Where it should have been, a great open wasteland stretched away forever. An ugly, blasted place, with no life at all, the ground cracked and broken apart. The sky was the colour of dust, and there was no sun and no obvious horizon. The air was dark yellow, burned orange, rippling slowly and heavily like heat haze. The look of this new place was oppressive to the eye, as though the light had curdled in this spoiled world. It was raining an endless stream of maggots, tumbling slowly out of nowhere, falling down to writhe and twist on the dry, dead ground. There was no sound, anywhere.
“What is that?” JC said quietly to Happy.
“Still not an illusion,” said Happy. “Another place, another world. What you get when two different realities slam up against each other. Not a good place, JC. Looking at it is giving me a headache.”
“Why is our enemy showing us this?” said Melody.
“I’m not sure this comes from our enemy,” said Happy. “It feels more like . . . another warning. From the future. I have a horrible feeling we’re being given a glimpse of what our world could be like if we don’t do something . . .”
Melody looked sharply at Happy. “What is it? What are you Seeing that we’re not?”
“I think . . . it’s my turn,” said Happy. “You saw your future self out in the car park, JC. And I saw the future Melody, out on the landing. We know what the two of you are going to become. Dead and worse than dead. Now it’s my turn. I can feel me, feel my presence, on the other side of that glass, in the other place. This is my message, my warning, from the future.”
“Could whoever’s responsible have taken away the door?” said Melody. “Trapped us in here?”
“Yes,” said Happy. “To make sure we get the message and can’t run away from it.”
“Is it really going to be that bad?” said JC.
“Look at the world that’s waiting for us!” said Happy. “You think anything good would ever come from that? We’ve already lost, in that future. Lost the game, lost our lives, maybe much more. All they can do is reach back through Time, to try to warn us . . . Come on, you bastard. I’m here. Talk to me.”
And immediately, there he was. Standing facing them, on the other side of the glass. Happy Jack Palmer. He looked normal. No obvious wounds. No monstrous distortions. The same grubby clothes and battered leather jacket. He looked steadily at the three Ghost Finders, from another place and another time. He looked . . . terribly sad. He turned his head slowly, searching one Ghost Finder face after another. Melody made a low, wounded sound; and the future Happy smiled briefly at her.
“Sweet Mel,” he said. “I never thought I’d see you again, looking like yourself. And JC, old friend. You tried so hard, fought so bravely; and died so horribly. And there I am . . . looking so angry, so determined. I remember this moment, from when I was here before, looking at me. When I was you. Maybe this time, you’ll listen.”
“How is it that you’re still alive when everyone else is dead?” said the present Happy. “I swore I’d die before I let Melody become . . . what I saw!”
“You tried,” said the future Happy. “And you died. What kind of Ghost Finder can’t recognise his own ghost? I made myself into a bomb, a psychic explosive. Sacrificed my life and all my hopes of resting peacefully; and all for nothing. This is the world where we lost. Where everyone lost . . .”
“Then tell us!” said the present Happy. “Tell us what we have to do, or avoid doing, to stop this from happening!”
“I almost got it right,” said the future Happy. “Sacrifice. That’s the key. But . . .”
And then he stopped, and looked up abruptly, as something fell towards him from out of the dusty sky. It dropped down impossibly quickly, its dark and rotting presence sending ripples through the surface of the world. The future Happy looked like he wanted to run but knew there was nowhere to run to. He looked like he wanted to cry but knew there was no point. The thing fell on him. The awful, distorted thing, that used to be Melody. Twisted like a fun-fair-mirror reflection, its exposed flesh dark with decay, its hands all claws and its mouth stuffed with teeth. The future Melody fell upon the future Happy and tore him apart. He screamed then, a terrible, lost, despairing sound. Driven on by some outside power she could not resist, the future Melody tore her Happy to pieces and scattered them across the broken ground. Where the maggots were waiting.
