Voices From Beyond (A Ghost Finders Novel) (7 page)

“My girl-friend is not your servant,” said JC; and his voice was very cold and very dangerous.

Catherine smiled calmly at him. “You both work for me, Mr. Chance. You are all my servants until I tell you otherwise. In the name of a greater good, of course.”

“Whose greater good?” said JC.

“You see?” said Catherine. “You’re learning.”

“It’s all right, JC,” Kim said quickly. “I went into this with my eyes wide open. I wanted to help. By helping her uncover the traitor, I’m helping you. I’m protecting her so she can protect you, and Happy and Melody, from the Flesh Undying and its agents.”

“The main traitor has to be someone high up in the organisation,” said Catherine. “And it bothers me that I can’t tell who. That I can’t see it for myself, for all my knowledge and expertise and altered sight. It has to be someone I know, someone close to me. Someone I think I can trust. Working against me, undermining my decisions and sabotaging my operations . . . Trying to get me removed, so I can be replaced by someone who serves the Flesh Undying. Not only to stop me interfering with . . . whatever it is it’s trying to do, but because it knows I will eventually locate and destroy it. The Flesh Undying sees our world, our whole reality, as a prison. A cage. And it is perfectly ready to destroy everything if that’s what it takes for it to break free.”

“Why do people serve it, knowing that?” said Kim. “I’ve never understood that.”

“Presumably they have some plan to control the Flesh Undying; or at the very least make some kind of deal with it,” said Catherine. “Damned fools . . .”

JC looked at Kim. “And you didn’t tell me about any of this because?”

“You were safer not knowing,” Kim said steadily. “You couldn’t accidentally give away what you didn’t know.”

“We don’t keep things as important as this from each other!” said JC.

“Really?” said Kim. “Since when?”

JC nodded, stiffly. Some conversations you know aren’t going to go anywhere good. “All right,” he said. “How’s it going, being the Boss’s superspy?”

“Nothing useful, so far,” said Kim.

JC wasn’t sure she was telling him the truth, or even part of the truth, but he didn’t want to challenge her in front of Catherine Latimer. So he turned back to the Boss and folded his arms tightly across his chest in a way he hoped suggested he’d put up with quite enough and had no intention of being pushed any further.

“Talk to me,” he said. “Why are we here? What did you bring me all the way here, to tell me?”

“I’ve been feeling . . . troubled,” said Catherine, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. “How do you think I’ve lived so long and stayed so vital? Because that’s what the forces from Outside wanted. They altered me for their own reasons because they have a purpose in mind for me. Just as they do for you, and probably all the others like us.”

“But who, or what, are these Outside forces?” said JC. “What is it they want from us? What do they need us to do that’s so important and so dangerous we had to be . . . changed, transformed, so we could achieve it? And how do we know these forces are any better, any more trustworthy, than the Flesh Undying?”

“I’ve spent most of my life trying to work out the answer to those questions,” said Catherine Latimer. “And I’m no wiser. Or at least, no better informed. Maybe you’ll have better luck.”

“Have they ever . . . contacted you?” said JC. “Asked you to do things, for them?”

“No. I think I might feel happier if they had. At least then I might have some clue as to their wishes. Or true nature. That’s why I joined the Carnacki Institute in the first place, all those years ago. Why I worked so hard to become the one in charge of everything. So I could have access to all of the Institute’s records. All its official and unofficial resources. And much good that has done me.”

“Then why have you stayed on as Boss for so long?” said Kim.

“Because I decided it was a job that needed doing,” said Catherine. “A job important enough, and necessary enough, that I wouldn’t have felt right leaving it to anyone else.”

“Maybe that’s what They wanted,” said JC. “For you to become head of the Carnacki Institute. The right person, in the right place.”

“I don’t think They think that small,” said Catherine Latimer. “And besides, I’m still waiting to find out what the price will be. There’s always a price to be paid, for every gift. And the greater the gift, the greater the price.”

She set off again, striding briskly along, and JC and Kim had to hurry to catch up with her. Kim was careful to walk in the space between JC and Catherine, so the people coming and going all around them wouldn’t bump into her unknowing, and walk right through her. She hated that. It made her feel . . . unreal. Occasionally, someone would walk right at them, clearly intending to walk through the apparent open space between JC and Catherine; but somehow they always stopped, at the last moment, and decided to walk around them instead. Even though it was clear from the look on their faces that they had no idea why. Kim carefully linked her insubstantial arm through JC’s, so they could at least seem to be walking arm in arm. JC kept his arm carefully crooked, so that she could, and pretended not to notice Kim was walking an inch or so above the ground.

