The Physics Of The Dead - A Supernatural Mystery Novel (28 page)

“Shut UP!” yells Hart, and grabs Mark's shoulders, shaking him, but Mark won't stop laughing. “Tell me what you did! Tell me what happened to George! Tell me what you two did together!! How did you do it!! Tell me! Tell me!!” But Mark won't stop laughing, and that thing is Loose inside Hart again, and, screaming, he shoots out a hand to Mark's neck and snaps his right collarbone.

Mark stops laughing, starts screaming, and Hart is filled with a comforting, icy cold calm. This man got his friend killed. This man encouraged him on a madman's errand.

“Tell me what you did, Mark.” says Hart, and realises Mark can't hear him, so he pushes Mark flat on his back with his boot, and pins it on his chest. He makes Mark look at him by pushing the heel into his sternum.

Hart gestures come hither, then points at Mark, then fat belly, then twirls his finger in a circle in the air, then come hither again. Mark shakes his head, wide-eyed, scared of the consequences, so Hart stamps on his left collarbone, breaking that too. Mark's mouth opens afresh, yelling.

And that is when Hart sees a movement out of the corner of his eye, and turns to see Sarah ten feet away, open mouthed and ashen faced.
Of course,
he thinks.
We're near The Wall.
Where the hell was Bowler? But Sarah is already pointing, horrified, to Hart's feet. Hart looks down to see Mark, writhing and screaming beneath his boot, collarbones pointing sickeningly. The fear, the horror on Sarah's face (
Why is she looking at ME like that? I'm the GOOD one!)
makes something nudge at his mind, and he suddenly sees Mark's broken bones with fresh eyes. Sees what he has done to another human being.

With a rush he comes back to himself, the monster instantly unconscious in his stomach, and as a wash of sickness floods through him, he wonders what the hell he is becoming.

He frantically looks back to Sarah, to explain, to tell her he's doing it for George, but she is already backing away with wide eyes, shaking her head, and then breaks into a full run down the street, disappearing into the night.

Hart stands and watches her flee. As he watches, a numbness grows in his heart as he comes to understand what this means.

His existence-a possible eternity-has just gotten so much harder. He realises he has now lost two of his three only friends, and in this place, that is an indescribable loss. Were Sarah sane any more, perhaps he could have explained, if he could have gotten her to trust him. Even that would have been difficult, for she had seen the madness in him set free, seen the results of his uncontrolled rage. But to a Loose Sarah...any hopes he had of bringing her back were now irrevocably gone.

He turns back to Mark, empty-minded, and there is a long, long pause, as he watches Mark's mouth move noiselessly in pain, watches him roll back and forth gently on the floor under Hart's boot, gripping at his snapped collarbones. Arms crossed like an Egyptian mummy. Hart doesn't move his foot.

After a moment, Hart does the come hither gesture again.

***

Hart nearly jumped into the ceiling when Bowler came straight back in the room.

“What time did the film start again?” he asked, flatly, not looking Hart in the eye. It took Hart a second or two to register the question, as his first concern was moving in the way of the TV.

“The film...oh, was that where you were going?”

“Yeah.”

“It was just that you didn't say.”

Bowler shrugged.

“What time, anyway? I can't remember. You were the one that looked,” he said, impatiently. Hart racked his brain, trying to keep his breathing level. He needed to get this answered quickly, needed to get Bowler out of the room. What was the damn start time?

“Nine, I think. Definitely not before.”

“Right.” Bowler paused, clearly knowing that he should invite Hart too, but wrestling with whether or not to do it, for whatever reason. There had been a time when an invite wouldn't have been necessary.

“I'll see you later then.” Bowler concluded, turning and sweeping out of the room before an answer could come.

Hart let out a heavy breath. That had been close. Bowler couldn't know.

Not yet.

***

Chapter 7:  In Which We
SeeThe
Beginning Of The End, We Learn What Hart Is Really Scared Of, Sarah Boss Has Answers, And The Uninvited Guest Visits

***

Hart arrives back at Mary's some time later, where Bowler turns out to be waiting. Hart had known it was pointless looking, had known Sarah was gone for good. But still, he’d had to try, and he’d  wanted the walk anyway. Bowler isn't happy.

“What the hell did you do?” he asks from the window, whipping round and starting as soon as Hart passes through the closed door. The room is almost pitch black, Mary long asleep in her bedroom. Bowler is a silhouette by the glass, a black shape against the outside street light around him. Hart can't see his face.

“What are you talking about, Bowler?” says Hart distractedly. He's returning more to himself now, and he does not feel comfortable for many reasons. Bowler shouting at him is not good.

