Around 10% of the women in our family have this redundant little feature. It's a rather unusual genetic quirk, but one that many of us have come to appreciate. Do you happen to be similarly endowed?”

“I...” Grace paused, staring at the toe. “Yes. My mother had it too, and her mother.”

“So you see? We're all related, albeit so distantly that no-one noticed how many of the women in the extended family had ended up being incarcerated. Elenora picked wisely, and she knew how to avoid being noticed. The Blake family is so large, many of its tributaries have quite forgotten that they're even linked.”

“So she gathered everyone together,” Grace replied as Leonora slipped her foot back into the shoe, “and now what? What's she going to do with us?”

“She merely wants to keep us. She wants to have the family that was denied to her as a child. Surely you can understand why a little girl would be scared of remaining alone? She's waited so long for this moment, and I don't think she's even thought about tomorrow. In her mind, this night will last forever and -”

The lights flickered again.

Stopping suddenly, Grace saw a figure ahead, standing at the far end of the corridor. Staring in shocked horror, she realized that the little girl was looking straight at them.

“Is that her?” she whispered.

“I...” Leonora leaned forward in her wheelchair, narrowing her eyes in an attempt to get a better look. “It is,” she said finally, her voice filled with awe. “It's Elenora, it's my sister, she -”

Before she could finish, the lights flickered again and the figure was gone.

“Why doesn't she come?” Leonora asked. “I thought she was waiting for me!”

Wheeling her forward, Grace couldn't help but look over her shoulder, in case Elenora appeared again.

“Are you sure we're safe?” she asked. “There are stories about -”

“We're family,” Leonora said firmly as they reached the spot where, moments earlier, Elenora had been standing. “She won't hurt family, she'd never do that, not unless...” She paused for a moment. “Not unless I've been wrong this whole time. I've been waiting for her, I've even had members of the extended Blake family kept under surveillance for a number of years, so that I could keep track of Elenora's work and anticipate when she'd be ready to make her move, but what if...”

Her voice trailed off, and seconds later the lights flickered again before the corridor was plunged into darkness.

“Power cut,” Grace whispered.

“She's ready,” Leonora replied, her voice filled with tension. “Whatever she wants, she thinks it's hers now and she's prepared to do whatever it takes, she...” She paused again, as if she was starting to understand the truth. “It's me,” she added finally. “I've been waiting for her, and she's been waiting for me. She's still angry at me for abandoning her.”

***

“Amanda,” Doctor Bell said, leaning closer, “can you hear me?”

She waited.

No reply.

“Amanda,” she said again, with a little more urgency, “if you can hear me, just give me some kind of sign.”

She waited.

Nothing.

“Animals,” she added finally, taking a step back and looking down at the thick bandages around the side of Amanda's torso. “That's all they are. Animals in cages.”

Heading over to the counter, Doctor Bell took a moment to clear away the various blood-stained tools she'd been using in her desperate attempt to save Amanda's life. Her hands were still trembling as she turned back to look at the patient.

“I hesitate to use such childish terminology,” she said quietly, “but you're in God's hands now. Not that God exists, but the point stands. Either way...” She paused for a few seconds, as if she was finally understanding something. “What perfect timing. I think perhaps it's time to bring the main experiment forward a few steps.”

On the table, Amanda remained perfectly still. And then, with no warning, the lights flickered for a moment before failing completely, plunging the medical unit into darkness.

***

“Do you realize how filthy and depraved you are?” Doctor Bell asked a couple of minutes later, as she used a torch to get a better view of Chris's bandaged face. “You and your kind, you're all... disgusting, sub-human. There's nothing redeemable about you. When push comes to shove, you're nothing more than a bunch of savages.”

Chris let out a faint gasp as the doctor began to pull away all the bandages. Whereas before she'd always taken care not to cause any more damage, this time Doctor Bell showed no such concern and was ripping each blood-stained bandage from the girl's skin, until the light from her torch picked out Chris's damaged face.

“Don't worry,” the doctor continued, picking up a battery-powered electric razor and starting to quickly shave the patient's head, “it'll all be over soon.”

A couple of minutes later, with Chris's head now bald, she set the razor down.

“All my adult life,” she explained, grabbing a circular saw from the counter, “I've been working on one key project, with one central question in mind. What makes one person good and another person bad? I know there are people out there who believe it's all due to luck and environment, but I'm convinced there's something deeper, something physical that's hidden in the human brain, and if that's the case...”

She pressed a button on the side of the saw, causing the blade to immediately start spinning.

“I've been studying x-rays of your head, Christine,” she continued, “and so far you fit perfectly into my new theory. There's a region of the brain just above the cortex that seems to be a primary selector for good versus evil. If I'm right, I can manipulate that region in any individual and cause them to move one way or the other along the scale. I can make a good person bad, and vice versa. I could turn Adolf Hitler into a saint and I could Gandhi into the cruelest man who ever drew breath. I know that sounds simplistic, but all my work has led to this point, and now I'm ready to try it out. Well, I had to do something once I realized I couldn't be a surgeon.”

Her hands trembled as she moved the spinning saw closer to Chris's shaved head.

“Imagine being able to take all the evil out of the human race,” she added. “No more praying to God, no more relying on other people to do the right thing. I could just reach into your head and flick a switch, instantly making you kinder, more compassionate, smarter, more useful. It's like eugenics for the mind, and I'm on the edge of proving the theory. I just need to conduct a few more tests, and I'm afraid that there'll need to be some sacrifices along the way.” She paused, as tears ran down her face. “Imagine being able to perform the same operation on myself. I could get rid of all my evil thoughts. I could make myself a good person. That's all I ever wanted.”

She moved the saw even closer.

“At least your pain will be over,” she whispered. “You should really thank me.”

With that, she began to press the edge of the blade against the side of Chris's skull, forcing the metal to start grinding first through skin and then through bone, leaving a thin sprinkling of bone-dust to fall down onto the bed-sheet. Ignoring Chris's gasps of pain, the doctor continued to press the saw deeper with her trembling hands, until she felt the blade breaking through the skull and hitting the brain.

And then she heard the scream.

Pulling the saw back, she turned and aimed the torch down just in time to see Elenora Blake standing behind her, screaming as if she was in absolute agony.

“What do you want?” Doctor Bell shouted, with the spinning saw still in her hand.

Finally, ignoring the scream altogether, she turned back to Chris and used the torchlight to check the wound, which was leaking a steady stream of blood and cranial fluid.

“I've ignored you most of my life,” she said to herself, “so I think I can ignore you for a moment longer. Sorry, little girl.”

With that, she resumed her work, grinding the saw through the side of Chris's head. Elenora was still standing behind her, still screaming at the top of her lungs, but the doctor was determined to ignore any attempt at an interruption, and finally she managed to get a section of skull loose, pulling it away to reveal Chris's brain.

“I'm sorry you have to be conscious for this,” she muttered, barely able to hear her own voice over the scream, “but if I'm right, I can't remove this particular section in a useful manner unless your heart's still beating, and I don't want to risk giving you any more drugs, not in your current state.”

Chris groaned again.

Elenora's scream, if anything, became even louder, as if she was channeling the pain.

“Here goes nothing,” Doctor Bell said, using the saw to cut away a section of brain, before putting the tool aside and using her fingers to part the spongy sections. Chris's moans were becoming more twisted and pained, but the doctor was focused entirely on digging her trembling fingers deeper and deeper until finally she reached the section she was seeking, at which point she pulled a scalpel from her pocket and began to dig out a very precise chunk, barely as large as a pea, which she pulled out and held up to the torchlight.

