Page 66 of The Forgotten
Edwin collapsed onto his side at her feet. The look of fear in his eyes vanished, replaced by the unseeing stare that always accompanied the convulsions. Edwin’s limbs began to twitch, and his face contorted into a grotesque grimace as saliva ran from the corner of his mouth. Several people stopped to stare. Their faces twisted with fear and hatred once they understood what they were looking at. Someone pointed a finger and others gathered around to watch Edwin’s suffering. Petra tried to shield him from prying eyes, but it was too late. Everyone saw what was happening, and the spectacle momentarily distracted them from the chaos below. The animosity of the townspeople was palpable, and they drew closer, advancing on Edwin, who was still writhing on the ground. Petra’s gaze flew from one face to another, searching for a spark of sympathy, but all she saw was hostility. A terrible panic seized her.
“Please,” she begged. “Don’t touch him. He’s unwell.”
“Unwell?!” someone snarled. “Look at him. He’s possessed.”
A few heads nodded in agreement. “He’s been taken over by an evil spirit,” a woman shrieked as she pointed at Edwin. “He’s speaking in tongues.”
In fact, Edwin wasn’t saying anything at all, but a low hissing came from his lips, which was enough to give credence to the woman’s accusation. The woman shrieked in terror, her shaking finger pointing at Edwin as if he were about to attack her. She crossed herself and began muttering a prayer as she backed away, too terrified to turn her back toward the poor boy.
Petra threw herself on top of Edwin. “Leave him alone!” she screamed. “It’s nothing to do with you. See to your own children.”
Petra cried out as someone tried to pull her off her son. Edwin was just coming around, his eyes regaining focus as the fit began to pass. Petra fought free of her assailant’s grasp and crawled back toward Edwin.
“Edwin,” she called, terrified. “Edwin.”
She suddenly noticed a brown-robed figure rushing toward them and breathed a sigh of relief. The friar would help her. He was sure to know Edwin from the priory and would try to calm the townspeople, who would respect his authority.
“Please, help me, Brother,” Petra cried. The mob was upon her, pushing and pulling at her in order to get to Edwin, who was now fully conscious and sobbing with fright.
“You!” the friar screamed. “You are the whore who spawned this bastard. He’s the Devil’s familiar, and this storm is the manifestation of God’s wrath. He sent it to cleanse this evil town from the likes of you!”
The friar was shaking with outrage, his face contorted with religious fervor. Two more friars appeared at his heels. Their damp hair was plastered to their skulls and the skirts of their robes billowed around their legs, exposing milky-white ankles. Theywere bearing down on her, wooden crosses held in front of them to ward off evil.
“Friar Gregory,” Edwin moaned. He tried to sit up, but the friar knocked him back down. People were shouting and cursing, their fear and anger having found a target. They craved violence, and now it was sanctioned by the Church.
Petra screamed like a wounded animal when someone grabbed her by the arms and pulled her aside.
“It’s me, Petra.” For a brief moment, she thought that Avery had come to their rescue, but it wasn’t Avery.
Thomas pushed her out of the way and forced his way through the crowd toward Edwin, leaving Petra at the mercy of the mob. Anonymous hands grabbed at her and tore at her cloak and gown. Someone scratched her face and yanked a fistful of her hair, forcing Petra to her knees. A woman who lived in her street kicked her in the ribs, and several people followed her example, encouraged by Petra’s inability to defend herself. People shouted abuse and called her names, but most of the onlookers were more interested in Edwin. It was him they wanted. They’d deal with Petra later. Petra tried to see between the legs of her attackers, searching for the girls. She’d lost sight of them the moment Edwin collapsed. Petra prayed that they were safe and with their grandmother. She rolled onto her side and curled into herself, arms over her head and knees drawn up to protect her head and stomach. She could just make out Edwin and Thomas through the forest of shins.
Thomas lifted Edwin off the ground and held him close. The mob seemed to hold its breath, suddenly unsure of what to do. Lord Devon wasn’t one of them; he was a nobleman, a man who commanded respect and obedience, but the indecision was short-lived. The crowd surged forward again, screaming and demandingthat Thomas hand Edwin over. The three friars were at the forefront, shaking their fists and calling on God to strike Thomas down for aiding and abetting the Devil.
