Maureen Johnson - The Madness Underneath

I led Callum back down Artillery Lane to the Royal Gunpowder.

“Did you hear about the man who was murdered here?” I asked.

“Oh, yeah. This was big news. The hammer murder. Very nasty.”

“Just a few days after the Ripper attacked me. It’s so close to my building.” I pointed in the direction of Hawthorne. “I mean, that’s, like, yards. Or something. Or a few hundred feet. It’s not far. And it happened just two days after the Ripper. And there’s a crack. Look!”

I had to explain my crack theory. Callum listened, putting his hands in the pockets of his jacket and rocking back on his heels a bit.

“Trust me,” he said, “I’d be thrilled if that was one for us. But that’s just a straight-up murder. A man killed his boss. He confessed.”

“But the crack—”

“This is London,” he said. “We have a lot of cracks in a lot of pavements.”

“But there is also a crack in the floor of the bathroom. And this crack…Look, it looks kind of like it’s coming from the direction of Hawthorne.”

“Is it a new crack?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “But isn’t it weird?”

“If the guy hadn’t confessed, then maybe?” Callum said apologetically. “But he did. They know he did it. He had blood all over him. He’d done this kind of thing before. We can go in and look, if you want.”

“It opens for business tomorrow. But maybe we could get in?”

“That’s breaking and entering,” he said. “I like where you’re going with this, but I really think maybe this isn’t one to worry about.”

“But don’t you think…”

“Look,” he said, not unkindly, “when you first get your sight, it’s hard to understand it, yeah? Like I got mine after getting a bad shock with a live wire in a puddle, and I was terrified of electricity and puddles…puddles. Do you know how hard it is to walk around and be scared of puddles?”

Callum didn’t look like someone who would be scared of anything. Maybe it’s a bad assumption to think that just because people have broad shoulders and big muscular arms that they aren’t afraid of things.

“The Ripper stuff, it was really bad. And you went through a lot, so…I’m just saying. You can make yourself crazy thinking that everything has a meaning, or that it could happen again. Like, I knew I wasn’t going to get electrocuted again, but it took over a year before I wasn’t terrified of everything…like using my phone if it started to rain. I thought all water, all electricity wanted to kill me.”

I could see what he was saying. I could make myself sick thinking that all these things had significance.

“I’m not saying it’s not weird that someone was killed here,” he went on, “but people were tense, yeah? The Ripper scared people. And this guy who killed his boss was on all kinds of drugs. But they know he did it, so don’t let it scare you. We can do some real work, yeah? I got a whole list of things I want to deal with, so let’s go do it.”

Since I had asked Callum to come out with me, it only seemed fair that I follow through with it and go with him to where he wanted to go. And the first ghost he wanted me to see was apparently right there at Liverpool Street.

“There’s been one here for a few weeks,” he said as we headed down on the escalator. “I’ve been dying to get rid of this one.”

Callum scanned the platform, which was packed with people all the way to the wall. It was still London rush hour.

“Next train in three minutes. You’ll see him then.”

Sure enough, the train came in. People poured off, and more people tried to cram on as the others came off, and then the platform was clear for a few moments. Except for one guy. One guy who wore only a dirty sheet. He was thin and bearded and laughing. And he was doing some kind of dance, a hopping sideways dance. He leaned into the opening of the door and shouted something inside. It wasn’t English. I’m not sure it was any language. It sounded like loopgallooparg.

The doors bounced back open. He laughed harder and did it again.

“He’s an idiot,” Callum explained. “And doesn’t seem to understand anything I say. Doesn’t like it when I do this.”

Callum slapped the ghost’s head. He wasn’t quite solid, not like Jo or Alistair, but he did flinch and hop away a few feet. The doors closed, and the train glided away.

“So I do that,” he said. “I slap ghosts in the head. That’s what I’m reduced to.”

He looked at me expectantly. I looked at the strange, hopping man.

“Is he really doing anything wrong?” I asked.

“Holding up the trains causes huge chaos.”

“But I mean, wrong wrong. Like, really wrong.”

“Train chaos isn’t wrong enough?”

The platform had already started filling again, so we had to lower our voices.

“Too many people,” I said, looking around. “I can’t do it with so many people. I get sick. I throw up.”

“Sure,” Callum said. “All right. Well, there are some others I know of in some less public places. I just really wanted to take care of this one. But that’s all right. Another day. Let’s take a ride.”

So we got on the train. I looked out into the darkness. Through the Tube windows, I could just about see the walls of the tunnels mixed in with our reflections. The Tube rocked me gently back and forth.

“Been thinking,” Callum said. “I was saying to Stephen that you should, you know, be one of us. Properly one of us.”

From the way he said it, I think he was trying to sound casual on purpose, like this was just a little something he wanted to slip into the conversation. But, of course, there was nothing casual about that statement.

“What did he say?” I asked.

“He said you were American and in school.”

“Why do those things matter?” I asked.

“The American part means it’s hard to be hired to join what’s essentially a secret service. But they can get around that.”

I wasn’t exactly sure what joining would really mean. Probably living in England for a long time, and not being traceable, and lots and lots of lies…I had no idea what went into it all. But the idea fit. It was a future I could see.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I never thought about it.”

“It’s not easy,” Callum said. “But, you know, if anyone was right for the job, it’s you. You should start leaning on Stephen before it’s too late.”

“Too late for what?”

“I don’t know how long this takes, and you’re not here forever, are you? And he needs convincing. I don’t know why he’s being so difficult. It’s just common sense. Anyway, this is our stop.”

Another station, another ghost. This one was much less entertaining than the last, another pathetic creature, barely visible. She looked to be about my age. I couldn’t even tell what she was doing wrong, but Callum claimed that she was probably responsible for a signal disturbance. I didn’t see how. She sat in the corner, just behind the safety barrier, looking generally terrified by everything, especially us.

“Callum,” I said, “I don’t think I can do this. I—”

“I already figured that much out,” he said, looking deflated.

“I’m really sorry. I mean, she’s just not doing anything. I can’t.”

“No,” he said. “I understand.”

He tried to sound like it didn’t bother him, and I appreciated the effort.

When we were back on the train, I nudged him.

“Maybe let me get used to it for a while,” I said.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Callum said, “but I wish it had been me. What I wouldn’t give to be what you are now.”

“I know. Sorry.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” he said. “Not without a terminus.”