“And now that's gone,” she said with a faint smile, “I have a feeling that you, Christine Bradford, are going to be a completely different person. No more inhibitions, no more voice of reason holding you back. Not that you were a particularly great person to start with. You were trash, like everyone else in this prison, but now... Now you can fulfill your truest potential. You'll be truly evil, and then I can start reverse-engineering the process so that I can make a person truly good.”

She quickly untied all the straps that were holding Chris to the bed, and then she filled another syringe and injected its contents into the side of Chris's neck. Turning, she looked down at Elenora, who was still screaming.

“All those years you were watching me,” she sneered, “and taunting me, and now look at you. You failed, didn't you? Whatever you wanted, you won't get it. I don't know why you're so interested in me, but this is the end. I'm so far beyond the point of -”

Suddenly the torch's battery died, plunging the room into darkness.

“Jesus,” Doctor Bell muttered, reaching out to feel the wall as she began to work her way toward the door, all the while ignoring the scream to the best of her ability.

After a moment, she found the door and made her way out into the main room. As soon as she pulled the door shut, the scream stopped, and she finally allowed herself a moment to draw breath. With the storm still raging outside, she fumbled her way over to the desk and set the pea-sized piece of brain down, before taking a seat and staring at her discovery.

“Was I right?” she asked. “Are you the only part of the human brain that decides whether we're good or bad? Can I use this discovery to make myself a better person?”

Hearing a clattering sound from the next room, she looked over at the door and a faint smile crossed her lips.

“It's time,” she added, looking at Amanda. “Do you know what? This has actually worked out perfectly. I have a great opportunity to see whether Christine Bradford has now had all the goodness in her mind washed away. I'm sorry, but if there's a chance to test my theory, I have to try!”

Before she could finish, she heard the click of a nearby door, and she looked across the dark room just in time to see that Chris had risen from the bed.

“Hello, monster,” Doctor Bell said with a smile.

Fifteen years ago

“So Dan thinks you're kinda weird,” Julie said as she hung her coat on the hook. “I think you've still got a chance with him, but you definitely need to do some damage control.”

“I'm fine, really,” Deborah replied, sitting cross-legged on her bed as she studied one of the textbooks for her upcoming term. She tried to focus on what she was reading, but as Julie drunkenly stumbled across the room and flopped down onto the other bed, a stench of stale beer began to fill the room.

“Fuck, I'm tired,” Julie muttered, lighting a cigarette.

“Do you have to do that?” Deborah asked, trying to remain polite.

“I told you, the alarm's out of action. It's cool.”

“Yes, but... That's not entirely the point.”

Pausing, Deborah realized that there was no way Julie was going to listen to her. She tried once again to focus on her reading, but after a couple of minutes she felt compelled to look over at her room-mate, only to see that Julie had fallen asleep with the lit cigarette in her hand, just a few inches above her bedsheets.

“You...” she started to say, before once again her mind began to fill with images: she saw Julie trapped in an inferno, her hair and skin burning away to reveal the screaming skeleton beneath. If anything, these images were stronger than the ones in the bar earlier, since this time she could see the lit cigarette still burning in Julie's hand, and she knew that she had a genuine chance to go through with the plan.

“No,” she whispered, “I'm not going to do bad things anymore, I -”

Spotting movement nearby, she turned to see the little girl watching her from the shadows.

“Why do I have to do this?” Deborah asked, with tears in her eyes. “Is that what you want? I'm just supposed to go around doing the cruelest things imaginable? Why do you fill my head with these thoughts?”

She waited for a reply, but as usual the girl said nothing.

Slowly, Deborah got to her feet. As she made her way over to Julie's bed, she saw even stronger images in her mind, images of her room-mate being hacked to pieces with an ax while screaming for mercy. It was as if these impulses were crowding into Deborah's head with such forcefulness that she could no longer hold them back. No matter how hard she tried to remind herself that she'd sworn these days were over, she found herself leaning forward and gently taking the cigarette from Julie's hand before setting it down on the duvet.

Seconds later, the flames began to spread.

“How drunk are you?” Deborah whispered.

Turning, she saw that the little girl was still watching, her face as impassive as ever.

“This is what you wanted, isn't it?” Deborah asked. “More pain. More death. It's not enough for you that I killed my little brother all those years ago, you want me to keep doing these things over and over until... Until what?” She wiped away a tear that had begun to run down her cheek. “Fine,” she added finally. “This is who I am. It's what I do. It's not like I can flick a switch and become a good person. I don't know why you -”

“What the fuck?” Julie said suddenly as she blinked awake.

Looking down at her, Deborah saw that the flames had spread to her room-mate's dress.

“What's happening?” Julie shouted. “What -”

Before she could cause a disturbance, Deborah leaned down and clamped a hand over Julie's face, holding her down as the flames spread. Even as the fire began to burn her own hands, she knew there was no way she could let go until she was certain that the job was done, so she pushed Julie's head down until her face was directly in the flames. As her mind became increasingly blank, all Deborah could do was stare into the flames and watch as her room-mate's face continued to burn, while her own hands were also being consumed by the fire.

By the time the campus fire crew arrived, they found Deborah with her hands still plunged into the flames. As she was pulled away, with her hands blackened and charred, she sobbed that she'd been trying to save Julie, whose dead body lay at the heart of the fire.

Today

“Are you sure about this?” Grace asked as she hurriedly pushed Leonora's wheelchair along the dark corridor. “If we -”

“There's no time to waste,” Leonora hissed, “not if my sister's plan is being put into action. That poor child, she's become so twisted and warped over the past century, but we have to stop her. She killed all those women when she was alive, and now she's going to cause even more misery in death.”

“But -”

Before she could finish, Grace stopped as she spotted a figure up ahead. Instinctively, she assumed that it must be Leonora, only to realize after a moment that it was someone taller. As the figure stepped closer, his face finally emerged from the gloom.

“Andrew!” Grace shouted, rushing past the wheelchair. “I'm so -”

She stopped in her tracks as soon as she saw the dead look in his eyes, as if he was staring at her from the other side of some great invisible barrier.

“What's wrong?” she asked. “Andrew, you -”

“He's dead,” Leonora said suddenly.

Grace shook her head, as if she couldn't believe what she was seeing.

“Elenora didn't have a family when she was alive,” the old woman continued, “so she's trying to gather one now that she's dead.”

“No,” Grace replied, reaching forward to touch Andrew but holding back at the last moment. “This can't be real!”

“He must be one of us,” Leonora explained. “He's part of the huge Blake family too. I thought he wasn't, but I was wrong.”

“He can't be!” she shouted. “He -”

“Let me guess, you and this young man have been enjoying a romantic entanglement?” She paused. “That's not even a guess, to be honest. As I told you, I've been surveilling everyone associated with this prison for quite some time. If it makes you feel any better, the pair of you are only very distant cousins, several times removed. There's really no reason why you shouldn't have been doing what you were doing. It's legal.”

“He can't be dead,” Grace whispered, with tears running down her face. “He can't be...” She turned to Leonora. “Bring him back!” she shouted.

“There's nothing I can do. There's nothing anyone can do. Elenora is quite, quite mad. She should never have been left here for so long. I should have done more to help her.”

“Andrew, talk to me,” Grace said firmly. “I know you can hear me!”

“You're too late to help him,” Leonora replied, reaching out and taking her hand. “We have to hurry, there are more than two hundred lives at stake!”

“Andrew, it's me!”

