Tales for the Fireside - Five Stories of Love and Friendship

by Lisa Dyer

  Scarlett picked up Samson and nuzzled his face. “Mrs. Ellis was right, she is a bitch.”

  ***

  Scarlett lay on her bed, in her sparsely furnished bedsit and dragged on her cigarette. Samson was curled up beside her as if he’d always been in her world.

  “Not what I expected.”

  Scarlett jumped so violently that Samson shot off the bed with a wild cry and a hiss.

  “Jesus Christ!”

  “Haven’t met him yet.”

  “How the hell did you find me?” Scarlett got down on all fours and lifted the duvet. Samson was cowering under the bed and refused to move.

  “What can I say? I'm just attracted to you.”

  “That's just gross.”

  “No seriously, when I say I'm attracted to you, I mean, I'm literally attracted to you. Guess you've got something I need.”

  He moved closer and peered at her like she was some weird exhibit.

  “What are you, exactly?” he muttered.

  “Pissed off, that's what I am,” if he had substance she would have pushed him out of the way, instead, she did the next best thing, which was to walk right through him. “Don't they have privacy laws over the other side?”

  She took a bottle of beer out of the fridge.

  “Not really, it's more of right-to-roam policy.”

  He watched her open the bottle and take a slug.

  “I miss beer.”

  Scarlett waved the bottle under his nose.

  “Sniff it up, dead boy.” And, seeing his longing she deliberately took another long glug. As she wiped her mouth on the back of her hand she looked at him: “Why are you haunting me?

  Robbie looked rather upset at this remark. He had an oddly angular face, long and lean and a thin slash for a mouth. Smiling probably suited his features better. “Don't say it like that.”

  Scarlett flicked her black hair back off her face and resumed her prone position on the bed: “How do you want me to say it?”

  I don't know. How about 'lost'? I'm a lost soul.”

  “Now you're just romanticizing what is, in fact, disembodied stalking. Can't you go haunt the ladies’ locker room at the gym or something?”

  “Tried it. Without a corporeal body, it's not such a thrill.” He picked at his trousers. “It's not fun, you know, once the novelty wears off.”

  Scarlett sat up and looked at him; really looked at him. She could see that, although he was underweight, he hadn’t been malnourished in life. His had clean hair and his clothes were good quality. He was someone’s son and they had cared for him. He wasn’t from the streets and he certainly did look like the crowd her mum had hung about with. Something was off and she was actually beginning to feel sorry for him.

  “So, you're not digging being dead?”

  “Yeah, it's not really doing it for me, you know? This whole, dead but not feeling dead thing is a bit of a trip. It's this confused mass in my head with all these gaps...I'm here, then there, then somewhere else and I don't remember getting between these places.”

  She rolled off the bed and sat down on the couch.

  “Okay, how do you know that it’s not been found? That it’s not laying in a morgue somewhere?”

  “It’s not an 'it', it's my body.”

  “Your 'body' could be in a freezer somewhere, right now. Why don't you see if you're attracted to your 'body'?”

  Robbie’s features twisted slightly: “I'm still out there. I can just tell. Oh God, what if some animal is eating me right now.” He sounded genuinely traumatized at the thought.

  “Okay, look, call me stupid but why don't you know where your body is?” Scarlett was beginning to find herself drawn further and further into this drama despite her attempts to remain aloof. “I mean, you know where you got killed, right?”

  The look on Robbie’s face told her otherwise.

  “You don't know where they shot you?”

  “I've tried.” Robbie was beginning to sound agitated. “I know there was a train, like we were near a track and a car, a Golf, burnt out, white.”

  As he talked something began to happen; he began to ‘blink’ in and out, like someone was changing the dial on his reality.

  “What's happening?” Scarlett could feel the air around her changing, becoming almost charged. The static lifted her hair. Samson, who had crept out from under the bed, hissed loudly and darted for cover.

  “I don't know...”

  With a final blip, Robbie was gone. Scarlett sat still, uncertain as to what just happened.

