“Of course I remember!” Felicity turned a cold glare on JC and Happy. “So; you’re the experts, are you?”
“Got it in one!” JC said cheerfully. “You must be psychic.”
Felicity sniffed, loudly. A good-looking woman in her mid twenties, fashionably dressed, with a cold, detached air. She wore her hair in a fashionable style and used only minimal make-up. She had the look of someone determined that everyone else should take her very seriously. Felicity didn’t smile at either of the Ghost Finders and didn’t offer to shake hands. JC didn’t think he’d offer her his on the grounds he wasn’t sure he’d get it back in one piece. He had a strong feeling Felicity Legrand would only ever reveal those aspects of her personality that she believed would get her the things she needed. And she didn’t need anything from him or Happy.
“You caught me by surprise,” she said, almost defiantly. “I was reading, doing my research.”
“I saw the papers,” said JC. “And the glossy magazines.”
“I need to concentrate on what matters,” said Felicity. “I go through all the dailies, and the most popular magazines, as background for my shows. You have to keep up with what people are interested in. What they think is important; what everyone is talking about. Though of course right now my listeners only seem to want to talk about the one thing.”
“The voices,” said JC.
“Exactly!” said Felicity. “You must be psychic, too.”
“No; that’s me,” said Happy.
Felicity shot him a quick look, then turned all her attention back to JC as a more interesting target. “So what kind of an expert are you, really?”
“The experienced kind,” said JC. “The sort who knows what he’s doing. You’re not impressed by us at all, are you?”
“Should I be?” said Felicity.
“Yes,” said JC.
“Why have you got blood-stains on the front of your jacket?”
“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” said Happy.
“Why are you wearing such dark sunglasses, indoors?” said Felicity, ignoring Happy.
“Because I’m cool,” said JC.
Felicity looked at him dubiously but decided to let that one pass. She gestured vaguely at a pile of handwritten pages on the table beside the chair she’d just jumped up out of.
“I’ve been making notes on you, for my show. For when I interview you. The Ghost Finders . . . such an intriguing name.”
“It’s what we do,” said JC.
“You’ve heard of us?” said Happy.
“It’s amazing what you can find on the Net,” said Felicity smugly. “Particularly on the more rabid conspiracy sites, which led me to some very interesting stories about the organisation you work for. The Carnacki Institute. That is right, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” said JC. “A charitable institution that funds investigations into supernatural events and other things of related interest.”
Happy looked at JC. “Really?”
“It’s a public-face, private-face thing,” said JC. “It’s complicated.”
“Oh . . .” said Happy. “No-one ever tells me anything.”
“Yes we do,” JC said crushingly. “But you never listen.” He turned back to Felicity. “You don’t want to believe everything you find on conspiracy sites. The clue is in the name.”
Felicity deliberately turned away from him to fix Jonathan with her fierce, predatory gaze. “How did you find out about the Carnacki Institute, Jonathan? How did you know to call them for help?”
“There was an . . . incident, on a BBC programme, some years back,” Jonathan said carefully. “A televised séance got out of hand, and the presenter ended up . . . apparently possessed. Someone there knew whom to call. I was only an assistant producer, but I stood my ground when everyone else ran, so I got to see what happened when the Carnacki representative turned up. He was very . . . professional.”
“Don’t suppose you remember his name . . . ?” said JC.
“Hadleigh . . . something,” said Jonathan. “Look, I need you people to go on Felicity’s show. So you can say calm and comforting things, in a reasonable and professional tone of voice, to stop our audience freaking out. We have to calm them down before they turn up here as a panicking mob, complete with pitchforks and flaming torches, and copies of Exorcism for Dummies.” He glared at Felicity. “So please, for the good of all, everyone play nice.”
Felicity frowned. She turned away from JC to glare at Happy. “So then, you’re the so-called team telepath . . .”
“That’s me,” said Happy. “Think of your pin number! Go on; I dare you . . .”