The people passing by still didn’t pay JC or Catherine much attention. They had no idea that very important matters were being discussed, right in their midst. JC looked at all the happy, shiny people, in their happy, normal world; and almost envied them. Almost. JC liked knowing things other people didn’t know, even if most of the things he knew weren’t particularly nice, or comforting. And he definitely liked being able to Do Something about the things he knew. And, of course, if he hadn’t been a Ghost Finder . . . he would never have met Kim. The one and only true love of his life. Now and again, he peered over the top of his sunglasses, concentrating on seeing the park and its visitors through his golden eyes; but he couldn’t detect anyone or anything threatening. Or even out of place. He said as much to Catherine, and she nodded briskly.

“I know. People have no idea what’s really going on; and they’re better off that way. It’s our job to keep them in happy ignorance of all the things that threaten them, so they at least can sleep soundly at night.”

“But maybe, if we trusted them . . .” said JC, “they could learn to defend themselves?”

“Look at them,” said Catherine. “Do any of them look like they could cope with that kind of knowledge? With knowing that their world is nothing but a fragile thing, under constant assault by forces beyond human comprehension? Do you really think they could stand the extensive training it would take before they could even hope to fight back successfully? No. They’re better off not knowing. We carry the burden, so they don’t have to.”

The three of them walked on a while, in silence. Catherine stared straight ahead, while JC kept a watchful eye on anyone who got too close, or even looked like they might. And Kim smiled happily at everyone even though they couldn’t see her, because . . . she was that sort of girl. Finally, JC broke the silence, which made him uncomfortable.

“I thought you didn’t approve of me and Kim, boss?”

“I don’t,” said Catherine, still not looking at either of them. “The living and the dead are not supposed to fall in love for any number of perfectly good reasons. You must know, both of you . . . there is no way your relationship can end well.”

“Come on,” said JC. “I have been altered by otherworldly forces, and she is mortally challenged. We have so much in common!”

“I think we’re a very post-modern couple,” Kim said cheerfully. “Opposites attract and complement each other. By being together, JC and I are making a positive statement!”

Catherine Latimer shook her head. “I have been head of the Carnacki Institute for too long. The world has changed so much . . . and I haven’t. Sometimes I’ll find myself watching some old black-and-white film, on late-night television; something from the forties or fifties . . . And that world looks more familiar, more comfortable to me, than the world I live in now. So many things I miss . . . and so few I value, now. I really think I would step down tomorrow if I thought there were anybody ready to take over. Or at least anyone I thought I could trust. But I can’t go . . . Not until I’ve put a name to the main traitor and made sure how deep the rot goes. Not until I can be sure of how badly the Carnacki Institute has been compromised. I have to stay in charge. I know I can trust me.”

“You know you can trust me,” said JC.

“Yes, I can,” said Catherine. “But not as head of the Carnacki Institute.”

“What?” said JC, bristling. “Why not?”

“Because you don’t have enough iron in your soul,” said Catherine Latimer. “Not yet, anyway.”

“Well,” said JC. “That’s something to look forward to . . .”

They walked on. Such a perfect summer’s day. Not a cloud in the sky, not a shadow out of place. Nothing to worry about . . . Except . . .

“Why did you want me to come here?” said JC. “What was so important that I had to drop everything and come all the way across London, and you had to leave your very safe and protected private office . . . so we could have this conversation? Was it only to tell me about what you’ve had Kim doing for you? Or to lecture us about our unnatural relationship again?”

“No,” said Catherine. She glanced at him; and her eyes flashed briefly golden again. “I wanted you to know you’re not alone.”

She increased her pace suddenly, leaving JC and Kim behind. JC stumbled to a halt and watched her go. Kim stayed with him, her arm still linked carefully through his. JC couldn’t help noticing that everyone in Catherine Latimer’s way seemed to step aside for her, without even noticing they were doing it.

“I can’t see anyone protecting her,” said JC, after a while. “Can you see anyone protecting her, Kim?”

“No,” said the girl ghost. “That’s sort of the point, isn’t it?”

JC looked at her steadily. “How long has this spying business been going on, Kim? How long have you been working exclusively for the Boss?”

“A while,” said Kim, looking back at him as steadily. “Ever since she promised me she could find me a body. A proper physical form, so I could be human and alive, again. So you and I could be together, properly.”

