by Amy Cross
“It might be.”
“Sounds like there might be a story behind this.”
“I need you to promise one thing first,” he continues. “I need your absolute discretion. This can never, ever get out. You'll understand why when I fill you in on the details.”
“Okay,” she says cautiously, taking her phone from her pocket, “but I should warn you, I have ways of protecting myself. I might look like some dumb girl, but I've got skills. This guy tried to make a move on me once and I fucking floored him, you understand?”
“Just come and see if you can pick up on anything,” he replies, “and then you can go. I really need your help here. I think... I think maybe I'm losing my mind.”
“Fine,” she replies, clearly still a little suspicious but evidently coming around to the idea. “Let's do this. Come on, I know where we can find a taxi.”
As they make their way back along the street, three skeletal figures turn to watch them pass.
III
“Wow,” she says a little while later as she and Eddie emerge from the elevator and step into the suite, “this place is immense! You must be loaded!”
“It's not bad,” he mutters uneasily, stopping and turning to her. He reaches up to remove his sunglasses and cap, but at the last moment he seems to hesitate. “Um, listen, Lucy... I need to level with you about who I really am.”
“Eddie Donohue,” she replies.
He stares at her.
“Relax, I recognized you almost from the off,” she tells him. “No offense, but you're like one of the most famous men on the planet, so that so-called disguise didn't fool me for a second, not up close. Don't worry, though. I'm not one of those obsessed types or anything. I heard some of Never Turn Back's early singles and...”
Her voice trails off.
“You didn't like them?” he asks.
“Not my kinda thing.”
“Really?” He pauses, before removing his sunglasses and cap. “Do you like any of our songs?”
“Um... I haven't really heard any of the others.”
“Not even the latest ones? We won a lot of awards for those.”
“Sorry,” she says with a shrug.
“What about Summer of Kissing Sally?” he asks. “I wrote that one, you know. I got a lot of critical acclaim for that one!”
“I'm sure you did.”
“Huh.” He pauses, clearly a little affronted.
“Did you just invite me here to show off about all the songs you've sung that I never heard,” she continues, “or did you actually want me to look for a ghost in this place? Maybe you're used to being surrounded by sycophants, but I have to break it to you... I'm not a fan.”
“That's...” He pauses. “That's probably for the best. Can I offer you a drink before we get started? Champagne? Something stronger?”
“I don't drink.”
“You... Okay, fine.”
“You go ahead, though.”
“I probably shouldn't.” He turns and looks across the room. “So this is the place. Seen any ghosts yet?”
“It doesn't work quite like that.”
“Then how does it work?”
“Show me around. Let me get a feel for the place. If there's a ghost here and if I'm gonna see her, I need time for it all to kinda bleed through.” She waits for him to respond, but finally she walks past him and heads over to the patio door. “Like I said,” she continues, stopping at the window and turning back to him, “I'm not a fan, I'm not into that showbiz crap at all, but... I do see the news. This ghost you're looking for, is it that missing girl that everyone's talking about?”
“I have no idea what happened to her,” he says firmly.
“Relax, I wasn't accusing you of anything.” A faint smile crosses her lips. “You think she was here, though, right? You think she died here? How does that work if you never saw her?”
“I don't know. You're the expert.”
“Her ghost wouldn't be here unless she died here,” she replies. “Death kinda... anchors a spirit to a location. Again, I only know what I've observed and what I've worked out from stuff, but I can only sense something if she actually died in this room, and even then...” She pauses again. “If I sense her or see her, that's pretty much confirmation, but if I don't pick anything up, she might still be here. Like I told you, out of all the ghosts that are around, a person can only see just a few. Then again, if she's the most recent person to die here, maybe she's closer to the divide, so to speak.”
She turns and looks out the window.
“Is that a pool? Do you have a pool up here?”
“Maybe we should stay in the -”
“That is so amazing!” she continues, fiddling with the lock for a moment before sliding the door open and stepping out onto the patio. “Wow! So this is how the other half live, huh?”
“There's really not much out here,” he replies, hurrying after her. “Just the pool.”
“There's no just about a penthouse pool,” she continues, making her way around the pool until she's standing on the other side. Light from the wall-mounted lamps is reflecting off the water and dancing across her face. “I guess you live a life of luxury, right? Something like this probably doesn't even register. To you it's like, oh, just another pool on top of a hotel.”
“I'm just busy,” he replies, checking his watch. “I actually have press duties in less than seven hours.”
“So you're in a hurry?”
“How long will this take?”
“Depends on whether we take a swim first.”
“Are you going to help me or not?”
“Relax,” she replies, walking back around the pool until she's standing next to him. “You're really worried, aren't you?”
“I just want to know if there's anything here.”
“You know, some people out there actually think you killed that Miranda Clarke girl and had her body dumped. They think you're so rich and so powerful, you were able to buy everyone off and literally get away with murder. There are websites all about it.”
“Do you believe that?” he asks.
