Simon Green - Spirits from Beyond

“What aren’t you telling me, Kim?” said JC.

“Lots and lots of things, darling,” said Kim. “I will tell you what I can, when I can. Except for the times when I can’t; and then I’ll tell you a comforting lie. Because that’s what relationships are all about.” She sighed, tiredly. An affectation, of course, because ghosts don’t get tired. But JC appreciated the effort. Kim looked at him steadily. “Eventually, this will all be over; and I’ll be able to tell you everything. And it’ll be such a relief. Secrets are heavy. They weigh you down. But until then, we have to do this one step at a time, for both our sakes. Trust me?”

“Always,” said JC.

“I wish I could hold you,” said Kim. “Hug you close, feel your heart beating against mine.”

“I am working on it,” said JC.

“What?” said Kim. “Really?”

“I have a contact in the Nightside,” said JC, “who swears he knows someone who can make it possible for people and ghosts to. . be together. For short periods.”

“Not too short, I hope,” said Kim. “JC, the Nightside is a bad place. Heaven and Hell and everything in between. I don’t like the thought of your going there.”

“You can find anything in the Nightside,” said JC.

“Or it can find you,” said Kim, frowning. She seemed genuinely upset. “You watch yourself, JC. Anything you acquire there will always have a hidden price tag.”

“I will be very careful, I promise,” said JC. “But you know I’d do anything for you. Pay any price.”

“Forever?”

“Forever and ever.”

They turned away, ostensibly to study the room again, tacitly agreeing to save the argument for another day.

“I was sad, to see Happy and Melody going off to separate rooms,” said JC. “I liked them being together. I’ve always thought they were. . stronger, more focused, when they were together.”

“Happier?” said Kim.

“Let’s not ask for miracles,” said JC. “Let’s say less grumpy. They’ve both been a complete pain, all day. Personally, I’m astonished Happy was able to stay off the stuff for as long as he did.”

“You can’t help an addict if they’re determined not to be helped,” said Kim.

“The trouble is. . I’m not sure whether helping Happy is the best thing,” said JC. “The pills aren’t good for him, not in the long run. They may even be killing him, by inches. . But there’s no denying he’s a better team member when he’s. . chemically enhanced. He’s braver, smarter, more insightful. I have to wonder, Kim; should I fire Happy from the team, for his own good, to save his life? Or should I encourage him because he’s more useful to me and the Institute when he’s using? I’d hate to think I was actually that cold-blooded. .”

“He might fall apart even faster, without you and Melody and me to hold him together,” said Kim. “I believe he needs us far more than he needs pills.”

“But does Happy believe it?” said JC.

* * *

Melody sat on the edge of her hard and unforgiving single bed, in her own small room, with her lap-top set out on the bedspread before her. Typically, she’d hardly given her room a glance before going straight to work. Melody always preferred to concentrate on the job at hand first, and everything else second, if at all. She hadn’t expected her room to come with wi-fi, but then, she didn’t need it. After all the changes she’d put her lap-top through, she could pick up a signal anywhere. If only by bullying the nearest tower.

She was currently checking out web sites on the most famous haunted pubs in England. Lots of familiar names kept popping up, but, much to Melody’s surprise, not only did the King’s Arms of Bishop’s Fording not make the top ten. . it didn’t even earn a mention in the top hundred. None of the main discussion sites had ever heard of the King’s Arms as far she could see. She pursued the inn’s history with all her very best search engines, but all she could find were a few old stories from the local newspapers, of people spending the night at the King’s Arms and leaving early. The stories were vague and unremarkable and nearly always played for laughs. Silly-season filler pieces. Those foolish tourists, jumping at noises in the night; not like proper country-folk. . That sort of thing. But when Melody followed the stories through, it quickly became clear that no-one had stayed overnight at the King’s Arms since the 1970s.

That had to mean something. Melody pulled her legs up onto the bed, so she could sit cross-legged and glare at the lap-top’s screen more efficiently. Why did the phenomenon, whatever it was, start or possibly restart in the seventies? Did something happen then? Had something been disturbed, or awakened? There was nothing in the local press. .

Melody swung her legs back over the side of the bed, stood up, stretched, and shook her head restlessly. She couldn’t concentrate because she was still angry at Happy. And at herself. She shut the lap-top down, slapped the lid closed, then went walking around the room. Not looking for anything, walking around and around. Not going anywhere, roaming around the room in tight little circles, avoiding the furniture because she always thought better when she was on the move. It gave her the illusion that she was doing something.

What made her really mad was that she never saw it coming. She thought everything was going well. She thought she and Happy were. . well, happy. They talked, they did things together, the sex was great. . She’d had no idea that Happy had fallen off the edge again and gone back to his bloody pills. And she should have known. She kept a careful eye on Happy, all the time, keeping track of his moods and his needs. It wasn’t her fault. She was sure it wasn’t her fault. Except. . if that were true, she wouldn’t be feeling so bad. Like there was a great empty hole where her heart should have been.

How did she let him down? What didn’t she do? Had she failed him in some way? She did everything for him, went out of her way to make sure she was always there for him. Even though that didn’t come naturally for her. No. She didn’t let him down; he let himself down. But she still couldn’t help feeling that someone else might have noticed something.

There had been times when she was. . busy. Working on her own, researching The Flesh Undying and the conspiracy inside the Institute. Doing necessary things, to keep them both safe. She couldn’t be with him every moment of the day. . She stopped dead in her tracks, torn between one thought and another, one feeling and another, her hands clenched into fists. She really was in the mood to hit someone.

She caught a glimpse of her face, in the mirror on top of the chest of drawers. She looked at her reflection; and a madwoman looked back at her. Wide-eyed, snarling mouth, face blotchy from a rush of blood, from the passions that raged within her. She didn’t want to look like that, didn’t want to think she could look like that. . And then Melody looked more clearly and saw there was a man standing right behind her. A tall figure, all in black. She stood very still, and the man leaned forward to speak directly into her ear, from behind.

“Well,” said a cold and nasty voice, “no-one’s going to disturb us now, are they?”

Melody smiled. And back-elbowed the man right under his sternum. All the air went out of him in a rush, and he was already bending sharply forward as she spun round to face him, almost as though he was bowing to her. Melody kicked him accurately and extremely violently in the nuts; and a low, whistling scream forced its way out of the man’s constricting throat. He dropped to his knees before her, both hands pressed over his crotch. Like that was going to help now.