“She can do that?”

“She says she knows someone who can.”

“So you’re saying; you did this for me?”

“For us!”

JC smiled, tiredly. “Typical Boss. Using our own needs to control us . . .”

“Of course,” said Kim. “That’s why she’s the Boss.”

“But when did all this start?” said JC. “Exactly?”

“When she summoned me to her office,” said Kim. “Against my will. She called me, and I had to go even though I fought her all the way. She had this old and very powerful device . . . There was nothing I could do.”

“The rotten cow,” said JC; and his voice was very cold.

“Hush, hush, sweetie,” Kim said quickly. “It’s all right; really it is! It doesn’t matter! Not if she can deliver on her promise, so we can be a man and a woman, together. You don’t know how hard it is for me, not to be able to hold you, touch you . . .”

“I know,” said JC. “I feel the same way. You know I do. How . . . dangerous, is this? What she has you doing for her?”

“Dangerous?” said Kim. “I’m dead, darling!”

“I could still lose you,” said JC. “If something were to happen; if someone broke your contact with the world, and me.”

“I could still lose you,” said Kim. “If one of your Ghost Finder cases went really wrong.”

“I don’t think I could live without you,” said JC.

“I couldn’t die without you,” said Kim. “JC . . . You mustn’t ask me questions I’m not allowed to answer. For both our sakes. We both have to do what we have to do.”

JC looked suddenly about him, concerned that people were looking at him oddly. “Can any of these people see you, Kim?”

“Of course not, sweetie,” said Kim. “I’d know. Unless I decide otherwise, only you can see me, JC. Only you.”

“So,” said JC. “All of these people around us, right now . . .”

“Think you’re taking to yourself; yes!” Kim said brightly.

“Wonderful,” said JC.

| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |

DEAD AIR

Some places you know are going to be bad for you. Bad for everybody. Because there’s something in the air . . .

JC mooched aimlessly around the car park, outside the sprawling old country house that was currently home to Radio Free Albion. Local radio, serving (parts of) South-West England. The setting was calm and peaceful, pleasantly bucolic. Wild woods surrounded the house and car park, providing a natural buffer between the house and the civilised world, very definitely including the main road beyond the woods that only existed to connect two far more important destinations. It was a warm and sunny afternoon. Perhaps a bit humid. Not a cloud to be seen anywhere in the perfect blue sky and not even a hint of a passing breeze. Although it did seem to JC that the scene was almost unnaturally quiet. Not a bird singing anywhere, in all the dark and shadowy woods. Not an insect buzzing, on the heavy summer air. Only the most muffled sounds of traffic passing by on the distant main road. The world seemed to be holding its breath, as though waiting for something important to happen.

JC had been standing in Radio Free Albion’s car park for more than half an hour now, increasingly impatiently, ever since the taxi dropped him off from the railway station. But as yet, no-one had come out to ask who he was or what he was doing there. He could have walked up to the front door. Could have knocked loudly, or rung the bell, or marched right in and announced himself. He could have thrown handfuls of gravel at the downstairs windows, or given the handful of parked cars a good kicking, to see if any of them came equipped with a car alarm. But for some reason he couldn’t quite put a finger on, JC felt strangely reluctant to do any of these things. He preferred to wait until the rest of his team arrived. If only because there was safety in numbers; or at least, someone to hide behind.

Interestingly enough, he’d had a lot of trouble at the railway station, finding a taxi driver willing to drive him to Murdock House. He couldn’t get anyone to say why; they pretended they already had a fare, or that they weren’t going in that direction. Some even locked themselves in their taxis and pretended they couldn’t hear him. Still, when in doubt, there’s always bribery and corruption. JC loudly proclaimed he was ready and willing to pay double the going rate; and one driver got out of his taxi and considered JC for a long moment, scowling deeply.

“Triple fare,” he said finally. “Take it or leave it.”

“I’ll take it,” said JC. “May I ask why?”

“Danger money,” said the driver.

And that was the last thing he had to say, all the way to Murdock House. JC sat thoughtfully in the back, enjoying the marvellous scenery and wondering how he was going to justify the fare for this trip on his expenses. When they finally reached their destination, the taxi slammed to a halt, right at the entrance to the car park. And the driver sat there, stubbornly silent, while JC got out. He announced the fare, in an entirely unrepentant tone, and JC paid the man the exact amount. The driver looked directly at JC, for the first time.

“No tip?”

