Gheist

by Richard Mosses

  And Kat was no better. Help here and get some absolution, they’d said. She’s just an innocent in all this. Helping her wasn’t going to help him atone for his sins, especially if he killed his friend.

  The anger rose inside him, it built and built. “SHUT UP!” All around Jack small objects, pens, cups, sheets of paper, lifted into the air and began to orbit him. Similar items further away began their own rotation. Electric sparks fizzed through the room.

  “Jack! Jack Malone, don’t do this,” said Kat. “Keep focussed. It’s going to be alright. Just hold on for a little longer.” She’d nearly lost Clint and Jack was already tired from helping open the safe. If he wasn’t careful, he would lose himself.

  “She’s right, Jack,” said Clint. “I don’t care what you did. Marie-Claire would’ve killed me, and you, anyway. She killed me, not you.”

  “Shut up,” Jack said quietly. Rings of static rippled up his arms.

  Larger things began to lift; the computer monitor on Mrs D’s desk, an ornamental object d’art in the centre of a coffee table that looked like the fusion of a sphere around one corner of a cube, a set of samurai swords and their wooden lacquer stand from the mantelpiece, the sheathes slipped off to expose razor steel.

  “Please, Jack, mate, snap out of it,” said Fingers. “I’m truly sorry for what I did. But this isn’t the way.”

  “Go on, Jackie,” said Mrs Danton. “Show us you’re a real man.” Her heavy jewellery lifted, catching her hair in the links. She tried to hold on to it and free her hair at the same time, before the necklace was ripped from her grasp and joined the vortex as it grew in size and speed.

  The chairs, settees, tables, anything not secured to the walls or floor in the open-plan penthouse joined the deadly maelstrom. The whole space was a whirling morass of objects, some of them fragmenting and cracking as they collided with each other and the walls, floor or ceiling. Shards of glass and metal whipped through the air with splinters of wood. The necklace crumpled and the crystal shattered.

  Fingers, through which most of the tornado was passing, winked out.

  The air was stirred up into a fierce wind. Anything not tied down was being blown around the room and drawn in amongst the rest of the objects. Kat’s clothes felt like they were being pulled from her as her hair was repeated thrown into her eyes. Thankfully the uniform had trousers and not a skirt. The curtains rippled and tore from their railings. There was an uncanny sound, a high-pitched ringing joined the splitting of wood and crumpling thud of collisions.

  Kat felt her hair fan out as the levels of static increased. Sparks were leaping from Jack to other objects.

  Melchior, George, and Mrs D dropped to the floor to try and find a place of safety, but this wasn’t enough. George was struck hard by something blunt and collapsed. Mrs Danton had cuts on her forehead. She flattened herself on the floor and pulled herself over to George, the back of her dress being ripped by the air. Rousing George, she pushed him towards Kat and Clint who were mostly out of the way at the elevator. Instead, George curled around his grandmother, the sand rasping at his clothes, knives slicing his skin.

  The hurricane of destruction increased in fury. Their ears hurt as they popped like a sudden plummet in an aircraft. The ringing increasing in pitch. It was hard to breathe as the tornado stole the air from their lungs and fine dust flowed in. Great arcs of electricity burned the walls and floor.

  One crackled towards Kat, who ducked, but felt a hot searing down her back.

  Jack moved closer to George and Mrs Danton, turning the rest of the penthouse into rubble as the wallpaper and carpet were scoured off and the floor boards and plastered walls were ripped out in huge chunks. Small fires were starting as the discharge ignited dust.

  Melchior flipped onto their back, fine glass slashing at their face, abrading skin. A fine mist of blood was sucked away. Melchior lifted a hand and closed it into a fist as nails, splinters, and a wicked shard of glass lanced into their arm.

  The whirlwind ceased and for a brief moment it all hung in the air, like a model of the formation of the solar system, tiny crystals, dust and debris in swirling spirals. It spun again flinging away parts in all directions. The remains of the largest objects clunked into what was left of the wooden floor causing clouds of fine grit to plume up.

