The Physics Of The Dead - A Supernatural Mystery Novel

by Luke Smitherd

  He wasn't killed, thinks Hart. He wasn't killed! He got out, he got another go around! He got out. He got out!! Simon was right! I was right! And he not only got out...he got to LIVE!! And he falls backwards, onto the floor, his legs giving out. .

  His mind whirls. George heard the theory, tried it first. Mark saw it...Mark must have been there...but only saw what was left behind. Saw the...corpse? Shell? Skin? Who knew what it was, who knew what the Guests were actually comprised of. After all, they could touch other, couldn't they? So no matter what, be it on a different plane to the living, they had a physical presence, and George had left his behind when he moved on. Fine. But how would you react to that? Being Mark, trying your theory for escape, and seeing what looked for all the world like a dead body as a result? Seeing that crumbling, powdery corpse, but with no proof that anything had happened other than George being wiped out? No...it wouldn't be enough. Not after feeling the oblivion of the train...you wouldn't risk that after seeing a corpse, for goodness sake. No, Mark wouldn't dare, and neither would Hart. But after a while...five years, in fact...after more years of it, of going that much more Loose, and then finding a chance, a potential door...you wouldn't risk waiting for another one. Mark took it, out of desperation and fear.

  And now Hart would take his chance, now he KNOWS-finally-that it works, that he has nothing to fear. This means not only can he get out, but he finally knows he can take it safely. Because Hart's fear has held him prisoner for 70 years, and for all of his qualities, Hart is a coward. Especially after touching oblivion, and knowing-from the Flyers-that there must be some alternatives. Bowler has come to realise this about Hart, and this is why things have changed. That and Bowler's own mind. But Bowler cannot know this truth, must be led down a path of thought that will ensure he never reaches the theory that Simon did. Bowler must be told lies. Bowler must be kept away from stumbling upon this idea at all costs. For when Hart gets his chance, when he finds it, there may only be one chance, and Bowler must not know. There must be no chance of Bowler taking it. Bowler must not be there when it is time to take the exit. When the time is right, Hart must leave Bowler alone. If anyone is to get out, it is to be Hart.

  ***

  “You have never met Simon, have you?” asked The Beast. It sounded strangely like a genuine question. Bowler didn't have a clue what he was on about. Was this the beginning of some sort of sick game? Was Simon some sort of term for...something else? Sweet Jesus, I hope not, thought Bowler. That would really be the icing on the fucking cake.

  “I...can't say I have...”

  “Yes, yes, I know you have not. Sometimes I...do not remember things, but they always come in the end. He got here a year before Hart did, you know. They were easily the two arrivals that came closest together. Easily. I think in Hart's time, there has only been four, you know, including yourself. Your friends, George, Mark, and Sarah. Did it ever strike you as odd, so odd, that these ones are the only ones to spend time together, to go to each other, even if it hurts you a bit after a while? That unlike the others, you get together, despite the fact you get that discomfort...what do they know that you don't?”

  Think, Bowler, talk!

  “Is that why the others-the other Guests-is that why they go off alone? The discomfort?” asked Bowler, in the voice of a scared child.

  “No, no, no no no no no. Of course not. You all need it, the talk, the endless...” The Beast waved one hand in the air, both searching for the word and dismissing the concept. “The endless talk, don't you? No. No. No. They simply made their choice, and off they went. They decide the risk is too great. They take their chances. They think they won't go Loose. But of course, beautifully, they always do.”

  “But...but why? The risk of what? What do they risk by being together? Surely a bigger risk is going off alone, going Loose?” Bowler was torn inside; he wanted this question to shut The Beast down again, give him a window, but crazily, he needed to know, had to know.

  There was a pause from The Beast-was he locking down?-but then a chuckle came from the huge silhouette.

  “Because then someone else might take it. The partner, the friend, might take it. The opportunities are rare, so very rare...and when it comes to a choice between an eternity here and...aheh...the politeness of friendship, one may easily trick another, turn on another. Would you risk it, Bowler, if you knew? Faced with forever, and finding yourself standing with your friend before an exit that only one of you can take…would you expect them to say 'After You'?”