“You’ve got a nerve,” said JC.

“Not enough to hang around here,” said the driver. “You want someone to take you back to the station, call another company.”

He revved his engine hard, swung the taxi round in a sharp arc, and departed the car park at speed, in a spray of gravel.

That had been the last sign of life in that car park, for some time. JC thrust both hands deep into his trouser pockets, glared at the old house, and sighed loudly. In a much put-upon way. Still no sign of the rest of his team. Melody had phoned him half an hour ago to say they were almost there . . . then nothing. JC could have called her; but he had his pride. He was, after all, team leader. Reluctantly, he gave the house his full attention again. If only because a large part of him didn’t want to.

Most of Murdock House was crumbling old stone, pockmarked with the accumulated damage of time, weather, and many years of basic neglect. A series of protruding bay windows punctuated the length of the ground floor, with glass that needed cleaning, paintwork that needed redoing, and heavy curtains whose dull, ugly colours were an affront to civilisation. The windows on the upper floor were hidden behind closed wooden shutters—all cracks and gaps and peeling paint. The sloping, grey-tiled roof looked like a bunch of determined thieves had been at it, assuming there was a market for broken old tiles. JC was pretty sure he wouldn’t like to be anywhere on the top floor when it rained. But then, he didn’t think he’d feel particularly comfortable anywhere inside Murdock House. It should have had a cosy, comfortable air, the feel of a place much lived in and cared for. But it didn’t.

There was definitely something . . . about the house. The blank bay windows of the ground floor seemed to regard JC with dark, accusing eyes. Warning him off; defying him to come inside and hunt for answers the house had no intention of providing. JC suddenly felt very cold and shivered, violently, as though someone had danced on his grave. He pushed his very dark sunglasses down to the end of his nose and looked over them at the house. And saw, for a moment, the house disappear; behind a blast of blazing light. So fierce and spiteful and overwhelming, he cried out in shock despite himself. He had to close his eyes, in self-defence. When he opened them and looked again, it was only a house. Nothing strange or unusual about it at all. He concentrated, with his glowing, altered eyes, trying to see through the facade Murdock House presented to the world. But the house remained stubbornly ordinary. JC pushed his sunglasses back into place with one finger. The day was warm; but he still felt cold. Bone-deep, soul-deep, cold.

No-one in the house seemed to have heard him cry out. No-one came out to investigate. He was alone in the car park, face-to-face with a mystery he wasn’t sure he wanted to solve.

He deliberately turned his back on Murdock House and wandered over to the handful of parked cars, four of them, huddled together in one small corner of the car park. None of them new. Nothing especially distinctive about them, apart from the oldest. A powder blue Hillman Super Minx convertible, from the late sixties. Well preserved, apart from several dints and dings in the bodywork. It looked like it hadn’t been cleaned, let alone waxed and polished, since the late sixties. The rear bumper sticker proclaimed:
WARNING
!
I BRAKE FOR UFOS
!

JC glowered at the house again and wondered what the hell he was doing there. Catherine Latimer had phoned him that morning, and told him to go pay a visit to Radio Free Albion and sort it out. As a matter of urgency. No details; only directions. And then she put the phone down before he could ask any questions. After their recent encounter in Hyde Park, JC didn’t feel like pushing his luck. Now that he was here, though, he did wonder what it was he was supposed to be sorting out. Was this a haunting? Poltergeist activity? Nasty things crawling out of the woodwork? Apart from the somewhat disturbing ambience, it seemed a normal enough setting.

The front door to Murdock House slammed open, and JC looked sharply round in time to see himself stagger out of the open door and into the car park. His other self’s white suit was tattered and torn, ripped apart and soaked in fresh blood. So fresh, it was still dripping. JC stood where he was, frozen in place, transfixed by the sight. Staring at himself, and the blood, and the awful wounds and injuries that produced it. The other man stumbled forward, out into the open. His sunglasses were missing; and his eyes were gone. Instead, there were two empty eye-sockets, with thick crimson trails running down his cheeks.

The man who looked like JC stopped and almost fell. JC ran forward, sprinting across the gravel. His heart was pounding fast, his breathing ragged and harsh. He got there in time to catch the other man as the last of his strength ran out, and he collapsed. JC held on to him tightly, holding him up, supporting him. The weight of the body was very real in his arms. This was no ghost, no vision, and not any kind of hallucination.