“Go ahead,” said Felicity. “Impress me. What am I thinking, right now?”
“Oh, this can only end well,” murmured JC.
“Yes, your bum does look big in that,” Happy said to Felicity. “And why are you thinking about having Botox, when you’re only on the radio and no-one sees you anyway?”
“Not even close,” said Felicity, smiling triumphantly.
“All right, all right,” said Happy. “I’ll admit that, right now, it’s hard for me to pick up anything. Something inside Murdock House has shut everything down.”
“How very convenient,” said Felicity.
“No it bloody isn’t,” said Happy. “Makes the job so much harder . . . Though I will say, I do find the psychic peace and quiet rather relaxing, now I’m cut off from the world’s babble . . . It does mean there’s a limit to what I can do, to help with this investigation, which I can’t help feeling is probably the point.”
“You’re the first person to find Murdock House relaxing in a long time,” said Jonathan. “I haven’t been able to get a good night’s sleep in months. I hate living here.”
“Then why don’t you move out?” said JC.
“Because this is my home, and I won’t be driven out of it,” Jonathan said steadily. “And because I’ve nowhere else to go.”
Happy moved forward suddenly, planting himself right in front of Felicity. She jumped again, but refused to retreat a single step. Happy stared at her thoughtfully, and she met his gaze unflinchingly.
“Sorry,” said Happy, after a moment. “Still not getting anything. Are you sure you’re not some kind of machine?”
“Play nicely, Happy,” murmured JC.
“Oh . . .” said Happy, smiling suddenly. It wasn’t a very nice smile. “Proximity really does make a difference. Oh, Felicity . . . you gave the boy up for adoption. Because you were only eighteen and had no idea how to be a mother. And because you knew you couldn’t raise a child and have the career you wanted. You had to choose. So you gave him up and moved on. But sometimes, when you’re lying alone in your bed in the early hours of the morning and sleep won’t come . . . Sometimes you think to yourself, Is he doing well? Is he happy? You could find out. You have the contacts. But you always end up deciding . . . it wouldn’t be fair to either of you.”
“You piece of shit,” said Felicity. “You rotten little piece of shit! Who told you?” She turned on Jonathan. “Did you tell him?”
“You told me,” said Happy. “I wonder what else you’re holding back that you don’t want to tell me . . .”
Felicity pushed roughly past him and strode out of the room, not looking back once. Jonathan started to go after her, then stopped himself.
“We’ll need to talk to all your people,” said JC. “Separately and together.”
“The Captain will be off the air in a few minutes,” said Jonathan. “Then he’s all yours. You can talk to Tom after he’s done his piece. Then it’s your interview with Felicity . . . After that, I’m shutting the station down for the day. And we will all be available. But I need you to do the interview first. That’s the deal I made with Felicity to get her cooperation.”
“You know she’s planning to do a hatchet job on us,” said JC. “And on you, for bringing us in. So when she finally leaves the station, she can point at you and say, It was all his fault . . . Nothing to d
o with me.”
“Of course I know. That’s what she always does,” said Jonathan. He smiled, briefly. “I’m sure you can handle her. You are professionals, after all.”
“Once Radio Free Albion has shut down, I’ll need free access to everywhere in Murdock House,” said JC. “And everyone. Including your receptionist. In situations like this, it’s the people who matter most. Either as victims or instigators.”
Jonathan nodded. He looked more tired than anything.
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
They all went back out onto the landing and bumped into Tom Foreman, carrying a large cardboard box full of digital recordings of the voices from beyond. Happy immediately volunteered to take them down to Melody, and Tom was happy to let him do it. He handed over the box and hurried back to his studio. Jonathan offered to show JC the rest of the upper floor. Happy was left alone, heading for the top of the stairs, carrying a box that was a lot heavier than he’d expected.