  Bowler had no answer.

  “And they've all been here so very long, the others...” said The Beast, “A very long time. It cycles, Bowler. They come, they get together, and one by one they work it out-they work out how to leave, though some take longer than others...and then they go off, desperate, to search alone...and then when more come, new arrivals, they arrive in a world where no-one speaks.” That chuckle again, that rumbling, terrible chuckle.

  “And they either go Loose themselves, or-rarely-they manage to wait for other new arrivals, and form friends, and then they work it out and one by one...you understand, yes? Yes. It's a wonderful, unending circle.” The Beast straightened upright in the dark, and Bowler could see the outline of one enormous arm scratching the neanderthal head.

  “Yes...and sometimes, sometimes I help out, Bowler. I prefer them Loose, you see. I just find them so much fun to break. The Loose ones. Ah, I love your phrases...Loose...no matter how many times I break someone, I cannot make them Loose. They always cling on. No, they have to go that way themselves. But even if I could, I would prefer to help them on their way. More fun. Like Simon. I made sure he heard me, that day. He thought he'd overheard me, but it was meant for him to hear. I made sure he found out how to do it. I could have waited, but he and Hart were together. I did not like that. I told him so he would go off. So he would leave Hart because of the risk, and then they would both sweetly, so sweetly, lose themselves. I sit, far away, and listen to them, feel them turning. And it's so...ah, so good...to know I was the voice in their ear that made them turn. They think it was good news, when they find out, or work it out.” There was a hissing, inward, rattling breath, like an old smoker's, as The Beast savoured the idea.

  “But...then you came along. And Hart did something new, and you pair have intrigued me so ever since...” And then The Beast started to advance suddenly, and Bowler blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

  “But how are you not like the others? They've been here so long, longer than Hart, why aren't more of them more like you, rather than just crazy? Half the time you're a monster, but now you're thinking, talking, learning, and they're just Loose all the time!”

  The Beast answered this with pride in his voice.

  “Because, Bowler, they cannot stand the place. They cannot stand not sleeping. The frustration, the loneliness, the inability to shut off and take solace in company...it turns them, and they cannot develop anything. But me...”-a low, pleased, rotten growl in the throat-”I love it here. I am freer than I have ever been, Bowler.”

  The Beast actually sighed whimsically, and Bowler flinched instinctively from breath he didn't want in his face, thought of course, there was none.

  “Unlike the others, I think I was quite, quite Loose when I already arrived. I could have left a long time ago, and I have no intention of ever doing so. Here I can hunt, and hunt a prey that never fully dies. It's wonderful. A-ha...a-ha-ha...” He spread his arms wide, and moved from side to side, hinting an attack, and Bowler tensed up. The Beast paused, suddenly moved again, paused, suddenly moved again, watching Bowler squirm, and then laughed again, relaxing.

  “It is amusing sometimes, how things work out. A lot of the time, I 'move the goalposts' for them, as you would say, Bowler. They find an exit, and if I hear them, if I listen and hear them-and I get there quick enough, I stop them. Break them. That is what I exist for, Bowler, those moments, to deny them like that. To deny them with one foot out of the door....ahhh, it's so good, a
nd they just get worse...I did that to your friend Sarah just a few days ago. You know.”

  Bowler felt cold. So casual. Telling him like he was saying I just went to the shops.

  “That one was easy, that exit wasn't even ready at the time, but I am afraid I was lazy, I was so lazy, and played it safe, got her stopped early. But you know what? It worked out so well. She passed on the information to someone. She told someone where the exit was.” He paused, and let Bowler work it out.

  “Hart...” Bowler said, and felt the full sting of betrayal.

  “Yesss.” said The Beast. “And you know what else? I am not going to stop him. I have something different in mind, here, Bowler. You two...keeping each other steady...and him knowing how to make more like you...I want him gone. It's just better. Easier. But of course, I could never just...let him go. It would eat at me so, Bowler. I have a much, much better idea.”

  The Beast moved closer, and Bowler realised in a terror inspired flash, a wonderful, brilliant moment of insight-how could he have been so fucking stupid?-that he didn't need to reach the fucking exit at all.