The present Melody cried out, in horror and fury; and the future Melody paused and looked at her. As though it had only become aware of the window into the Past just then. It looked at its previous self, and didn’t know her.
The dead world disappeared. Beyond the separating window there was only the outer room of the studio. Even the intervening door was back where it should be. Melody turned away from the window, threw her arms around Happy, and hugged him tightly to her. Holding him like she would never let him go. Happy patted her absently on the shoulder, his eyes far away.
“I would never do that to you!” said Melody, her voice choked with tears she was damned if she’d shed. “Never!”
“But he said you were a ghost, Happy,” JC said slowly. “So how could you be hurt, torn apart, like that? How is that even possible?”
“What do we know about what the dead can do in the future?” said Happy. “What do we know about what can be done to the dead in the world that’s coming?” He looked at JC over Melody’s heaving shoulder, and his face and his gaze were completely empty of emotion. “You said . . . when you encountered your future self, you were wounded, dying. Blinded . . . What happened to your eyes, JC? To your very special eyes?”
“He said, They took them back,” said JC, as steadily as he could. “I’m assuming that means the forces from Outside who gave me these new eyes decided they wanted them back. Because I didn’t see something I should have?”
“I hate this!” said Melody. “I hate this . . . What good does it do to see the future if we can’t change it?”
“You know what?” said JC. “I have had enough of cryptic warnings. There must be something we can do, or what would be the point of contacting us? So why not simply tell us what to do?”
“Because they don’t know who might be listening,” said Happy.
“We have to do something!” said JC.
“We will,” said Happy. “I think that’s the problem.”
He pushed Melody gently away from him. She grabbed hold of his hand and wouldn’t let go. Happy opened the door, and they left the studio. JC went back to get Felicity Legrand. She flinched away from him, but he coaxed her up out of her chair and got her moving towards the door.
“Please,” she said, pitifully. “Please, I don’t want to . . . I don’t believe . . .”
“I know,” said JC. “You don’t want to believe any of this is real. Neither do I. But I don’t think that’s an option, now.”
“Fight the future,” Happy said loudly from the outer room. “It’s not only a T-shirt.”
SEVEN
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
TIME IS NOT ON OUR SIDE
Happy and Melody went striding down the long landing, side by side, keeping a watchful eye on every door and opening they passed, both of them looking as though they would very much like something to jump out of the shadows, so they could punch its head in. Which was really nothing new where Melody was concerned, but JC considered it a vast improvement on Happy’s part. Unless it was all down to the pills, of course. JC followed on behind Melody and Happy, leading Felicity by the hand, coaxing her along. Her face was worryingly blank, her wide eyes lost and far away. She seemed to take no notice at all of her surroundings, but now and again she would jump, skittishly, for no reason and hang back, shaking her head. And then JC would have to murmur soothingly to her to get her moving again.
The landing seemed very still and very quiet, with all its doors safely and securely closed; but JC didn’t trust any of it. It was normal behaviour hiding something else. The mask on the face of the monster. JC couldn’t shake off the feeli
ng that he was being watched. Or that, at any moment, the landing might disappear, like the door in the studio. It was a disturbing feeling, to know you couldn’t rely on your surroundings to stay your surroundings. That you couldn’t rely on anything . . . A door might become a window to some horrible other place. The floor might turn into mists, leaving you to fall all the way down to the reception area. Nothing could be trusted to be what it seemed. JC managed a small smile at that last thought. He should be used to that after so many years working for the Carnacki Institute.
He gave Felicity’s arm a reassuring squeeze and hurried her along. There was no response, nothing to indicate she even knew he was there. He pulled her a little closer and tried to get her to move a little faster. The sooner they were all safely back on the ground floor, the better. He couldn’t throw off a terrible suspicion that when they got to the end of the landing, the staircase wouldn’t be there. That they’d keep hurrying down the landing and getting nowhere, forever. He clamped down hard on the feeling.
