Ghost

by Charmaine Ross

  A bolt was slid free and the door opened. I was engulfed by a waft of stale air accompanied with the stomach-churning aroma of nicotine. I put my finger under my nose and held in the contents of my stomach while I waited for the nausea to subside.

  “Who’d you say you were?”

  I caught sight of Mrs Richards and no longer wondered why the house looked like it did. By comparison, it wasn’t doing so bad. Mrs—Lucy—Richards glared at me with the same interest a crow might look at a grub. Her eyes were watery, red-rimmed and had sunk into her eye sockets but she watched me with keen self-interest. Her mouth was locked in a permanent downturn. She had no lips to speak of, just slits in the skin of her face. Her cheeks were as sunken as her eyes. Loose folds of skin formed in the hollows of a jaw that had lost its share of teeth.

  It took me a moment to compose myself. “I’m Cassie Hunter. You can call me Cassie. This is my sister.” I offered a smile that wasn’t returned.

  “Call me Laura.” Laura didn’t sound as though she wanted to be speaking to Lucy Richards at all.

  “It don’t matter what I call you. What’s this about a will?” Her eyes glinted.

  “Maybe I could come inside. The situation is...complicated.”

  Her eyes dropped to my feet and travelled upwards, tracking over every inch of my body with a stare I’d have to scrub off later. After a pause, she opened the door wider. “Come on then.” I didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified.

  “Just be ready to run,” Laura murmured in my ear.

  I followed Mrs Richards into her house. She went into a room that had seen better days. The scruffy material of a couch had split all over and tufts of yellowed foam poked out. The paint on the wooden arm-rests had worn away. A wooden coffee table was in front of the couches, the protective enamel as equally worn. The carpet hadn’t fared much better and was threaded in patches. The windows were framed with loose-hanging curtains bleached by the sun. A television was propped on a stand in the comer of the room. The sort that only picked up analogue. An old re-run of the Simpsons was playing on the screen.

  A soft growl emanated from a corner the room. Gleaming eyes stared at me. I saw the mound of a very large black dog lying on a half-eaten type of cushioning in a corner of the room. My skin prickled. I really didn’t like dogs. They made me more than uncomfortable. Mrs Richards shuffled over to him and slapped the dog on its snout with a whack that made me wince. “Stupid mutt. Shut yer gob.”

  In a moment of weakness, I nearly felt sorry for the dog. Until it growled at me again. Laura stepped next to me and glared at the dog. It stopped growling immediately and laid its head back to the cushioning. I gaped at my sister.

  “Henry Davis, eh? That old toad. Haven’t heard from him for years. Forty-eight to be exact.” Lucy Richards flopped into the couch, flipped out a cigarette from the packet left on the end of the armrest and took a long, angry drag. The end burnt bright red. A trail of putrid grey smoke twirled upwards.

  The smell of fresh smoke and angry dog made me gag. I closed my eyes and steeled myself against the onslaught of mixed aromas. “So you have heard of him.”

  Lucy answered with a cackle. “I more than just heard of him. Knew him intimately if you know what I mean. The prick left me when I was pregnant with his son.”

  The revelation made me stare. Henry never mentioned anything about having a child other than his daughter. He’d only had a girl as far as he’d told me. “So he was...your husband?”

  “Henry? A husband? He was never in one spot long enough to be a boyfriend. No, he left before he knew what he’d done to me.”

  “But didn’t you tell him when you knew you were pregnant?”

  “When I said he left— he left the state. Took me three years to track him down, and when I did he told me the boy wasn’t his.”

  “Paul is your son?”

  Lucy nodded, took a drag of her cigarette, “I didn’t want to tell Paul that he had a father that didn’t want him. Fact be told, I didn’t want a man like Henry in my life either. What sort of man would leave a pregnant woman?”

  I perched on the edge of the edge of the couch. The cushion flattened beneath me and I felt the hardness of the frame under my butt. “That must have been a hard decision. Did you try to contact him another time?”

  “Never wanted to after that. He could be six feet under by now and I wouldn’t give a toss.” She was too adamant for her declaration to be a lie. She obviously didn’t know the truth about how close her guess was. “Why all these questions, anyway?” She sent me a sharp, watery gaze.

