Bryony Pearce - The Weight of Souls

I was shaking like a junkie by the time she turned up.

Finally I saw her turn the corner with a couple of hags. At the end of the road she waved them off and as soon as they had given her cloyingly sympathetic hugs and turned away, her shoulders sagged and her whole body seemed to gain weight. She almost heaved herself along the street, bag dangling from her fingertips, barely skimming the filthy pavement.

I felt an unfamiliar twist of sympathy. Now would be the time for Justin to show up. I scanned every face, jerked when I saw a dark haired young man approach her. But he wasn’t in school uniform and he walked on without saying a word.

“Cheer up, love, it might never ’appen.” A grinning builder gave her a nudge as she passed and Tamsin glared poison.

“Piss off.”

With a low whistle he backed away and I shook my head with a half smile. Tamsin could look after herself. But where was her boyfriend? The shadows teemed at my feet. Suddenly it seemed like there wasn’t so much time after all.

By the time I got home it was dark. After I’d seen Tamsin enter her building I’d taken the risk and walked back via Justin’s house. He remained conspicuously absent. The frustrating thing was, I could be just missing him. He may well have been at school today while I was at his house, or at home while I was at Tamsin’s. There was only one of me and a whole city to search.

I had less than three weeks. He had to turn up some time. Didn’t he?

I decided that the best thing to do was choose one place. Given that he hadn’t gone to school, I thought Justin’s most likely hangout would be his own house. I wasn’t keen on staking out his street so obviously, exposing myself to local police as well as ghosts and nutters, but I took a sketch pad and pretended I was drawing. It was at least an excuse to be loitering.

It was a total waste of time.

By Thursday night I’d stopped wearing my glove inside. Looking at my hand had become an addiction. It didn’t hurt, but the numbness throbbed and I checked it obsessively every few minutes. Had it grown darker?

If I didn’t find Justin I was going to be the one stuck wearing the Mark when the Darkness came. There was no way I’d be able to identify his killer without him, I was no Sherlock Holmes. And without knowing who his killer was, I couldn’t pass the Mark on.

I’d been fortunate as far as other ghosts had been concerned. Somehow I’d successfully avoided the dead since Justin had Marked me, but I couldn’t be lucky forever. When another ghost touched me, I would be carrying double the stain. That would summon the Darkness faster and shorten the time I had to find him.

I shivered, tore my eyes from the invisibly throbbing black Mark and tucked my hand under my arm. I needed more information. I had to speak to someone who knew Justin better than I did.

My hand hovered over the phone, tendons standing proud. I had to call Pete.

Viciously I punched in his number from memory, hurting my fingertip as I jammed the digits.

“Hello.”

“It’s Taylor.”

There was silence for a moment and I wondered if Pete had put the phone down. Finally he spoke. “Right. Why are you calling me?”

I exhaled. “I know they haven’t found Justin yet–”

“What do you care?” His anger shivered down the line.

“I was just going to ask if you could tell me some of his hang outs. I-I thought I could help, maybe spend some time at one or two this weekend in case he turns up.”

“ You want to help.” His scorn burned, but then I had no cause to complain. He was right; there was no way I’d be making this call if Justin hadn’t Marked me.

I swallowed. “I guess there’re a lot of people out there looking for him, but a fresh set of eyes can’t hurt, can it?”

The phone sat silent in my hand. I closed my eyes, wondering if my one-time friend would believe me.

“You haven’t been at school much this week.” Pete’s tone was accusatory. “Hannah’s been on her own.”

“I know.” Guilt hoarsened my voice. “I’ve been ill.”

“Yeah, like always. Her mum’s been a bitch. Have you even called her?”

“I… Not yet.” I looked at the Mark on my hand again. It was all I could think about. Hannah hadn’t even crossed my mind.

“But suddenly you’re worried about Justin ,” Pete sneered. “Hannah deserves better.”

“I know.” I closed my eyes.

“And I’ve been telling her so.”

“You’ve no right.” My eyes snapped open.

“I’ve every right. I have no idea what’s going on with you, but then I never did. Neither does she.”

“I’ll be back at school soon and back to normal.”

“This is normal for you.”

“Pete…” My eyes were caught by my own hand. As if it were under a spotlight that suddenly dimmed, the stain darkened right in front of me. I almost gagged. “I was calling to find out about Justin, I’ll sort things out with Hannah, but–” I remembered what Dad had said when he asked if I felt guilty. “I fought with him just before he went missing, I feel really bad. I just want to know that he’s alright. That it isn’t my fault.” The lie felt like ashes in my mouth, but it was enough to give Pete pause.

“If you’re trying to pull something–” he said finally.

“I honestly want to find Justin.” Every atom of my body trembled with sincerity. He’d hear it. He knew me.

Eventually he sighed. “Fine, whatever. We went to the Empire quite a bit and we hung out at the Walkabout a few times, but I can’t see him in there without Harley. He and Tamsin loved Camden and…” He paused. “I guess it doesn’t matter if I tell you. He spent a lot of time at the Science Museum.”

“The Science Museum.” Something about that made me sit up.

“Yeah. Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not. I might check out the Museum then.”

“Fine.” Pete didn’t hang up. The sound of his breathing reminded me of all the time I’d spent on the phone with him over the years. I was tempted to ask what he thought of last night’s telly or what I'd missed at school. The words quivered on my lips, but never surfaced.

Then the dial tone hummed in my ear.

And in my mind the fourth entry of Oh-Fa’s journal:

Less than an hour later the hole is wide enough to admit two men and of the original icon, only the feet remain.

Now stairs descend from the sand but, despite the blazing sunlight, I can see no further than five treads; the sixth is covered in darkness as impenetrable as treacle.

I have returned to the tent to collect my tools and admit that I am reluctant to go back to the crypt. Pimples speckle my arms in defiance of the heat. It seems strange that we have been camped above the dark-tombed dead this whole week.

I cannot shift the words of the I-Ching from my head, they circle like hawks: The way that can be described is not the true way.

Something about this feels wrong and I would give a lot not to have to descend that staircase.

I think of my son, perhaps newborn. Not that. Never that.

It is time to go.

Instead of going to school I stood on Exhibition Road, leaned against the railings that hemmed the street and looked up at the flag above the building. It snapped in the wind but I couldn’t hear it over the road noise. My eyes followed the lines of columns that bordered the windows, down the smog-stained stonework, to the worn gold name above the huge doors.

I hadn’t been to the Science Museum since I was a kid. The website had said there were five floors and I had no idea which of them Justin might have headed for.