“I don't have time for this,” Leonora said, reaching down and starting to turn the wheels of her chair. Although she was clearly struggling, she managed to maneuver herself past Grace and Andrew. “You're a very foolish girl if you think that standing here and begging for attention from a ghost is going to get you anywhere!”

“Then what am I supposed to do?” she shouted, hurrying after her and starting to push the chair again. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Andrew was already fading away. “I -”

“Love him?”

“Yes,” she continued, taking a left turn and pushing Leonora toward the main intake room. “I never really told him, but I loved him and -”

“Too late for any of that nonsense now,” she replied. “We must ensure that the living are taken care of first, and then perhaps there will be time to come back and consider the needs of the dead. Now, how do we get the main door open?”

“There's a button,” Grace told her as they reached the door. As she reached out to the console on the wall, however, she suddenly realized that without power, there was no way the system could possibly work. Still, she jabbed at the button several times, desperately hoping that it might somehow open the door. “There's no electricity,” she said finally. “Without power, none of the doors are going to work.”

“So where are the keys?”

“What keys? It's all automated!”

“And the windows too, I suppose?”

Grace nodded.

“Then we would appear to be sealed inside,” Leonora continued. “It's just like the first time, when Elenora locked all the doors and then...” She paused. “You know what she did last time, don't you? You know what happened to all those poor women?”

“She cut their throats.”

“It all makes sense now,” Leonora replied. “She wants us alive, but if she thinks she's going to lose us, she'll panic. Dead family members are better than none at all, at least for her. She doesn't mind living with ghosts, just so long as she's not alone.”

“But why aren't there ghosts already?” Grace asked. “Where are the ghosts of the people she killed last time?”

“Their bodies were buried outside in unconsecrated ground,” Leonora continued. “They were left to wander, but they had no special connection to Elenora. This time, all the dead will be her family members, and she'll make certain to imprint herself upon them before they die. In a way, she's already done that, since so many of them are aware of her legend. She's a foolish young girl, but she's not unintelligent. She knows what she's doing.”

“They're out there,” Grace said suddenly, peering through the reinforced glass panel in the center of the door. “I see them.”

“You see who?” Leonora asked, unable to rise up from her chair.

“The old ghosts,” Grace continued, her eyes filled with horror, “the ones whose bodies were dug up in the yard. They're -”

Before she could finish, she let out a gasp as a spectral blue face stepped close to the other side of the door, staring straight at her.

“I imagine,” Leonora said calmly, “that they refuse to stay buried because they want justice.”

Outside, hundreds of ghostly figures were making their way toward the building.

***

“You know what she did,” Karen said firmly as she sat with Robin in one of the cells. “She deserved every fucking hit she took.”

“No-one deserves to be murdered,” Robin replied darkly. “The mob -”

“It wasn't a mob!” Karen hissed. “It was justice! In the old days, a girl like Amanda Weir would've been strung up from the gallows and made to really pay for what she did. We might've scrapped the death penalty a long time ago in this country, but that doesn't mean it's completely off the table. It just means people like us have to take matters into our own hands, and that's what we did to the bitch.”

“And you're sure she's dead?”

“Must be, with all the damage we did to her. I think she was technically still breathing when they hauled her away, but there's nothing much that can be done for her. It's just a matter of time, if she's not already -”

Suddenly there was a bang nearby, as the door swung shut. Seconds later, they both heard the heavy metal lock being engaged.

“Great,” Karen muttered, “looks like they finally got the power running again. I guess I'm stuck in here with you tonight.”

“If the power's running,” Robin replied, looking up at the dark ceiling, “why are the lights still off?”

“It's late. They always turn the lights off at night.”

“Not in the corridor. Look out there, the whole prison's still completely dark.”

“So they're up to something else,” Karen replied, patting her on the shoulder, “so what? Face it, you're stuck in here with me tonight and -”

Before she could finish, a scream rang out from one of the other cells, followed seconds later by another.

“What the hell was that?” Robin shouted, getting to her feet as the screams continued.

“It's just someone messing around,” Karen told her, heading to the door and trying the handle, only to confirm that it was locked. “You know what they're -”

“It's her!” another voice screamed suddenly. “She's in my -”

The voice was abruptly cut off, replaced by another scream.

“This isn't right,” Robin said after a moment. “Where are the guards? Why isn't anyone doing anything about this?”

“Give 'em time,” Karen replied. “It's just... You know what some of the other girls are like, they use any opportunity they can get to mess with the rest of us. This is just them taking advantage of the situation and messing with our heads, they're -”

She stopped speaking as another scream rang out, from a closer cell this time.

“It's her,” Robin whispered staring at the door, as finally the image of Elenora Blake appeared again, entering the room. “It's all happening again, she -”

Before she could finish, Karen let out a cry as a thick gash opened in her neck, spraying blood against the wall. As she dropped to her feet, she tried once again to open the door, but the handle still wouldn't budge.

“Please,” Robin whimpered, with tears in her eyes as she pulled back to the corner of her bunk, “don't hurt me, please -” She let out a cry of pain as her neck began to slice open, and seconds later blood began to flow down onto her chest. The last thing she saw, as she slumped down dead, was Elenora Blake staring into her soul.

Part Eight

Today

“Over here!” Doctor Bell shouted as she stood next to Amanda's motionless form. “Christine, this way!”

Stumbling across the dark medical room, Chris bumped into one of the trolleys, inadvertently tipping it over and sending a mass of equipment flying across the floor. After steadying herself for a moment, Chris turned toward Doctor Bell and began to make her way forward, while reaching out to find something, anything, to grab hold of.

“Just a little further,” Doctor Bell continued, her face filled with anticipation. “You can feel it, can't you? That missing part of your brain, it's taken away all your inhibitions, all your thoughts of doing the right thing. All you care about is hurting people.”

Letting out a faint gasp, Chris reached out for the doctor, only to miss and stumble again, this time grabbing hold of Amanda's bed for support.

“It's a shame about your eyes,” the doctor told her, reaching out and grabbing Chris's hand and then placing it on Amanda's chest, “but this is only the first proper test. Just feel your way around, and let the anger build. Don't you want to tear her apart?”

Suddenly letting out a loud roar, Chris pushed the bed away with such force that it hit the nearby wall, while Doctor Bell had to step out of the way.

“You're furious, aren't you?” Doctor Bell continued. “You're perfect in so many ways. Trust me, I know the kind of anger you're feeling, it's lived in my for my whole life. I always wondered why I had so much rage in my heart while others seemed to just go about their lives as if they actually cared about the world. While my friends would sometimes do mean things like tearing the legs off insects, I had a drive from childhood to take things further. I held back for as long as possible, but -”

She ducked out of the way as Chris swung at her.

“That's good,” she said with breathless excitement. “Don't worry, Christine, when I finally report my findings I'll make sure to give you some credit. First, though, I need you to prove my point.” She moved over to Amanda's bed again. “This way. Come on, just do what comes naturally. Kill every living creature that crosses your path. Prove to me that I was right all along!”

Stumbling through the darkness, Chris made her way across the room.

“You don't have long left, you know,” Doctor Bell told her. “The damage I caused to your brain is going to kick in soon, and then everything will fade away. In what little time you have left, why don't you embrace the true darkness in your soul.?You were a miserable wretch before you came here, Christine, but you were held back by just a faint hint of goodness. I've removed that now, so prove me right and embrace your desire to kill everything that's inferior to you! Be the -”

“Doctor Bell!” a voice shouted at the far end of the room, as the door swung open and Grace rushed through. “You have to come with me! There's been a -”

She stopped as she saw the horrific sight of Chris, who had already begun to turn in her direction.

“What the hell is that?” Grace asked, taking a step back.