  “Well, Henry has recently deceased and I’m just...working out some details of his will.”

  “Ha, so he is six feet under. Serves ‘im right. Don’t tell me he suddenly grew a conscience and left me some cash.” Lucy stabbed the stub into a grimy, overfilled ashtray and stabbed me with a mercenary gaze.

  She seemed surprised by Henry’s death and even surprised that she’d been in his will. She seemed to be a basic type of person and couldn’t be that good of an actress. Surely she wouldn’t be stupid enough to expose her crime either. It seems that, although Lucy had a motive, either she was stupid or she really didn’t know a thing. Which left her son. “I’m not in a position to go through the details of the will just yet. I need to clarify a few things before I let you know.”

  “Well, about time he paid. I could no nothin’ with a child grabbin’ me leg and no help from no-one. Left to survive on government hand-outs. Just look where that bastard left me.” She indicated the room with a sweep of her hand.

  “What, in forty-eight years you couldn’t find one job?” Laura blurted.

  She stabbed a pointed finger at her. “Listen missy. You wait and see what you’d do in my position. I promise you wouldn’t be so high and mighty with a baby to look after.” The dog raised its massive head at Lucy’s outburst and turned beady eyes on me ready to protect its mistress.

  “Time to go,” Laura said.

  I didn’t waste time agreeing. I stood. “Thank you for your time, Mrs Richards. I’ll be back in touch.”

  Lucy struggled from her butt depression on the couch. The cushions beneath her stayed curved with years of use. “You better be telling me something about money if you do.”

  I turned, needing something else to look at rather than Lucy or her dog and found a hall cabinet along the wall near the front door I hadn’t seen them when I came in. Various pictures in unmatched frames were lined up on the top, all containing a golden-haired child and a quickly ageing Lucy. The most recent caught my attention. “Is this your son?” I indicated the photograph.

  “That’s Paul. Looks like his father did at his age.”

  Personally, I didn’t see the match, but the blond hair snagged something in my mind. “Nice looking young man.” I murmured. “Is he here at the moment?”

  Lucy shrugged. “Don’t know where he is. Goes off and tells me nothin”. All those years lookin’ after him, feedin’ him and this is the thanks I get. Turns up when he wants. Doesn’t care ‘bout his old lady, the woman who brought ‘im into the world.”

  I forced a smile and offered Lucy my thanks for her time before walking to the door. I’d had enough of hearing about how hard life was for her. All I knew was that people had choices, no matter what life tossed at them. There was more than just a handful of people that had overcome monstrous adversities and not blamed a single thing on another person.

  Once outside, I filled my lungs with beautiful, fresh air. The door slammed shut behind me without so much as a goodbye from Lucy.

  “She’s too stupid to be hiding anything,” Laura blurted out.

  “Shhh. She might hear you!” I grabbed Laura’s arm and pulled her along the path back into the safety of the car. I shuddered, trying to shake free the bleak atmosphere and ingrained grime of the house.

  “Did you see that photo? That blond haired man.”

  Laura nodded, “Her son, Paul.”

  I turned on the se
at to face her, “Well, the morning that trolley smashed into me, I remember a flash of blond hair. The same colour as Paul’s. It might be a total coincidence, but I think Paul was at the hospital at the same time as my accident.”

  “There are no coincidences, Cassie.” She sounded like Elliot. In that moment I missed him more keenly than I ever had, “What’s the chance that you hit your head and jolted—something—free just when Paul was at the hospital to see his father he never knew.”

  I frowned at my sister, “What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying that Lucy was a woman scorned and she bad-mouthed Henry for years. I’m saying that animosity has built up and up. I’m saying the son found out about his father’s bank account and wanted retribution for his sins. He wanted payback and he wanted it in blood.”

  I thought about it for a moment. It made sense. Lucy wasn’t a woman scorned, Paul was a son scorned. “And Lucy doesn’t know a thing. We need proof though. Something might be in Paul’s bedroom. A man who's never left home will certainly keep important things hidden in his bedroom.”

