Ghost of a Dream (13 page)

“Do we know where the homeless guy died?” he said. “Was it here? Because I’m not picking up anything to suggest a recent death, natural or otherwise. In fact, I’m not picking up anything. Just…dead air.”

“Ho ho ho,” said Melody, concentrating on her instrument readouts. “Telepath humour. It’s all in the mind.”

Happy scowled, moved away, and lowered his mental shields, slowly and methodically opening himself up to his surroundings. Nothing happened until he was completely open and defenceless; and then everything hit him at once. The lobby was suddenly packed full of people, men and women, from all times and fashions, milling back and forth, overlapping and passing through each
other. Memories, ghosts, of all the people who’d ever been in the theatre lobby. A hundred thousand audiences, all of them talking at once, a terrible clamour of raised voices from out of the Past, filling Happy’s head to bursting. He clapped both hands to his ears, a practiced psychological trick to keep voices outside his head; but it didn’t help. There were too many of them, layer upon layer of people pressed upon people…Voices determined to be heard.

And slowly, one by one, then in small groups, heads turned to look at him. Faces focused on him, becoming aware of his presence. They could see Happy because they weren’t memories, they were dead. Ghosts of people who’d died in the lobby, or the theatre, or returned there because it had special memories for them. They drifted slowly, implacably, towards Happy, passing inexorably through all the other presences in their way. Drawn to him like moths, to the bright light of his living soul. Happy looked about him desperately, but everywhere he looked there were more, coming right at him, their dead faces distorted by an awful, endless hunger.

Happy slammed down all his shields at once, forcing his mental defences back into place, until every last bit of his telepathy was shut down and he was as blind to the world as everyone else. Until he couldn’t have seen a ghost even if it walked right up to him and glared into his face. Or, at least, he hoped so. He stood very still, breathing hard. He could feel cold sweat on his face. When he finally lowered his hands, they shook violently. Happy looked quickly around the lobby. JC was still wrapped up
in himself, but Melody was looking at him steadily. She came out from behind her instruments, walked over to Happy, and put her arms around him. She held him close, while he hung on to her like a drowning man. She patted his back gently, giving him the warmth of her body to drive out the cold of the dead. Giving him her steady presence to anchor him in the world again.

“Bad one?” she said, her voice carefully calm and neutral.

“Bad enough,” he said, when he could find his voice. “My own fault. I should have known better than to lower my guard in a place bound to be soaked in people and memories. Still…”

“Yes?” said Melody.

Happy took his arms away from her, and she immediately let go of him and stepped back. Beyond a certain point, Happy didn’t like to be fussed over.

“That…didn’t just happen,” said Happy. “That felt much more like an ambush. Which means we’re not alone here. Someone, or Something, targeted me.”

Melody studied his face carefully. “You need some of your little chemical helpers, don’t you?”

“No,” said Happy. “I’m stronger than that, now. I don’t need them. You showed me that.”

“But you still want them,” said Melody.

“Oh, God, yes, I want them,” said Happy. “Luckily, I want you more.”

“That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” said Melody. “I really wish it was true.”

And then they looked round sharply, as the main
doors slammed open and their theatrical guests arrived. A man and a woman, both well into their forties, both clearly fighting for every inch, both of them that little bit too deliberately glamorous. Because they felt it was expected of them. They stopped directly inside the doors, realised they had an audience, and immediately fell into flattering publicity poses without even realising they were doing it. There was a pause, as everyone looked at everyone else, then JC strode briskly forward to stand with Happy and Melody, to present a unified front in the face of civilian outsiders. The two actors looked the Ghost Finders over and gave no impression of being in any way impressed.

“Are you the…experts?” said the woman, in a rich clear voice.

JC gave them both his best professional smile. “We are, indeed, the experts. Allow me to introduce your team for tonight. I am JC Chance, ghost finder extraordinaire, exorcist without portfolio, and leader of the pack. Despite everything I can do to get out of it. The short sulky thing on my left is Happy Jack Palmer; team telepath, portable psychic, and general pain in the arse. Feel free to ignore him or throw things. We do. Finally, this sweet and very dangerous young lady is Melody Chambers, geek girl nerd technician and
Take That
fan. Don’t get too close, she bites. Do not be fooled by the way we look; we are in fact very experienced and very efficient.”

