Simon Green - Ghost of a Chance

“I try to be,” said JC. “But it’s not always easy. I’m here to help.”

“That’s nice,” said Kim. “But I don’t need any help. I’m fine.” She looked directly at him, and some of the dreaminess went out of her eyes. “Except . . . I have this feeling, that there’s somewhere else I ought to be.”

“Yes,” said JC.

“I feel so cold . . . and alone . . .”

“You’re not alone any more,” said JC. “I’m here. We’re all here, to help you. I’m JC.”

“I’m Kim. I shouldn’t be here, should I?”

“No.”

“Why are you crying, JC?”

He hadn’t realised he was.

“Are those tears for me, JC? No-one ever shed a tear for me before. No-one ever cared that much. I’ve been so alone since I came to London, despite all the people . . . I wish I’d met you before, JC.”

“Yes,” he said. “I wish I’d met you before, Kim.”

She reached out a hand to him to wipe away the tears on his cheek. But her fingers were already transparent by the time they reached his face; and when he put up a hand to hold hers, his fingers passed right through her ghostly hand. Kim Sterling faded slowly away and was gone, and JC was left standing alone on the edge of the platform, reaching out to no-one. And then Kim reappeared, standing at the end of the platform, next to the tunnel-mouth from which the hell train had appeared. She looked entreatingly at JC, then faded away again. JC turned savagely to Happy and Melody.

“That’s it! She’s the key, the focal point, the start of this haunting! Solve her murder, and we solve this case.”

“Slow down, slow down,” said Melody. “We don’t know anything of the sort. Yes, her murder might be the instigating factor, but . . .”

“But nothing. Grab what you need; we’re going after her.”

“Are you sure about this, JC?” said Happy. “I could feel what you were feeling. And this is very definitely not the time to fall for a pretty face.”

JC glared at Happy. “Stay out of my head!”

“It’s not my fault! In my current, well-medicated state, it’s like you’re shouting the whole contents of your head at the top of your voice, and I do wish you wouldn’t.”

“She’s the key,” JC said stubbornly. “And we are going after her. Right now.”

“Going where?” said Melody.

“We follow her! She’s leading us somewhere.”

“I’m not leaving my machines here, unguarded!” said Melody. “Anything might happen to them!”

“Your machines can look after themselves; you’ve said so often enough,” said JC. “We have to go now; we can’t risk losing her!”

“It’ll all end in tears,” said Happy. But as usual, no-one was listening to him.

JC was already off and running down the platform, heading towards where he’d last seen the ghost. Happy and Melody looked at each other, shrugged pretty much in unison, and went chasing after JC and the ghost of Kim Sterling.

The three ghost finders ran full tilt through Oxford Circus Station, chasing the ghost as she receded endlessly before them, appearing and disappearing and reappearing. JC led the way, pursuing Kim down the endless white-tiled corridors, dashing in and out of low-arched entrances and exits, onto station platforms and off again; and still she hung on the air before him, drawing him on like some ghostly will-o’-the-wisp. Sometimes she was directly ahead of him, so close he could almost reach out and touch her, sometimes so far ahead she was only a pale figure in the distance. She wasn’t moving of her own accord. He knew that. He could see it in her face, and in her eyes. Sometimes she called out to him, but her voice only came to him as the barest whisper. Something was using her as bait, drawing him like a fish on a line. JC knew that, but he kept going anyway, running as fast and as hard as he could drive himself. Because this was his job, because he had to stop the haunting from spreading . . . and because he couldn’t, wouldn’t, let Kim down.

Happy and Melody pounded doggedly along behind him, keeping up as best they could. Happy’s face was an unhealthy red, and already he was labouring for every breath. Melody’s arms pumped at her sides like a sprinter’s though it didn’t seem to be helping her much. They both knew the ghost was bait, luring them on into some kind of trap, but they trusted JC. Just as he trusted them to have his back. They were a team, and they were professionals, and God help whatever was behind all this when they finally caught up with it.

Howling winds came blasting out of nowhere, hitting JC like a hammer, slamming him in the face hard enough to blow harsh tears from his eyes. The wind came roaring out of several side tunnels at once, bringing JC to a sudden halt and buffeting him this way and that. He fought it savagely, forcing himself on into the face of the bitter-cold gale-force winds. He dug his feet in, leaned forward with his head well down, and drove himself on, step by step. Happy and Melody were right behind him; using him as a wind-break and urging him on. In the face of such stubborn resistance, the wind itself seemed to lose heart, and all at once it fell away and was gone. JC saw Kim floating not far ahead, and was off and running again, followed by the others.

Blasts of almost lethal heat hit them next—a vicious heat-wave that came at JC from all sides at once, as though he’d been thrown into a blast-furnace. His exposed skin reddened and smarted painfully, and his cream-white suit started to smoulder. JC put his head down and kept going. The heat vanished, replaced by a vicious, bitter cold. JC almost cried out but was damned if he’d give his attacker the satisfaction. He pressed on, shaking and shuddering, grinding his teeth together to stop them chattering. He could sense Happy and Melody, still close behind him, but didn’t dare break his concentration long enough to stop and look back.

He wouldn’t let Kim down. He was damned if he’d let her down.

Psychic attacks came next: nameless dreads and anxiety attacks, illogical aversions and paranoias that jerked through his head like razor wire. The thought of going on became impossible, intolerable, unthinkable. But JC did it anyway. He snarled into the face of the attacks, shouldering aside his fears through sheer stubborn will-power. He didn’t look back for Happy and Melody. He knew they’d still be there.

And that was when Natasha Chang and Erik Grossman launched their attack from ambush. At the last moment, Happy sensed somebody’s presence and yelled a warning, and that was enough to save JC and his team. One word of warning, and their training kicked in. They all threw themselves in different directions, as a fusillade of bullets ripped through the air where they’d been. Puffs of pulverised stone and plaster flew on the air as bullets punched long lines of ragged holes across the corridor walls, and the occasional ricochet screamed through the still air. But not one bullet hit its intended target. JC and Happy and Melody had gone to ground, tucked away in convenient hiding-places. Natasha and Erik were forced to leave their own hiding-places in search of targets. Natasha stalked down the empty corridor, gun held out professionally before her, while Erik scurried along behind, clutching his gun with both podgy hands.

Happy hit them both with a telepathic blast, his chemically enhanced brain shouldering Natasha’s defences aside long enough to undermine her thoughts and disrupt Erik’s. Both Project agents yelled aloud as their guns seemed to become blisteringly hot, and instinctively they threw their weapons away. The guns were still in mid air when JC and Melody and Happy erupted out of their hiding-places and threw themselves at Natasha and Erik.