Echoes (Whisper Trilogy Book 2) (24 page)

II

Despite having a lot of work to do ahead of the investigation, Dane was struggling to concentrate. His earlier encounter in the dining room had left a deep impression, and now it was the only thing he could concentrate on. He strolled down the forest access road, happy to put some distance between him and the hotel. The script notes clutched in his hands may as well have been written in gibberish for all the sense they were making.

You don’t believe in stuff like this.

It was true. Never in his near twelve years as a paranormal investigator had there ever been any reason to consider there might be something out there beyond life. At least until earlier. The rational side of him said ghosts weren’t solid forms, they were wispy things, sheets with holes in them or unseen things which snatch children into TV sets from under the nose of hapless parents if Hollywood was to be believed. They weren’t solid forms which looked as real as anyone else you might pass in the street. He almost managed to convince himself the man was just another Gogoku extra who had simply been separated from the rest of his group.

You know he isn’t though.

That was also true. He knew because he had personally interviewed all of the Gogoku actors, and whoever had been in the dining room wasn’t one of them. There was also the outfit the man had been wearing. Unlike the cheap-looking getup the actors had been dressed in, there was an authenticity about the clothes the mystery man in the Dining room had worn. It had a simplicity and legitimacy. It looked… right. After spending the best part of his career proving everything was explicable, for the first time he was absolutely at a loss to find a good reason why the man had been there, never mind who he was.

He checked his phone and saw he was at last out of the signal dead spot over the Hotel and grounds. He dialed Fred, hoping the producer could offer some advice.

“Dane, I was just about to call you. How are things going up there?” the chirpy South African said.

“Hi Fred, everything’s looking good up here,” Dane replied, wondering how to best approach the subject of his call. “How are things over there?”

“Usual shit here. Fucking networks are on my back as per, and the investors are getting twitchy. Bastards.”

“That’s actually why I’m calling.”

“Don’t tell me there’s a problem?”

“No, not really. It’s just… there’s something weird about this place.”

“I bloody well hope so,” Fred replied.

“No, I don’t mean like that. I mean this place isn’t right. I’m starting to think this might not have been the best idea.”

“Don’t tell me Dane Marshall is getting cold feet?” Fred said with a chuckle.

“You don’t understand. There’s something weird here.”

“Are you saying its legit? As in haunted legit?”

The Gogoku man flashed up for a second in Dane’s mind’s eye, and he almost mentioned it.

“No, I’m not saying haunted. You know I don’t really believe in that stuff. It’s just… the atmosphere here’s strange. It’s almost like the air has a weight. You know how just before a thunderstorm you can feel it in the air? It’s like that.”

“Surely that’s good though, eh? Should make for cracking television.”

“I don’t think we should go ahead. Maybe we could still switch locations. I hear Cromwell Manor might be open to an investigation.”

“Are you serious? We can’t move now. We’ve already spent too much on the production, never mind the advertising. Besides, if the atmosphere there is even getting to you, it will look fuckin’ amazing on TV. Ratings are king in this business, although I don’t need to tell you that.”

“Remember the night in your trailer when you first asked me to talk to my brother about this?”

“Of course I do.”

“I do too. I remember how nonchalant I was about the idea of something existing that we wouldn’t be able to explain. In fact, I seem to remember having laughed it off.”

“I remember. You said something along the lines of it was all bullshit, because after all the places you’d been in the world, you’d never seen anything to make you think anything was out there.”

“Yeah, well until I came here, that was true. Now I’m not so sure.”

“You’re probably just paranoid. It’s isolated up there. Pressure of the importance of the show is probably getting to you too. Fact is I shouldn’t have left you up there to do this on your own.”

“Maybe,” he said, knowing there was no point trying to convince Fred otherwise.

“Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll move some things around at this end and drive up there.”

“You don’t have to,” Dane said, wondering if the decision was made through concern or ensuring the show went ahead without a hitch.

“I do have to, and it’s something I probably should have done from the start. Putting it all on you wasn’t fair. Besides, I could do with a break from the bloody phone ringing here in the office.”

“You won’t have to worry about that here. It’s a signal dead spot. You’ll be off the grid.”

“Sounds good.”

“I can handle this, Fred. I don’t want you to feel like you have to come and babysit me.”

“It’s nothing to do with your ability. Truth is you have me curious. The Dane Marshall I know is usually the most level-headed unflappable human being I’ve ever met. I can hear in your voice something different.”

“I’m tired.”

“No it’s something else. You sound scared. We need to make sure we get it on film.”

“Why do I feel like a whore right now and you just slipped off my panties?”

Fred chuckled down the phone. “Come on, Dane, we both know this is all about the ratings. Besides, if it makes you feel any better I wouldn’t do anything to you the networks and investors aren’t trying to do to me. Capturing whatever uncertainties you have on film will only help both of us in the long run.”

“How the hell did we get into such a friendly business?” Dane said with more than a little irritation.

“Tell me about it. Fucking sharks the lot of them. Anyway, I’d better be off. I’ll be up there tomorrow morning. Can you hold the fort until then?”

“Yeah, no problem.”

“Good man. Trust me, this will all be worth it in the end.”

“I hope so. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Dane said, ending the call. Standing for a moment to take in the conversation, Dane sighed and turned his attention back to the script as he strolled back towards the hotel.

III

Goodson had packed a bag and intended to get out of town for a few days. The rational side of his head told him Henry would understand why he had chosen to share his concerns with Rollins, yet the side which really knew Henry, the side which had seen how ruthless he could be, suspected he would be furious at what he would deem to be a double-cross.

