Ghost

by Charmaine Ross

  Next to the keyboard were several half-drunk coffee cups. Crumbs were scattered over the desk and floor. Empty chip packets were stuffed between a divider and folders were jammed up to the edge of the computer.

  “Bingo!” I said and Laura came right over.

  “No filing system whatsoever. We’ll have to go through everything.” Laura came to my side. “You start in the filing cabinet; I’ll start on the desk.”

  “Doesn’t this guy know anything about order?” I opened the top drawer and flicked through various folders. There was no order to anything. How could such a messy person possibly know where everything was? Considering he cared, that was. Going through his bedroom and now his workplace, I couldn’t be sure he cared about anything much other than the money he’d murdered Henry for.

  I made my way through three drawers, finding nothing. I pulled open the bottom drawer. Several vials and syringes rattled around. “I found it! There must be ten vials of valium in there. And a syringe. It even has liquid still inside. Why on earth wouldn’t he get rid of the evidence?”

  “The man’s a hoarder. He likes to keep things. As a memento,” Laura said. “Keep looking for the will.”

  I un-wedged a folder on a shelf and chip packets went flying. Crumbs scattered over the top of the desk. Some of the folders toppled sideways. My attention caught on the sharp edge of an official-looking piece of paper marked with the Elder and Slate logo. It looked out of place against other crumpled sheets of paper simply because it was still fairly straight. There was a business card paperclipped to the page. On it was a handwritten name and mobile phone number. George Slater. The Slater in Elder and Slater?

  “That’s it! I’ve found it!” I did a little happy-dance and the paper slipped from between my fingers. I watched it waft to the floor and around the edge of the divider. “Damn,” I muttered.

  Scooping down, I bent to retrieve the paper. I went to pick it up, but it was stuck to the floor. That couldn’t be right. In the gloom, I saw the edge was caught between the floor and a well-worn, unpolished shoe.

  I frowned, tugging the paper. Shoes weren’t heavy enough to wedge paper. Then I saw the hem of a pair of jeans. My gaze flew upward the trouser leg and stopped short when it came in line with a small, cold, unblinking black hole that was aimed right at me.

  Chapter Eleven

  I launched myself backward. Reflex. I landed on my backside and my head snapped up into the face of the blond man from Lucy’s photograph—Paul Richards. Even in the space of a millisecond, I saw the greed and contempt clouding his eyes.

  There was a movement from the comer of my vision. Paul’s head cracked sideways as Laura’s elbow met his cheek. He staggered, but recovered. He raised a gun and swung it towards Laura. There was a sickening smack of metal meeting skin. Laura spun sideways and crumpled to the floor.

  “Laura!” I scuttled to Laura’s prone body. There was a deep gash on her forehead and blood…deep red blood seeped into her hair. I put my hands to the wound to try to stem the flow. It leaked through my fingers and dripped to the ground.

  “How could you!” I screamed at Paul. My face screwed up as I fired my anger at him. Anger at what he’d done. Anger that I was even here. Anger that I had no choice but to bow over to this tragic gift that had brought my precious sister here with me and left her like this as a result.

  He seemed hypnotized by the blood. There was a shadow over his face, as though he relished seeing it. As though he’d discovered he had some sort of power. As though he glorified in the knowledge he’d let it run. I recoiled, gagging at his delight.

  There was a blur of grey rushing past me and Elliot was there. He swung a fist at Paul, but it sailed right through his face. Paul didn’t know he was there. He swung again. It was futile. Horror reared on Elliot’s face in his desperation before he swung towards me. “Try to talk your way out, Cassie. Try to appeal to the side of him that still may be lucid.” Elliot stood beside Paul, aggravated, on edge.

  Paul’s eyes turned to me and blank coldness replaced the lust. I licked my lips. I drew off my cardigan and crumpled it against Laura’s forehead. Her breathing was shallow and erratic. Not a good sign. I had to get Laura to a hospital. Fast.

  “Henry? Are you here?”

  Paul looked nervously around and then aimed the gun at me again. “Who are you talking to?” he demanded.

  I needed to draw his attention away from Laura. She was helpless, but I was able to move. I raised my hands and shakily drew myself to my feet. My instinct was to get back onto the floor with her and it took all of my will to remain standing. “Let’s talk about this, Paul. It’s not right taking your father’s will.”

  “He had to pay. He didn’t want anything to with us. Didn’t want Mum. Me.” Paul’s face contorted.

  “Keep your voice calm. Talk him down. Tell him that Henry didn’t know about him. If he did, he’d never have left you.” I related what Elliot said.

  Paul raised his gun and I jerked back watching the little black hole wavering directly at me. “Liar! He knew about us. He knew what he did to Mum.”

  This was going bad. Paul wasn’t calming down. Instead, everything I said made him angrier. My legs started to shake as adrenaline poured into my muscles. “Henry. Are you there?” I called.

  “Henry is not here!” Paul said.

  My skin prickled with sweat under my clothes. I felt tiny drops pooling on the top of my lip. “He’ll come.”

  Paul stretched out his arm. The gun came within a few centimetres of my nose. “He’s never going to come. He’s dead!”

  My mouth turned dry. If I wasn’t careful, I was going to be as dead as Henry. I levelled my gaze at him. I held my hands out, a gesture to placate him, but he didn’t seem to even see it.

  “His body has gone, but his spirit is very much alive. I’ve spoken to him.”

  “You can’t talk to the dead. No-one can.” Paul’s features contorted.

  “I can Paul. I can talk to your father. He came to me after he’d died and asked for me to help him. That’s why I’m here. If you want to say something to him, now’s your chance to tell him. I’ll tell you what he says to me.”