Something appeared before him, manifesting suddenly out of nowhere. It was the thing he’d seen in the car park earlier, the apparition that had towered over Melody. It hung on the air, huge and dark, twisted and malformed. Monstrous but still, somehow, human. Happy put down his box, carefully, then straightened up to glare at the apparition.
“Well?” he said. “What do you want?”
The thing rose and fell slowly before him. It was hard to look at directly; its details seemed to flow and change and merge. It was a horrible thing, and Happy knew he should have felt scared . . . but somehow he didn’t. He didn’t feel threatened or in any immediate danger. Happy looked the thing over carefully.
“All right,” he said. “I’m here. You’re here. I assume there’s some purpose to this. Talk to me. I’ll listen. What do you want?”
Still no answer. Happy scowled, trying to reach out with his mind, force it through the interference that was shutting his Sight down. And for the first time since he’d entered Murdock House, the clouds seemed to clear a little. Sometimes it’s not all about the Seeing; it’s about listening. The thing hanging on the air spoke to him, only to him. It said his name. Happy’s heart lurched in his chest. He knew that voice. He’d heard that voice say his name, so many times before.
“Oh my God,” he said. “Melody? Is that you, Mel? What happened? What happened to you?”
It hasn’t happened yet, said the familiar voice inside his head. But it will. And there’s nothing you can do to stop it.
“You’re Melody from the future?” said Happy. “No . . . No! I won’t let this happen to you! I won’t! How long, before . . .”
Tomorrow. It all happens tomorrow.
And then the awful thing was gone. The air before him was open and empty, with nothing remaining to show there had ever been anything there. Except that Happy’s heart was hammering painfully fast; and his face was covered with a cold sweat. He swallowed hard and breathed slowly and deeply, trying to calm himself. He crouched, picked up the cardboard box, and started down the stairs. Wondering what, if anything, he should say to Melody. And also thinking; What did you see in the car park, JC? Why do you have a bloody handprint on your jacket? What’s going to happen—to all of us?
He carried on down the stairs, one step at a time, hugging the box to his chest.
That’s not going to happen to you, Mel. I’ll die before I let that happen. I promised you, and I promised myself; I will stand between you and all evil. Even if I have to take every pill I have on me.
FIVE
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
SOMETIMES THE SKY REALLY IS FALLING
When Happy went back into the reception area, he was relieved to find Melody right where she belonged, working away at her semi-circular array of watchful machines. He stood inside the rear door for a while and watched her while his heart and breathing slowly returned to normal. She was currently busy cursing out one of her computers because it wasn’t giving her the answers she wanted. Machines disappointed Melody at their peril. Happy glanced over at the reception desk and wasn’t all that surprised to see that Sally wasn’t there. He started across the room towards Melody and she addressed him immediately, without even looking up.
“You took your time, Happy. What were you doing up there? Collecting autographs? And before you ask, Sally’s outside, taking another break.”
“How could you be so sure it was me?” said Happy.
“I know your walk. I know everything about you, telepathy boy; and don’t you ever forget it.”
Happy smiled. He liked that. He liked being such a familiar part of Melody’s life that she could immediately recognise even the smallest thing about him. But his smile quickly vanished as the image of the awful thing he’d seen at the top of the stairs refused to leave his mind. The terrible thing that was going to happen unless he could prevent it. He stopped walking and shuddered suddenly. Melody looked up to see why he’d stopped and caught the expression on his face. Love and horror; misery and desperation. It took her a moment to realise that he was looking that way because he was looking at her.
“What happened?” she said. “Something’s happened. It’s no good trying to hide it from me; you know I’ll get it out of you. I always do. You can’t hide anything from me.”
“I can,” said Happy. “When it’s to protect you. This is a bad place, Mel. Dangerous. We should drop everything and get the hell out of here. While we still can.”
“Well, we can’t, can we?” said Melody, not even trying to hide the puzzlement in her voice. “What’s got into you? We have a job to do here. We can’t run out on these people until we’ve figured out how to clean up this mess.”