  Glinting in the yellow light from the fires that were catching the unsheathed set of samurai swords sped towards Kat, the largest a razor missile she didn’t think she could avoid. She tried to stand side on, the burn on her back sending waves of heat at she moved. The blade embedded its point in the wall, the edge millimetres from her nose. She didn’t see the shortest blade that followed it, piercing her sleeve and slicing her arm, pinning her to the plaster remains.

  Other debris spun at walls like it had all been shot from a cannon, leaving holes and craters across the room.

  The silence was eerie.

  “Shit,” said Clint. “Not seen anythin’ like this since Black Sunday.”

  Jack stood in the centre of the spirals, head back, eyes blank, jaw slack. He’d turned into a drone.

  Kat wanted to help Jack, a well of sorrow opened inside her, its pull was difficult to resist; the feelings intense. Tears left tracks in the dust on her face. But it was too late. The cool calm that had gotten her this far reasserted itself. He was gone. They could mourn him later. Kat sneezed and narrowly avoided decapitating herself. She edged away from the katana.

  “Gesundheit,” said George automatically. He stood up woozily, blood oozing down his arms, yet he took care to brush jetsam from his clothes before helping his Meema to her feet, the whole back of her dress slashed into strips which fell loose to the floor.

  Kat pulled out the knife, freeing her arm, feeling a trickle of blood and a sharp sting. She dropped it on the floor and went over to Melchior, who needed more help than she did. One arm was impaled with sharp objects and Melchior grimaced every time it moved. Blood soaked the white dinner jacket sleeve.

  “We need to get that looked at,” said Kat.

  “I’ll be okay,” said Melchior.

  “‘Just a flesh wound’,” quoted Kat. “Well before you bleed on me maybe we can use a belt to make a tourniquet?” She took off hers and tied it around Melchior’s arm just above the elbow. It wouldn’t be long before emergency services of some sort got here. The cold desert night was rushing in through the remnants of windows.

  “What do I need to use the lift?” Kat said. “Tell me.”

  “Look, sugar, give it up,” said Mrs Danton. “You’ve played your last card and we’re still standing.”

  Maybe she had had his child, maybe she didn’t, but Clint had no idea what he had seen in Marie-Claire while he was still alive. Where did she get her power from, thinking she was above everybody else like this? Her casual and constant dismissal of everything grated on him. Maybe it had been fun when they were young. He felt the anger in a way he rarely felt anything. He’d seen what too much did to Jack, but if he was lucky he’d use it before it destroyed him.

  Clint reached out towards George and realised without Fingers, or her necklace, Marie-Claire couldn’t see him anymore. Kat caught the movement and turned her head. George sensed this and looked through Clint. Clint’s hand was absorbed into George’s flesh. Would being family make this any easier? It was simple to take control, certainly, and right now he didn’t feel any fatigue. Clint reached down into the dirt and found the Japanese dagger Kat had dropped.

  “I’m tired of this Marie-Claire. All the posturin’ and empty gestures. Tell the girl what she wants,” said Clint, with George’s mouth. “Free Melchior. You don’t need them to hold your little empire together.” He held the blade so it was just grazing George’s carotid artery. He’d cut the throats of enough livestock and wild game to know how this went. If George so much as swallowed too hard they’d better hope an ambulance was already on its way.

  “Clinton, dear, there’s no need to threaten me, or the safety of your grandson,” said Marie
-Claire, looking into George’s eyes. “Put down the tanto and we’ll talk about this like adults.”

  “We’ve been trying to do that for some time, dear,” said Melchior. “It’s time to realise you’re the one who hasn’t any cards.”

  “I implore you Clint, he really is your flesh and blood. Don’t do this.” Marie-Claire said. The tone sounded soft but Clint could still hear the steel command beneath.

  “For the price of a simple heart, and Melchior’s freedom,” said Kat, “both things that shouldn’t be yours to grant anyway, we can go away. And you keep your pile of dirt.” She kicked at a chunk of plaster.

