Ghostly Hitchhiker Box Set

by Rodney Strong

I’m not doing it on purpose!

  Sean casually lowered his arms and readjusted his robe. ‘I met your friend the other day. Fascinating woman. I’d love to do her wigs.’

  ‘I think she has someone already,’ Oliver replied for the sake of answering.

  Sean shrugged and scratched at his bald head. ‘Oh well,’ he grinned. ‘There’s no one home next door if you’re looking for George.’

  ‘That’s okay, I’ve got a key. George is coming back this afternoon.’

  ‘Right. I’ll leave you to it then,’ said Sean. He flicked open the flap of the wooden mailbox and peered inside, then turned to go back in.

  Oliver watched him climb the stairs, then went through the gate to George and Ashley’s place. The front door stuck a little, but it eventually opened with squeaky protest. He frowned as he examined the old wooden frame.

  (What are you thinking?)

  It would have been a loud way to sneak into the house. It means the killer probably came in another way.

  (Or was let in by Ashley.)

  Oliver’s frown deepened. He started to close the door, then decided to leave it open a little way so he didn’t have to wrestle with it on the way out. He picked the first door off the hallway and started his search for the suitcase. The initial search of the first two rooms went pretty quickly, as he was looking for a decent sized object and not a piece of paper, and hiding spots were limited.

  As he started on the spare bedroom, Oliver thought he heard a sound from the front of the house. He paused and listened carefully, but didn’t hear anything else. He resumed searching, sticking his head deep into the wardrobe to check the corners.

  Nothing there.

  He straightened up.

  A sharp blow hit him on the back of his head and the world went black.

  TWENTY NINE

  A blast of cold jerked Oliver awake. He shook his head, sending a bolt of pain down his neck. He felt sleepy and wanted to retreat back to the darkness, but another blast of cold brought him further into the world.

  He tried to draw a breath and took in… water? Panicking, he opened his eyes and a distorted vision of a ceiling came into view. He sat up, coughing and spluttering, water sloshing out of the bath he was in and onto the floor. Angus was yelling his name over and over, another blast of cold iced his brain and he realised it was Angus causing the sensation.

  ‘Stop,’ he said weakly.

  (Thank god. Are ye alright? No, don’t lie down again.)

  Oliver stopped mid-slide and gripped the sides of the bath. He felt incredibly tired and lacked the energy to do anything but slip back into the water.

  Another blast of cold sat him upright again.

  ‘Okay, okay, I get it.’ He looked at the high-sided bath and wondered how he would summon the strength to climb out.

  (Let the plug out.)

  Oliver fumbled around beneath him and found a short chain. He yanked it and the water level began retreating.

  From the recesses of his muddled brain, the memory of a squeaking front door surfaced. He began shivering as the water dropped below his waist and his wet clothes clung to his body in a cold lump.

  There was a sound in the doorway and he flinched, sending a wave of nausea through his body.

  ‘That’s not the reaction I normally get.’

  He looked up to see Amanda with a mixture of concern and amusement on her face. She stepped into the bathroom.

  ‘Let me guess, you got so dirty from searching the house you decided to take a bath.’ Her words were light but Oliver saw worry in her expression.

  ‘Very funny, Violet. Help me out.’

  ‘Amanda,’ she replied.

  He rolled his neck and tried to focus. ‘Yes, Amanda, that’s what I said. Can you get me out of the bath?’

  She moved to the edge of the bath and studied him closer. ‘I think I’ll leave you there for now.’

  ‘What are you talking about?’ Oliver said impatiently.

  ‘The back of your head is bleeding.’ She grabbed a small towel from a hook next to the basin. Kneeling beside the bath, she pressed it against his scalp. He winced and another wave of nausea threatened to erupt into vomiting.

  ‘Oliver, what happened?’

  He struggled to remember, then slowly it came back to him. ‘I was searching the spare bedroom. Someone knocked me out. I woke up in the bath.’

  (Let’s call it what it was. Someone tried to kill ye.)

  Amanda nodded. ‘I think you’re concussed and probably in shock. I’m going to call an ambulance.’