They reached the head of the stairs without any further incident. Happy and Melody led the way down, glaring fiercely about them, with JC and Felicity close behind. Their feet clattered loudly on the bare wooden steps. Normally, JC wouldn’t have given a damn; but now it felt like a really bad idea to be doing anything that might attract unwelcome attention. He moved his sunglasses down his nose, so he could look about him with his glowing golden eyes, but couldn’t See anything out of the ordinary. He pushed the sunglasses back into place, cutting off the golden light; and only then remembered that Felicity was so close she could have seen his eyes. But she was still staring straight ahead, paying no attention at all to him, or their surroundings. In fact, he was pretty sure that if he let go of her arm, she would stop moving and stay where she was. JC was starting to feel a bit guilty about her condition. He should have realised sooner that someone as set in her beliefs as she was would react badly when suddenly presented with hard evidence that the world wasn’t even remotely what she thought it was. And never had been. It’s always the more solid minds that crack first, the ones with less yield in them.
He should have done more to protect her. That was what he was here for, after all.
| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |
When they all finally burst through the rear door and back into the reception area, everything seemed perfectly fine. Still, and calm, and at peace. Apart from the people waiting there, who jumped half out of their skins when the door slammed open. Sally was back behind her desk, Jonathan and Tom were sitting side by side in two chairs they’d dragged together, and Captain Sunshine was standing by the open front door, staring out at the world, finishing off the last half-inch of his funky hand-rolled. They all quickly calmed down again; but they all looked like they’d been prepared to run like hell if the new arrivals had proved to be anyone else.
Sally slumped back in her chair, scowling and pouting. The Captain turned unhurriedly away, to stare out at the world again. Jonathan rose quickly to his feet once he saw the state Felicity was in. He hurried forward to grab both of her hands, and JC stepped back and let him do it. Maybe she’d react better to Jonathan. Tom rose up out of his chair, studying Jonathan and Felicity with a distinctly odd look on his face. She didn’t react at all to Jonathan, even when he put his face right in front of hers. He said her name a few times, increasingly loudly, and turned to glare at JC.
“What have you done to her?”
“She’s in shock,” said JC. “Weren’t you listening to what happened, during her show? She saw a lot of things she really wasn’t prepared for. She’ll come out of it, eventually. She needs time, to . . . process what she saw. Come to terms with it. She’ll be fine.”
“Probably,” said Happy.
“You were supposed to be looking after her!” said Jonathan. “You were supposed to be protecting her. I should never have trusted you.”
JC looked at him. He’d never seen the station manager this moved by anything, including the otherworldly attacks on his station. But a threat to Felicity really got him going. Which was . . . interesting. Jonathan realised JC had nothing to say. He led Felicity away and sat her down on the nearest chair. She went with him, unaware and unresisting. As though she didn’t care where she was or what was happening. As though she’d simply withdrawn from a world that had become too complicated and too scary, and gone inside herself, to a place where nothing could hurt her. She sat in the chair Jonathan found for her, staring straight ahead; and if she saw anything at all, it didn’t seem to matter to her. Jonathan fussed around her, trying to make her comfortable.
Tom glared at Melody and Happy. Happy ignored him, and Melody glared right back at him. Tom turned his angry gaze on JC.
“I thought you were here to protect us from the bad stuff?”
“We do what we can,” said JC. “But in a dangerous situation, it’s inevitable that people will sometimes get hurt.”
Tom turned his anger on Jonathan. “I told you we should leave the station! It’s not safe here, for any of us.”
“She wouldn’t go,” said Jonathan, not looking away from Felicity. “And I couldn’t leave her here . . .”
Tom suddenly looked very tired. “Oh God, Jonathan, not again . . . Tell me you haven’t been sleeping with Felicity. You promised me! When I came here to support your new venture, you swore you’d put all that behind you. You promised me you wouldn’t sleep with the staff! After all the trouble that’s got you into before . . .”
