Voices From Beyond (A Ghost Finders Novel) (13 page)

Tom shrugged quickly. “Then they’ve got tonight to show what they can do. Because after we’ve shut down for the evening, I am out of here. Whatever it is that’s in this house with us, it doesn’t want us here. I’m hearing the voices everywhere now. I even hear them in my dreams.”

JC stepped forward, immediately intrigued. “Dreams can be significant in cases like these. Can you remember anything that seemed . . . out of the ordinary, in these dreams?”

“A sense of Time passing,” Tom said reluctantly. “A growing urgency; a feeling that we’re all running out of time. That someone’s trying desperately to warn us; and we’re not listening.”

They all waited; but he had nothing more to say. In fact, he seemed to feel that he’d said more than enough already.

“Have you seen anything, Tom?” said JC.

“No. And I don’t want to. That’s why I’m leaving.”

“You can’t go, Tom!” said Jonathan.

“Watch me.”

“Where would you go?” said Jonathan; and there was a sudden anger in his voice, almost spiteful.

“Anywhere would be good as long as I wouldn’t have to be scared all the time,” Tom said levelly, not rising to the emotional bait. “I mean it, Jonathan; I really can’t stand this place one day longer.”

“Well, before you run off like all the others, to join their Get a Backbone Club, I need you to do something for me,” said Jonathan. “There’s a young lady downstairs, very scientific, name of Melody Chambers. She’s with the Ghost Finders. I need you to sort out the voice recordings we made and take them down to her, for analysis. Think you can manage that?”

“I can do that,” said Tom. “Though what she thinks she can do with the recordings that I haven’t already tried . . .”

“She has a lot of equipment,” said JC.

“Loads and loads,” said Happy. “She could dig the secrets out of a sphinx, then ride it bareback up and down the street . . . Sorry. My metaphor kind of broke loose there. But she really is very good. Very scientific.”

“All right. Leave it to me,” said Tom. He looked steadily at JC. “You’ve met the Captain? He can cope with this shit because he isn’t all here, and I wish I wasn’t. But you’ve still got a treat in store. Meeting Felicity Legrand. If you’re looking for something really scary . . .”

| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |

Jonathan led JC and Happy almost to the end of the long landing, to the lounge, which turned out to be a reasonably comfortable setting with big chairs, heavy tables covered with piled-up newspapers and magazines, all kinds of junk food, and an assortment of energy drinks. A woman who had to be Felicity Legrand stood up quickly as they entered, springing up out of her chair, half-spilling the drink in her hand. She almost jumped out of her skin, then tried very hard to look like she hadn’t. She slammed her plastic cup down on the nearest table and glared at Jonathan.

“Next time, knock first!”

“Sorry,” said Jonathan, holding up both hands defensively, as though afraid she might attack him. “Allow me to present JC, and Happy; the Ghost Finders. You’re interviewing them later, for your show. Remember?”

“Of course I remember!” Felicity turned a cold glare on JC and Happy. “So; you’re the
experts
, are you?”

“Got it in one!” JC said cheerfully. “You must be psychic.”

Felicity sniffed, loudly. A good-looking woman in her mid twenties, fashionably dressed, with a cold, detached air. She wore her hair in a fashionable style and used only minimal make-up. She had the look of someone determined that everyone else should take her very seriously. Felicity didn’t smile at either of the Ghost Finders and didn’t offer to shake hands. JC didn’t think he’d offer her his on the grounds he wasn’t sure he’d get it back in one piece. He had a strong feeling Felicity Legrand would only ever reveal those aspects of her personality that she believed would get her the things she needed. And she didn’t need anything from him or Happy.

“You caught me by surprise,” she said, almost defiantly. “I was reading, doing my research.”

“I saw the papers,” said JC. “And the glossy magazines.”

“I need to concentrate on what matters,” said Felicity. “I go through all the dailies, and the most popular magazines, as background for my shows. You have to keep up with what people are interested in. What they think is important; what everyone is talking about. Though of course right now my listeners only seem to want to talk about the one thing.”