  “Do you think Paul killed his father?”

  Laura nodded, “And then planted the fake will. It’s a strong possibility.”

  “It’s the only lead we have at the moment.” I sat back into the seat, my mind reeling with the implications. Henry...murdered. He was killed with a massive amount of valium, but that needed a trained medical practitioner to administer it. Whoever did it would have to know the lethal dosage. It meant that I hadn’t done anything wrong. Proving that would clear my name and the mal-practise suit I was facing. And my conscience. But was Paul the man who actually did the deed? I wondered if he was that intelligent. If he wasn’t, he would have had to find out somehow and that sort of information wasn’t freely available. I needed something we could prove. Enough to prove probable cause and get the police involved. It was the only way I’d save my neck. “We need proof Paul was at the hospital at the time of Henry’s death. “

  “It would probably be in their central security where they keep their electronic surveillance data,” Laura said.

  I nodded. The hospital monitored everything, day and night. If Paul was there, it was the only way we would prove it. “Okay, let’s go.”

  “What. Now?”

  “Can you think of a better time? As far as I remember Henry’s will is being read tomorrow. If we don’t find the real will before then, Henry’s money will go to his murderer and I’m going to be facing prison time.”

  * * *

  “Hi, Doctor Hunter.” The guard smiled up at me as we approached the security desk at The Alfred. I was momentarily taken back. His face was totally unfamiliar to me, yet he knew me. Must be the joys of sitting at a desk and watching the comings and goings of people every day.

  I glanced at his badge, “Hello...Jason,” I said. I sidled up to the desk he sat behind and rested my elbows on the top counter. “How’s it going today?”

  He shrugged, “Getting busy. Morning rush you know. People turning up for their procedures that sort of thing. A couple of nurses running late.”

  “You have your finger on the pulse.”

  He nodded and I glanced at Laura. I noticed his gaze trail to Laura and stay there. “You’re certainly the man to speak to, then,” Laura said. She inflicted the word ‘man’. Jason was no more than a boy, his face still holding the final throes of a pimply youth, but he straightened his shoulders and puffed out his chest as Laura spoke. I had to hand it to her, she was good at getting information. “Do you remember about a week ago a man ran down the hallway and crashed into Doctor Hunter?”

  Jason nodded, “He took you out pretty good.”

  “He certainly did,” I replied.

  “Well, we need to see who he was.”

  His face fell, “I’m afraid that’s private information.”

  Laura leaned on the counter and gave him a view of her cleavage. His eyes were glued to the bust-line of her blouse. Jason didn’t stand a chance. “Are you sure you can’t help? It’s really important.”

  Jason licked his lips as apprehension crossed his face. His gaze flicked from mine to Laura’s bust. I pressed my advantage. “We need to make sure he didn’t suffer any injuries. The hospital could be liable and we need to examine the footage.”

  He turned his face to me, but his gaze remained on Laura’s chest, “Did Charles Cassidy send you down?”

  I crossed my fingers behind my back and nodded. When he didn’t reply, I said, “Yes.” He couldn’t tell I nodded. Not when his eyes were glued to Laura’s breasts. She tossed her hair. My mouth fell open. I’d never seen Laura toss her hair. I wondered where she’d learned to do that. I really had to sit down and have a good talk to her.

  “We don’t want you to sift through hours and hours of boring recordings. We’ll do the hard work. It would really help us,” Laura tilted forward. Her top strained against the pressure from her bust. Jason crumbled.

  He swallowed hard and I watched as his Adam’s apple bounced up and down. “I’m sure it wouldn’t hurt if you took a little look. Not if it’s in the hospital’s best interest.”

  Laura leant over the counter and cupped his cheeks between her palms. I swear he drooled. “Thank you so much, Jason. We really appreciate it.”

  I followed her to the door behind the security desk. As we entered the room I whispered over her shoulder, “Who are you and what have you done with my sister?”

  She closed the door and the persona disappeared, “I told you I was good at getting information. By any mean’s possible, I think that was the motto in journalist school.”