“I've just had Sarah come screaming past me. I had to grab her, Hart, actually GRAB her and try to get her to calm down, but she's totally gone! I could barely get what she was saying, but she was obviously talking about
you
.” Bowler's silhouette moved animatedly in his anger. “You and Mark, you doing things to Mark! You told me to leave him alone, not to confront him, and you're off doing something yourself! What the hell were you doing?”

Hart screwed up his face at this, and shook his head slightly. He couldn't handle this, he just couldn't. He didn't even know what to tell Bowler. He was only just processing what he'd learned himself

“Bowler...look...I'll answer your questions later. Just...not now. I need a while.”

Bowler throws up his hands up in exasperation.

“Bullshit! You tell me one thing and go off and do another, and then it's 'not now, Bowler, not now, Bowler.' It's always on YOUR fucking terms, Hart! Tell me what the hell is going on! Tell me, and you tell me right fucking now!” Hart says nothing, and stays staring at the floor. Bowler's fists tighten.

“It's always like this! Who the fuck do you think you are, Hart? It's just you and me now, do you know that? Do you know that? George is dead, Sarah's NEVER coming back, THIS is IT! You and me! And YOU'VE been here a LOT longer than I have!”

Hart looks up.

“What's that supposed to mean?” he asks.

“You KNOW what it means, Hart,” hisses Bowler, wagging a finger. “You know. So show me some damn respect. You want to keep it to yourself, fine, but you WILL tell me eventually. When you want to open your mouth, come find me.” He stands there a moment, shoulders moving, stunned a little by himself. It is a horrible moment, and both of them know something is different, but Bowler can't take anything back now. After a moment, he pushes past Hart and walks out where the other man had entered, leaving Hart to stare after him.

Hart waits a while in silence. He sighs heavily, trying to get a grip on his thoughts in their confused, whirling fog.

Think of what's just happened, start there....Ok. Bowler will stop being silly eventually, and then I'll will tell him how Mark had threatened him, and that I'd taught him a lesson, and tried to get answers...and that will be that. How Mark said nothing, told me nothing.

That will do for now as far as Hart is concerned. He needs time to think about it more first, before anything can be discussed with Bowler. Because what Mark and George did raises some very, very interesting and very, very dangerous questions. He had to decide what he thought about them, and what he would do, if anything. Hart sinks into the settee, deeper and deeper in thought.

***

Hart and Bowler were outside the court house early, sat against the entrance wall. Once the court was in session, in an ideal world they'd sit in the jury box or the gallery, but obviously that might mean being sat on, so they preferred to play it safe, and sit against the back wall They hadn't meant to get there this early; Hart had read the clock wrong. So they were outside watching the world go by, waiting until the day's affairs began. Attending court wasn't something they did often, but it was an interesting change sometimes, and Hart liked to touch base. Bowler was happier to go along too since his exposure to Court TV, although the American system was quite different to the British in many ways.

They were sat in silence, both idly watching
Kriss
Akabusi
making his way down the opposite side of the street in the distance. Hart didn't even know who the real
Kriss
Akabusi
was, and understood the lookalike reference even less when Bowler told him in a past conversation, long ago, that the real
Kriss
Akabusi
was black, even though this Guest was white. Bowler had explained that he thought they both had the exact same shape head.
A massive forehead,
he'd said. They were both wondering at what point
Kriss
would see them and turn around to head in the opposite direction. Once he was about 100 metres away, he spotted them, then immediately ceased his silent
rantings
, put his head down, and crossed the street to walk the other way.

“
D'you
think it'll be a murder case today?” Bowler enquired. Hart started slightly in surprise, partly because he'd been completely lost in his own thoughts, and partly because Bowler rarely started conversations these days.

“Who knows,” said Hart, happy to talk, “It's been so long since we've been here, I've no idea what's going on. Still...for all you can say about Coventry's crime rate, I don't think it's that high on the murder scale. Not like London, or even Nottingham. So I doubt we'll be in for anything with a high amount of intrigue.”

Bowler nodded silently.

“It's really not like TV, is it,” he said, “Lawyers solving cases. They just want to get their clients off and look good so they can keep charging top whack.” Hart bristled silently, not sure if this was a definite, clear jab in his direction or another one of Bowler's possibly deliberate comments that you couldn't take offence at, but at the same time, couldn't let slide. Bowler had become very good at this, and Hart hated him for it. There would only be a row if he bit, and Hart decided to win by not even acknowledging the barb.

“Well, that's their job,” he said in a light hearted tone, deliberately breezy. “Solving cases is for the police. Plus...well...look at me. Us, I mean. We've not much good at solving a murder mystery of our own. How many years has it been now?”

Bowler shrugged hastily in response like he wasn't bothered (though Hart knew this was one subject Bowler had great interest in) although he was clearly annoyed. This simultaneously proved both that his comment
had
been a veiled dig, and that he was annoyed it hadn't had an effect. Hart grinned to himself inside.
Up yours, Bowler
.