  “Hey! Where’d you go? Okay, is this like a ghost joke?”

  The bedsit was quiet. Slowly, the charged atmosphere settled back down.

  As Scarlett sat in the calm and quiet, Samson crept out once more and jumped onto her lap. She felt a lot more disconcerted than she wanted to admit to. Apart from anything else, this room was her sanctuary; the one place she could call absolutely her own. Having grown up in various council run care homes, and been fostered out and returned more times than was healthy for a child, at last, she had her own door, her own key, and her own life. Robbie coming here, unannounced, uninvited had invaded her space.

  She picked Samson up and went over to her bed. She climbed inside, drew up the sheets and waited for the cat to settle before turning on the T.V. Somehow though, she knew she wouldn’t be able to settle and so she hunkered down for what she knew would probably be a long night.

  ***

  “Ah, there you are,” said Dr. Fielding to Scarlett when the latter emerged from the locker room dressed in scrubs and ready for the morning’s work. “I thought we'd start with the Ellis case.”

  Dr. Fielding folded back the sheet to reveal Mrs. Ellis. Scarlett felt herself recoil.

  “Not suddenly gone squeamish have you, Scarlett?” she said with some concern. Scarlett had proved to be an asset to the work of the mortuary and had proved particularly resilient to even the most gruesome aspects of the work.

  Scarlett pulled herself together but continues to stare at Mrs. Ellis.

  “I overslept, missed breakfast.”

  Dr. Fielding nodded, unsure if this was the truth. It was certainly worth keeping an eye on. “Well, make sure you go to the canteen after this. Can't have you fainting now, can we?”

  Scarlett managed a limp smile as Dr. Fielding picked up a scalpel ready to make the first incision.

  “Right, ready to look inside?”

  ***

  Scarlett rushed out of the hospital, desperate for fresh air. She could feel her whole body shaking and the smell of the body was stuck inside her nostrils.

  “Are you all right?”

  “Just leave me alone.” She could feel the sensation of being overwhelmed subsiding now as she continued to regulate her breathing.

  “About last night. Something's happened. It's the reason I disappeared.”

  Scarlett straightened up. “I don't care. Just, clear off.”

  “Tell me what’s wrong then,” he said and sounded genuinely concerned.

  “My job. I can't do my job.”

  “And that's my fault?”

  Scarlett rounded on him: “As it happens, yeah. Before you showed up I wasn't fazed by dead bodies, whatever their condition. Then, today, we do Mrs. Ellis's post-mortem and it made me feel sick. I've never felt sick, not with car crashes or burning, nothing, but today a little old lady, who died from old age, almost made me puke. And do you want to know why? Because I spoke to her. Because I have her cat in my home. Because, she was no longer just a cadaver, she was a person.”

  “They're all people.”

  “No,” cried Scarlett, again feeling as if her life was out of control once more.

  This one small encounter had made her feel as if the chaos of her past was back. What if this never stopped and she had to leave to make it so? Where would she find a job that allowed her to have so little contact with other people that allowed her to move about a space without feeling the touch of another person? r />
  Dr. Fielding fully understood that she had taken on a damaged person and allowed Scarlett as much space as was required that still allowed her to carry out her job professionally. The pathologist’s wisdom had paid dividends for both. Where would she find that again? Why couldn’t he see that he was the catalyst for all of this?

  “To do my job I have to separate what they were from what they are. We're doing Mr. Furnish next and all I keep thinking is how concerned he was for his wife and that stupid password. What if, what if there's something on that computer she needs, something important she should know? What if I could have helped, somehow?”

  Robbie listened in silence and he did understand, or at least, he had a good understanding of what she meant but he had to be selfish, he needed her. Everything could be worked out afterwards. Maybe, once she had helped him find his body, he’d leave and this would all stop. He knew what he had to do but first he had to persuade her.

  “Okay, okay, look. I want you to do something, not for me, this isn't about me.”

  “Since we met, it’s been about you.”