“So…ghosts don’t scare you?” said the man, in a mellifluous, carrying voice.

JC grinned. “Hell no…ghosts are scared of us.”

“I’m not sure whether that makes me feel any safer, or not,” said the woman.

“Lot of people say that,” said Happy.

“Only because they know us,” said Melody.

“I’m Benjamin Darke,” said the man, a bit grandly. “And this is my wife, Elizabeth de Fries.”

They both stood a little taller, clearly expecting to be recognised. When it became clear that wasn’t going to happen, Benjamin announced their names again, a little louder and more distinctly, as though that might make a difference.

“Oh come on!” said Elizabeth. “You must have heard of us! We’ve been jobbing actors for twenty years now! We’ve been in everything, both stage and screen!”

“Exactly!” said Benjamin. “We’ve done everything, from soaps to period dramas, police procedurals to sitcoms! I was in a
Doctor Who
and she was in a Sherlock Holmes! Recently!”

“Sorry,” said JC. “We’re usually out working, of an evening. Our business is with the dead, not the living.”

Benjamin and Elizabeth looked at each other. Their shoulders slumped, and they stood more closely together, as though they could only depend on each other.

Benjamin Darke was tall and stocky, with a certain physical presence. He dressed well, if not actually expensively, with a smart sweater and slacks under a navy blue blazer, and a white silk cravat at his throat. He carried himself with a certain youthful vigour, through sheer force of will, and long stage training showed in his every disciplined movement. He was still handsome, in a severe sort of way, though middle age had clearly got
a grip on him. His receding hair was suspiciously jet-black. He smiled a lot, a bright, professional smile that probably fooled most people.

Elizabeth de Fries was short and well-made, showing off her perfectly preserved figure in a carefully cut pale blue dress and very high heels. Up close she was clearly into her forties, but with the right makeup and camera lens, she could still knock ten years off that. She had a pleasantly pretty face under a mop of tight blonde curls, and sparkling blue eyes. She still had charm, as opposed to Benjamin’s practiced presence.

And then Happy had to go and spoil it all by walking right up to them and prodding them both hard in the chest with his forefinger. Benjamin’s eyes widened, and Elizabeth let out a brief squeak of surprise. Happy looked them both over carefully, nodded quickly, and went back to JC and Melody. The two actors looked at each other, then at JC and Melody for an explanation. They didn’t get one. JC tried hard to look solemn. Melody didn’t even try.

“Just making sure,” said Happy. “After what happened with Roland Laurie…Still can’t believe I didn’t spot him…Don’t get fooled again, that’s my motto.”

“He prodded me in the bosom!” Elizabeth said loudly. “And…he didn’t even say please!”

“I did notice, darling,” said Benjamin.

“Then don’t just stand there, darling, do something!”

“Like what? Go over there and prod him back? I wouldn’t lower myself.”

“You never did have any spine, darling,” said Elizabeth.

And then they all jumped a little and looked around, as the main doors crashed open again as a bright-eyed
girl in her late teens came striding in. She stopped, accepted everyone staring at her as her right, and smiled happily about her.

“Hi!” she said cheerfully. “I’m Lissa Parr! It’s Melissa, actually, but everyone calls me Lissa. Sorry I’m a bit late.”

Lissa was a tall, slender brunette, with flat, shoulder-length hair and a heavy dark fringe falling right down to her penciled-on eyebrows. She wore tight blue jeans, and an even tighter white T-shirt, the better to show off her marvellous figure. Happy took a step forward, then stopped when Melody glared at him.

“Are you sure?” he said. “You might thank me, later.”

“You go anywhere near her bosom, and I’ll tie your finger in a knot,” said Melody.

The three actors took it in turns to kiss the air somewhere near each other’s cheeks, then stepped back to look each other over in a professional kind of way. None of them offered to kiss any of the Ghost Finders, which was probably just as well.

Lissa was very pretty, perhaps despite rather than because of all the character in her face. Her lips were very red and very thin, but her constant smile looked real enough. Her eyes were dark and full of humour, with a hell of a lot of blue eye make-up. She still had as if by right what Elizabeth was fighting to hang on to. Which was probably why Elizabeth was the only one not mesmerised by her. The young actress stood happily in her favourite loose-limbed pose, basking in the attention she was still young enough to take for granted. It was clear she’d been taught to stand that way in public if there was
even a chance of a photographer…drilled into her until it was second nature; but she still managed it unconsciously and unselfconsciously. She threw in the charm at no extra cost, without even realising she was doing it.

