The Physics Of The Dead - A Supernatural Mystery Novel (25 page)

Bowler had collapsed to his knees, still screaming, and gently reached out for George's face. Hart was screaming too, but now suddenly found himself overcome by a rage of grief, and balled his hands into fists and screwed them into his eyes. George had been a good, loyal friend, and a kind, happy man, and when you could only count three people in sixty years that had ever been any kind of a companion-that had been the only
possibilities
of being companions-that made the loss so, so much greater, however selfish that thought may be. Hart opened his mouth and sobbed loudly, and plainly.

Bowler slowly stopped his own noise as he heard this, completely alien to anything he had known of Hart. His own pain stopped briefly by this newer shock, and in that brief moment of clarity he realised the obvious questions to be asked of this situation. He whipped his head round and saw Mark sheepishly entering the room, and he suddenly
knew
; somehow, Mark had done this. Mark had made this terrible thing happen. He pointed a shaking, accusing finger.

“You did this. You did this, didn't you, you fucking crazy bastard. How the fuck did you do this. Why.
Why?!
” Bowler stood, and advanced on Mark, who raised his hands in innocent protest, his mouth working silently and frantically. Bowler didn't try to work out what he was saying; it took a fair bit of effort and patience at the best of times, and this was not a moment of patience for Bowler. “What the fuck did he do to you? He was one of decent ones, the good ones,
and he didn’t do anything!!
”

Bowler shoved Mark in the chest with both hands, hard, who staggered backwards several steps, ending up against the hallway wall. Mark's hands worked aggressively, more angrily now; pointing at George's corpse, then at himself, then hands up in the air-confusion, showing confusion-then a carrying motion, then a putting down motion, then pointing back at George, then Hart and Bowler.

Confusion set into Bowler's mind, halting his anger; Mark was saying he'd carried George here to show them, had been looking for them. Bowler made a connection; he and Hart spent most of their time around this area, so it made sense that Mark had come here to find them and failed, and then had put the body here and gone to look where he'd seen them last; out by the safe house. But carried the body here from where?

“Where from, you sick twat? Where from?” Blank stares from Mark. “Where did you find him, where-” (Bowler made a rapid carrying motion) “
-did you carry him from dickhead?
” A blank stare from Mark in response, a small shake of the head. Bowler jumped over and grabbed Mark's collar. “
Tell me where you found him you fucking crazy bastard, what the fuck did you do-”

“
Bowler!
” shouted Hart, suddenly, from the westward room, and when Bowler halted in his shouting in surprise. Mark knocked Bowler's hands from his shirt. Hart turned his tear stained face toward them, crouched as he was over George now. “He can't understand you. Just...look, just let him go for now. Now's...not the time. Eh?” It wasn't an order. It was a quiet plea.

There was a long, silent pause in the room, but then Bowler slowly stepped back from Mark. He didn't say anything, but pointed two fingers to his own eyes, and then sharply back to Mark. Mark gave Bowler the finger. He seemed about to say something else, and then shook his head and stomped away down the stairs.

“We need to tell Sarah,” Hart said, standing, composure strapped on about himself now. Bowler found himself lowering his outstretched hand.

“Hart-”

“We need to tell Sarah,” Hart repeated, crouching down again, his back to Bowler. “Be a good chap and see if you can find her, will you? It's probably best if we bring her here to see for herself.”

“Do you think that's-”

“I think we don't have much time, either,” interrupted Hart, “Look. He's crumbling.” He pointed to George's left hand, where the skin looked hard and waxy, and at points like it was flaking heavily. There were small flakes on the floor. Hart took George's fingers gently in his own, and after a moment, snapped them. More flakes burst off as he did so, like those from a busted cream cracker.

“Hart!”

As the flakes hit the floor, they settled, then descended through it, gone forever. That would be how the whole body went, thought Bowler.

“We don't have much time, Bowler,” Hart repeated quietly, in a smaller voice. “There's a good chap.” He didn't look round again. Bowler muttered to himself, confused, hurt, shocked...and suddenly he wanted to get away. He left Hart, and went to find Sarah.

Hart sat and stroked George's face.

***

Part 3-Checking Out

Chapter 6: In Which We See Sarah On Her Way Out, And The Dead Hold A Funeral; There Is Also An Incredible Discovery, And An Unexpected Outcome

***

2010:

“No. No, I totally disagree.”

“Look at the way he keeps touching his face-”

“You don't believe that rubbish, do you? Look at how fast he's responding.”

“He’s shifty as hell.”

“That's total nonsense.
Shifty.
Pah
. He's confident, assured, and look, look how he's looking him constantly in the eyes; that's an innocent man.”

