His Silence : His Silence - Chapter 61 by Jacob1395 |
My first week drags into the next. God, I can’t believe it’s been a week since Oliver and I found Noah’s body. I’d eventually heard back from Max a few days ago. He told me there was nothing he could find about the accident Oliver mentioned, but said if there’s anything else I needed him to look into he would. He asked again what I was doing and I refused to answer him. Oliver raised a toast to Noah that night at dinner, and spoke about how wonderful, kind and caring he was, but his words felt hollow to me. I was amazed at how everyone seemed to carry on as normal, and no one seemed visibly upset by what happened. It’s like they don’t care and he’s been forgotten about. The police came back a couple of times, but it looks like, for the time being, they’re buying the story that he committed suicide. I keep thinking of someone being in his room with him, and the only person who keeps popping into my mind is Mary. I know it can’t have been Oliver, because of where he was at the time I heard the scream. There’s no way he would’ve been able to have made it back to the annexe in such a short amount of time, and I would’ve heard him. How did they get him to stand by the window and jump out? I help Callum unload the shopping out of the back of the minibus. We both went into town today; Eve stayed particularly close to Callum while we were in the supermarket, like she was trying to keep us apart. I heard a couple of people whispering about us behind our backs, thinking we weren’t listening, but at least no one jeered at us like Callum said they did last week. ‘D’you think there’s going to be a funeral we’ll have to go to?’ I ask him. ‘For Noah?’ he says, dropping his voice. ‘There’s been no mention of it, has there? It seems to me Oliver and Mary are glad it’s all out of the way.’ ‘I know, that’s the most disturbing thing about it,’ I say, taking a shopping bag from him, the onions inside the bag rolling about on top of each other. ‘He didn’t commit suicide, Callum. He knew something about my family; he was a threat to . . .’ ‘Grace,’ Oliver calls me from the front of the house beckoning me over. For God’s sake. I resist the urge to roll my eyes. ‘I’ll see you soon.’ I hurry over to Oliver, still carrying the bag of shopping. ‘Oh don’t worry about sorting that out, just leave it here and Callum will sort it out for you,’ Oliver says, beaming at me, although his voice comes out a little sharp. ‘I’d like us to work on the exercises.’ My back stiffens. Ever since Noah’s death, Oliver’s been more insistent we work together every day. I’m surprised he even allowed me to go to the shops today to help everyone else out; he won’t let me help in the kitchen, or with anything else. I follow him back through the house, keeping my head down. I don’t risk looking back towards Callum; I know Eve will take this opportunity to grab him. I slump after Oliver back to the annexe; he’s walking ahead of me. ‘Have the police not said anything more to you about Noah?’ I ask, as he closes his bedroom door behind me. I haven’t questioned him about what happened all week, but I want to see his reaction. ‘No, I’m afraid not, Grace. They’ll have completed the post mortem this week, I’m not sure if they’ll want to contact us once that’s been done. I’ve not had many dealings with the police in the past.’ He keeps the expressions on his face neutral. I frown at him. ‘What about when your wife was killed?’ ‘Oh, well, apart from back then, but I was in too much of a state of shock to really understand what was going on around me. Please sit, Grace.’ I take a seat in the armchair next to the television. He drags his spare chair and pulls it closer to me. ‘I really need you to concentrate, Grace. The more you concentrate the easier this will be for you, the more you’ll see the path you’re meant to be on.’ I resist the urge to shrink back into my seat. I hate it when he uses words like that. It makes all of this sound so creepy. ‘I’ll . . . I’ll try.’ I close my eyes, knowing what’s coming next. Focus on your breathing. It’s Oliver’s voice I hear in my head. At least, in the past couple of times we’ve done this exercise this week, I haven’t had a memory relapse to the time I was hiding in the wardrobe, like the first time. ‘Are you in your special place, Grace?’ Oliver’s voice drifts into my ear. At least there’s no intensity in his voice like there was a few moments ago. I want to laugh, but I manage to keep a straight face. In my head all I can see is darkness, no special place, like Oliver keeps insisting I must see. ‘Yes,’ I lie. ‘That’s good. Now, this time, I want you to picture me there with you. Picture us talking, holding hands.’ This time I can’t help but imagine Oliver and me, walking in the garden at Emma and Michael’s. He’s clutching my arm tight, speaking softly to me. God, it actually seems so real. ‘That’s excellent, Grace, now tell me, how do you feel?’ ‘I feel . . . I feel at peace.’ It’s the most random thing I can think of on the spot, but I know it’ll please him at least. He’ll think that whatever it is he’s trying to do, it’s working. ‘Excellent, Grace, that’s really excellent. Now I want you to picture us here, living together, working together. Can you do that for me, Grace?’ The vision in my head changes. I’m sitting with Oliver at the head of the dining table up at the house . . . I’m, I’m sharing a bed with him . . . my eyes snap open. I look down, I’m drenched in sweat. ‘I’m sorry,’ I say, wiping my brow. Oliver shakes his head. ‘You don’t need to be sorry, Grace, you connected, you connected to me for the first time. That’s incredible.’ I want to leave. He’s looking at me in a way like he could see the visions I could. But that’s impossible, there’s no way he could’ve. ‘It felt weird,’ I say, shifting in my seat. ‘It always does the first time,’ Oliver says. ‘But we’ve broken through the barrier at last. Now, I’d like to try that again, OK.’ This time he reaches out and clutches my hands. I try to think about what was different to what I’d done before. I’m certain this is just a load of nonsense; Oliver’s using mind games to try and get through to me. ‘Close your eyes, Grace. Picture yourself back in that space. He holds my hands tight. It gets harder and harder to focus. My head spins. ‘Focus, Grace.’ I shake my head, opening my eyes. ‘I’m sorry, I can’t breathe.’ I stand, almost knocking into Oliver, as I make my way over to the window; I fling it open, not caring about asking Oliver if it’s OK, and drink in greedy gulps of air. ‘Grace, you were doing so well, I thought we’d made a real breakthrough,’ he says, sighing. I nod. ‘Yes, um, I just need a break.’ I stare in the direction of the house. Visions of Noah’s limp body pop into my head. I shake my head. ‘It’s OK, we can take five minutes,’ Oliver says, although I can hear the frustration in his voice. ‘What is it, Grace, that you find so hard? There seem to be moments when you just allow yourself to let go, and then there are other moments when you just seem so tense.’ I rub my forehead. ‘It’s just . . . it’s my family, I thought, by coming here, I would get answers, and it’s been a week and . . . I need to find out the truth.’ I can’t help the words from tumbling out of mouth. Oliver gets up from his seat and moves over to me. ‘Grace, you need to stop holding onto the past. There’s nothing you can do to change it, what happened to your family was a tragedy, but you’ve got to focus on you now. Not them, do you hear me?’ He fixes his gaze on me. ‘Do you hear me, Grace?’ I stare at him, how can he say that to me? He told me when I first came here how devastated he was when my parents were killed, and now, it’s like he’s ready to brush them to one side. ‘I need to lie down,’ I say. Oliver clutches my arm before I have the chance to leave the room. He fixes his eyes on mine. ‘Grace, we have the chance for something special here,’ he says. His eyes are shining. God please don’t say he’s about to start crying. ‘Don’t throw it all away just because you can’t let go of the past.’ I don’t say anything to him; instead I leave the room and head into mine.
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