Doctor Who_ Father Time - Lance Parkin [68]
Miranda went over to the window, drew the thick velvet curtain back a little, and watched the rain. The garden was walled off from the rest of the world, the house was set back from the road. It was like her own private kingdom. Very safe: the walls were lined with infrared sensors, there were security cameras around. A burglar, intruder or her father’s ‘enemy’ could get into the grounds, with difficulty, but Miranda would know they were there. They couldn’t get into the house, she was sure of that. The doors looked like wood, but underneath were made of thick steel plate. The windows all had locks, and were double-glazed. Her father had insisted on the best when they’d moved in. It had sounded paranoid, as though he had been expecting trouble, but Miranda was grateful for it.
There was a light in the garden. Either a flashing light, or one that was being continuously obscured by branches as they swayed in the wind. She tried to work out which.
There was a distant crack of thunder. She hadn’t seen the lightning; perhaps that had been before she’d gone to the window. In which case the storm was still a long way away. She wondered how far.
There was the light again, a regular pulsing light. It was like a signal, the sort of beacon a secret lover would use to signal across the moor to his lady, or that a spy on a clifftop would send out to a submarine.
She dismissed the idea that it was Bob. He was possibly capable of a romantic gesture, but it wouldn’t be something so cryptic.
She saw the lightning this time, or thought she did. Automatically, she began counting under her breath. Six seconds later there was a roll of thunder.
The flashing light was calling to her: she felt it drawing her towards it.
No, that was silly. She tried to analyse the thought, but it remained out of reach, as though it belonged in a primal part of her brain. The nearest she got was that it was calling her home.
Miranda went to the front door, opened it.
The rain was coming down in sheets, all beautifully lit by the security light above the door that had flicked on automatically as it sensed her presence. Another sign that there wasn’t an intruder – he’d have triggered it.
The beacon was still there, winking on and off lazily.
Miranda decided to investigate. She took her raincoat down from the hatstand that stood in the hall and put it on over her pyjamas. She took her slippers off, though – she didn’t want to get them wet.
She stepped out of the house. It was impossible to lock yourself out, so that didn’t worry her.
Her feet were already very wet.
She stepped briskly forward, on to the lawn, which was half an inch deep in water. She walked towards the light.
When she was halfway across the garden, the security light went off, plunging the garden into darkness. Now there was only the beacon. Miranda followed it.
When she realised it was the lantern on the top of the police box, she was almost disappointed. Miranda couldn’t remember it ever flashing before. Her father had never come up with an adequate reason why he would have such a thing in his garden. There was a trend for people having the old-style red phone boxes as garden furniture, but he’d had the police box back in Greyfrith, and he’d insisted it come with them when they moved down South.
The rain was getting heavier, and was beginning to penetrate her raincoat. Cold water was seeping over the collar, beginning to squeeze down her back. She pulled herself close to the police box, which at least provided some shelter.
It was warm. Warm and humming, as though there was a generator in there. Or as if it was alive.
Miranda found herself holding her palm flat to its surface.
It was alive.
It reminded Miranda of something – she tried to remember what. That was it: it reminded her of when she had bad dreams and her mother had to hug her and hold her and tell her that there weren’t any monsters here, all the monsters were a long, long way away.
She tried to remember what had scared her so much.
It had