by Carrie King
“Duck!” Jones’ voice rang out abruptly, as he launched himself at Harry. He knocked them both to the ground, just in time to avoid the half dozen metal chairs that came hurtling through the air. They missed their heads by a few inches.
“What the hell is going on here?” Jones shouted.
“I don’t know, but I think we should leave,” Harry replied.
He pulled himself up from the floor, a little less gracefully than he might have thanks to Jones being almost completely on top of him, and the two men ran for the door. They slammed it shut behind them. Thankfully, Harry still had the keys in his pocket, and now he double locked the door, trying to keep whatever was inside from following them out.
They were both panting, more from the fright than physical exertion. Jones kept repeating “What the hell? What the hell?” Harry was more focused on not having a heart attack than uttering profanities.
Finally, they managed to get themselves together enough that they could talk. It was almost sunrise, and the first rays of light were starting to peek up over the horizon. Jones and Harry sat on the pavement, trying to settle their nerves.
“What happened in there?” Jones asked.
Harry took a deep breath. “As far as I can tell someone is trying to mess with us.”
“I should call in. Have them send someone in to help us. If there was a person in there trying to frighten us, chances are, they’re still there.” He started patting his pockets, the cursed quietly.
“I left my phone in there. Any chance of going back in to get it.”
“Only if you go first, and I get to lock the door behind you,” Harry replied.
For the first time, Jones smiled at him. “Good point. I don’t even know what I’d tell them if I didn’t have my phone.”
“Yeah, saying that people who weren’t there started whispering at us and then threw half a dozen chairs at our heads isn’t exactly a story that will win us any friends, is it, Detective Jones,” Harry pointed out.
Jones was silent for a moment. “You’re right,” he said finally. “But I think we’re past the point of calling me Detective Jones.” He extended his hand to Harry. “My name’s Gavin.”
Harry shook it. “Pleased to meet you Gavin. I’m Harry.”
They lapsed into silence again. The sun was coming up. It would soon be time for people to start opening their shops and getting their coffees, and heading off to their mundane jobs. Quite a nice time, the morning.
“So, what do we think happened in there?” asked Gavin.
That was the question. What had happened? How could someone who wasn’t there whisper things, or throw things or lock doors? It didn’t make sense. Of course, not everything in life made sense, Harry knew that much, but this was beyond the pale.
“I can’t really think of an explanation that makes sense,” Harry said. “Unless…”
“Unless what?”
Harry paused. He had to phrase it the right way. Most people he told this to would think he was insane, or making things up for attention, but in the deepest part of him, he knew that the physical world wasn’t the only thing there was. Still. Police officers weren’t exactly known for being open minded.
“Spit it out, come on. Whatever you want to say can’t be as strange as whatever just happened,” said Gavin.
Somehow, knowing that he was just as frightened as Harry made him seem a lot less annoying.
“Here’s the thing. The way I grew up, I’ve always believed that there is something more. Something we can’t necessarily see or understand where we are.”
“Are you saying you believe in ghosts?” Gavin sounded skeptical.
“Well yes! Plus, that’s the only thing that makes sense with everything that’s happened tonight. Unless you have a better explanation.”
Gavin rolled his eyes. “Literally anything else would be a better explanation.”
“Listen. Chairs came flying at us for no earthly reason! If that doesn’t say ghost, I don’t know what does.”
“You know what sounds like a better explanation? You did this to try and get the heat off you for those people who went missing. If you give me another suspect, I might leave you alone, and your reputation might actually recover.” Gavin’s voice had lost the almost human edge that being frightened had given him and he was back to the ruthlessly pragmatic tone he had when he first came to the Madison.
“Gavin, you can’t be serious?! What would be the point of that?! It was so blatantly transparent that you’d see right through it, and I’d be even more of a suspect than I am now. You saw the cameras. I’ll give you the footage. Those cameras run 24 hours. I didn’t do anything.” He took a breath. Babbling about your innocence took a lot of breath.
Gavin stood up. “Fine. Whatever it was that happened, I’m going to find the answers. I’ll be back with a warrant for the surveillance camera footage,” he said. “Now open up the doors. I need to get my things and get to work. After I get a few hours sleep. Your gallery is bad for the health, Harry.”
A few minutes later, Harry watched Gavin saunter down the street. Somehow, he felt worse than before. A man who didn’t believe something he saw with his own eyes wasn’t likely to be the sympathetic type. And they were no closer to finding the person who was taking the gallery personnel. Harry rubbed his eyes. This kind of thing was almost enough to make you regret all the choices you made for your life.
Chapter 76
Harry rubbed his eyes again. The copious amounts of coffee he’d drunk to wash down the full English breakfast he ate at the café around the corner wasn’t doing much to help him feel more awake. The day was in full swing, and thanks to the rumors of Harry’s villainy, the gallery had more visitors than it had before. At least, the gawkers only stared at him when they thought he wasn’t looking. It was a step up from the ones who used to stare and whisper at him right in front of his face.