“It's my creation,” the doctor replied, smiling as she made her way around the edge of the room and took Grace by the hand. “Whatever else is happening, can't you take a moment to marvel at what I've achieved? I've taken a common criminal and turned her into something much worse.”

Grace took another step back, but Doctor Bell held onto her hand and forced her to stay.

“What did you come up here for, Grace?”

“I...”

“It must have been important. Why is the power still off?”

“All the external doors are sealed,” Grace explained, her eyes still fixed on Chris as the creature stumbled toward her. “Ms. Blake thinks -”

“Is that old hag still here?”

“No-one can leave. We're trapped in here with Elenora Blake, and she's starting to -”

“Nonsense,” Doctor Bell snapped back at her. “This whole situation is rapidly getting out of control, I need to take charge.”

“You're a monster!” Grace shouted, pulling away from her. “I -” As she finally saw Chris's ruined face and hollow eye-sockets, she stepped back, with tears in her eyes. “What have you done to her?”

“It's an experiment. Don't worry, she won't be missed. Christine was the lowest of the low, a real piece of human scum.”

“You can't talk about them like that!” Grace shouted at her. “They're living people, they're -”

“They're criminals!” Doctor Bell shouted back. “They're the perfect subjects for the next stage of my work. No-one really cares what happens to them, I can get into their brains one by one and fine-tune my work until it's perfect, and then -”

“I'm calling for help,” Grace replied, pulling her phone from her pocket, “and when they get here -”

“When they get here what?” Doctor Bell asked, stepping toward her. Grabbing a pair of scissors from one of the trolleys, she thrust the blades straight into the side of Grace's neck before grabbing the phone from her hand and tossing it aside. As Grace tried to speak, the doctor turned her around and gouged the scissors deeper, until finally she pulled them out and pushed her toward the creature.

Gasping for breath, Grace clutched the wound in her neck as blood sprayed across the wall.

“I've been preparing for this night for a long time,” Doctor Bell said with a smile, as she headed to the door and then glanced back to watch Chris slowly advancing toward Grace. “I'll be back just as soon as I've figured out this dumb mess. I sincerely hope, Christine, that by then you'll have followed your true instinct and killed the offerings I've left behind for you.”

With that, she stepped out into the corridor and pulled the door shut, before taking a key from her pocket and locking the rest of them inside the room.

“Who needs modern technology?” she muttered, smiling as she made her way toward the stairs. “A key's still the best way to lock a door.”

Six months ago

“Huh?”

Turning, Amanda looked across the kitchen for a moment, convinced that she'd heard someone nearby. She waited, but there was nothing.

Swallowing hard, she looked back down at the sandwich she was trying to make. Her hands were trembling, and in the back of her mind she could feel dark thoughts gathering once again, telling her to do awful things:

Kill the children.

Cut them up.

Get rid of them both.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she imagined herself taking the knife and cutting her two babies open; she imagined the blood pouring over her hands, and the screams as they breathed their last. Somewhere in her chest, there was a sense of great pleasure, as if she desperately wanted to just tear them to pieces. She imagined her husband, too, finding the horrific scene and falling apart. For some reason that she couldn't understand, her whole body tingled with excitement at the thought, until finally she was able to push the whole horrible image to the back of her mind.

For now.

“Kill them.”

Turning, she looked across the room again. This time she was certain there'd been a voice, as if a little girl had been standing right behind her. She listened to the stillness of the house, but now all she could hear was the distant gurgle of one of her children. Seconds later, she realized Jonathan was laughing, as if someone was in the room with him. Hurrying through, Amanda reached the door just in time to see that both children were smiling up at something above their crib, despite the fact that no-one was in the room with them.

Feeling a shiver pass through her body, Amanda headed back to the kitchen.

Today

Dropping to her knees, Grace tried desperately to use the palm of her hand to stop more blood flowing from her neck, but she was already starting to feel faint and when she tried to support herself against a nearby trolley she succeeded merely in tipping it over and slipping down against the floor.

Rolling onto her side, she felt a sharp pain in her neck as more warm blood flowed out.

A moment later, a dark figure stepped toward her.

“I...” Grace tried to say, her lips barely moving at all. “Please... if I can just... Andrew's here...”

Her lips moved again, just briefly, before she fell silent and her dead eyes stared up at the ceiling.

Standing over her, Chris paused for a moment, swaying slight as she struggled to deal with the pain that had been overwhelming her for so long. Every second, another wave of agony pulsed through her mind, and she could feel herself wanting to destroy everything she could find. Taking a step forward, she almost tripped over Grace's dead body, but she managed to grab hold of a cupboard and steady herself, before turning and listening to the room.

The only sound came from the storm outside.

And then, slowly, she realized she could hear a faint rattling sound.

Over on the other side of the room, Amanda was tugging at the leather restraint that had been used to tie her to the bed, and she was watching Chris with an expression of pure horror.

Chris turned and began to stumble toward her.

“No,” Amanda whispered, wincing in pain as she tried to sit up. No matter how hard she tried to free herself from the restraint, it was far too tight. “Come on,” she muttered, “just -”

Before she could finish, she felt a sharp pain in her side and she had no choice but to lean back.

Seconds later, Chris arrived at the side of the bed and reached out, grabbing Amanda by the shoulders.

“It's me!” Amanda shouted. “Remember? From the van, and from earlier when I tried to help you!”

Christ leaned closer, with fresh blood running from her empty eye-sockets.

“You don't want to hurt me,” Amanda continued. “Please, we both have to get out of here! I don't know what's wrong with Doctor Bell, but whatever she's doing here, we have to get away. If we warn people, we can make sure that she never manages to hurt anyone else again!” She waited for some kind of reply, but Chris seemed to be frozen in place. “Can you even hear me?” Amanda shouted finally. “Chris, it's me, it's -”

“I know,” Chris whispered, her voice barely audible.

“Please, we have to -”

“I know,” she said again. “I just... The pain is like... nothing I've ever... I...”

“I know you're not a monster,” Amanda replied, pulling desperately against the leather restraint. “I heard her calling you that, but it's not true! I don't know what she's done to you, but there's no way you could ever be a monster!”

“She hurt me,” Chris continued. “The pain...”

“There's something wrong with her,” Amanda continued. “We have to warn someone!”

“She talked to me. All the time she was hurting me, she kept talking, telling me about herself. She's...”

“She's insane!”

“She's been driven insane. She wasn't born like it, she told me about the girl... She saw her before.”

“What girl?” Amanda paused, as slowly she began to understand. “The ghost? She saw Leonora Blake?”

“She saw her long before she ever came to Hardstone,” Chris continued. “How can that happen? How can you see a ghost before you even get to the place that's haunted?”

“I don't know,” Amanda replied, “but we have to warn someone. Whatever happened in the past and whatever happened with the little girl, right now Doctor Bell has lost her mind. Can you get me free from here? We have to find someone and make sure no-one else gets hurt!”

Fumbling to find the leather restraint, Chris was finally able to pull it loose.

“Come on,” Amanda said, getting off the bed but wincing immediately as she felt the pain from her injuries. “We have to...” She paused, as if the pain was starting to overwhelm her.

“I can't come with you,” Chris replied. “Look at me. I'll just slow you down.”

“But...” Realizing that she was right, Amanda took a moment to wait for the latest wave of pain to pass. “I'll come back for you. I swear to God, this is all going to get straightened out. There's no way all this madness can be allowed to continue.”

“Just go,” Chris told her. “There's nothing I can do.”