  Mrs Danton’s eyes narrowed. She glanced at George holding a razor-sharp blade to his own throat. “Very well. Melchior I formally free you from the contract that binds you and you have my word that I will have the papers drawn up in the morning. If you wish to do so, I’d be happy for you to continue your shows and we’ll discuss later the terms.”

  Melchior nodded. “Thank you,” they said, simply, cradling their injured arm in the other.

  “Ms McKay, perhaps you are right. We shouldn’t have pursued you for the debt that wasn’t yours. I should have had more sympathy for someone like me – a victim of circumstance. I see it has cost me far more than cancelling the debt.” Mrs D walked over to the lift. She reached around and took a smear of blood from her back and placed it on the call button. The blood was absorbed and the mechanism began to move, the door opened. “After you,” she said, gesturing towards the car.

  Kat stepped in and turned around. Melchior followed giving a slight nod to Kat. Mrs D looked at Clint/George. “I’ll wait here,” Clint said. “Don’t take too long, in case my arm gets tired.” It was just as well, really, there was barely enough room.

  Mrs Danton stepped in, took another smear of blood from a laceration on her back and pushed the down button. The elevator glided down the shaft. Through the glass sides could be seen the hydraulics, the counterweight, and the steel girders lining the shaft as they passed through the bedrock into the vault.

  Kat was most reminded of a wine cellar, a distillery barrel store, or maybe a cheese cave, although she’d never seen one of those for herself. It was dry down here, something you could feel the moment the elevator doors opened, like the air was greedy for any moisture sucking it from your skin and wet orifices. She had to blink more just to keep her eyes from turning to raisins.

  The sandy coloured stone was smooth with a curved ceiling. The vault was lined with dark wooden shelving that left square spaces between the horizontal and vertical, roughly deep enough and high enough to take an old vinyl 12-inch record. Placed into many of these were ceramic jars just like the one she’d seen her heart put in. Mostly there was just one, but on some shelves three of them had been stored there, stacked horizontally, like wine bottles. There were also chests of drawers made from the same dark wood.

  Kat reckoned she could walk around the vault and still find what she was looking for – she could feel her heart racing with the excitement of being reunited – but she asked the question anyway. “Which one is mine?”

  Mrs Danton glared at Kat and started to move along the wall of jars nearest to her.

  “Hold on,” said Kat, foreseeing a scenario where out of spite the jar was smashed on the ground. “I’ll collect it. Just point me in the right direction.”

  Mrs D pointed towards a particular block of jars. Just how many people had this woman stolen their emotions from? What did she really get out of having these? Kat walked to the shelving section. “Warm,” said Mrs D. “Warmer.” Kat raised her hand to indicate a higher shelf. “Hot.” There were three here. Of course hers would be one on the bottom.

  Kat lifted the top jar off the small pyramid and carefully set it down at her feet. She reached out and took her jar. The moment she touched it the rush of feeling was intense and overwhelming. She laughed while tears ran down her face and her heart broke because she loved everyone so much. It receded as Kat got used to emotions again and long dormant glands stopped flooding her body with hormones. It would take a while to fully get this back under control and it would have to wait until she had her heart back properly. However she was going to achieve that.

  Mrs Danton was one step ahead of her, while Kat returned the other jar to the shelf with tender care. “I can lend you the services of my guy,” said Mrs D. “After all, not quite so good having your heart in a jar rather than your chest.”

  Kat looked at her. She had a point.

  “Just give me what you were originally due to pay. I’ll take a cheque, banker’s draft, credit card.” The worm was still wriggling on the hook.

  Kat picked up her jar. Now they just needed to get the hell out of here. “Thanks, but I’ll take a rain check on that if you don’t mind.”

  When they exited the elevator in the apartment George was looking at his neck in a jagged piece of mirror. Clint was on one knee, looking at the floor. As Kat approached she could see a yellowed Polaroid lay half-buried under the edge of a ruined desk, a young couple smiled for the camera.

  “I recognised the hat but not the man wearing it,” Clint said. “I have a son, eh? Somehow that seems satisfying. And I now know what happened. Who my killer was.”

  Sirens could be heard speeding into the casino parking lot. Blue and red sweeping through the night.

