Voices From Beyond (A Ghost Finders Novel) (11 page)

Sally looked longingly at the front door, but she didn’t stand up and she didn’t try to leave. Her face had gone pale, her garish make-up standing out starkly; and her eyes were haunted. She glanced across at Melody as though only her presence and support was keeping her there.

“It’s like every instinct I’ve got is yelling at me,” Sally said steadily. “Telling me to get the hell out while there’s still time. That something in this room has changed, for the worst.”

“Instincts are good,” said Melody. “Science is better.”

She looked quickly round her semi-circular arrangement of display readouts and monitor screens, and fired up all her computers. Lights glowed brightly, and screens snapped on, one after the other. Information flowed in steady streams before her watchful eyes. Her machines studied the reception area in minute detail, on levels most people didn’t even know existed, searching for clues and give-aways and other hidden things.

“Okay . . .” said Melody, her eyes darting back and forth, her fingers flitting lightly across several keyboards. “Energy levels are all in the normal ranges. No spikes, no fluctuations . . . Room temperature is normal. No unusual radiations, all quiet on the electromagnetic front . . . Nothing showing up on the motion trackers or the short-range sensors. All the evidence says; it’s only us here.”

“Very good,” said Sally. “Very scientific. Now what does all that mean? Really?”

“It means, nothing out of the ordinary is happening in this room,” said Melody. “Which is pretty much what I expected. One of the reasons we’re called Ghost Finders, is that the really bad stuff loves to try to hide from us. We’re going to have to wait for something to kick off, so my instruments can measure and interpret and hopefully identify it.”

“What if nothing happens?” said Sally.

Melody smiled an unpleasant smile. “Not very likely under the current conditions. The bigger the bad thing, the more it loves to show off. But if it is smart enough to keep its head down, tries to hide out until we’re gone . . . then I’ll have to hit it really hard with the science stick until something does happen.” She looked steadily at Sally. “What did you hear; just now? Exactly?”

“You really didn’t hear anything?” said Sally.

“No. And neither did my machines.”

“It sounded . . . like a woman crying,” Sally said. “Sobbing, really hard, like her heart was breaking. It didn’t last long . . .”

“Did it sound like . . . anyone you recognised?” said Melody, carefully. “Someone who might have worked here?”

“I don’t know! Maybe . . . I’ve never heard anybody cry like that.” Sally looked intently at Melody. “Do you think this . . . means something?”

“Probably,” said Melody. “Concentrate. Can you still hear the crying, maybe far away now . . . ?”

“No. I told you; it stopped, almost immediately.”

“Pity,” said Melody. “All right, back to the girly-chat stuff. You were telling me how you first came to Radio Free Albion.”

“How can you switch back and forth so easily?” said Sally. “From the weird shit, to the regular stuff?”

“Practice,” said Melody. “Go on.”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time, all right? The station was on its way up, with a good regular audience, growing steadily. It was starting to pick up the really big advertising accounts . . . I was hoping to put the pressure on someone to give me a better job, get my voice on the air . . . I’d have made everyone sit up and take notice! And then it all went to Hell in a hand-cart. So damned quickly . . . And now Jonathan has to run the place with a skeleton staff. Yes, I know, very appropriate. Ho ho ho. Ghost Finder humour . . .”

“Who else is left?” said Melody.

“Captain Sunshine,” said Sally, pulling a face. “That’s his radio handle. Don’t ask me what his real name is; I get the impression he’s had a lot of names, and a lot of handles, down the years. Old-time hippie, brain-damaged fallout from the Summer of Love. Still likes to talk about the rock-and-roll revolution, and the mind’s true liberation, and all that mystical tree-hugging crap. Like that ship didn’t sail long ago. I think he changes his handle with every new job, so his current boss can’t check on what happened at his last job. He’s got a Past; but he never talks about it. Though I’m not sure he really remembers. Or cares. He fried a lot of brain cells at Haight Ashbury, back in the day. Now he’s too mellow to be scared.”

“He and Happy will probably find lots to talk about,” Melody said solemnly.