Hurrying toward the door, Amanda stopped for a moment and looked down at Grace's dead body. Figuring that there'd be time later to process everything that had happened, she stepped over the corpse and hurried out into the dark corridor, where the only light came through a window at the far end. Making her way to the stairwell, she was about to head down when she realized she could hear a sound from the next floor down, like a scream or...

A baby crying.

No, two babies crying.

Staring down into the darkness of the stairwell, Amanda felt tears welling up in her eyes. She knew it was crazy, but she felt as if she recognized the cries she was hearing. Her own children were somehow echoing through the empty spaces of the prison, as if they were calling out to her, but she hesitated for a moment, scared to go down. She knew it was impossible, that there was no way Jonathan and Andrea could be in the prison, but at the same time she couldn't ignore the sound.

“I'm coming,” she whispered, racing down into the stairwell. “Don't be scared, I'm right here!”

She could barely see at all, but finally she managed to get to the next floor, and she realized the cries were coming from the far end of the corridor. Running toward the door, she pulled on the handle only to find that it was locked. She looked through the small glass panel, and to her shock she saw two babies on the floor just a few meters away, with the ghostly little girl sitting cross-legged next to them.

“Leave them alone!” Amanda shouted, banging on the door. “Let me through!”

Looking toward her, the girl stared with the same cold, dead expression she always wore.

“Let me in!” Amanda screamed, as the babies' cries became louder and louder. “It's me! I'm here, don't be scared, I'm coming for you!”

Looking back along the corridor, she spotted a fire extinguisher; she ran over and ripped it from the wall, before turning it around and slamming the base against the glass panel, which shattered immediately. Dropping the extinguisher, Amanda reached her arm through and began to feel around on the other side of the door for some kind of latch or handle that might help her to get it open.

“I'm right here!” she shouted, as the babies continued to cry out for her. “I'm coming!”

Just as she was starting to feel as if she'd never get the door open, the tips of her fingers brushed against the edge of some kind of metal latch. She desperately tried to get more of her arm through, ignoring the glass that was digging into her flesh until finally she was able to turn the latch. Pulling her arm back out from the broken glass panel, she grabbed the door handle and this time it opened. She raced through, but just as she reached the crying babies they seemed to evaporate into thin air, and she dropped to her knees just as the last of their essences drifted up into a shaft of moonlight.

“No!” she screamed. “Bring them back! Bring -”

Spotting movement nearby, she turned and found herself face-to-face with the little girl.

“What do you want?” Amanda shouted, with tears streaming down her face. “Bring them back to me! I don't care what you want, I'll give you anything, just -”

Before she could finish, the little girl's face seemed to become darker, and suddenly she was gone, as if she'd melted away into the darkness.

“No!” Amanda shouted, turning and looking along the corridor, desperate for some sign of the children. Finally, ignoring the pain in her side, she scrambled to her feet and ran toward the next door.

***

With her wheelchair next to the window in the governor's office, Leonora Blake stared out through the rain-spattered glass and saw dozens of ghostly figures standing in the yard, lit only by the pale blue moonlight. Transfixed by the sight, she barely even registered the sound of the door opening and then closing behind her.

“This is against protocol,” Doctor Bell said a little breathlessly. “Visiting hours are over, Ms. Blake.”

“I'm not visiting,” the old woman replied, turning to her with tears in her eyes. “This is where I belong, like all the ghosts out there. I'm almost a ghost myself.”

“Spare me the wistful language,” the doctor continued, making her way over to the desk. “Right now, all I care about is -”

“You understand why these women are incarcerated here, don't you?” Leonora asked.

“Of course. They're criminals. Thieves, murderers, the lowest of the low -”

“No, these women in particular,” she continued, interrupting her. “They're all family.”

“I know, I know, they're all someone's daughter, someone's sister, someone's precious little snowflake -”

“They're all my family,” Leonora continued. She paused for a moment, aware of the hint of confusion in Doctor Bell's eyes. “I told you that the Blake family is large, and I wasn't lying. There are so many branches, we've lost track. People marry and marry again, surnames get changed, no-one could possibly be expected to maintain any kind of order in that chaos, but... Every woman in this prison is related, to varying degrees, to the core Blake family of London.”

“That's...” Doctor Bell paused. “That's actually pretty much statistically impossible.”

“Of course it is, unless some hidden hand had been working behind the scenes to make it this way. Someone who reached out from this very prison and nudged these women onto the paths that would lead them here to Hardstone, someone who was able to manipulate a great many people in order to bring her family together.”

“You're talking about Elenora?”

“Perhaps some of the women here would have ended up in prison anyway,” Leonora continued, “but the vast majority, I'm afraid, are here because my sister interfered with their lives and pushed them to commit criminal acts. I've been monitoring the situation, and I have dossiers on more than three quarters of the women at Hardstone. In each case, I can see where Elenora steered them in this direction. I know it sounds impossible, but you must remember that my sister has had a very long time to plan this, to practice and to develop her plans. All she wants is to have the family she never had when she was alive, so she's been gathering as many members of the extended Blake family together as possible.”

“You're seriously trying to tell me that all those prisoners are related and they don't even know it?”

“As I said, it's a very large family.” Leonora paused. “It's not just the prisoners, either. My great-great-grandmother Elizabeth Blake married a gentleman named Thomas Wyndham, and one of their children, a girl named Eliza, eventually married into the Chauncer family of St. Martin's, and then one of -”

“Stop,” Doctor Bell said suddenly.

“One of -”

“Stop!” she shouted.

They stood in silence for a moment, as a wave of horror began to grip Doctor Bell's chest.

“One of their daughters,” Leonora said finally, “Claire Chauncer, married a man by the name of Edward Bell.” She paused for a moment. “Edward Bell was your grandfather.”

Doctor Bell shook her head.

“Are you trying to tell me that you didn't have a grandfather named Edward?” Leonora asked.

“I did, but... You're lying. You're making all of this up.”

“People lose track of their family history these days,” Leonora continued. “Most of us know little or nothing about our heritage beyond a couple of generations. How are we supposed to know who we are, if we don't know where we come from?”

“There's no way I'm related to those... criminals,” Doctor Bell spat. “They're vermin, they're the dregs of society!”

“And what are you?”

“I'm a doctor!”

“What kind of doctor? Someone who cares for the sick?”

“I...” Again, Doctor Bell seemed lost for words.

“And what have you done in your life?” Leonora waited for an answer, but she could see that Doctor Bell was too shocked to say anything. “My sister pushed these prisoners into a life of crime,” she continued finally, “and she did the same thing to you. The only difference, the only reason why you're here in this office whereas the others are in their cells, is that you, my dear Ms. Bell, turned out to be exceptionally good at getting away with your crimes. In some ways, it's something to be admired.”

“No,” Doctor Bell replied, shaking her head. “You're wrong.”

“You've always felt that urge, I imagine. The urge to hurt people. You probably wonder where it comes from. It comes from Leonora, from her attempts to steer you to Hardstone.”

“I... You don't know me!”

“I've researched your history. I know enough. Tell me about the poor girl who died in that fire. Julie Bond, I believe. Why did you kill her?”

“I didn't -”

“You killed her, of that I have no doubt. Why did you do it, though?”

“She...” Doctor Bell paused. “I can't help it. I just feel physically sick sometimes, as if my mind is going to fall apart, and the only thing that makes it better -”

“Is to cause pain to others.”

“I murdered my brother when I was nine years old,” she replied, with tears in her eyes. “I didn't want to do it, I don't know why it happened, I just... No-one believed it was me, and I was a convincing liar. There's something wrong with me.”