  “Not this time. I want you to go to ICU. There's a lady there, name's Mrs. Muir. Go see her.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it. Please.”

  Scarlett sighed. “If I do it, will you leave me alone?”

  “I can’t answer that. I’m not asking to be here. I just am but this might help you decide if you want to help me then I might be able to.”

  ***

  At the door to the ICU wing Scarlett swiped her card and the door buzzed open. She found Mrs. Muir in a side room on a ventilator.

  “She came in this morning. Do you know her?” said a nurse who had seen Scarlett peering through the viewing window behind which Mrs. Muir lay, oblivious to the world.

  “Yes,” lied Scarlett. “What happened?”

  “She was mugged,” said Robbie but, of course, the nurse couldn’t hear or see him.

  “Not sure,” the nurse joined Scarlett. “A couple walking their dog found her on a footpath.”

  “How do you know?” the question was directed at Robbie.

  “Sammo and Reg.”

  “Police mentioned.” Naturally, the nurse thought Scarlett was talking to her.

  “You can only stay a few minutes,” said the nurse kindly and went back to her station.

  “That's where I went,” said Robbie, coming to stand beside Scarlett. “They pulled me back somehow. I watched them do it. She's dying. Look.”

  In the corner of the room a shadowy black figure stood perfectly still, its form was turned towards Mrs. Muir but its face was featureless.

  “Is that the Grim Reaper?”

  “Not exactly,” said Robbie kindly. “It sort of guides the souls but not like the Big G.”

  At that moment, Mrs. Muir 'crashed'. The alarm on her life support system began to blare out and within moments the crash team were on the scene.

  As Scarlett watched, Mrs. Muir's spirit rose out of her body. As it did so it turned towards Scarlett and smiled then, together, Mrs. Muir and the creature disappeared.

  The nurse closed the blinds leaving Scarlett to walk away shocked by what she has witnessed.

  This Sammo and Reg had now killed twice, at least to her knowledge. How could she walk away from that and not hate herself for every moment of her life? What would happen when Mrs. Muir ended up in the mortuary? Would she see her? Speak to her? This was no longer about him. It was so much bigger than that.

  ***

  Mr. Furnish lay on the table, covered up to his neck with the sheet. Scarlett approached the table with caution, half expecting him to sit up and talk to her. She leaned in and whispered in his ear:

  “Mr. Furnish, I know you can hear me. Give me the password. I need the password. I'll let your wife know. I promise.”

  Mr. Furnish remained resolutely quiet. Dr. Fielding entered and gave Scarlett a quizzical look.

  “All ready,” Scarlett said with a business-like tone.

  “Good, let’s get on then.”

  ***

  “It's 'Beagle’”

  Scarlett almost dropped the mop. Maybe, if this was going to be a regular thing, she needed to think up some ground rules. At this rate, she would either end up dying of a heart attack or, worse, wetting herself. She put the mop down and turned to face a rather embarrassed looking Mr. Furnish.

  “My password. 'Beagle'. I was a botanist you see.”

  “I'll let her know.” Scarlett smiled in a sad way as she watched Mr. Furnish fade away.

  “Thank you.” And he was gone.

  ***

  Scarlett was as good as her word and on the way home that evening she stopped by Mr. Furnish’s house and slipped an unsigned note through the door.

  Twice in the space of a couple of days she had managed to give relief to those who had passed beyond, and what had it cost her? Nothing? Maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing after all; knowing that she had some use in the world.

  ***

  “What about your parents?”

  Scarlett was curled up on her bed but Robbie, lacking a corporeal body, was forced to wander.

  “Mum O.D.”

  “And your dad?”

  Scarlett shrugged, tried to give the impression that she didn’t care: “I dunno, some bloke. She was completely whacked most of the time. She'd taken so much shit she didn't know what day of the week it was.”

  “And that's how you ended up in care?”

  Scarlett gave him a long look. “What's this? New, caring Robbie? Why do you give a shit?”

  “I've been thinking, that's all. You didn't ask for any of this. Must be a total mind fuck having some dead guy suddenly turn up.”

