Simon Green - Spirits from Beyond

“There was nothing like that in the briefing files,” said Melody. “But they were. . pretty basic. Maybe I should get my kit out of my suitcase. See if I can turn up some solid evidence. .”

Happy was so disturbed he didn’t respond to her open dig at all. He was scowling now, turning his head back and forth in a troubled sort of way.

“Something’s here, JC. I mean right here, in the bar, with us. Watching. Listening. Making its plans against us.”

“Where?” said JC, looking quickly about him.

“Everywhere,” Happy said sadly.

“You’re not really going to wait till tomorrow, to make a start, are you?” said Brook, anxiously.

“Not after what our marvellous mutant telepath just said, no,” said JC. “But I do think we could all use a break before we get stuck in. A few minutes alone, to get our heads together, get our second psychic wind. . Do you have rooms prepared for us?”

“Of course, of course,” said Brook. “I dusted and aired them out as soon as I knew for sure you were coming. No-one’s stayed in them for years, you understand. I never even go up there at night, these days. I have a room, in town. . But I’ll stay here as long as you’re here. So let me show you to your rooms, so you can. . freshen up, and settle in.”

“Yes,” said JC. “And then we’ll come back down, and you can fill us in on all the details you’re holding back from us.”

Happy turned his head abruptly to look at Brook. “You didn’t just happen to come back to your old home-town, to retire. You didn’t just happen to buy this pub. Something important to you happened here. You have unfinished business, with the King’s Arms. .”

“Get out of my head!” said Brook.

“I don’t need to read your thoughts,” said Happy. “Simple deduction. Nice of you to confirm it, though. What did bring you back here, after all these years?”

“Like you said,” muttered Brook, looking away. “Something bad happened here. And it’s still happening.”

He walked over to the back of the main bar and opened a concealed door, uncovering a narrow staircase. “Your rooms are this way.”

JC took Happy by the arm and got him moving. They all gathered up their suitcases and followed Brook up a set of thinly carpeted wooden steps. The wallpapered walls were so close on both sides there was only room to go up single file. The lights were all off, upstairs. Brook stopped at the top and switched on the landing lights. He looked quickly about him, as though expecting something to happen; but nothing did. He seemed as much disappointed as relieved. He stepped quickly back, out of the way, to allow the others to join him on the landing. More dully wallpapered walls, distinctly old-fashioned, and more very thin carpeting. And rather more shadows than JC was comfortable with. Brook pointed out their three rooms, close to the top of the stairs. He slapped three large metal keys into JC’s hand, then hurried back down the stairs to the relative safety of the main bar.

JC looked at the three keys on his palm. Large, heavy, old-fashioned things. Melody hauled her heavy suitcase up the last few steps and bent over it, breathing hard. While she was preoccupied, JC looked at Happy.

“Your face is flushed, and you’re sweating. Have you taken something?”

“Not everything about me is down to the pills,” said Happy. “I don’t always need them.”

“Why do you need them now?” said JC. “What started you off again?”

“You want the straight answer?” said Happy. “Because I ran out of reasons not to.”

JC wanted to say more, but there was a cold finality in Happy’s voice that stopped him. So he moved over to join Melody.

“You have to talk to Happy,” he said quietly. “He’s in a bad way. He’ll listen to you, where he won’t listen to me.”

“He got himself into this situation; he can get himself out,” said Melody.

“Harsh, Mel,” said JC. “It’s not that simple, and you know it.”

“Of course I know it!” said Melody. She looked right at him for the first time; and she looked horribly tired and worn-out. “You can’t help someone who doesn’t want to be helped, JC. He doesn’t need you, or me, or the job. He needs his pills. I thought I could change that, give him something else he could depend on. But I couldn’t. He’s on his own now. Because that’s the way he wants it.”

“But why does he want that?” said JC.

“I don’t know!” said Melody.

She stuck out her hand for the key to her room. JC gave her the key to Number Seven, and she stomped over to the door, dragging her suitcase along behind, rucking up the thin carpet. She unlocked the door, went inside, and slammed the door shut behind her. JC turned back to Happy, who suddenly threw his arms around JC and held him tight. JC held on to him, not knowing what else to do.

“I’m lost, JC,” said Happy, his face pressed into JC’s shoulder. “I don’t know what to do! It’s like I’m drowning, and I’m going down for the third time. .”

He let go of JC abruptly and stood back. He held out a hand for his key, and JC gave him the key to Number Eight. Next door to Melody. Happy took his suitcase, unlocked the door, and went inside, shutting the door quietly behind him. JC looked at Happy’s closed door, then at Melody’s. The only thing he knew for sure was that you should never reveal your weaknesses, out in the field. Because the opposition will always take advantage. . He walked over to his room, Number Nine, then turned abruptly to look back down the length of the landing. All the other doors were closed, everything was perfectly still. Outside, he could hear the wind rising and the rain battering against the single window at the far end.

A bad night to be outside. Or, probably, inside.

JC sat listlessly on the only chair in his room and looked about him, for want of anything else to do. It wasn’t much of a room. Dusty, airless, the bed-clothes probably only put on the bed that very day, after Brook was sure they were coming. JC didn’t need to be told no-one had used this room in ages. Any sane person would have taken one look around and moved out immediately.

It was a typical country-pub room-barely big enough to hold the bed and some very basic furniture. The bed itself was a single, deliberately undersized to make the room look bigger. JC didn’t expect to be spending any time actually sleeping in the bed, which was just as well. He was pretty sure his feet would stick out the end. A battered, old-fashioned wardrobe stood to one side, its unpolished wood covered with scrapes and scratches; and an equally uncared for chest of drawers stood on the other side of the bed. No television, not even a radio. A door at the rear led off to a frankly tiny bathroom. A low ceiling, deeply dull wallpaper; and not even a carpet to cover the bare floor-boards. The pale yellow light from the single bulb seemed flat, lifeless, even oppressive. At least the shadows were staying still. The wind rattled the only window in its frame, while rain spattered against the glass. It sounded cold, and desolate. JC felt like he was a long way from anywhere.

He looked at his suitcase, standing alone and unopened on the bed. The suitcase he always kept packed and ready in his apartment, for those occasions when he had to leave in a hurry, on the Boss’s word, for some mission that wouldn’t wait. He didn’t need to open his suitcase and look inside to know what was in there. The contents never changed. Only the essentials; and a few nasty tricks that the Institute didn’t need to know about. Because he wasn’t supposed to have them. There was a lot to be said for planning and preparation; but JC had always been a firm believer in cheating. Your opponent can guard against plans and have contingencies in place for what you’ve prepared; but they’re always baffled and helpless in the face of blatant cheating.