  Realised that The Beast had relied upon Bowler's fear and growing Looseness to cloud his mind, and that it had worked. This was the reason for the stalking, the hiding, the intimidation; all of it was to create this false sense of a trap. The Beast wanted Bowler so scared because he didn't want Bowler to realise he could just run through the fucking wall behind him. So cunning. Bowler was a fucking ghost, for crying out loud!!

  But with The Beast this close...Bowler didn't know if he could make it quick enough anyway. The Beast was faster. A lot faster, quick enough to catch him even if he were at a greater distance than he currently was. Still...more hope, more of a fighting chance, and Bowler began to think more clearly, and think earnestly.

  ***

  Hart entered the upstairs bedroom. He knew now wasn't the time. Now wasn't quite time to go, it wasn't quite ready just yet-he could feel it at this close range-but even so, it was only sensible to check. To check it was there (and even now, he needed to be sure it was true, and believing after all these years of carefully avoiding hope was so hard) and of course Hart needed to know it was real so, so badly. But still, even thinking all of this, he wasn't prepared. How could he have been? It was like nothing he'd experienced before, and so few people ever had.

  Though he could feel it already from the hallway (his fear and excitement and sense of refusal to believe it until he'd seen it blasted away) it was nothing compared to when he walked into the room itself. Hart walked physically into bliss, into joy made touchable, tangible.

  As he stepped through the closed door, it blasted him. Blasted through him. He was bathed in it, bathed in energy. Bathed in the blue light that filled the room, feeling it enter him, and call to him, gently pull him. Different to before; the Bluey they'd met wasn't a part of the Foyer, wasn't on their level. They couldn't touch it. But this...this was all-encompassing.

  No wonder Mark had taken the plunge in the end when actually confronted with it, no wonder he'd overcome his fear, once he was in this...how could he not? And even now-Hart could feel it all through him-it wasn't quite time yet, but it would be soon, and then...Good lord, good merciful God almighty above (though even now Hart did not believe, did not believe in a God that would be cruel enough to let the Foyer exist, these were the words that blazed in his mind) Hart would be free. Not just free...given another chance, another chance to end it differently, with different energy, for Hart remembered how it had ended. They all did, eventually.

  Sarah, he thought, with tears pouring unnoticed down his cheeks, thankyou, oh GOD, thankyou Sarah.

  ***

  “Sarah! SARAH! Oh no, Sarah...” Hart rushes to her side, seeing her flattened frame in a crumpled bundle, half in and half out of the back wall of Waller's. Another bar, another body; it is a horrible symmetry. He can hear her voice. He doesn't notice this fact at first.

  He passes through and finds himself in a beer cellar, metal barrels, clear pipes and thrumming, rattling machinery all around. It is very noisy, and that's why at first, when he looks at her-relief flooding through him to find she isn't a shell like George, that she is 'only' Broken, that she is crushed and bloodied and flattened but she is still here-that he realises she is saying his name, and that he can hear her.

  Her voice is weak, barely there at all, but he can hear her clearly. Her voice is grating, torn, and he didn't think it is from whatever has done this to her. Sarah has been pretty much loose for some time. He isn't surprised to hear her sound this way, but his mind is rushing trying to think of possibilities. Was it just coincidence? Has she just happened to have 'Tuned In' now, like George sometimes did? She's Broken, he thinks. Like the Checkins are when they first get here, like you were and Bowler was. And she's recalibrating, just like Bowler did, as she heals. All this time...you could have saved her if you knew...you idiot...

  “Hart...” she says again, and he bends to listen. He knows it will only be more mad ramble, but he can at least comfort her. He has time; Bowler is off again right now, and at least here he can be of some use, can do something for someone he had previously decided he cannot help.

  “I'm here, Sarah. We're talking, isn't that good?” Maybe it's not too late, he thinks. Maybe I can bring her back, over time...

