The Voice Within

Chapter 24: Penhallam, May 18th

Robert stood at the entrance to the manor, blood still seeping from the gaping wound in his head. The crossbow hung limply by his side.

Behind him another figure – familiar yet strange. Close yet distant.

Kate stared in confusion.

A brief meeting of their eyes. Joined by blood yet separated by time. Then he is gone – faded into the mist which invades the courtyard. An illusion. A trick of the mind. A memory from the future.

Robert staggered and collapsed.

"Brother! You saved our lives," screamed Kate as she fell to her knees beside him.

"But I've killed our father."

Kate looked in disbelief at the bolt which protruded from the chest of the man who had abused and betrayed her.

"What gave you the courage to do this? You have always lived in fear of him."

"A strength I can't explain. A voice within me."

"Did you see anyone?"

"I felt a presence inside of me. For the briefest of moments I understood – but then it was gone. Like a dream I can't recall."

"Your father was an evil man," cried John, dropping to his knees and embracing Robert's limp body.

"You were under his control – just as Kate was. But now you are free."

"What son can live with the knowledge that he killed his father?" gasped Robert, clasping his hand to the wound. "When his Royalist cronies find out I'll be strung from the nearest oak."

"Then we must leave – all of us. Take our chance and go," cried Kate.

"No. It's not Robert who must go – it's you and me, Kate," argued John. "It was our plan to flee anyway."

"People will soon learn the truth," groaned Robert, struggling to lift himself from the ground.

"Not if we distort it a little. The truth must be made to fit our purpose." 

Julia and Freddie helped Doug back into the kitchen where he slumped into a chair – his body still shaking. Julia poured a generous measure of whiskey and held it to his lips. At first, he choked, but gradually his tension subsided and he was able to talk.

"What happened to me?"

"You became very agitated. I was frightened. You were shouting at something in the courtyard."

Doug struggled to get up – tension building again in his body. Suddenly, he saw the slight figure of Freddie standing in the shadow.

"I know you," he stammered. "You're the reporter. Why are you here?"

"I'm Frederick Trebarfoot," he announced softly. "Most people call me Freddie."

"Last time we met, you wouldn't speak to us."

"I had nothing to say then. But now I do."

They sat at the kitchen table and Julia produced mugs of coffee.

"I was born in Poundham, just down the road. When I was younger I knew this place. I was friends with the owner's granddaughter. She stayed here one summer – '67 I think it was. That's when it first started."

"What started?"

"Voices. I began to hear voices. Couldn't make out what they were at first. Like echoes floating through the house – jumbled and meaningless. Nobody else seemed to hear them. There was a party one night and I stayed over. They put me in the room which I later found out that had been Kate's."