Free Black Cairn Point by Claire McFall Page B

dislocate. I remember the needle that was jammed into my arm. And I remember waking up with a pounding headache and a horrible sense of hopelessness. Tied down, trapped. Terrified. Not of the room but of something I could never outrun.
    He waits. Just in case I’ll suddenly and miraculously open up to him. Sorry, Dr Petersen. No miracles today. He sees that in my eyes.
    Searches for another angle.
    ‘Druids, Heather.’ A pause. ‘The occult. It’s something that interests you, isn’t it? Fascinates you, even?’
    I shake my head in disdain and Petersen mistakes it for denial.
    ‘No?’ He raises his eyebrows in apparent surprise. ‘You aren’t? I’ve been to your house, Heather. Some of the books you’ve collected are quite … unusual for a young lady of your age.’ He rifles through more notes. ‘Ah, here we are:
Sickles and Mistletoe: The Druid Way.
Not exactly light reading. And
Blood and Dust: The Dark Rites of Human Sacrifice.
Why would you have these books, Heather? If you aren’t drawn to the arcane, to dark magic?’
    Staring at him stonily, I clench my teeth. I do not like that he’s been in my home, my room. He probably had a cup of tea and slice of cake with my mum, holding her hand sympathetically while he reassured her about how insane I was.
    The books I’m not bothered about. They aren’t mine, they’re Dougie’s. He loaned them to me when I put in my application for the archaeology course at university, along with a whole host of other titles. Preliminary reading, so that I could get a step ahead. But I don’t see Petersen mentioning
Introduction to Archaeology
and
The History of the British Isles
that
are also taking up space on my bookshelf. That wouldn’t fit with the little scenario he’s creating in his head.
    And he thinks I’m crazy.
    ‘Okay.’ He gives in after several long moments, shoves the file back down onto his desk. ‘Okay, let’s try something else.’
    Like what? Electric shock treatment?
    No, it’s worse.
    ‘Let’s talk about your friends. Let’s talk about Martin. Now in your initial statement to the judge you said he disappeared –’
    ‘He
did
disappear,’ I hiss through clenched teeth.
    This is one topic I will not be silent on. I don’t even care that Petersen is all but beside himself with self-congratulation that he’s finally got me saying
something.
I will not let them accuse of me of … I can’t even bring myself to think it.
    Because I didn’t.
    I. Did. Not.

CHAPTER NINE
    Then
    The beach was empty when we returned. Emma and Darren had disappeared, leaving all our gear unprotected. We increased our speed, practically jogging down the narrow dirt path to the beach – which was fine by me as the rotting fish was still there, still stinking – but a quick inventory showed everything was accounted for.
    ‘Where do you think they’ve gone?’ Martin asked, glancing round at the empty landscape. ‘Think they went for a walk as well?’
    ‘No.’ I shook my head, my expression amused at the thought of Emma and exercise. Now that I was thinking properly, it was supremely obvious where they were. ‘I think they’re taking a
nap
.’
    I used my fingers to add air-quotes to the final word.
    ‘Oh!’ Dougie huffed an uncomfortable laugh. Then he raised his voice. ‘Darren?’
    ‘What?’ The response was muffled and accompanied by a high-pitched giggle.
    ‘Nothing. Just making sure you’re not dead.’
    ‘Not dead.’ More laughter, this time abruptly cut off.
    I grimaced as Dougie shook his head indulgently. ‘Lunch?’ he suggested to Martin and me.
    ‘Lunch?’ Darren’s super-sensitive hearing was not just limited to conversations involving alcohol, it seemed. He emerged from the tent – fully dressed, much to my relief – with Emma trailing behind him looking both sheepish and smug. ‘Did I hear someone mention lunch?’
    We ate a meal of cheese, cold meat and crackers, knowing that our supply of ice and ice-packs was thawing