“You can’t seriously tell me-”

“Let's just…agree to disagree, Bowler.”

Hart fell silent, tired. He knew better, these days, to disagree with Bowler in these moods. It would only end in trouble. Mary's daughter seemed to watch nothing other than Court TV, and even though Bowler was a fan, Hart didn't like it. It was a different world to the one he knew, and not just the American system. The way these people talked, the way they addressed the court and each other. It was alien to him, and uncomfortable. But Bowler wanted to watch, so they pretty much
had
to watch, and for tradition and sentimentality's sake he was reasonably happy to come back to Mary's place. And, in a way, he felt like he was being respectful to her. Thanking her for all the nice times they'd had courtesy of her place, even if it wasn't as good as it used to be. Many things were different now, he thought, sadly.

He turned his attention to Mary's fat daughter, plonked on the settee eating, as usual. She'd wasted no time in moving into the flat as soon as Mary had died, and though she'd changed little about the place in the last 5 years, it just...wasn't Mary's place any more. The amount of mess was far greater, for starters.

He
tuned
back in to Bowler, who had carried on talking about the defendant's body language some more regardless of Hart’s request to leave it, holding his own court.  Bowler’s vision in The Foyer was now as good as anyone’s, and-Hart had to admit, to himself at least-superior to Hart's. Bowler had come a long way, and in many respects. Hart sighed.

“What?” said Bowler. It was almost impatient.

“Just looking at the judge.” Hart said, keeping his tone civil.

“What about him?”

“Oh, come on...he doesn't remind you of anyone?” Hart furthered, enjoying the superiority and trying to start a game..

“No. Just tell me.?”

“Someone that used to hang around...sadly no longer with us?”

Bowler scowled, irritated by the test, but his face relaxed as he remembered. 

“Oh...George.”

“That's right.”

Pause.

“I don't see it,” said Bowler, flatly.

“But he's the absolute spit of the man..”

“He was a nice guy, George. Just...just a good, solid guy.”

“Yes, he was.”

“You remember I was the one that went and told Sarah?” said Bowler, his tone impossible to read.

“Yes, I remember.”

“I saw her today. Sarah.”

Hart stiffened slightly. He thought he might know where this was going, and wanted to get through just one day this year without an argument. But if Bowler wanted one, there tended to be one. So there was no point in tip-toeing.

“How is she? Did she talk to you?”

“Yeah, she did, for once. She's...really bad. I could barely understand a word she was trying to tell me. I knew she'd gotten really bad, but...she was really bad.”

Hart nearly smiled. For a moment there, Bowler had actually sounded like Bowler.

“She just kept changing subjects, babbling away. It's her eyes, Hart. I've only ever seen them like that in...well...in Mark.”

Hart didn't say anything.

“I said I've only ever seen them like that in Mark.”

“Yes, yes I heard.”

“Well, she looks like that now, but at least you could get sense out of Mark. Sarah's gone pretty much totally.”

Hart still didn't pass comment.

“You don't have anything to say, do you?” said Bowler, staring at Hart now, head cocked lazily as he lounged in the chair.

That made Hart angry. He wasn't going on the back foot today. He'd heard this enough times, and wasn't in the mood to take it.

“Not really, Bowler. I think we've had this conversation enough times. I think you've said everything you have to say on this subject. I think you've made your feelings clear without doing it again.”

“I'm glad you know, Hart,” Bowler said as he leaned over in his chair, a smirk playing around his lips. That cruel streak; enjoying having something to use against Hart. It made the older man think of his own courtroom days, of seeing the same face of the prosecution in full flow, enjoying not only the cut and thrust of their job but also knowing-or thinking-that they had the upper hand. He saw it in Bowler so often now. “You always act like you don't, though. Like you don't know that it's your fault. Her going Loose.”

“That's your opinion, Bowler, I tell you every time, and I'm bored of saying so,” said Hart, turning back to the TV. Despite his anger, he just couldn't face another joust today. He might have not been able to sleep, but there were still ways for a Guest to be tired. Bowler leaned further out, eager.

“Hardly, Hart. She stopped talking to us, hanging around with us-”

“Yes, yes-”

“-after what
you
did, Hart-”

“Yes, yes, yes...”

“-which is just a cast-iron
fact
, really.  So that not being related to her mental collapse seems pretty unlikely, wouldn't you say?”

“She made her choice-”

“And let's be honest, she wasn't exactly solid before that, was she? So going off by herself was pretty much a disastrous decision in here at the best of times-but after what you did, who can blame her-but doing it in the state SHE was in...I think that's pretty likely that's what pushed her over the edge, I'd say.”