  He shivered as cold seeped further into his body. At least he hoped it was cold and not something worse. ‘Can I have a blanket?’

  ‘Hold this,’ she told him and once he had his hand on the towel she disappeared and returned a short time later with a large purple blanket. With a bit of shuffling they managed to get it most of the way around him.

  ‘Isn’t this the bit where you say it’s a good thing that someone tried to kill me?’

  (How is that a good thing?)

  ‘Because it means I’m getting close,’ he told Angus.

  ‘That’s only a good thing if they don’t come close,’ Amanda replied. ‘I promised Jennifer I’d keep any eye on you.’

  ‘Well you’re doing a lousy job,’ Oliver retorted. ‘Wait, when did you promise that?’

  Staring up at Amanda meant he was looking directly at the light, which made his eyes hurt. Amanda stepped back and flicked the light switch and seeing immediately became more bearable.

  ‘We’ve chatted from time to time.’

  Amanda held up her hand to stop further conversation and tapped on her phone. As he heard her talking to emergency services, Oliver found his mind wandering like Rose in a lolly shop.

  (Don’t go to sleep.)

  ‘I’m not,’ he muttered. ‘Just trying to remember if I’ve ever been concussed before. I broke my toe once. I was playing basketball in bare feet and someone stood on it. I looked down and saw it flopping all around. It was cool.’

  ‘Definitely concussed,’ he heard Amanda say. She relayed the address then hung up.

  ‘You need to leave,’ Oliver said, struggling to sit up. ‘If Detective Wilson finds you here you’re going to be in trouble.’

  She shook her head. ‘I’ll risk it. Besides I told the ambulance that you fell over, they’re not going to call the police. Although I think it’s a good idea for you to tell the detective what happened. Maybe after I leave.’ She grinned and he smiled back.

  ‘Who knew you were coming here?’ Amanda asked, suddenly serious again.

  ‘That’s a good question. George did, which means Louise probably did as well. I ran into Sean on the way in. I think that’s about it, apart from you of course.’ He tried his best to adopt a suspicious look, but it was too much effort, so he decided to study the inside of his eyelids instead.

  ‘Oliver!’

  (Oi.)

  A cold blast froze his brain again.

  ‘Okay, okay,’ he sighed and opened his eyes again.

  ‘Do you think Sean did this to you?’

  Oliver frowned. It made sense, but he didn’t trust anything that made sense right now. His brain was well and truly out of whack.

  ‘Oliver?’

  His mind was wandering again and he struggled to reign it in. ‘Maybe. He’s big enough to get me into the bath.’ Another thought occurred to him. ‘Whoever it was, you must have only just missed them.’

  ‘I didn’t see anyone,’ Amanda said with a shake of her head. ‘But if it was Sean then he only had to get next door. I might go and see him.’

  ‘Don’t leave!’ Oliver said fearfully when she started towards the door.

  ‘Hey, it’s okay,’ she returned to his side and put her hand on his shoulder. ‘I’m going to let the paramedics in. I’ll be right back.’ She turned in the doorway. ‘Angus, make sure he doesn’t fall asleep.’

  Yes, ma’am.

  Oliver stared at the empty doorway anx
iously and gripped the edge of the bath ready to pull himself out. Strength had returned to his hands, but that was about it.

  (Don’t be doing that now. The lass was right, ye’ve probably got a concussion.)

  Oliver struggled up onto his knees and the world tilted sideways, or it could have been his head resting on the side of the bath. How did it get there?

  (Are you going to listen now?)

  ‘Only because I can’t switch you off,’ Oliver said in irritation. He closed his eyes and there was an instant cold blast. ‘What? I was blinking.’

  (Blink faster. If you die, where does that leave me?)

  ‘Your compassion is overwhelming.’

  (How many fingers am I holding up?)

  Oliver raised his head in surprise, fully expecting to see a ghostly apparition standing by the sink. Angus burst out laughing and Oliver winced at the sudden noise.

  ‘You’re friggin’ hilarious,’ Oliver replied.

  (I know.)