“I'm afraid Elenora is to blame. She tried to steer you toward Hardstone in the same way that she steered all the others, except that in your case things turned out rather differently. She still managed to get you here in the end, but in a rather unfortunate manner.”

“You're telling me that my whole life has been controlled by a ghost?”

“You saw her, didn't you? From time to time, before you came to Hardstone?”

“I thought I was losing my mind.”

“Your mind was still yours, it was just being pushed in certain directions.”

Doctor Bell stared at her for a moment. “I always knew something was wrong,” she said finally. “I felt this urge to hurt people, to make them suffer... I fought it at first, but it was too strong. I felt physical pain sometimes, and the only way to relieve that pain was to make others suffer instead. I even began to carry out research to try to understand how good and evil functioned in the human brain.”

“I've read some of your papers. You've been searching for an off switch for your bad thoughts, for a way to make yourself a good person”

“My whole... My whole life has been about this,” she continued, as tears rolled freely down her face and she broke down sobbing. “I don't want to be a bad person! I tried so hard to be good, but those voices in my head were always pushing me to be cruel! I even thought about ending my life, to spare other people, but I couldn't find the strength.”

“Elenora will have been preventing you from doing such a thing. She needed you alive.”

“Are you... are you telling me that the cause of it all was that little girl? That she was in my head, making me like this?”

“You mustn't blame Elenora too much,” the old woman replied. “She simply didn't understand that what she was doing was wrong.”

“But...” Doctor Bell paused. “You knew all of this was happening?”

Leonora nodded.

“Why didn't you do something? Why didn't you step in and try to stop it before it got to this point?”

“I thought I had more time. I was waiting for Elenora to come to me, but... Don't blame my sister, blame me, I'm the one who should have acted sooner.”

“No kidding,” Doctor Bell replied. Pausing for a moment, she realized she could hear screams in the distance, rising up through the prison.

“Elenora's plan has changed,” the old woman explained. “She knows that when morning comes, the situation here at Hardstone will be noted. If she can't have everyone here alive to keep her company, she'll kill them and keep their ghosts for company.”

Doctor Bell took a step back, as if she could barely comprehend what was happening.

“Emergency release,” she said finally, before turning to Leonora. “This is an old prison. There's an old emergency release system still in place for the doors, it was never replaced due to funding issues. It's in the basement with the generator, but if someone could activate it, all the doors would be overridden and they'd open.”

“That might be the only way to save everyone in this prison,” Leonora told her.

“The basement's flooded, but it still might work. Someone has to...” She paused. “I can do it. I can save them all.”

“You'd be risking your life.”

“I know it can't make up for everything I've done,” the doctor replied, “but maybe... For the first time in my life, I can do the right thing. I can help people instead of hurting them.”

“And is that what you really want to do?”

She nodded.

“I imagine that Elenora's hold on your mind is weakening now,” the old woman continued. “You've had her pushing you to do awful things all this time, and now you can make your own decisions again.”

“I have to hurry,” Doctor Bell replied, heading to the door. “I'll get someone to come and help you out of the building!”

Leonora wheeled herself toward the door and watched as the doctor raced out of the room and along the corridor.

“God speed,” the old woman said quietly, “but I think perhaps I'm the one person who should stay here.”

Six months ago

She blinked.

Again.

Time seemed to ripple in front of her eyes, flexing and twisting.

A memory slipped away, something traumatic.

A little girl's face, or...

No.

The little girl's face fell from her mind, forgotten.

Silence.

Something was wrong, but she couldn't quite... Her hands were wet and warm, and something seemed to be soaking through her clothes. She blinked again, and this time she realized she could hear her husband coming through the door. More time had passed, maybe.

“Hey!” he called out. “Where are you guys?”

Hearing a burst of static for a moment, Amanda looked down and saw the bloody mess in her arms. At first she couldn't work out what had happened, but finally she saw the truth: her two babies were dead, their blood having flowed out all over her arms and down onto the floor.

She opened her mouth to scream.

Today

“Hello?” Amanda called out as she made her way along the dark corridor. “Is anyone here? Hello?”

Stopping at the next corner, she looked both ways. So far, she'd found no-one at all in the prison, as if all the guards and other staff-members had vanished. In the distance, she could hear screams coming from the prison's four main wings, but she had no idea where to go next. Spotting a sign for the governor's office, she figured her best hope was to see if someone was still in charge, so she hurried along the corridor until, finally, she saw an elderly woman wheeling herself toward her.

“Who are you?” Amanda asked.

“I'm someone who has made a terrible mistake,” Leonora said as she came to a halt. “My name is Leonora Blake and I'm the sister of the girl who has caused all of this trouble.”

“You're...” Amanda paused.

“And you,” Leonora continued, “are Amanda Weir, I believe. You're one of the women I kept a file on. I know what happened to your two beautiful little babies, and I'm so sorry. Of all the women in this prison, your story might be the most heartbreaking.”

“I... What do you mean, a file?”

“I wanted to get in touch with you sooner,” Leonora explained, “but I kept delaying the moment when I made my move. I know you went through all that trauma, believing that you'd killed your children, but the truth is that you didn't. You absolutely did nothing to those babies except try to protect them, even though my sister was pushing you to hurt them.” She reached up and took Amanda's hands in her own. “You felt an impulse to kill them, didn't you? You fought the urge.”

“How do you know?” Amanda asked, her voice trembling with fear.

“So many of the women in this prison surrendered to Elenora,” she continued. “They let her push them to do awful things, but you... You held firm, you refused to hurt your children. You were the strongest of all. Eventually, enraged, Elenora hurt them herself, and I imagine that the trauma of that incident prevented you from remembering.”

“I killed them,” Amanda stammered. “No-one else was in the room.”

“My sister was in that room. Either she killed them while they were in your arms, or she killed them while you were in another part of the house and you returned to find their bodies. I suspect the latter, but we'll never know for certain.” She squeezed Amanda's hands tight. “I know you've come to accept what you think you did, but over time I hope you'll be able to accept the truth.”

“I killed them,” Amanda said again, pulling her hands away. “I don't need anyone making excuses for me.”

“She -” Before she could finish, Leonora seemed to spot something a little further along the corridor. Seconds later, the sound of babies crying began to fill the air again.

Turning, Amanda saw the same sight as before: the ghostly child was sitting on the floor, but this time she was trying to calm the babies, as if she wanted them to stop crying.

“No,” Amanda whispered, “this can't be happening.”

“I see them too,” Leonora replied, with tears in her eyes. “I think she... I think she understands that what she did was wrong.”

Amanda watched in horror as the child began to get the babies to fall silent.

“She's not an evil girl,” Leonora continued. “She's done some wicked, wicked things, but it was all because she wanted a family. It took a long time, but maybe she finally knows that she did the wrong thing.” Reaching down, she took hold of her wheels and began to make her way along the corridor. After a moment, Amanda grabbed the handles of the chair and began to push her, until they were just a few feet from the trio of ghosts.

“It's them,” Amanda whispered, looking down at her babies' smiling faces. “It's really them!”

“Elenora,” Leonora said, leaning forward in her chair, “do you recognize me? I've come back for you after all these years.” She reached out a trembling hand, marked and wrinkled by the passage of time. “I'm so sorry it took me so long, but I was scared.”

Still sitting on the floor, Elenora seemed not to have noticed her sister. Instead, she was playing with the two babies, who in turn were smiling up at her.

“It's me,” Leonora continued, with her hand still out and tears flowing down her face. “Elenora, please, I -”

Before she could finish, Elenora turned and screamed at her sister, causing the two babies in turn to start crying again.