“The voices,” said JC.

“Exactly!” said Felicity. “You must be psychic, too.”

“No; that’s me,” said Happy.

Felicity shot him a quick look, then turned all her attention back to JC as a more interesting target. “So what kind of an
expert
are you, really?”

“The experienced kind,” said JC. “The sort who knows what he’s doing. You’re not impressed by us at all, are you?”

“Should I be?” said Felicity.

“Yes,” said JC.

“Why have you got blood-stains on the front of your jacket?”

“He doesn’t like to talk about it,” said Happy.

“Why are you wearing such dark sunglasses, indoors?” said Felicity, ignoring Happy.

“Because I’m cool,” said JC.

Felicity looked at him dubiously but decided to let that one pass. She gestured vaguely at a pile of handwritten pages on the table beside the chair she’d just jumped up out of.

“I’ve been making notes on you, for my show. For when I interview you. The Ghost Finders . . . such an intriguing name.”

“It’s what we do,” said JC.

“You’ve heard of us?” said Happy.

“It’s amazing what you can find on the Net,” said Felicity smugly. “Particularly on the more rabid conspiracy sites, which led me to some very interesting stories about the organisation you work for. The Carnacki Institute. That is right, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” said JC. “A charitable institution that funds investigations into supernatural events and other things of related interest.”

Happy looked at JC. “Really?”

“It’s a public-face, private-face thing,” said JC. “It’s complicated.”

“Oh . . .” said Happy. “No-one ever tells me anything.”

“Yes we do,” JC said crushingly. “But you never listen.” He turned back to Felicity. “You don’t want to believe everything you find on conspiracy sites. The clue is in the name.”

Felicity deliberately turned away from him to fix Jonathan with her fierce, predatory gaze. “How did you find out about the Carnacki Institute, Jonathan? How did you know to call them for help?”

“There was an . . . incident, on a BBC programme, some years back,” Jonathan said carefully. “A televised séance got out of hand, and the presenter ended up . . . apparently possessed. Someone there knew whom to call. I was only an assistant producer, but I stood my ground when everyone else ran, so I got to see what happened when the Carnacki representative turned up. He was very . . . professional.”

“Don’t suppose you remember his name . . . ?” said JC.

“Hadleigh . . . something,” said Jonathan. “Look, I need you people to go on Felicity’s show. So you can say calm and comforting things, in a reasonable and professional tone of voice, to stop our audience freaking out. We have to calm them down before they turn up here as a panicking mob, complete with pitchforks and flaming torches, and copies of
Exorcism for Dummies
.” He glared at Felicity. “So please, for the good of all, everyone play nice.”

Felicity frowned. She turned away from JC to glare at Happy. “So then, you’re the so-called team telepath . . .”

“That’s me,” said Happy. “Think of your pin number! Go on; I dare you . . .”

“Go ahead,” said Felicity. “Impress me. What am I thinking, right now?”

“Oh, this can only end well,” murmured JC.

“Yes, your bum does look big in that,” Happy said to Felicity. “And why are you thinking about having Botox, when you’re only on the radio and no-one sees you anyway?”

“Not even close,” said Felicity, smiling triumphantly.

“All right, all right,” said Happy. “I’ll admit that, right now, it’s hard for me to pick up anything. Something inside Murdock House has shut everything down.”

“How very convenient,” said Felicity.

“No it bloody isn’t,” said Happy. “Makes the job so much harder . . . Though I will say, I do find the psychic peace and quiet rather relaxing, now I’m cut off from the world’s babble . . . It does mean there’s a limit to what I can do, to help with this investigation, which I can’t help feeling is probably the point.”

“You’re the first person to find Murdock House relaxing in a long time,” said Jonathan. “I haven’t been able to get a good night’s sleep in months. I hate living here.”

“Then why don’t you move out?” said JC.

“Because this is my home, and I won’t be driven out of it,” Jonathan said steadily. “And because I’ve nowhere else to go.”

