𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞┃ Anthony Lockwood┃2┃

Chapter Twenty Nine - Decisions

He didn't mention it – none of them did – but there was an example of a burn like that in their very house, on the mattress in the abandoned room upstairs.

"Interesting." Lockwood breathed. "And what's this sinister red stain?"

"That's some jam from breakfast this morning." George pushed his glasses up his nose. "But check these out." He pointed to the pencil marks radiating from the centre. "The lines mark the position of a number of odd scrapes and scuff marks on the floor. They're very odd."

"Maybe where the bones were being dragged?" Lockwood suggested.

George nodded. "It's possible. But to me, they look more like they were made by metal." He chuckled. "Like that time I pulled those chains across the office floor, Lockwood, and left scratches on the wood?"

Lockwood frowned. "Yes... you still haven't re-varnished that."

"You know what it reminds me of?" Nola said slowly. She felt sluggish. A weight pressed down on her. It was all she could do to speak. "The diagram as a whole, I mean?"

"I think I know what you're going to say." George said. "And yes, I agree."

"The bone glass from Kensal Green. Obviously it was much smaller, but it had a bony perimeter too, arranged in a kind of circle. There's no mirror or lens or anything here, I know, but..."

"Unless someone brought one in." Lockwood said.

Nola swallowed. "When I was up in the department store, I could feel a kind of... psychic buzzing – a disturbance, if you like – which reminded me of the bone glass. Only, it had gone when I actually got down to the Room of Bones."

"I wonder..." George said. "Maybe they were still at work down there when we first turned up. Maybe, James, you only just missed them."

"That's quite a creepy thought." Lockwood said, and oddly, since it involved meeting the living, not the dead, Nola found he was quite right. "Seems your earlier theory was correct, anyway, George." He added. "The spirits of the prison were stirred up by this weird activity, and that caused a ripple effect out across Chelsea. Flo swears the tunnel entrance wasn't there a few months ago, so it's very recent. I wonder what they were doing, and what they got out of it... And who they were."

"We've got that cigarette butt you found." George said. "I took it to a tobacconist friend of mine. He says it's a Persian Light, quite an exclusive brand. But where that leaves us, I don't know. I didn't have time to find any other clues. It's just a shame those Rotwell agents took everything apart so fast."

Lockwood nodded. "Yes, isn't it? What do you think, Holly?"

"I still think that cloth is an eye-sore." Holly said. "I don't know why you don't use pieces of paper, which I could then file away nicely. Look at the way you've got jam all over your drawing, George." She picked up a plate. "Right, who wants more hummus sandwiches?"

"Only a couple more for me." George said. "I'm saving myself for that whopping chocolate cake at the end."

Lockwood took a sandwich. "Penny for your thoughts, James. You've been really quiet today." He placed the sandwich in front of her. She had not eaten much, either. He knew what happened last time she didn't eat properly, and he knew it'd been his fault.

It was true. Over the last few days, a new understanding had settled over Nola, slowly, softly, like a blanket or feather eiderdown. Its force was gentle, yet she buckled under the implications. Words weren't so easy to come by then.

"I was just wondering..." She said, in a small voice. "Do you think any ghost can show the future? I mean, obviously they show the past mostly. That's what they're made of. But if Fetches – or other kinds of Visitor – can burrow into people's minds and sift their thoughts, which they seem to, could they possibly do other stuff? Like make predictions about what's to come?"