  “And the rest!” She thought about it for a moment. Sure, she’d been angry with him about the intrusion into her private world but where else did he have to go. Being dead probably wasn’t all that either. “What about you? You got family?”

  “We fell out.”

  “About?”

  “Stuff. Life. Shit. Who knows?” And he didn’t know.

  Robbie’s parents were the traditional type. They had a vision of how life should be. Robbie had gone to a good school, got good grades, and had entered university with a bright future ahead of him.

  “I suppose the freedom went to my head. My dad was very controlling and suddenly I didn't have to do things his way.”

  “And Sammo and Reg?”

  “Couple of pushers, lived on the estate I moved onto during my second year; nothing heavy, just some home grown and E's. Things got away from me. I fell behind. My course tutor advised me to put it on hold 'til I got back on track and my dad threw a wobbler. I ended up dossing at Sammo's.”

  “But, you're not dead because they were pushing home grown?”

  For the first time, Robbie began to feel as if he and Scarlett were connecting on a deeper level than just haunted and haunter.

  “No. Reg started getting ideas. Wanted to push some heavy shit and I wasn't interested.”

  “You were a pusher as well?”

  That blew it.

  “Well, fuck me, what was I supposed to do? I had no money.”

  “Oh, I don't know. Get a job?” The sympathy that had been building in her evaporated in a trice once the truth of the situation was out there. In all honesty, she had suspected as much but was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “There was a turf war brewing…”

  “A turf war? Nobody calls it a turf war. You sound like the Daily Mail.”

  “Well, what would you call a rival gang of pushers hitting your area and outselling you?”

  It was all getting a little testy. Maybe some time out was needed here to calm it all down a bit.

  “I don't know. A free market economy?”

  Robbie pulled a face and went along with it.

  “So, because of this 'free market economy', Reg got this gun. Protection, he said. Things were getting tight. Reg was gett
ing desperate. He needed to shift the gear to keep himself going.”

  “So, he mugged Mrs. Muir for a couple of quid for some cheap smack? And I suppose you want me to go to the police about this one as well?”

  “Look, I understand that you probably don't think that much of me right now, with your mum and all but Mrs. Muir won't be the last. Okay, one less pusher fine but I wasn't like them.”

  “What, you were the pusher with a heart? Slipping your customers an NA card with every bag? You were a pusher, end of. Now you're dead. The world's a better place.”

  “And Mrs. Muir?”

  Scarlett ignored him.

  “Mrs. Muir's got a family, grandkids. Okay, yeah, I might have got a job, cleaned myself up. I might have carried on. Who knows? I could have died next week of an O.D. That's life. Mrs. Muir didn't deserve to die to feed Reg's habit. You can stop him. I can give you names, dates, drop off points. You can take him down and the other gang.”

  “Well, aren't I just the regular fucking superhero?”

  Scarlett got up and picked up her jacket.

  “I'll do it but not for you. For me. For people like me who get the shitty end of the stick because of arseholes like you.”

  She picked up her keys and without saying anymore she left the flat. Her heart felt heavy. The chance to shop a couple of lowlifes like Sammo and Reg had to be taken but she didn’t want to be on anyone’s radar. She’d had enough police with good intentions in her life, usually accompanied by a righteous social worker. How must it have felt to be Robbie, to grow up in a normal household? What she would have given for a father who loved her enough to have rules. Robbie was just another self-entitled whiner who had no idea how lucky he’d been.

  ***

  Scarlett sat at a table in a stark interview room. Her learned dislike of all that the two men who sat in front of her meant to her had kicked in the moment she had spoken to the desk sergeant and he’s pointed at the waiting area. Robbie stood in the corner of the room and keenly observed all that passed between them.

  The plain clothes officer pushed a written statement across the table to Scarlett.

  “Read and sign please.”

  Scarlett scanned the statement.

  “You should have come before now,” he said with a reprimanding tone.

  Scarlett scrawled her name on the dotted line. “You're lucky I came at all.”