Sally looked at her uncertainly, then decided to press on. “Tom Foreman is our engineer and general handy-man. He’s keeping everything going with patches and baling wire and frantic improvisation. And because there isn’t anybody else, he also presents Sports, and Weather, and Traffic News. Though I’m pretty sure he makes that last one up as he goes along.”

“Is he any good as an engineer?” said Melody.

Sally shrugged. “Like I could tell the difference. It doesn’t matter; he’s all we’ve got. Whatever he does, it never lasts long. Something’s always threatening to break down, at the worst possible moment.”

“I could take a look,” said Melody. “If you like. Never met a machine I couldn’t intimidate.”

“Someone should take a look,” Sally said darkly. “Wouldn’t surprise me to discover this whole place is run off a steam engine and held together with elastic bands.”

“Why do you think Tom stayed while so many others have left?” said Melody.

“He may be a good engineer,” said Sally, “but I think it would be fair to say no-one has ever accused him of being the brightest button in the box. He stays because Jonathan stays. That’s it. He and Jonathan go way back. Tom’s been working at this station ever since Jonathan founded it, over twenty years ago.”

“Do you think Tom’s gay?” Melody said innocently.

Sally smirked. “I know for a fact that he isn’t . . . I backed him into a store cupboard, one boring afternoon. A bit old for me, but if you can’t have the boss, have the second in command . . . Tom’s okay. Though not nearly as good in the clinch as he likes to think he is.”

“Few men are,” said Melody. And the two of them shared a smile of girlish mischief.

“Finally,” said Sally, “we come to our very own star in the making—Felicity Legrand. Presenter, journalist, chat-show host, and living goddess to the far-too-impressionable young men in our audience. Oh, she thinks she’s so big time! I mean, I’m ambitious; but she’s so confident and accomplished, it’s downright sickening. She thinks she’s doing all of us a favour by starting her brilliant career with us.
Stick close,
she likes to say.
Maybe some of my destiny will rub off on you.
I locked her in the women’s toilet once, to bring her down a peg; and she had the lock picked with a hairpin in under two minutes. I’d love to give her a good slap, on general principles. Except I’m pretty sure she could take me.”

“But is she really any good at her job?” said Melody.

“Yes! That’s what’s so infuriating! She’s the only reason some people are still listening to us. You know what really bugs me about her? She isn’t scared. The only person in this shit-hole who genuinely isn’t freaked out of their wits by what’s going on. She even argues with the voices when they break in to her shows!”

“Has she ever seen anything?”

Sally shook her head, reluctantly. “No. And she’s been very vocal about that. She doesn’t believe in the supernatural. At all.”

“That can’t be easy, with everything you people have experienced,” said Melody. “How does she explain . . .”

“She can’t,” said Sally, smiling with cold satisfaction. “She keeps insisting it will all turn out to have some sane and rational explanation, in the end, but . . .” Sally’s smile widened. “I can’t wait for something really unnatural to blow her out of the water. Preferably live on-air, so everyone can hear it happen. And I’m really looking forward to hearing her interview you guys. Give her a good kicking; she deserves it!”

“JC and Happy can do that,” said Melody. “I don’t do the public face of the Ghost Finders bit. Apparently, I upset people. I stick with the science. You know where you are, with the science.”

“You know, it just occurred to me,” said Sally. “The voices first started becoming clearer on her shows . . . She’s the one they talk to most. As though they’re attracted to her. Don’t know if that means anything . . . I’ll tell you this for free; she’d love to leave. Walk out of here and never look back. If only because she finds all this supernatural stuff an affront to her precious, rational mind.”

“Then why doesn’t she go?” said Melody.

“Because this is her first big break, her first real success. She doesn’t want it on her résumé that she had to quit because she couldn’t take the pressure. And she doesn’t want to be forced to admit there’s anything happening here bad enough to justify her running away.”

“But she hasn’t
seen
anything?” said Melody.