  I rolled my eyes, knew she was just ribbing me, “There’s being good, but that was spooky. Hey, maybe if you don’t want to be a ‘journalist’ anymore, you could take classes in that subject.” I moved my fingers in a quote gesture as I said the word journalist.

  She sent me a disparaging look and pulled out the chair behind a large computer screen. “The files would be categorised by date and time. What was the date of your accident?” She logged into the system, working fast. She had more in common with Thadius than she knew.

  I leant over her shoulder, filling in details as required. In no time she selected an mp4 file and double clicked it. An image of the hospital’s reception area filled the screen. “What time did you get there?”

  I thought back. “Around six.”

  Laura slipped the time counter and played the stream on double speed. My eyes flicked around the eight screens that played simultaneously from the cameras dotted around in that area. I saw myself walking into the reception. Campbell appeared from one of the corridors. On screen, I stopped dead in my tracks, like I was a dear in headlights.

  “Now I know why you didn’t see who ran into you,” Laura said.

  “God! It’s awful.” Watching myself like that was completely painful. I had no idea I was like that around him.

  Campbell and I spoke. That’s funny, I didn’t remember that either. There was a blur on the top left screen. The blond-haired man dashed from around a corridor, head down, hands in his pockets, heedless of the other people walking past him.

  He glanced over his shoulder and started jogging. I followed his path onto the next screen, then the centre screen as he took the corner into the reception. His ankle twisted in his haste and as he tried to correct his balance, he tumbled forward and collected me on the way to the ground.

  I saw myself knocked sideways, hurtling through the air, then as though I was an arrow, strike the corner of an aluminium trolley and crumble to the ground. The blond man rolled and as he did, his cap fell off and we had a full frontal of his face. Laura stilled the screen and magnified his face, “That the man in your photo?”

  My blood froze as heat poured onto my skin, “That’s him. Paul Richards.”

  Laura fist-punched the air, “Yes! We’ve got our man. He was at the hospital. We have the time and place.”

  But my attention was riveted on the centre screen that st
ill played. Paul picked up his cap and stumbled out of the front door. I, on the other hand, was sprawled on the floor and Campbell hadn’t moved a muscle. A golden figure with a silver-white aura that bled to the edges of the screen appeared from thin-air beside me and bent right over me.

  “Do you see that?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “That…that vision next to me.” I pointed straight at the image.

  Goose-bumps scattered over my skin as I stared at the screen. A beautiful woman with long, flowing golden hair bent over me. The wings on her back glowed with moonlight, the feathers of the purest white. When she moved they floated effortlessly as though they weighed little more than the air itself. Sparkling white and gold shards of light flickered all about her, moving and ever-changing like sunlight dancing off water.

  As she bent over me, she held her hand over my forehead. A flash of blinding light came from her palm. It grew in intensity and light until the whole screen went white. Then the picture flashed back and the angel had disappeared. I sunk into a chair and ran a shaky hand through my hair.

  “What was it?” Laura asked.

  My mind spun as I tried to find the words that could fully explain what I’d seen. “An angel. A beautiful angel. She...she did something to me. Light came out of her hand when I was unconscious. She gave me the gift. This wasn’t an accident at all.”

  Laura sunk back into her seat, “Well, shit.”

  All I could do was nod. The shit level was way above my head. Things had just become a whole lot scarier. A heavy question hung in my head, swirling and unanswered and bashing all corners inside my mind. Why me? What the hell was I meant to do with a gift like that? We sat there for a long time. Stunned. Mute. I wondered if this was what had happened to Mum. My grandmother. Untold relatives throughout history.

  I licked dry lips. “Play...play it back for me.”

  Laura rewound the recording, but this time the angel didn’t appear. Just my boneless body crumpled on the floor. I saw the group of people surrounding me, trying to aid me. Campbell hung back. The first person to come to my aid was the cleaner whose table I’d plunged headlong into. Only when another doctor came running to me, did Campbell move. And even then it was to stand behind the group surrounding me. I snorted to myself. Any infatuation I had with him had well and truly dried up. There was an ocean of difference between George and a real man like Elliot. At the thought of Elliot, I was hit with another pang, but I shoved it aside.