  “Yes, talking like a pair of owls. Talking little owls,” she says, and Hart realises his last thought was utterly foolish. There is nothing that can be done for her now. And he wonders if madness can be a little contagious. Would it not be better to leave her after this? Pretend they can't hear her, so as not to draw her madness to them, for it will be drawn to them, someone to listen to the noise inside her head, to spill it out and share the information that ABSOLUTELY MUST BE TOLD TO THE PEOPLE. She'd never stop following him. And then after a while, it would start to make sense, impossible to shut out...he cannot risk another chink in his armour. No...this must be the last time he talks to her. But right now, he will do what he can.

  “Yes. Owls. Does it hurt?”

  “Hurt, pain, you mean sadness, Hart, we're all sad here, aren't we? Sad little people. I...my body...sad...everything is sad. Hurts. I'm hurt. But it goes away, and we carry on looking, always looking, forever and ever, all we do. Do you miss chicken? I miss chicken. And beef stew, and Victoria sponge. We had it on birthdays. I miss birthdays. When's my birthday? Is it soon?” Her eyes look through him.

  “It's really soon. Sarah...who did this?”

  “The man. The birthday man. He's the...” her brow furrows, trying to get it right, and then says “The...birthday man!! Ha ha!!” and laughs at her inability to get it right. This goes on for some time, and Hart cradles her head and patiently waits it out, listening to the rattle of the pumps all around them.

  “Sarah.”

  “Mmm. It hurts. Oh, it hurts.”

  “I know. It'll be all right. Sarah, who did this?”

  “Beast.”

  It is as Hart suspected. Attacks by other Guests worse than a stay-away scratch or punch were unheard of.

  “OK. Well he's not here now. He'll have gone off somewhere, calming down. Just relax, and heal. I'll have to go in a bit, but I can sit with you for a whi-”

  “Starley Road-”

  “Mmm-hmm. Is that where he did it, is it?”

  “Exit.”

  Hart freezes. Don't even consider it, he tells himself. This woman is mad.

  “...how do you mean...”

  “Finally, finally, finally. That's where it is. Beast doesn't like that though...keeps me here, keeps me here...so pretty...but I'm a woman, a girly...wouldn't have worked anyway, you know, I could feel it was all wrong for me...Like Betamax, ha ha, video, you remember videos? I could feel it...I could feel the exit was wrong for me. Wrong...type”

  “Sarah, what on earth are you...”

  Her eyes open wide, not seeing him, and she points in the wrong place, but she is earnest.

  “But YOU could use it. You or the ot
her one, yes...”

  It takes some time, but Hart gets his answers. She tells him what he needs to know. And it is clear that this part, at least, is not the rantings of a lunatic. He kisses her goodbye after a while, after he sits with her a short time longer-he owes her at least that, but is desperate to be off, breathless with fear and excitement-and then heads to Bowler's wife's home where he will find his friend, and they will part company.

  ***

  “Why not Hart, then? Why not stop him from going? Why let him leave?”

  “Ah, Hart,” said the Beast, putting a hand into the darkness where his chin would be, rubbing it. “I already told you why, but then he is the clever one. He found such a nice solution to a difficult problem. Find a companion, and keep them in the dark. Until he's sure. Until he knows. Then look for the exit. But in the end, he didn't even have the courage to do that. Was far too scared, scared little Hart. He had to wait until it was given to him on a plate...and now look. He has left you, Bowler. Left you for good.”

  Bowler took a silent imaginary breath, steeled himself.

  “You didn't answer my question.”

  The Beast seemed to stand up straighter, and Bowler prepared for an all-or-nothing run; he knew he couldn't outrun The Beast, and needed to run when there was a window in the Beast's awareness rather than when under attack…but Bowler refused to stand still and be Broken. Yet The Beast did not attack.

  “He disrupts things. He has connected with you already; he will connect with others when they arrive. And that means more people not being Loose, or taking so much longer. And I don't like that. Less toys. I can break him, yes, but I cannot stop him completely. Too hard to watch him all the time, too hard to watch to make sure he stays away from any new arrivals. It is better that he goes, it is just much easier. For example, once he is gone, and you are Broken, you will be Loose very quick. Yes, quick quick...” The Beast hissed, held the sound.