“Yes...” Hart continued, “Although in all fairness to ourselves, it's hard to find clues or leads in a place where no-one talks, where we don't leave any physical evidence behind-you remember the dissolving body, how those...crumbs, I suppose, disappeared into the floor?-and we certainly didn't have any witnesses. Holmes himself would have struggled.” He leaned back, placed his hands behind his head. “Maybe it was just my theory after all; maybe we each have a certain amount of time to get out, and his time was shorter than everyone else's. It's unlikely, but it's something.”

“No.” snapped Bowler, picking at his fingers in an annoyed manner. Hart thought he noticed a slight shake there. “You don't even believe that's a possibility. It doesn't even make any sense. Look at The Beast, how long he's been here. And the others that were here before you. Why would his be any shorter?”

“But it can't be totally dismissed off hand, because he wasn't-“

“Yeah, yeah, you've said it before, but I'm sorry, that's just not enough, there's too much against it and you know it.” Bowler was looking at him now, finger wagging. Now it was Hart's turn to shrug, but a lot more casually. A slow, deliberate, lazy shrug. He was enjoying this. He didn't really believe it, no-though there WAS evidence to support it-but it was bloody good to goose Bowler for a change.

He was about to give him a bit more when a
Checkin
suddenly and effortlessly floated into view from the west, appearing from behind a cloud.

Hart's hand shot out and grabbed Bowler's shoulder, his eyes locked on it. Bowler actually slapped it away, not seeing the
Checkin
at first, but looked reflexively where Hart was staring. Bowler froze.

“Is that-”

And Hart couldn't answer; at this range, it was hard to tell. It
looked
like a
Checkin
, but it could just as easily be a Flyer.
Dammit
, get closer! Oh please God, please, please, PLEASE-

“Hart
, which one is it? I've not seen enough of them! Hart! Hart! For fuck's sake-” And Bowler was on his feet, shielding his eyes. It was like the strangest cinematic effect made real, seeing the shimmering object gliding over the city centre. With the people walking below oblivious to its presence, it sailed gracefully over the buildings, hanging impossibly in the air. Hart was on his feet too, willing,
willing
it to begin a graceful downward slide. The sun (
the bloody SUN!
) was making it too hard to look straight at it, to tell what type it was or where it was going. Where had all the bloody clouds gone?

“
Hart
-”

“
I don’t know Bowler, I can’t bloody well see!!
” yelled Hart, and Bowler snorted in frustration, but then let out a little pained noise-as did Hart-as they both saw the floating shape begin to clearly head upwards, arcing freely towards the blue sky and sun.

“No...” said Bowler quietly, and actually reached up a hand towards it as it began to disappear from view.

Hart's shoulders dropped, and after a moment, he wiped his face with his hand. They stood in silence for two minutes as it rose, watching it become a little dot in the sky, and then vanishing entirely. As they did so Hart reached a depressing insight; they'd seen Flyers before, but had never been as affected by them as this. He realised how much they both needed it now. How much they were both aware of how different things were. He sat down, unable to suppress a sigh. He found himself thinking that he'd really like a drink. Booze...he'd
really
missed it the first ten years. He didn't so much these days, but at moments like this...

“You all right?” he asked, staring at his feet.

“Yeah.” said Bowler, kicking at a stone. His foot passed through it silently.

“So...a Flyer, eh? Gone on to...well...” he suddenly felt a strong urge to get Bowler back on side, to make up for the ribbing. He needed it. “...to wherever we're getting to eventually, eh?”

“Shut up, Hart,” said Bowler, quietly but sternly. “You don't even believe in it.” He still hadn't turned around. He was still looking at the sky. “You felt what was on the other side of the Wall,” he said, “You don't believe in anywhere else because you're
scared
to believe in it. You think you'll go loopy if you do. You don't have the...
guts
to believe because of what might happen to your head. You've quit and you don't even know it.”

Oh, Bowler,
thought Hart,
yesterday I'd have screamed at you for that, and maybe because you were half right, but now...I really pity you, my friend. And I'm so sorry, but I have done my time and then some.

“Scared? I'm definitely scared, Bowler.” The calmness in his voice made Bowler turn round, blank faced.
I still have some power then,
Hart thought. “But not scared to believe in somewhere else. I'm scared because I
do
believe in somewhere else.” He pointed lazily, wearily, to where the Flyer had been. “Those Flyers are going there, Bowler, and maybe it's another Foyer like this, maybe it's somewhere
better
, but the fact is, they
are
going
somewhere
, and
we're not
. Why? We don't know. Perhaps we’re stuck here forever, and our future is to end up like the others.” Bowler gently winced at the idea.