He couldn’t really understand what they were trying to see. Was is that they were trying to figure out if he was the type to disappear all those people? Or was it just sick curiosity? Either way, at least the gallery was having its best few weeks since he’d bought the place. Small comfort, but comfort anyway. It was times like this that he missed Granddad’s earthy wisdom.
“Just keep your head down and keep grinding away, lad,” he used to say.
Harry wandered around the gallery, looking at each sculpture and picture. Even after everything, he was proud of what he had built here. He missed his friends and the guards, felt sick to his stomach at what might have happened. Then, the thought that the gallery would be taken away from him because people thought he was an evil murderer was heartbreaking.
He walked over to the secluded section where he’d hung Granddad’s pictures, and just stood there. In those moments when everything became too much, and he felt he couldn’t take it, he’d wander over to the little dedicated section and just let it wash over him. Some of the paintings had been done when his grandfather was a young man, sure of himself, ready to face the world. It showed in the colors and the large, confident brushstrokes. But later, in the last few years, he’d turned to darker colors and more timid strokes, as if he couldn’t trust his hands to carry the pigments where he wanted them to go.
Rays of sunlight streamed in through the window, tinging everything a beautiful shade of gold. It made everything look so peaceful. The gallery was so different now than it had seemed last night. Instead of the heavy, blanketing darkness, it was light, airy and safe. He hadn’t heard the whispers since the incident last night. When he and Gavin opened the gallery door to get their things from inside, everything had settled down. The only thing that seemed even a little out of place were the metal folding chairs lying on the ground where they had fallen.
“Don’t move that until I can come back,” Gavin had growled before he left.
It didn’t really matter to Harry. They were scattered about in a way that made them look like some avant-garde art installation, so it wasn’t too much
of a stretch to leave them where they were. A couple of the local students had even taken some mobile phone pictures of them.
Harry let himself completely relax as he stared at the paintings. Sunlight, visitors, and no police. Not a bad morning. If only everything could stay that way for good… but it would eventually be nighttime and then he’d have to deal with all the rubbish that came with it. Again. Something truly evil was going on in the place that he loved so much, and it broke his heart.
He took a deep breath and tried to focus on the paintings. He loved looking at Granddad’s work. Every time he did, he found something new; a little detail here, an unexpected color there. Full of surprises, just like the man himself. He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the person sidling up beside him until she spoke.
“I love this painting.”
Harry jumped nearly a foot in the air. He managed to collect himself enough to play it off. At least he hoped he had. He turned to look at the interloper. She was… the only way to say it was that she was beautiful. She was short, and her black hair hung to below her shoulders. He looked closer and noticed that there was bloodred streaks throughout. She was exquisite. He stared at her the same way she stared at the painting until she turned her head to look at him. He jumped again and turned his face back to the painting.
“I love it, too,” he said. “I’ve always through it was a really interesting use of color, especially in this section.” He waved his hand at a random spot on the painting. She seemed to have bought it because she started examining the painting again. He took the chance to move a little closer to her.
She turned again and smiled. His stomach dropped. “It’s so interesting. I’ve always thought it was kind of sad. The way the face just kind of peeks at you from behind the shadows.”
Harry made a noise that sounded like “Umnglf”. He cleared his throat.
“What do you think the artist was trying to say when he painted it? Who was that man? Why is he so sad?” It was a better set of questions than anyone else had ever asked him about his grandfather’s painting, and she definitely sounded sincere. A beautiful art lover who was actually interested in the paintings that his grandfather had left him. It was almost too much for a single person to bear. He drew himself up to his full height and squared his shoulders.
“Actually, it’s my grandfather’s painting,” he said. His voice sounded smug and pretentious even to his own ears.
She looked delighted by that piece of information. “Really? That’s so great!” she gushed. Suddenly, she stuck her hand out in front of herself. “I’m Laura by the way.”
Harry shook it. Her skin was impossibly soft. “Harry. Harry Ainsley.”
“The Harry Ainsley who owns this place?” She blushed. “I was just standing here prattling on at you. Why didn’t you tell me?”
Harry looked down at his shoes. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“Oh no! You didn’t!” Laura replied. “I just thought it was nice that I’m talking to someone who owns an actual art gallery. It’s cool.”
Cool was not something Harry had ever been accused of being in his life, but coming from a pretty stranger, it seemed like a fitting label.
“So, did your grandfather ever tell you about this painting?” she asked. “Like who this person is and why he painted him like that?”
“He didn’t say much about it,” said Harry without thinking. Laura nodded and turned away, seemingly disappointed.
“But I think he might have some notes about it written down somewhere,” he said. “I could look through some of his things,” he blurted.
“I don’t want to put you out,” she said. She put a hand on his arm, and Harry smiled at her.