“Hold on; wait a minute!” said Sally, sitting up straight behind her desk and looking searchingly at Jonathan and Felicity. “He’s been banging her? Jonathan? I thought he was gay!”
Jonathan looked away from Felicity for the first time. “Why on earth would you think that?”
Sally slumped back down in her chair and looked away, sticking out her heavily pierced lower lip. JC cleared his throat loudly, to get everyone’s attention. But Tom was the only one who looked at him. JC raised an eyebrow.
“Excuse me, Tom, but I was given to understand that Jonathan’s previous rocky employment history was down to his fondness for the booze?”
“Yeah, well,” said Tom. “It was his fondness for . . . other things, that kept getting him into trouble. He was always a gentleman, always ready to take no for answer; but . . . there was always someone ready to say yes. Some bright young thing, headed for the top, looking for help and support from an authority figure. Usually someone with unresolved Daddy issues . . . Jonathan! You promised me it would be different, this time!”
“Yeah, well,” said Jonathan, looking briefly at Tom and smiling wanly, “I can resist everything except temptation. I usually tell people the booze story because that kind of bad behaviour is more acceptable these days. In fact, it’s almost fashionable. You’re nobody if you haven’t done rehab . . . Some forms of addictive behaviour are always going to be more . . . forgivable than others. I can honestly say, I never meant to hurt anyone. And if I was using Felicity, you can be sure she was using me.”
“Oh well, that makes it all right then, doesn’t it?” said Tom. “Jesus, Jonathan! That’s pretty cold-blooded . . .”
“No,” said Jonathan, “I was never cold-blooded. That’s always been my problem. I do care for her; in my way. Felicity? Felicity, can you hear me, love?”
If she could, she didn’t react, or reply. Jonathan pulled up a chair and sat down beside her. He took one of her hands in both of his and talked quietly to her. Trying to reach her. Waiting patiently for her to come back to him.
“Anything been happening down here, while we were going through hell upstairs?” said JC.
Tom looked around him, realised no-one else was going to answer, and shrugged quickly. “It feels quiet enough in here, but I don’t trust it. I still think we should leave. All of us. While we still can.”
“You could do that,” said JC. “But I think . . . the voices would probably follow you.”
Everyone looked at him then, apart from
Felicity.
“What?” said Jonathan.
“It’s clear the voices aren’t in any way linked to the radio station,” said Melody. She was back behind her precious array of instruments again, her gaze moving quickly from one readout to the next. Happy stood beside her, looking at nothing in particular. Melody ran her hands quickly over the keyboards, checking that everything was still as it should be. She talked on, without looking up.
“The voices you’ve all been hearing haven’t been coming in over the radio, or the phones. They’re coming directly to you. All of you. So if you did go, I think the voices would go with you. You couldn’t leave them behind or shake them off because it isn’t the radio station that attracted them in the first place. It’s you. The only hope you have to escape from what’s happening is to put a stop to it here.”
“Why should we believe anything you say?” Tom said challengingly. “After what you let happen to Felicity? Look at the poor cow . . . We all heard you! We heard what happened during the show! You threw Felicity to the wolves!”
“That’s not how it was,” said JC. “She was in no more danger than any of us; she couldn’t cope with what she saw. What she experienced. Not everyone can. There’s a reason why so few people become Ghost Finders.”
“And it has nothing to do with the appalling pay and conditions,” said Happy. “And rather more to do with the fact that most of us are half-crazy to begin with.”
“Really not helping, Happy,” murmured JC.
“I know,” said Happy. “It’s what I do best.”
“To hell with all of this!” said Tom. “I can’t believe anything you people say any more. I’m going! Right now! Don’t try to stop me . . .”
“If you run away now,” said Jonathan, quite coldly, “you might not have a job to come back to.”
Tom turned on the station manager, looked at him disbelievingly, then fixed him with a cold, withering stare. “You really think that is any kind of threat?”