“If I did, I'd be very foolish to come up here alone with you, wouldn't I?” She smiles. “No, I don't believe it. If you'd killed her, you wouldn't be back here and you wouldn't have invited me up. I mean, you'd steer well clear. Then again, do you make a habit of inviting people to your room?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Lucky me, then. So you definitely didn't meet Miranda ever? Not even for a quick -”
“No.”
“You never even set eyes on her?”
“Never.”
“Not even for a second?”
“Not even for a second.”
She pauses for a moment. “Then it's pretty weird,” she says finally, “how she apparently managed to get into your room.”
“She was a fan,” he replies, “and fans can be very inventive. Obsessions can drive people to do crazy things.”
“So she was obsessed with you, huh?”
“Apparently.”
“Huh.” She pauses again. “Some people are weird,” she says finally, heading back inside.
“So how does this work?” he asks as he follows her.
“I don't entirely know,” she tells him, stopping in the middle of the room and looking around for a moment. “I've never done it like this before, but I guess I just have to hang around for a while and see if anything shows up. Is that okay with you?”
“Are you sure you don't want a drink?”
“Tea would be good.”
“Just tea?”
“Just tea.”
Heading over to the counter, he starts filling the kettle.
“I thought you'd have someone to do things like that for you,” she says after a moment. “Like a butler or something.”
“I could, but...” He sets the kettle on before turning to her. “I like to stay grounded.”
“What does that even mean?”
“I... do
n't really know.” He smiles. “So you haven't picked up on anything so far?”
“It's very early days.”
He checks his watch.
“Stop stressing,” she adds, “I'll be done well before your precious press conference.” Making her way across the room, she stops at the bedroom door and leans through for a moment. “So it's just these two rooms, yeah? There's no other space hidden away? No nooks and crannies?”
“Just the bathroom.”
“Huh.” She turns to him. “So entertain me.”
“How?”
Smiling, she looks over at the guitar by the sofa.
“Oh,” he says uneasily, “I don't know if you'd like it. You seem to be more into... harder music.”
“I've heard the pop stuff you and your boy-band put out, but I'd like to hear what you can manage acoustically. Just you and a guitar, you know? Unless the whole thing is a facade and you can't hold a note to save your life. What's wrong, do you feel lost without an army of producers and a healthy dose of auto-tune? Are you not really a musician at all, just a glorified dancer?”
“I can sing,” he replies defensively.
“Prove it.”
“Fine.” Heading over to the sofa, he grabs the guitar and perches on the arm, before glancing over at her. “You sure this won't scare the ghost away?”
“Play Hidden in Your Eyes,” she tells him. “I mean, it's the only one of your songs that I've even vaguely heard of.”
“I wrote that one,” he replies.
“Then play it,” she says, taking a seat opposite. “If you can.”
For the next few minutes, after a nervous start and a little retuning of the guitar, Eddie picks out an accomplished acoustic version of one of the band's biggest hits. He strums a few wrong chords, and at one point he has to back-up a little after he gets the lyrics mangled, but for the most part he does pretty well, and by the time he gets to the end of the song he has a broad smile on his lips, almost as if he's relieved and impressed at the same moment.
“Wow!” the girl exclaims, clapping loudly. “You're actually really good!”
“I don't know about that...”
“All those snobs in the media go on about how you're just part of a soulless product, but you've really got talent.”
He smiles, clearly a little embarrassed.
“So is it true that you're going to split up the band and go solo?” she asks.
“I...” He pauses. “You heard those rumors, huh?”
“Yeah, something somewhere...” She waits for him to continue, with a hint of eagerness in her eyes that sits at odds with her earlier claim to be uninterested. “I'm just curious, that's all. Even an ignoramus like me hears stuff. I mean, you guys are a huge deal all around the world, I saw clips of when you arrived in Tokyo a few months ago, and those girls were going insane over you! Do you ever think about all the broken hearts you'd cause if Never Turn Back broke up? All the tweens sobbing into their pillows?”
“Every band has to split at some point,” he points out. “The Beatles, Led Zeppelin...”
“Not The Stones,” she counters. “Not U2. Not every band stops.”
“Yeah, but creatively speaking, sometimes there comes a point when you want to branch out and try something new. Like John Lennon.”
“But didn't he go on to do, like, a lot of crap after the Beatles split?”
“No,” Eddie replies with a smile, “he actually did some really good stuff. He became a cultural icon.”
“Huh,” she says, biting her bottom lip for a moment. “I guess that Yoko Ono girl was pretty weird, wasn't she? Is that what you're looking for, your own Yoko?”
“So are you picking up on any ghosts?” he asks, clearly trying to change the subject.
“Not yet. Play something else.”
“I really think one's enough.”
“I like your playing, you're really talented. Come on, just one more song. Please? This is probably my only chance to have one of the world's biggest music stars giving me a private concert.”
“But you don't like my band.”
“Play anyway.”