JC lowered his other self carefully to the ground, the gravel crunching loudly under their combined weight. He sat down hard, holding his other self cradled in his arms. He knew a dying man when he saw one. The other JC raised his ruined face. His mouth worked, and blood spilled out of it. He swallowed, with difficulty, and forced words out past his tortured breathing.

“It’s you, isn’t it?” he said hoarsely. “It’s me. Me, from the past. I remember this; from when I first arrived here.”

“Are you saying . . . you’re me, from the future?” said JC. “What the hell happened here? What’s happened to you?”

“It all went wrong,” said the future JC. “There was nothing I could do . . .”

“What happened to your eyes?” said JC.

“They took them back.”

His voice faded away. JC held on to him tightly. “Tell me! What happened . . . What’s going to happen?”

“You should have listened . . . You should have paid attention, to the warnings.” He coughed hard, spraying blood on the air. He grabbed a handful of JC’s jacket, pulled him close. “It’s all going to Hell.”

“What is?” said JC.

“Everything. We’re all going to die. The world’s going to die. And it’s all our fault . . .”

“There must be something I can do!” JC said desperately.

His future self’s blind head rolled back. “Kim . . . ?”

The last of his breath went out of him, and he died. Right there, in his past self’s arms. JC sat there, on the ground, holding the body tightly. He didn’t cry. He didn’t feel right about crying for himself. He was still trying desperately to think of something, anything, he could do, when the dead man vanished. JC was left sitting alone, on the ground, cradling empty air. He looked slowly around him, but the car park was still empty, still quiet. As though nothing had happened. JC would have liked to deny it all; but the bloody handprint remained on the front of his white jacket, from where his future self’s dying hand had grabbed it. He touched the blood, carefully. It was still wet. JC scrambled to his feet, breathing harshly. Cold beads of sweat stood out on his face, his head swimming as his thoughts raced madly in all directions.

There is no single, fixed future. Events to come are not carved in stone. There are multiple timelines, with all kinds of potential futures. Which one we end up in depends on the choices we make. Everyone knows that. What I saw . . . was only a possibility. Not fixed, or certain; not inevitable . . .

But standing there, with his future self’s blood still wet on his fingertips, JC wasn’t sure he believed that.

He heard a car engine approaching, and the sound of squealing tyres. He turned around quickly, to see a very familiar Land Rover finally arrive at Murdock House. It roared into the car park and slammed to a halt a few yards short of JC. It rocked back and forth for a moment, settling itself, then the engine shut down. There was a long, ominous pause, then both front doors flew open. Melody and Happy got out, deliberately not looking at each other. They both advanced on JC, each clearly determined to get their version in first. JC thought quietly to himself,
When did I agree to become the referee in their relationship?
But he had to admit; he found their familiar problems something of a relief, even comforting, after what he’d just been through.

He surreptitiously wiped blood off his fingertips, against his hips; and if he looked a little more closely at Happy and Melody, to be sure they were exactly who they seemed to be, they were both too preoccupied with their own problems to notice.

“Let’s drive down together!”
Happy said viciously. “
It’ll be fun!
Never again . . .” He appealed to JC. “Sorry we’re late, boss; but it wasn’t my fault, honest! She didn’t trust the sat nav. I swear, we already drove past this entrance road twice!”

“I can’t believe an actual adult could say,
Are we there yet?
so many times!”

“You drove over a speed camera!” said Happy.

“You set fire to the map!” said Melody.

“It was an accident!”

“Why? What were you intending to set fire to?”

“Children, children,” JC said soothingly. “Please calm the fuck down, right now, or I swear to the spiritual provider of your choice that I will inject you both with an industrial-strength dose of Ritalin!”

Happy smiled, briefly. “I already tried that. I think I’ve developed an immunity.”

“I wish I thought you were joking,” said Melody.

JC nodded solemnly to her. “At least this time you can be sure you’ve got all your equipment with you. Isn’t that nice? Doesn’t that make you feel so much better? Why don’t you go and unload it all and check that everything’s still working properly? You know you always enjoy that.”

Melody was looking at the front of his jacket. “Is that blood, JC? Are you hurt?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” said JC.

“You’re not hurt,” said Happy, frowning. “But . . .”

“I said I don’t want to talk about it!”

Happy and Melody looked at each other.

“Ah . . .” said Happy. “It’s going to be one of those cases, is it?”

“I’ll go sort out my tech,” said Melody. “And my gun.”

She marched away, to open up the back of the Land Rover and have a good rummage around. Happy stood uncertainly before JC, trying to decide what to say.