“Don’t worry, I was going to do that this week anyway,” he replied.
“Oh, that would be amazing,” Laura said. She started fishing around in her purse and pulled out a business card. “This is my number. Give me a call, and I can buy you a drink to say thank you.” She smiled that dazzling smile again and floated away.
Harry looked between her and the business card, smiling in spite of himself. There was no doubting it, even for someone like him. She liked him. He was standing and staring at the card when his mobile phone started ringing. He fished it out of his pocket and took a deep breath to calm down before answering. Everything happening had put him on a short fuse lately. Even the slightest rustling startled him.
“Hello?”
“It’s Gavin.” The tone on the other end of the line was clipped and efficient. Detective Jones was back to his old form. “I wanted to let you know I had our people go through the footage you gave me.”
“And?” Harry could feel himself tensing with anticipation.
“And they found no sign that anyone but the two of us were in the gallery last night. They ran the tapes through all the software we have, and they couldn’t find any trace that it had been tampered with, or anything.” He fell silent.
“So, what does that mean for me?” asked Harry.
“I think it means that I need to spend another night in the gallery. With your permission, of course. If there was someone in there trying to mess with us, they might come back.”
Harry didn’t say what he was thinking. There wasn’t someone trying to mess with them. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he was. There was something else in the gallery, something malignant and supernatural. Harry tried to remain openminded about things. Granddad had taught him that.
“How arrogant do people have to be to think that this is it?” Granddad asked him one day, when they were out to lunch.
“What do you mean, Granddad?” Harry was no stranger to Granddad’s random outbursts about whatever subject took his fancy.
“I mean, a lot of people think that this life is the be all and end all. That there was nothing before or after. But think about it. There is something in all of us that that makes us who we are, right? A spark that makes a person think and move. The ‘why’ of it all. When we die, that spark has to go somewhere. Maybe it’s just floating around above our heads, but maybe there’s somewhere else. Think about it, boy.”
Harry couldn’t help it. There was a little part of him that held on to that talk, and every time he heard of a castle that was supposedly haunted or someone crossing paths with a ghost, he’d think back to that talk about the spark. Maybe it did really have to go somewhere. And maybe sometimes it came back.
Gavin was still talking on the other end of the phone. “It’s probably just a couple of idiot teenagers who were playing pranks, but if it has something to do with the disappearances, we have to check it out. Make sure you tell the night staff not to come in.”
Harry laughed. “They wouldn’t come in if I asked them to, so that’s not a worry.”
“All right. I’ll be there at closing.”
“Gavin?” The name still sounded strange, especially when used for someone Harry used to consider an enemy. “I want to stay as well. If someone is behind this, I want to help stop them.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” said Gavin. “I’m a trained police officer. You’re… not.”
“I know, but this is my place. I want to help. And besides, it’s better to have more people than less,” he said.
“Fine. I’ll call you when I get there,” said Gavin.
Harry ended the call. His other hand was still clutching the business card that Laura had given him. Somehow, today felt different than the other days. Maybe he had a chance at catching the person who was ruining his business after all.
Chapter 77
Once the day had passed and the gallery was emptied of its visitors, Harry sat in his office waiting for a call from Gavin. He thought about calling Laura but decided against it. It was going to make him look desperate and needy, and he couldn’t have that. His last girlfriend, Tracy, had told him that she needed space when she sent him a breakup text message. The subtext was that he was stifling her just by be
ing around her. That much had been made clear when he called her to get an explanation.
Still, it had been about a year, so it was time to get back on the horse. Laura was a good place to start. Plus, it gave him an excuse to go back to the family house and go through the boxes of things that Granddad had left him. Harry had inherited most of his art related things, including his notes and his journals, but also including his paint-crusted brushes and rags. He hadn’t been able to look at it, much less go through it since the funeral. But now, everything was starting to look a little sunnier.
A loud banging jolted him out of his daze. Detective Gavin Jones, right on time with his trademark loud knocking on the door. He hurried to open the door. Jones was his only ally right now, and he didn’t want him to freeze on the doorstep.
“About time,” said Gavin. He stomped through the door, carrying a large pizza. “I thought it might be nicer for us to spend the night here if we had some food.”
“Thanks,” said Harry. They settled in the office, and for the first time that day, Harry let himself relax. He wasn’t thinking about Laura, or anything that happened with the guards, or the possible ghost slash poltergeist that had apparently taken up residence in his gallery. At least there was a person here who was more equipped than he was to handle any kinds of intruders that might come their way. Harry had no illusions about himself. He was a coward through and through, especially against someone or something that could make object fly through the air.
They both grabbed slices of pizza from the box and sat eating. It was still hot, and it was nice.
“So, did anything happen today? Anything we could use? Like more flying chairs?” Gavin asked with a huge bite of pizza muffling his words.