Accepting defeat, he takes a moment to remember his chords and then he starts on an acoustic rendition of When Love Flew to My Heart, and although this time he makes quite a few more mistakes, by the end he seems to have built up some extra confidence and he even pulls off the tricky final few bars. This time, however, he immediately puts the guitar down when he's done, as if to make it clear that there'll be no more for the night.
“Not gonna serenade me one more time?” she asks.
“No offense,” he replies, “but it's getting late, and I was kinda hoping you could help me sniff out any kind of...” He turns and looks across the room, to where the patio window is reflecting the pair of them, and for a moment he seems to almost notice something. “How much longer before we just have to accept that you're not going to detect anything?”
“It could take all night.”
“Then maybe we'd better wrap things up,” he tells her, getting to his feet. “I feel like I'm wasting your time.”
“Maybe I'm trying the wrong space,” she says quickly, jumping up and moving around behind the sofa. “Maybe you're scaring the ghost off, too.”
“Does it work like that?”
She looks toward the bedroom door for a moment.
“I tell you what,” she says finally, “let me go and do a reading in there. Alone, without you to disrupt things. It should only take a couple of minutes, and then... I don't know, we'll have to reassess everything if nothing happens in there. I've got a good feeling, though. I mean, I haven't seen a ghost in here yet, but I definitely...” She pauses, before letting a little shiver pass through her body. “Maybe there's something nearby. Just a hint.”
“Sure,” he replies, scratching the back of his neck, “but after that -”
“Hang tight,” she tells him, smiling as she skips over to the bedroom and heads inside, pushing the door shut as she goes.
“Hang tight,” he mutters to himself, turning and wandering over to the patio window. Looking out at the swimming pool as it ripples under the night sky, he seems lost in thought for a moment. Finally, however, he seems to start examining the reflection of the room, his eyes darting from one corner to the other as if he expects to see something. He scratches the back of his neck again, before turning and looking back across the room. “Where are you?” he whispers. “Miranda Clarke, are you here?”
He waits.
“Okay!” the girl suddenly shouts from the bedroom. “I'm ready!”
“Ready?” he calls back to her. “For what? Did you find anything in there?”
“Come and see for yourself!”
Sighing, he makes his way wearily across the room, scratching the back of his neck yet again as he pushes the door open and flicks on the bedroom light.
“So did you -”
He stops suddenly as he sees the sight on the bed: the girl is completely naked, flat on her back and staring at him with an expectant, slightly nervous smile.
“Wh...” He pauses, clearly shocked and floundering. “What are you... I mean, what...”
“Come on,” she says, patting the side of the bed next to her. “Join me.”
“Wh... Why?”
Sitting up, she rearranges herself so that she's leaning on her left elbow, with her naked body still on full display.
“Why do you think?” she asks, her voice sounding noticeably lower now, as if she's trying to use a more seductive tone. “You look tired. You look like you need waking up.” She reaches a hand up to her chest and runs her fingers against herself. “You didn't really think I came up here to help you look for ghosts, did you? That'd be kinda lame. I'm not like those dumb idiots who scream at you everywhere you go, I'm more mature than them, I'm more... experienced.” A faint smile flickers across her face. “I'm yours and yours alone.”
“I think there's been a misunderstanding,” he stammers.
“Fuck,” he mutters, running over to her clothes by the side of the bed and tossing them onto her in a desperate attempt to cover her up. “Lucy, you really have to -”
“I love you!” she shouts, grabbing his arm and pulling him onto the bed. Her eyes are desperate now, as if she's worried she might be losing him. “You know that, right? Couldn't you tell from the first moment we met that there's a connection between us? Like a deep, soulful bridge between our minds?”
“I really don't think there is,” he tells her, pulling away and getting off the bed. “You should leave. Now!”
“I couldn't believe it when you walked into that cafe,” she continues, kneeling on the bed and running her hands across her body. “I was like, woah, that's him! I swear, my knees turned to jelly, but like I just said, I'm nothing like those other girls, so I totally held it together like a boss. And then you sat down and you looked so sad, and the truth is, I've been listening to your music since Never Turn Back first got together and I always knew that you were the perfect guy for me, like deep down I knew it! Most girls would've dissolved into a quivering wreck when they saw you tonight, but I held it together. Aren't you impressed?”
“You need to go,” he says firmly.
“So I pretended all that stuff about ghosts just to get your attention,” she replies. “I mean, I feel like I'm very spiritual, but I read that interview you did last month where you talked about being interested in the paranormal, so I figured it'd be a good way to get you talking, and I couldn't believe my luck when you agreed to come with me. It was all I could do to stop from screaming with happiness. I mean, I know all your millions of fans just want to get your attention, but somehow, deep down, I just knew that I'd be the one.” She gets off the bed and hurries toward him, grabbing his hands. “I'm your biggest fan! This is my destiny!”
“You're nuts,” he says, looking over at the door. “I need to call my manager.”
“Just stay here with me,” she pleads, trying to drag him back to the bed. “I promise, you'll soon realize that we're meant for each other. Why else would God arrange for us to meet in such a random way? It's divine intervention, like Romeo and Juliet!”