  Something was nagging at him. Something he’d seen or heard before he’d been knocked out. Something in the wardrobe. He tentatively slid one leg over the side of the bath. For a few seconds his foot waved in the air as the floor ran away from him, then with an extra stretch his toes touched the dull linoleum. Absurdly pleased with his efforts, he enthusiastically swung his other leg out with the plan of resting on his knees. Instead he tipped over and slowly folded onto the floor, smacking his nose in the process, which at least took his mind off his head and stomach.

  (Are ye an idiot? Where are ye going?)

  ‘You know where I’m going.’

  (Just because I know yer thoughts doesn’t mean they make sense.)

  Oliver ignored him and used his hands to push himself upwards. After an age, he managed to stand, although it was difficult with the ground shaking so much. But that might have been the concussion. The first few steps towards the door were a challenge, but he felt a little better with distance between him and the bath — or the murder weapon as he now thought of this (and probably all baths for the rest of his life).

  ‘Oliver, what are you doing?’ Amanda’s voice came from behind him as he staggered into the hallway.

  ‘Bedroom,’ he mumbled.

  Hands grasped his arms and tried to stop him moving. He struggled to pull free but it was no use.

  ‘Oliver you’re hurt, you need to sit down.’

  There’s something important in the bedroom and I need to look before I forget what it is, was what he tried to say. What came out of his mouth was, ‘Bedroom.’

  There was a knock on the front door, followed by a cheerful voice calling out. Amanda answered and a few seconds later a smiling woman in a paramedic uniform came into Oliver’s view.

  What’s she so happy about?

  ‘Hi there, had a bit of a bump, have we?’ She looked in her forties, slightly overweight, with short brown hair.

  Oliver shook his head. A bit of a bump was what Reed did when he ran into the edge of the dining table. This was several stages above that.

  ‘Let’s take a look, shall we? Bob, can you find a seat?’

  The mysterious Bob grunted a response from behind Oliver’s left ear. In the meantime, the woman flashed a light into his eyes, but he couldn’t gauge from her expression whether the results were good or bad.

  Mustering all the mental strength he could muster, Oliver said, ‘I’ll sit down but first I need to check something in the bedroom.’

  He was pleased with how coherent he sounded.

  ‘I’m sure whatever it is can wait,’ the woman responded.

  In frustration, Oliver grabbed her arm. ‘Murder,’ he said.

  Her eyes widened and she pulled away. ‘What?’

  ‘There was a murder here a week or so ago and Oliver is helping out with the investigation,’ Amanda explained. ‘He wants to check something in the bedroom and I suspect he needs to do it before he forgets what it is.’ She came around the front of him. ‘Am I right, Oliver?’

  He nodded and smiled weakly at her.

  The paramedic looked around nervously. ‘Maybe we need to call the police. What exactly happened to you?’

  ‘Got the chair. Here we go, my man.’

  Strong arms pushed Oliver into the seat. He stared helplessly at Amanda who crouched down beside him.

  ‘What are you looking for?’ she asked in a low voice.

  ‘Suitcase. There was a suitcase in the wardrobe,’ he whispered.

  ‘I’ll check.’

  Oliver watched her disappear into the bedroom.

  ‘Your clothes are wet,’ Bob exclaimed. He walked around the front of the chair and Oliver saw he was a young guy with cropped brown hair and glasses.

  ‘Why are you clothes wet, sir?’ the woman asked.

  Oliver rubbed a hand over his face. He didn’t have time for questions, but had a sinking feeling there were about to be a lot of them.

  (Keep it together, Oliver.)

  ‘It seems like someone hit you,’ Bob said as he examined Oliver’s head.

  ‘Yes,’ Oliver agreed.

  ‘Nasty. Why don’t you go call the cops, Maddy, and I’ll check the rest of his vitals.’

  The woman nodded her agreement and walked towards the front door at the same time that Amanda exited the bedroom.

  She shook her head.

  ‘Detective Wilson will be worried,’ he said to her. ‘Make sure the paramedic mentions his name when she talks to the police.’

  Amanda squeezed his shoulder. ‘I’ll be right back.’