“Is the job really that important?” said Happy, walking slowly towards her. “More important than us?”
“Mostly, yes,” said Melody. “We knew that when we signed up. We gave our lives, and maybe our deaths, to the Institute because we believed it was a job worth doing.”
“Really?” said Happy. “I joined up to get my hands on medications I couldn’t hope to find anywhere else. And I’m pretty sure you told me, you only joined because the Institute had the very best toys.”
“That was then,” said Melody. “This is now. Things change, in time.”
She caught the way his face twisted painfully at her words; and a sudden chill ran down her spine. For the first time, she realised that when he’d said the place was dangerous, he meant dangerous to them.
“What happened to you upstairs, Happy? Did you see something?”
Happy looked away. He couldn’t say anything without blurting out everything. He had to be strong, for her. He couldn’t escape the feeling that by putting his experience into words, he would be making it real, and fixed, immutable. And, anyway, how do you tell the woman you love that you’ve seen her dead, and worse than dead? Melody started to move out from behind her machines, leaving them for him; and then they both looked round sharply as JC came striding confidently into the reception area, and the moment was broken. Melody moved back behind her machines again.
“Talk to Happy, JC!” she said loudly. “He’s hiding something from me!”
“Good for you, Happy,” JC said briskly. “Keeping secrets from each other is all part of maintaining a successful relationship.”
Happy realised he was still holding on to the cardboard box full of voice recordings and that it was growing increasingly heavy. He marched forward and slammed the box down, right in front of Melody’s array. When in doubt, you could always distract Melody by giving her something new to play with. He straightened up, pressed both hands into the small of his back, and stretched slowly and dramatically.
“The voice recordings you ordered,” he said. “Hours and hours of the things. I swear, humping them down the stairs has done serious damage to my spine. Can I get a nice back rub?”
Melody ignored him, hurrying out from behind her array to crouch beside the cardboard box and rummage through its contents.
“I see Sally
’s wandered off again . . .” said JC.
“She really doesn’t like it in here,” said Melody, not looking up from the box. “And I’m starting to agree with her. The atmosphere in this room is . . . unhealthy.”
JC looked at her thoughtfully. “Could you be more specific?”
“Not yet,” said Melody. “My machines are still working on it. But you don’t need to be psychic to know when you’ve been dropped into shark-infested waters. Spiritually speaking.”
“Hold everything!” said Happy. “I am team telepath; it’s my job to say things like that!”
“Then get on with it,” Melody said ruthlessly. “What is it that’s got you so rattled? What’s it like, upstairs?”
“Nothing obviously out of the ordinary,” said JC, after it became clear Happy wasn’t going to answer. “If it wasn’t for the voices, and the way everyone here is acting so damned twitchy, I’d say this was an extreme case of Sick Building Syndrome.”
“That would explain why Sally has to keep walking out,” said Melody. “I could have made her stay here till you got back, so you could question her; but I didn’t have the heart. Would have felt like kicking a puppy. Underneath all those piercings and the scary make-up, she’s not nearly as grown-up as she likes to make out. And it’s not like there’s much work for her to do here. No-one’s rung in on any of those phones in ages.”
“Really?” said JC. He strode over to the reception desk, picked up the nearest phone, and listened for a while to make sure it was still connected.
“Anything?” said Happy.
“I can hear the sea,” said JC. He put the phone down and looked back at Melody. “So what have you been up to while Happy and I were gadding about upstairs, making friends and influencing people?”
“Keeping busy,” she said, then looked carefully at JC. “You didn’t see anything, upstairs? Either of you?”
“An old hippie, a man desperate to leave, and a very scary woman heading straight for the top,” said JC. “Have your machines turned up anything useful yet?”
Melody gave up on the voice recordings, straightened up, and marched back behind her array of instruments. She ran her gaze quickly over the various readouts and displays.