Hart didn't reply. They'd done this dance so many times now, and Hart had sat and given his defence over and over, one he didn't really believe. He knew Bowler was right-and so did Bowler, which was why he loved this-but Hart would not feel guilt, for, given the same situation. he would do the same all over again. And he would not
admit
Bowler was right. Either way, he wasn't playing with Bowler tonight.
Bugger him
, thought Hart, and something occurred to him.

“Regardless, Bowler, if I were you, I'd stay away from Sarah. If she's gone Loose, she could be dangerous,” Hart said. Bowler just scoffed, and then there was silence in the room.

After a few moments, Hart snuck a glance at Bowler. There it was again. He'd thought he'd seen it out of the corner of his eye a few times, but this time there was no mistaking it. Small, subtle, so much so no-one other than Hart would ever notice it, but there it was. A sharp twitch in Bowler's left eye.

Before he could say anything-and Hart didn't really know what he
would
say-Bowler stood. He didn't look at Hart.

“I'm going out.”

He stood there for a moment, then looked at Hart, and paused for a second. Then he walked out, alone. Not for the first time, Hart felt relieved. Things were different now. Strangely, almost like she'd waited for Bowler to leave, Mary's daughter changed the channel. She flicked around, and Hart waited, watching intently. With Bowler gone, the choice of channel was of vital importance. Hart hoped that it would be a soap.

And then she picked a channel, and what Hart saw dropped the bottom out of his world.

***

“Do you want to go first?” asks Hart, though he already knows what the answer will be.

“Nah...you can.”

Hart nods, and tries to remember what he'd planned to say. Not having so much as a napkin to make notes on renders speech making much harder.

They're stood by the fountain in the lower precinct, solitary in the centre of town. The shops are all closed, and the winter midnight gives everything a sense of occasion; perfect. This was the idea. Exactly the right feeling for a funeral.

As Bowler had rightly pointed out, they couldn't bury George's body, even though for some reason, it didn't sink into the floor as they would have expected. When they'd tried to move it, they’d found out a possible reason why; it was so light, like a thin fibreglass shell. Only the flakes that broke off George's body as it rapidly disintegrated had sank. It made no sense, but then there were so many things about the physics of the Foyer that didn't either, so they’d just accepted it without too much question. After all, how can they know how second-time-dead bodies worked here? They'd never seen one before.

And although it had looked very much like George’s body would disintegrate entirely within a few days-the amount of flakes that had appeared around his body in the first hour alone had suggested that possibility-both Bowler and Hart had very much wanted to mark his passing with some kind of ceremony. George had been a good friend to the pair of them.

And so the idea had been hit upon to place the body in the fountain at midnight and say a few words. Not only, they had theorised, would the body slowly disappear as it crumbled, but it was a nice ceremonial idea. George always loved the precinct, and a water burial seemed as good as they could get anyway.

This is all totally uncharted territory for Hart. He has no idea how permanent the physical presence lasts in The Foyer after a second death-he’d had no idea that it was even possible to 'die' in here until it happened to George-and this simply seems like the best they can do. There are many, many questions raised by this-not least of all how it happened, who did it, and what it means for Bowler and Hart-but they can wait. Right now, they have a job to do. And here they are; Hart is to go first, as he looks at George's body resting on the edge of the fountain.

“George...” he starts, and falters immediately, lost in a mental block and his own discomfort. “You will never be forgotten. You were...much loved by Bowler and I; but it was more than that. In this place...friends are...vital. Absolutely vital. They are one’s life blood. And to have a friend as kind and friendly and good as you in that situation, well...you were an immense blessing, and your loss is incalculable...”

Hart loses his train of thought again as Bowler starts to cry gently but helplessly beside him. Hart knows how painful and tough this is for him, but for Bowler...Hart worries about him. He wonders how much more Bowler can take, and realises with a sinking feeling that it's just them now.
Who else is there?
Hart thinks.
Mark? Loose. Sarah? On her way out. No one else now. Just us two. How the hell will Bowler cope?
Hart pushes thoughts of a Loose Bowler away and continues his speech, and feels, when he’s done, that he does as good a job as possible in the circumstances. Surprisingly for Hart, he feels no shame when his voice cracks and tears spill down his cheeks. When he finishes, he looks to Bowler, who nods tearfully, and steps forward. Bowler looks down at George's body resting on the edge of the fountain. It was effortlessly light to carry here, horribly so. He bites back anger, and begins his own fumbling speech.

“I'm
gonna
miss you George...”