  “Are you okay, Georgie?” Marie-Claire said. George looked up from his mirror and nodded. “Let me have a look.” She took the glass from his hand, tilted his head up. There was nothing there, not even a red pressure line, although there wasn’t much light to see by. Kat had followed Marie-Claire from the elevator, and was just walking past them. Melchior was nearby.

  Marie-Claire picked up the blade from the desk where Clint had dropped it. She slashed the tanto in a wide arc that would slit across Kat’s throat and end in Melchior’s chest.

  Kat caught a gleam out of the corner of her eye. This close to her heart a savage tsunami of adrenaline kicked her body into high gear.

  The jar fell from Kat’s grip.

  Her senses and reaction times enhanced, she stepped out of reach of the flat blade and lifted her arms to defend her face. She didn’t even feel it slice through her forearms but there was no mistaking the sharp sting of the aftermath as exposed flesh met the acrid air. She stepped forward and pushed Mrs D before she could complete her swing. Mrs D stumbled, tripped over a piece of wood and fell hard, the crack of her hip loud like a gunshot. Mrs Danton screamed and released the knife, which Melchior kicked out of reach. Warm blood slid down towards Kat’s elbows and began to drip crimson in the dust.

  For a moment Kat felt a stab of guilt so strong she almost stepped back in recoil. But she had a bigger concern and put it aside. Sick with worry it had all been for nothing Kat picked up the jar, afraid that the cracking sound had been the ceramic shattering. She turned it around in her hands desperately trying to find any flaws leaving vivid red prints all over the surface. Apart from a few fresh chips it appeared to be intact.

  George knelt beside his grandmother, unsure what to do.

  Kat looked around, they were all in a bad way. Her forearms slashed, Melchior a human pin cushion, Mrs D seemed to have mercifully passed out.

  A police officer and a paramedic pushed through the wood and brick blocking the doorway, shining large beams of light around the room, pinning the occupants. “We heard screaming,” one of the cops said.

  “You should see to her first,” said Kat in her best American accent. “She’s hurt real bad.”

  Melchior and Kat walked wordlessly down the stairs into the casino which, apart from a layer of dust and some cracks in the ceiling, was untouched but evacuated. The electronics chimes and flashing lights were irritating unmuted by the hubbub of players slipping their lives into slots. The parking lot was cold and crowded. Ambulances and police services from both sides of the state line clustered near the entrance.

  “Hey!” They both ignored the call for their attention. A woman
approached them. “Excuse me, I’m trying to talk to you.” She produced a police badge and waved it at them. “I’m hoping you can answer some questions.”

  “You’ll have to forgive us, we’re both badly hurt and need medical attention,” Kat said, keeping her American accent. “And my friend has his nightly show to do on the Strip.”

  “We can walk and talk,” said the woman. “I’m Detective Galloway. Who are you?”

  There was no way of avoiding this. The detective would keep at this or arrest them and take them to a police station. The last thing Kat needed was to be found to be an illegal alien. “I’m Kat McKay,” she said. “This is Melchior the Magnificent.”

  “And why were you at the casino this evening?”

  Did it still look like she was wearing a uniform, under the dust and shredded cloth, could it still be seen as such? Best to keep it simple. “We had a meeting with George Danton, a business associate of Mr Melchior’s. His grandmother was there too.”

  “So you were in the Penthouse?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What happened up there?”

  “I don’t know. A bomb must have gone off.”

  “You know it was a bomb?”

  “I dunno. I’m not used to being bombed. One minute we were having a chat, the next thing I was on the floor, my head ringing, the room was destroyed. Mrs Danton had fallen and hurt herself. Melchior had an arm full of shrapnel. What else could it have been? Look, can we get him some help, he’s bleeding to death here.”

  On cue, Melchior stumbled, and Kat caught him. She led him to the back of an ambulance where the paramedics took over, cutting his jacket open and slowly peeling it away.

  “What are you carrying?” the Detective asked.

  “God knows. What would you say it was? A jar? Some kind of old ceramic pot. It was a gift from Mrs Danton. I couldn’t say no, could I?”