  (She’s not coming back is she? That detective fellow will want to talk to her.)

  She’s smarter than me and even I would have got that hint. She’ll be fine.

  (At least ye seem to be thinking better now.)

  I better be. I’m going to need all my faculties to explain this to Jennifer.

  THIRTY

  It took almost two hours for the paramedics and police to finish with him. By that time Oliver wanted to curl up on one of the beds and go to sleep.

  At some point, George and his mother arrived and stared open mouthed at the multitude of uniformed people in the house. Louise would confide later that her son almost had a breakdown as they both thought there had been another murder. The only small thing to be thankful for was the absence of Detective Wilson. When Oliver tentatively asked if the detective was coming, he was told that Detective Wilson was uncontactable for the day.

  The paramedics insisted on taking Oliver to the hospital, and eventually he agreed to escape the same questions being asked repeatedly by eager police officers. No, he didn’t know who attacked him. Yes, he was in the house alone. Yes, he was allowed to be in the house. And around and around they went.

  Eventually he gathered enough brain power to call Jennifer, after an internal debate on whether to worry her now or later. Angus didn’t help by suggesting she was unlikely to notice Oliver being more addled than normal. He told her it was a minor bump.

  Before he was loaded into the back of the ambulance, he managed to ask George if he had told anyone Oliver was coming to the house.

  ‘You think I set this up?’ had been his predictably aggressive reply.

  ‘Don’t be silly, George, that’s not what he’s saying,’ had been the equally predictable reaction from Louise.

  ‘I didn’t tell anyone,’ George ended the conversation.

  It was a short ride to the hospital and a long wait to see a doctor, who told him there was no permanent damage done but he was likely to have a sore head for a while.

  (What a waste of a medical degree. I could have told ye that. In fact, I did.)

  Five minutes after the doctor left, Jennifer came into the room. She stood in the doorway without saying a word while Oliver tried his best to convey how completely and utterly fine he was by standing up, then rapidly sitting down when the world went haywire.

  ‘I thought you said you were fine,’ Jennifer said as she dashed over to the bed and slipped an arm around Olive
r.

  ‘I am fine…ish. The doctor said there was nothing to worry about and all the blood was normal.’

  ‘Blood!’

  ‘Ah, did I not mention that? There was a bit of blood, but there’s no damage to my skull and most likely not to my brain. I think I passed his tests anyway.’

  ‘Oliver, what were you thinking?’

  ‘I was searching an empty house for a suitcase. I was thinking it was the least dangerous thing I’d done since this whole thing started.’

  ‘And yet here you are,’ came a voice from the doorway.

  It didn’t take a slow turn of the head to confirm his fears. Detective Wilson was hovering in the entry.

  ‘Perhaps now you’ll leave it to the professionals?’ he said as he walked further into the room.

  (Ha, and how far have ye got?)

  ‘If you’re here to give me a lecture, I should warn you that I probably won’t remember it tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s not the concussion, he’s always had a terrible memory,’ Jennifer said.

  Detective Wilson smiled at her, then became serious again when he turned back to Oliver. ‘Do you have something to tell me?’

  Oliver filled him in on the events leading up to his assault.

  ‘Where did you get the information about the suitcase?’

  Oliver gestured to the back of his head. ‘Sorry, it’s all a bit fuzzy at the moment.’

  Detective Wilson gave him the disillusioned look he’d come to know well.

  ‘Why do you think the suitcase is important?’

  Oliver had been wondering the same thing ever since coherent thoughts returned post-assault.

  ‘I didn’t. I was just checking it out. But now it seems like it is important. Perhaps there was something in it that the killer didn’t want found.’

  ‘That’s assuming the attack and the suitcase are connected.’

  Aye, there are probably many reasons someone wants ye dead.

  ‘I’d like to think the list of reasons someone wants to kill me is small,’ Oliver said.

  ‘Perhaps. And perhaps that list would be non-existent if you weren’t involved in things you have no right being involved in,’ Detective Wilson replied.

  ‘Exactly,’ Jennifer chimed in.