Thomas roared with fury as he elbowed Edwin’s assailants out of the way, desperate to get him out of harm’s way, but there was nowhere for him to go. He was surrounded, and there was nothing he could do to appease the mob. The friar’s accusation took hold like a flame spreading through dry wood. The mob closed in, their eyes full of fanatic fervor. Petra didn’t see who threw the first stone, but it hit Thomas in the shoulder. He barely noticed the blow as he tried to fight his way out, his arms around Edwin, whose face was pressed against Thomas’s chest. The second rock struck him in the head. Blood trickled down his temple as his eyes met Petra’s. They were full of regret. He was one man, and he was helpless against a mob of dozens.
No one heard Petra’s scream of anguish. They were too fixated on man and child. People were closing in. Edwin was torn from Thomas’s arms and thrown to the ground. A cudgel was produced. Petra tried to fight her way through the crowd, but someone struck her in the head, and she went down on her knees. The last thing she saw before she hit the ground was Thomas warding off the blows of the cudgel.
“Edwin,” she muttered. “Edwin.”
FIFTY-SIX
MARCH 2014
London, England
Quinn hurled the cross across the room, desperate to break the connection between her and Petra. Quinn’s eyes were streaming, and she was shaking with emotion, shocked and sickened by what she’d just seen. She’d been devastated when Elise and James died in the trunk Lord Asher had locked them in, but at least those two had been guilty of something, had had something to hide. Petra and Edwin were completely innocent, Petra’s only sin being her love for Avery. They’d been victims of an enraged and ignorant mob, the people of Dunwich needing someone to blame for what was happening to them. They saw the storm as an act of God, a punishment and a lesson, when in fact it had simply been an act of nature combined with the unfortunate location of the town.
Quinn slid off the sofa, picked up the cross, and reverently stowed it away in its plastic bag. It was the only thing left of a young woman who’d seen nothing but suffering and disappointment in her short life and had been humiliated even in death. And poor Edwin. He’d been a sweet, kind boy who suffered from a condition which could have been brought under control had he been born a few hundred years later.
He that is without sin among you, let him cast the first stone.The words danced in Quinn’s mind, making her shake with anger. If people ever looked to their own faults, many lives would have been saved throughout the ages. Someone had cast that firststone, and someone had found a cudgel and attacked Thomas, who tried to shield Edwin with his own body. Quinn now knew what happened to Petra and Edwin, and why. They hadn’t found Thomas’s grave next to mother and son, but at the moment, Quinn couldn’t bear to find out what happened to him.
Quinn grabbed her coat and handbag and fled the flat. She needed Gabe and Emma. She needed to be with those she loved, and to feel that she was safe in her time and her world. Her own baby was probably the size of a pea, but already she felt fiercely protective toward it, which made the murder of Edwin even more heart-wrenching. To watch your baby die was probably the worst thing that could happen to a mother. Quinn hoped that Petra was gone by the time Edwin was killed, and that she had at least been granted that last kindness by an indifferent God.
Quinn headed toward the playground where Gabe had taken Emma an hour ago. They would be ready for lunch by now, and going to a warm, noisy place full of chatter and laughter was exactly what Quinn needed to force the awful images from her mind. Perhaps they’d go get a pizza, or maybe go to a pub. Quinn had a hankering for a steak and ale pie with mash, and maybe she could talk Gabe into splitting a sticky toffee pudding with her. She rarely ate a big lunch because it made her sluggish, but she was suddenly hungry.
“It’s all your fault,” she whispered to the baby in her belly. “Making your presence known already, you little rascal.”
The park was a few streets away, but Quinn became aware that something was wrong as soon as she turned the corner. She saw the flashing lights of police vehicles and heard the crackle of radios as she rushed toward the playground. Several mothers were shepherding their children out of the play area, while two policeofficers interviewed the remaining parents. The mothers held on tightly to their children while they spoke to the coppers and seemed desperate to leave the playground. The children looked frightened and fascinated at the same time, curious as to what the adults were so upset about. A plainclothes policeman, probably a detective, was sitting on a bench next to Gabe, who had his head in his hands.