Happy moved forward suddenly, planting himself right in front of Felicity. She jumped again, but refused to retreat a single step. Happy stared at her thoughtfully, and she met his gaze unflinchingly.

“Sorry,” said Happy, after a moment. “Still not getting anything. Are you sure you’re not some kind of machine?”

“Play nicely, Happy,” murmured JC.

“Oh . . .” said Happy, smiling suddenly. It wasn’t a very nice smile. “Proximity really does make a difference. Oh, Felicity . . . you gave the boy up for adoption. Because you were only eighteen and had no idea how to be a mother. And because you knew you couldn’t raise a child and have the career you wanted. You had to choose. So you gave him up and moved on. But sometimes, when you’re lying alone in your bed in the early hours of the morning and sleep won’t come . . . Sometimes you think to yourself,
Is he doing well? Is he happy?
You could find out. You have the contacts. But you always end up deciding . . . it wouldn’t be fair to either of you.”

“You piece of shit,” said Felicity. “You rotten little piece of shit! Who told you?” She turned on Jonathan. “Did you tell him?”

“You told me,” said Happy. “I wonder what else you’re holding back that you don’t want to tell me . . .”

Felicity pushed roughly past him and strode out of the room, not looking back once. Jonathan started to go after her, then stopped himself.

“We’ll need to talk to all your people,” said JC. “Separately and together.”

“The Captain will be off the air in a few minutes,” said Jonathan. “Then he’s all yours. You can talk to Tom after he’s done his piece. Then it’s your interview with Felicity . . . After that, I’m shutting the station down for the day. And we will all be available. But I need you to do the interview first. That’s the deal I made with Felicity to get her cooperation.”

“You know she’s planning to do a hatchet job on us,” said JC. “And on you, for bringing us in. So when she finally leaves the station, she can point at you and say,
It was all his fault . . . Nothing to do with me.
”

“Of course I know. That’s what she always does,” said Jonathan. He smiled, briefly. “I’m sure you can handle her. You are professionals, after all.”

“Once Radio Free Albion has shut down, I’ll need free access to everywhere in Murdock House,” said JC. “And everyone. Including your receptionist. In situations like this, it’s the people who matter most. Either as victims or instigators.”

Jonathan nodded. He looked more tired than anything.

| | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | | |

They all went back out onto the landing and bumped into Tom Foreman, carrying a large cardboard box full of digital recordings of the voices from beyond. Happy immediately volunteered to take them down to Melody, and Tom was happy to let him do it. He handed over the box and hurried back to his studio. Jonathan offered to show JC the rest of the upper floor. Happy was left alone, heading for the top of the stairs, carrying a box that was a lot heavier than he’d expected.

Something appeared before him, manifesting suddenly out of nowhere. It was the thing he’d seen in the car park earlier, the apparition that had towered over Melody. It hung on the air, huge and dark, twisted and malformed. Monstrous but still, somehow, human. Happy put down his box, carefully, then straightened up to glare at the apparition.

“Well?” he said. “What do you want?”

The thing rose and fell slowly before him. It was hard to look at directly; its details seemed to flow and change and merge. It was a horrible thing, and Happy knew he should have felt scared . . . but somehow he didn’t. He didn’t feel threatened or in any immediate danger. Happy looked the thing over carefully.

“All right,” he said. “I’m here. You’re here. I assume there’s some purpose to this. Talk to me. I’ll listen. What do you want?”

Still no answer. Happy scowled, trying to reach out with his mind, force it through the interference that was shutting his Sight down. And for the first time since he’d entered Murdock House, the clouds seemed to clear a little. Sometimes it’s not all about the Seeing; it’s about listening. The thing hanging on the air spoke to him, only to him. It said his name. Happy’s heart lurched in his chest. He knew that voice. He’d heard that voice say his name, so many times before.

“Oh my God,” he said. “Melody? Is that you, Mel? What happened? What happened to you?”