“Please,” Leonora said, leaning closer despite the scream, “I -”

“Let me,” Amanda said, taking her hand and forcing her back into the chair, at which point Elenora immediately stopped screaming and returned to playing with the babies, who were still crying.

“She doesn't recognize me,” Leonora sobbed. “I'm too old...”

“Just let me do this,” Amanda replied, stepping past her and kneeling next to the little girl. With tears in her eyes, she watched as Elenora tried to comfort the babies. “Elenora,” she said finally, “I think we've met before but...” She paused, her whole body trembling with fear, but she knew she couldn't leave them, not now. “Are you looking after my babies for me? Is that what you're doing?”

Slowly, Elenora turned to her.

“Thank you,” Amanda continued, wiping away the tears from her face. Looking down first at Jonathan and then at Andrea, she felt as if her heart might burst from her chest at any moment. “Hey,” she said finally, “it's me. It's Mummy.” She reached out and put a hand on the side of each baby's face, and they both stopped crying, as if they recognized her touch. “I'm here,” she sobbed. “I'm right here, and I didn't...” She could feel herself on the verge of breaking down, but she forced herself to be strong. “I didn't hurt them. It wasn't me, was it?”

“They miss you,” Elenora said suddenly, her voice sounding tired, as if she hadn't spoken since the day she died more than a century ago.

“I miss them too,” Amanda replied. “I miss them more than I can even understand.”

“It...” Elenora paused for a moment. “It's my fault. I did something bad.”

“No,” Leonora said, still in her wheelchair, “it's my fault. I should have come back for you a long time ago.”

“It doesn't matter whose fault it is,” Amanda replied, before gently reaching over and taking her children in her arms. With tears streaming down her face, she looked down at the babies' faces as they smiled back up at her. “I can't lose them,” she said finally, “not again. Is there any way to get them back?”

“They're dead,” Leonora told her. “They can't return to the world of the living.”

“But maybe there's a way...”

“There isn't. They've passed over to that other place now, but it's okay.”

“It's not okay,” Amanda sobbed, leaning down and rubbing her nose against their faces. “It's never going to be okay. I want to be with them.”

“You are with them,” Leonora replied. “Don't you realize?” She paused, watching as Amanda continued to cry. “You don't, do you?” she said finally. “It must have happened very recently.”

“What did?” Amanda asked, turning to her.

“Elenora spoke to you. She doesn't speak to people who are still alive.”

Staring at her, Amanda finally began to understand.

“I don't know how you died,” Leonora continued, “but the moment I met you just now, I could tell you were a ghost too.”

“No, I'm not dead,” Amanda replied, starting to panic. “I can't be! I was hurt, but...” She paused, thinking back to Doctor Bell's efforts to save her. “I survived, I swear... I was alive, and... She saved me. She must have. I was taken to the showers and stabbed, but Doctor Bell saved my life.”

“I don't think she did. I think she tried, but I you must have been too badly hurt.”

Amanda shook her head, even though she was slowly starting to realize that it was all true.

“Tell her I'm here,” Leonora replied. “Tell Elenora I'm sorry. Tell her I don't expect her to forgive me, but tell her I'm here now, and I'm not leaving her again. Tell her she doesn't need all these other women, she only needs me, and now she's got me. Tell her -”

Before she could finish, Elenora turned to the old woman.

“I can hear you,” she said finally. “You look funny. Your face is all wrinkled.”

“I'm here,” Amanda said, holding the two babies tight. “I'm here and I'm never leaving you ever again!”

***

“Jesus!” Doctor Bell shouted as she got halfway down the stairs toward the basement and found that water had risen almost to the ceiling. Shining a torch across the room, she saw the partially-submerged generator on the far side, and she figured that the emergency release switch was completely underwater.

Staring down at the water as it lapped at the steps, she realized that the submerged generator might kill her instantly if she entered the water and there happened to be some exposed wires.

“Just let me do this one good thing,” she whispered. “Just let me help them.”

Taking a few steps more, she began to make her way into the freezing, pitch-black water, and soon she had no choice but to start swimming, while desperately trying to keep the torch above the waterline. As she got to the middle of the room, her head bumping constantly against the ceiling, she accidentally let the torch dip down a little, causing the light to cut out for a moment before she held it back up. Gasping for breath, she trod water briefly before making her way over to the generator. Finally, she grabbed hold of a pipe on the wall and rested for a few seconds, before looking down into the dark water, which was rising slowly as the flooding continued.

In her mind's eye, she could see the handle for the emergency release switch, but she had no idea whether she could actually find it once she got down there. For a moment, she realized she could just turn around and leave, that she could run and leave everyone else trapped in the prison. She knew that was what she'd have done in the past, but this time she felt compelled to do the right thing. Setting the torch on top of the generator, she took a deep breath and dipped under the water.

She swam down into the darkness and began to feel around for the lever that she hoped would activate the emergency release mechanism. At first all she could find were more pipes, but finally her hand fell upon the long, tapered piece of metal. Already starting to run short of breath, she pulled on the switch but found that despite all her efforts, it would only budge a few millimeters. She pulled again, but still it seemed to be stuck. She knew she should go up and get more air, but she figured she needed to try one more time first. Summoning the last of her energy, she pulled on the lever with all her strength, and just when she felt she could do no more, she felt the metal turning until she was finally able to pull it all the way over to the 'open' position.

Letting go, she swam back up to the surface, only to find that the water level had already risen too far and the basement was now completely flooded. She reached up and put her hands flat on the ceiling, but there was no air left at the top and the torch had been submerged, cutting off what little light there had been. Panicking, she tried to work out which way to go in order to get out, but in the darkness she could only guess. Convinced that she'd soon find the steps again, she pulled herself across the ceiling but all she found a moment later was a wall. She was already running desperately short of breath as she turned wildly and reached out, and for a few seconds she was suspended in the pitch-black water, just reaching out into the darkness...

Finally, the tips of her fingers brushed against something, and when she pulled herself closer, she realized she'd found the stairs.

Hauling herself up, she finally broke through the surface and landed gasping on a step. Desperately trying to get air into her lungs, she crawled up a little further, before collapsing and then turning onto her back. She lay staring up for a moment as she felt the water level continuing to rise past her knees, and she knew that soon she'd be submerged again. This time, however, she felt as if she had maybe reached some kind of an end: the thought of living with the knowledge of everything she'd done was too much to bear, and as the dark water rose to her shoulders, she realized that she no longer felt like her old self now that Elenora was out of her mind. Thinking back to all the people she'd hurt and killed, she knew that those memories would stay with her forever and drive her insane. With the desire to cause pain no longer pulsing in her mind, she let herself slip down the stairs, until finally she dipped back into the dark nothingness and began to sink.

Suddenly a hand grabbed her by the arm and began to pull her up. As soon as she was above the surface again, she felt herself being dragged up the stairs and then finally out into the yard, where torrential rain was still falling. Hearing a noise, she turned and looked over at the main gate, and she saw that with the release mechanism having been activated, a handful of prisoners were now stumbling out of the building, while flashing blue lights in the distance showed that the police had finally arrived. Turning and looking up, Doctor Bell saw her rescuer towering above, framed against the stormy night sky.

It was Chris, staring down at her with empty, bleeding eyes.

Epilogue

One year later

“You'll have to be patient with her,” the nurse explained as she led the smart-suited gentleman along the corridor, “she's not very responsive. We think she hears us, though, so just tell her whatever you need to tell her and... Well, hopefully she'll understand, even if she doesn't say anything.”

“I'll be very quick,” the man replied, looking down at the documents in his left hand. “It won't take long at all.”