He checked the door had been locked, crossed to the window to peek through the gap in the curtains to check that the street was clear. Satisfied there was no sign of Henry, he returned to the bedroom and the half-packed suitcase. Throwing a few extra shirts in with the other items, he zipped up the case and thought about where he should go. He had a sister in Ohio who he could visit for a few days, or if it came to it, he could head overseas for a while. With all the tension of recent weeks, he was ready for a break. Somewhere warm preferably, with cheap booze and cheaper women. There was some kind of poetic justice to it, the idea of him sunning himself somewhere tropical whilst Henry Marshall finally got exactly what he deserved for his less than honest business practices over the years. Rollins had told him he might be called on to give evidence if things went to trial, to which Goodson had agreed as long as he received immunity from any prosecution. It was the perfect resolution.

Grabbing his case off the bed and taking a last quick check out of the window to ensure the coast was clear, he took the chain off the door and unlocked it, drawing breath as he opened the door. There, standing perfectly still and glaring at him was Henry Marshall.

“Henry, I wasn’t expecting you…” Goodson stammered.

Henry didn’t reply.

“I think we need to talk, Winston. I think you know what about.”

“Look, please, try to understand from my point of view, Edgar Rollins said…”

Henry zoned out as Goodson tried to make his excuses. The truth was it didn’t matter what it was he said. Henry had attempted to convince himself on the drive over that he just wanted to talk, although the truth was, the black thing inside him had ideas of its own. Death would be too easy, it had whispered to him as he’d driven across town. The punishment ought to fit the crime, it had added, giving him a few ideas and pointers about how to best deal with a backstabbing rat like Goodson. A calm euphoria had overcome him as he let those voices consume him, as he allowed them guide his actions to make sure he brought with him the right tools for the job in hand. He walked towards the door, Goodson backing up to keep the distance between them.

“Henry, listen to me,” Goodson stammered. “It’s not too late to fix this. I can speak to Rollins he-”

“Shhhhhh…” Henry said, smiling while closing and locking the door. “I just want us to talk. Nothing to worry about.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Goodson said, not fooling anyone.

“Yes you are. If there’s one thing I don’t like, it’s a rat.”

“Are you going to kill me?”

“I was, but they had a better idea.”

“Who did? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”

***

Thirty minutes later, Henry washed his hands at the sink, making sure to scrub the blood from under his fingernails. He whistled a tune he couldn’t quite place, maybe from an old TV show or advertising jingle. He checked his watch and saw it was getting late. Drying his hands then making sure to fold the tea towel and hook it back over the oven door, he walked into the sitting room, sidestepping the streaky claret mess on the floor. Henry paused to look at Goodson, lying motionless on his side, his face a mask of blood, and wondered if he’d died after all. His eye sockets were deep voids of pulp, and Henry instantly recalled the feeling of crushing the eyeballs, allowing the jelly-like viscera to squirt between his fingers. The tongue was harder to remove. Goodson had been thrashing and struggling, but it was only when Henry had been forced to smash his former employee’s teeth to get to the tongue that he’d finally subsided. It lay a few feet from him, a pinkish slug which had caused its former owner no end of trouble.

Goodson kicked out a leg, and half rolled onto his side, sending fresh blood pouring out onto the hardwood floor.

Good. He was still alive to hear.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this, Winston,” Henry said with a sigh as he started to dress, grateful he had removed his clothes before any of the mess was made. “If anything, I hope you take it as a lesson. One learned in the most poignant of ways.”

Goodson writhed and moaned, mouthing words which he would never be able to say.

“In life sometimes, you have to choose sides. Sometimes you choose well, other times you make the wrong call. This, my friend, is what happens when you make the latter. You may feel harshly treated after what I was forced to do to you. If you really think about it, what choice did I have? You saw things you had no right to see, and spoke about them to people who should never have known. Removing the tools of your trade was the only option I had.”

Henry approached, his shoe skidding in the blood as he crouched beside Goodson. “Now, all you have is me. You will never speak, nor will you see.” Henry leaned close and whispered in Goodson’s ear. “I will live forever in your dreams.”

He stood, wincing as his arthritic knee cracked. “Enjoy the rest of your life Goodson. I hope you learned a valuable lesson today.”

Henry let himself out of the apartment, taking a last look at Goodson as he blindly writhed around in a pool of blood and broken teeth.

CHAPTER 16

Emma, Cody, Scott and Carrie arrived late, checking in a little after 10pm. Excited already, the feeling only grew when they saw the host of Paranormal Truth branded trucks outside and the seemingly endless lines of cable snaking around the building. There was an entirely different atmosphere to the hotel now it was staffed and blazed with light. They checked into two rooms, with Emma and Carrie in one, and the boys in the other. The rooms themselves were medium-sized affairs, neutral in their décor. The single windows faced out over the car park and offered a good view of the forest. With Alex’s words on her mind, Emma wasn’t sure sleep would come easy, but was surprised to have woken up feeling well rested after a trouble-free and comfortable night. As she and Carrie walked through the lobby the next morning to the dining room, she heard the steady hum of chatter and caught the smell of delicious cooked bacon and strong coffee.

“You sleep okay?” Emma asked.

“Fine.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“You sure?”

“I said I’m fine. Stop mothering me all the time,” Carrie hissed.

“I wasn’t I…”

Carrie strode into the dining room, a confused Emma behind her.

Scott and Cody were already there, waving them over to the two empty seats opposite. Emma tried to catch Carrie’s eye, desperate to know what was wrong. Without success, and now even more confused, she instead turned her attention to the other guests. She recognized Dane Marshall of course from his TV show, and had seen Henry around Oakwell. The rest of the people were unfamiliar. The two girls sat as Henry strode to the center of the room.