“No-one’s
seen
anything!” said Sally. “Not as such. But we’ve all felt things . . . Especially on the top floor. That feeling you get, when you know you’re not alone, even though you can see there’s no-one else in the room with you. We’ve all heard footsteps, and sounds of people moving about, in places where we know nobody should be. Whatever room you’re in, you can always hear someone moving in the room next door. Walking up and down, talking quietly, saying things you can never quite make out or make sense of. But when you go in, there’s never anyone there. Sometimes there are loud bangings, in the walls. In the floor and the ceiling. Like someone trying to get out or get in. Lights turn themselves on and off. Doors swing open on their own. Once, I had to go up to the top floor with a message, and I swear someone put a hand on my shoulder from behind. And when I spun round, there was nobody there.”

She broke off, looking quickly at the Ghost Finder to see how she was taking it. Melody nodded. Sally laughed shakily.

“I’m spooking myself, now, talking about it . . . I don’t talk about it, usually. I try not to even think about it . . .”

“This is all pretty standard stuff,” Melody said carefully. “Low-level manifestations. Is there any particular place where the scary stuff seems worse? More threatening, or more common?”

Sally shuddered suddenly. “I don’t go upstairs any more. It’s bad enough down here . . . at least I can leave reception and go outside for a while.”

“What about the other rooms on the ground floor?”

“I don’t go into them, either,” Sally said firmly. “They’re mostly living quarters for Jonathan and Tom, and the Captain.” She shuddered again, and hugged herself tightly. “They actually live here! Can you believe that? In Murdock House! After everything that’s happened . . . Though how they can stand it is beyond me . . . Probably keep their doors locked and the lights burning all night. I know I would. I’ll tell you right now, there isn’t enough money in the world to keep me here one minute after quitting time. Let alone after it gets dark. No; the minute my shift is over, I am out that door and gone! I stay out of all the other rooms. No matter what I hear. Sometimes . . . I get the feeling that if I were to concentrate hard enough, and long enough . . . I would see something. But not anything I’d want to see. So I don’t.”

“What about outside?” said Melody. “How does it feel out in the House’s grounds?”

“Oh, outside is fine! Quiet and peaceful and . . . I spend as much time in the back gardens as I can. Leaving this room and going out there is like . . . putting down a heavy weight. And coming back in again is like picking the weight back up. And finding it gets heavier and heavier, all the time. The day will come when I won’t be able to lift it, then . . . No. I feel safer outside.”

“So it’s Murdock House itself that feels bad?” said Melody. “Not the general area?”

“It’s the house,” said Sally. “It’s gone bad. Feral.”

“Do you know of anything . . . bad, that happened inside the house?” said Melody. “Ever?”

“Jonathan says not.” Sally looked at Melody, who was still bent over her display screens. “Tell me; be honest. Is any of that technological shit really going to help?”

“Yes,” said Melody, not looking up from her various readings. Her fingers flitted back and forth across her keyboards, and occasionally she would pause to pat the top of a particular machine as though it were an old friend or a favoured pet. “This is state-of-the-art equipment, some of it from advanced research labs who haven’t even noticed it’s gone missing yet. The best tech there is at what they do. My machines can dig up information, uncover hidden things, interpret data, and offer good advice. Information is ammunition when it comes to kicking the crap out of supernatural entities.”

And then Melody’s head came up sharply as she heard a woman scream. Close at hand, it went on and on—a terrible sound, loud and raw and harsh. A single human voice, racked with unbearable agony and unspeakable horror. To hear it was to feel it claw at your heart. Melody’s first thought was that something had happened to Sally; but when she looked across the room to the reception desk, Sally was still sitting there, looking straight back at her. It was clear from the expression on Sally’s face that she wasn’t hearing what Melody was hearing. She checked her instruments again; but there was nothing. No changes in any of the readouts, no reactions to any of her scans. Her machines weren’t hearing anything either.

The screaming went on and on, filling the room with pain and grief long after a human voice should have collapsed, unable to sustain it. An awful sound . . . Melody had to grit her teeth against it. She would have liked to put her hands over her ears, to keep the screaming out; but she knew that wouldn’t help. This wasn’t the kind of sound you heard with your ears.