“One more thing,” the nurse said, lowering her voice a little. “It might be better if you avoid saying the name.”

“Hardstone?”

“It tends to set her off.”

“Of course.”

As he was led into the psychiatric hospital's day room, the man saw that there were several patients dotted around the place, each sitting separately as if they preferred to be alone. The nurse gestured for him to follow her as she made her way over to the large window overlooking the garden, where a woman sat in a wheelchair and stared out at the trees with an impassive expression.

“This is her,” the nurse said quietly. “I'll leave you two alone for a few minutes.”

Once the nurse had gone back to her station, the man waited for a moment, hoping that the patient might acknowledge him. Finally, realizing that she seemed to be completely zoned out, he took a seat in a wicker chair and set the documents down on a nearby table.

“Ms. Bell,” he said after a moment, “my name is Lionel Keller, I was the personal assistant and driver for Leonora Blake. We met very briefly one night at...” He caught himself just in time. “I don't imagine that you remember me,” he continued, “but following her death, Ms. Blake left a number of matters for me to deal with, one of which is the dissemination of certain evidence that had been acquired over the years. All the inmates at Hardstone were -”

He stopped as he realized he'd said the word.

“I mean -”

“How many died?” she asked suddenly, still staring out the window.

“I... I believe there were eighteen survivors in the end.”

“And the rest?”

“The rest of the inmates were found in their cells with their throats cut. So far, the incident investigators have been unable to explain what happened.”

“What about her?”

“I'm sorry?” He paused. “If you mean Leonora Blake, I'm afraid her remains were found in the building. They were removed before the place was demolished.”

“Not her,” Doctor Bell replied. “I mean Amanda Weir.”

“Her body was also found. In your laboratory, actually, strapped to a table. The autopsy revealed that she'd died following a knife wound to her torso and several blows to the head. I had the good fortune to deliver a file to her parents, however, which proved beyond doubt that she wasn't responsible for the deaths of her children. I'm not sure the conviction will be overturned, since the nature of the evidence is somewhat unusual, but it was enough to persuade her parents. Amanda and her husband were buried next to the graves of their two children.”

“She was the good one.”

“I'm sorry?”

“She should have made it out.”

“Everyone should have made it out. As it is, every single one of the convictions is currently under review based on certain items of evidence that the Blake estate has provided. My employer had been monitoring members of the extended family for quite some time, and we have been able to mount a convincing argument in favor of clemency. The last thing anyone wants is to have a series of drawn-out appeals, so I think the whole process will be swept along quickly and with a favorable outcome, provided those involved undertake to maintain a dignified silence.”

“What about Christine?”

“Didn't you hear? The Blake family has paid for her to be taken to Switzerland for some experimental surgery. There's a small chance that she can gain some degree of sight back using various new advances. Even if that doesn't work, she'll regain some independence and she'll be able to live a life.” He paused for a moment. “Actually, I hear that she hopes to come and visit you some time, if that's something you'd be willing to consider?”

“But she's... not evil?”

“From what I've heard, she's a remarkable young woman, a real inspiration. She's already talking about establishing some kind of foundation to help drug addicts.”

Doctor Bell moved her lips a little, as if she was trying to say something, but no words came out.

“I wanted to see you today,” Keller continued, picking up the documents from the table, “to extend to you the same courtesy that has been extended to all the other surviving women who were caught up in this terrible situation. Thanks to my late employer, we have significant evidence that can be used to challenge any charges that are brought against you for your actions both before you went to Hardstone and once you were there, although I understand that at present no charges are pending. I guess there's not exactly a wealth of evidence.”

“That doesn't matter,” she whispered. “I know was happened. I remember it all.”

“The important thing to remember is that it wasn't really you. These documents prove -”

“I don't care,” she replied, suddenly turning to him and grabbing the paperwork, before tearing it down the middle. “I still did those things.”

“Your mind was -”

“My own.”

“No, you -”

“There's something about me,” she continued, interrupting him. “All those other women were induced to commit crimes so they'd end up at Hardstone. I, on the other hand, just went on and on doing things, never getting caught... I excelled at criminal activity, at murder and torture. Even if Elenora Blake was guiding me, I'm still the one who showed such startling proficiency. There must have been something in me, something that existed before she started working on me. Everyone else became a prisoner. I became truly evil.”

“Ms. Bell -”

“Elenora did the same thing to me and to Amanda, she pushed us both to do terrible things. Amanda was strong enough to resist, but I wasn't. I broke and I embraced it all.”

“I don't think there's such a thing as true evil,” Keller replied, “not in humans, at least. Just shades of gray. Matters of pure good and pure evil are probably better left to the cosmos.”

She turned to him.

“Has anyone seen them?” she asked.

“I'm sorry?”

“At the prison... Have any more ghosts been seen? Amanda Weir, or Leonora Blake, or any of them?”

“I don't believe so,” he replied. “There's a demolition crew already working on the site, but no-one's reported anything. Sorry, no ghost stories for you.”

“That's good,” she said with a smile. “If there are no ghosts, that means they've moved on to...” She paused for a moment, thinking back to Amanda's story. “They've gone to wherever people end up after they die.”

“And where do you think that is?” he asked.

“I don't know.” She paused. “And I'm fine with not knowing.”

“I should go,” he said finally, getting to his feet. “If there's anything else that the Blake estate can do to help you, Ms. Bell, you must let us know. A fund was established to help all Elenora's victims. The Blake family is also overseeing the demolition of Hardstone. At least that way, we know nothing like this can ever happen again.” He paused for a moment. “Those eighteen survivors I mentioned earlier... They probably all would have died if you hadn't gone into the basement and managed to open the doors. In some ways, Ms. Bell, you're a hero.”

He waited for a reply, but after a moment he realized that her attention was still focused on the corner of the room, where apparently she could see flashes of figures from her past.

“Thank you for your time,” he said, patting her on the shoulder and making his way out of the room. At the door, he stopped for a moment to talk to the nurse.

Sitting alone, Doctor Bell continued to stare at the corner, imagining the prison being knocked down and the lack of ghosts. Slowly, a tear ran down her face, and the faintest of smiles began to spread across her lips.

ALSO BY AMY CROSS

Horror

Asylum

American Coven

The Night Girl

Devil's Briar

Ward Z

The Devil's Photographer

The House We Haunted and Other Stories

Darper Danver series 1

The Writer (13 Nights of Horror)

The Disappearance of Rose Hillard (13 Nights of Horror)

The Fan (13 Nights of Horror)

Hugo: The Lockton Downs Haunting (Novella)

Fantasy / Horror

Dark Season series 1, 2 & 3

The Hollow Church (Abby Hart 1)

Vampire Asylum (Abby Hart 2)

Lupine Howl series 1, 2, 3 & 4

Grave Girl

Graver Girl (Grave Girl 2)

Ghosts

The Library

Journey to the Library (The Library 2)

The Ghosts of London

The Vampire's Grave

The Werewolf's Curse

Thriller

Ophelia

The Dead City (Ophelia 2)

The Girl Who Never Came Back

The Dead and the Dying (Joanna Mason 1)

The House of Broken Backs (Joanna Mason 2)

The Return (Sophie Ash 1)

Other People's Bodies

Dystopia / Science Fiction

The Shades

Finality series 1

Mass Extinction Event series 1, 2 & 3

Erotica

Broken Blue

Broken White

Compulsion part 1 (as M.E. Cross)

Table of Contents

Prologue

Part One

Part Two

Part Three

Part Four

Part Five

Part Six

Part Seven

Part Eight

Epilogue