“Sorry,” said JC, and actually sounded like he meant it, “but who are you, exactly? Are you another name we’re supposed to recognise?”

Lissa’s smile slipped for a moment. “You really don’t know me? Damn. I am clearly not getting my money’s worth out of that new publicist. Look, I was in that controversial indie film,
Jesus and Satan Go Jogging in the Desert
. And that big disaster movie,
Werewolf on the Titanic
.”

“Oh, I remember that one!” said Happy. “Not even a little bit accurate.”

“We weren’t expecting you until next week, darling,” said Elizabeth, with a hint of chill in her voice. “The theatre isn’t nearly ready yet.”

“You know her?” said JC.

“Of course we know her; we hired her!” said Benjamin. “She’s going to star in our play! As our female lead. But, as Elizabeth was saying…”

Lissa shrugged prettily. “Don’t blame me, sweeties; I got a phone call from my agent, saying drop everything and get straight round to the Haybarn, they need you. So here I am! You are glad to see me, aren’t you?”

“Of course we are, Lissa,” said Benjamin, shooting Elizabeth a quick warning glance. “It’s simply that the renovators have encountered some…unexpected difficulties.”

“Oh, I know all about that, sweetie,” said Lissa. “My agent couldn’t wait to tell me!”

“How very helpful of him,” said Elizabeth. “It would seem word has got out…”

“Ghosts and ghoulies and things that go Booyah! in the night! How terribly thrilling!” Lissa looked at JC and his team with new interest. “Are you the experts?”

“I do wish people would stop using that word, in that particular tone of voice,” said Happy. “Yes, we are quite definitely experts; we are the Ghost Finders! Hauntings a speciality, no spook left unturned. We are very expert! Very!”

“Gosh,” said Lissa, completely unmoved by Happy’s histrionics. “What larks, eh?” She looked around the lobby, and some of her natural exuberance fell away. “Bit of a dump, isn’t it, sweeties?”

“It wasn’t always like this,” said Elizabeth, frostily. “Back in its heyday, the Haybarn was one of the finest theatres in the Midlands. Very smart, very elegant, very fashionable; the most prestigious vehicle for any up-and-coming young actors looking to make their mark. We had critics from all the broadsheets turning up on opening nights.”

“But that was…sometime ago,” said Benjamin. “The Haybarn has been shut down and abandoned for twenty years. It’s going to take a lot of hard work to smarten the old girl up again. And we can’t do that until we can persuade the renovators to return.”

“Why has it been left empty for so long?” said Lissa.

Benjamin and Elizabeth looked at each other, then at
the Ghost Finders. “It was to have been our greatest triumph,” said Benjamin. “The play that would change all our lives.”

“Change everything,” said Elizabeth. “But it all went wrong, so horribly quickly…”

“We were the established leads, back then,” said Benjamin. “Starred in everything the Haybarn put on, took everything in our stride, from classics to modern. The public loved us, the critics thought we could do no wrong. We had the world at our feet, and we thought it would last forever. We wrote a play together, Elizabeth and I:
A Working-class Messiah Is Something to Be
. Something…very different, very special. We would direct and cover the two supporting leads, and we had one of the major stars of the day committed to the lead. Frankie Hazzard.”

Everyone nodded quickly. They all knew that name.

“Tall, dark, and handsome,” said Melody. “Didn’t half fancy himself. He played that spy, what’s-his-name, in that film;
Index Finger, Left Hand
.”

“I saw him on a chat show once,” said Happy. “So far up himself he was hanging out his own nostrils.”

“Pushing that unfortunate mental image firmly to one side,” said JC, “perhaps we could concentrate on the matter at hand. What happened? What went wrong?”

“The play crashed and burned,” Elizabeth said flatly. “Didn’t even make two weeks before the theatre shut it down. The critics hated it, and nobody came. The theatre’s owners had sunk considerable funding into it, and they lost all of it. They had no choice but to close the theatre.”