  The gun shook. He was teetering on a slippery edge. I needed him to believe me. I kept my voice low and calm. “I couldn’t always see spirits. I’m a doctor. I wasn’t sure there was life after death. I work my whole life to save people from death.” I swallowed and continued. “At first I didn’t believe that it could be possible. Your father was one of the first spirits I saw.” I didn’t mention I saw him at the morgue just after he’d been murdered.

  In a split second, I realized how precious this gift is. Its purpose clarified; became meaningful. Even standing here at gunpoint in the hands of insanity, I knew that it was real and right and that I could make a difference to the dead as well as the living. It was a gift from an angel. One I knew had to be treasured. It was something even Mum hadn’t understood.

  “When it first started, I wanted it gone. Who in their right mind would want to see ghosts, right? That was until I met your dad. And Elliot. But now I know I don’t want to turn it off. To speak to people who have died, to bring comfort to the people left behind…it’s a gift. A true gift from a higher source. I believe that now. I really, honestly believe it with all of my heart.”

  The gun wavered but Paul was listening. I licked dry lips, “It’s quite ironic. You ran into me at the hospital. Do you remember? You pushed me over and I hit my head when I fell. Then an angel came and gave me the sight. That’s when I was able to see your father. Talk to him. I’m helping him do something that’s very important.”

  At that moment, Henry appeared behind Paul. Concern washed his face as soon as he saw what was happening. “Dr Hunter, are you all right?”

  I nodded, “So far. But Laura’s hurt.”

  “God. Don’t tell me my son did this,” Henry said.

  “Henry, I want you to talk to your son. Tell him how you feel,” I said, not taking my eyes
from Paul.

  Paul looked over his shoulder, but of course, he couldn’t see Henry. “No-one’s there.”

  “Tell him something, Henry. Anything.” I tried to keep my voice low and calm, but I wasn’t succeeding very well. My voice wavered as a tremor worked through my body. Adrenaline spiking, the heady need to run. But I couldn’t. I had to keep as calm and still as I could.

  The tip of the gun flicked and I tensed. “I was never important to him. Why do you think he’d want to say anything to me now? What makes you think I’d even listen to him!”

  “Tell him if I knew about him there’s no way I would have run off. Lucy didn’t tell me about him.” I relayed the information to Paul.

  “You’re making it up!” Paul was getting more agitated by the moment. “Of course he’d say something like that. Anyone would know that.”

  “Henry, tell him something only he would know,” I said.

  Henry’s shoulders drooped, “There’s nothing to tell. I knew Lucy for a night. She was gone the next morning and I never saw her again. We’d met at a party, got along, had a good time. Neither of us spoke to each other beyond that night. I was due to leave for interstate work the next day. I never bothered telling her my future address and she never asked. We both understood what we were doing that night and both knew it wasn’t forever.”

  “What did he say?” Paul said. I hesitated, knowing he wasn’t going to like being told what Henry said, but I had to tell him. I had to tell him the truth.

  “He left? He...he didn’t call her. Write her a letter?” Paul’s voice nearly raised into a scream.

  “Paul, he didn’t know. He didn’t hear anything from her after that night. It was a mutual decision.”

  “She...she told me he’d wanted nothing to do with her. That he rejected her when he found out about me. That she took me to see him and he walked away when she told him I was his son!”

  “I could never do that!” Henry looked as horrified as I felt.

  “That’s good, Cassie. Keep him talking,” Elliot’s soothing voice kept me going.

  “Mum told me he never helped for anything. That’s why we had to live where we lived. Ate what we ate. Just on the poverty line. Never had money for anything. I left school when I was fifteen to earn money for her. I could have been someone. I could have been successful if it wasn’t for him!”

  “He didn’t know anything about you. I’ve gotten to know Henry over the past few days and he’s a gentle, nice person. Do you know who he’s written his will out to? The Leukemia Foundation. He’s giving it all to charity to help sick children. If he knew how you struggled, he would never have put you through that.”

  “I knew he had heart disease.”

  I blinked up at him. “How did you know?”

  “His doctor—George—came to see me about him. Ironic isn’t it. He told me Henry was my father and that he was at the hospital being treated. Told me how I suffered at the hands of the man who’d turned his back on me before I was even born, but I was able to get him back. Told me I would be rich. All I had to do was give him some money for his troubles letting me know about my father.”

  “Paul, I was his doctor. Not George ...you don’t mean George Campbell do you?”

  “Campbell? No. Anyway, why would I tell you anything? You’ll just go to the cops.”

  “No! No, I won’t Paul. I know you suffered. Listen, I can tell you what Henry’s saying to you. He wants to talk to you. Do you want to know what he’s saying?”

  The gun wavered. “What’s he saying?”

  Henry put his hand on Paul’s shoulder. The hand of a father to son. “Tell him I would have been proud to know him,” I told Paul.

  Paul wiped tears from his eyes. The gun drooped. I watched it slowly descend and felt hope rise. Maybe this was going to work. I was getting through to him. Then Paul made an animalistic noise. I saw the heat in his eyes as he brought the gun level to my head. His face was pure torture, scrunched with fear and loathing. “He can’t be proud of me! I killed him. We needed the money. My mother would never lie to me! Never!”

  I wondered at the mental torture Lucy had put her son through, making him feel worthless because she’d been too lazy for whatever reason to better herself. She’d brought her son along with her on a downhill ride on life. There was no getting through years of brainwashing.

  “Run Cassie! Get away from him and hide!” Elliot yelled.

  There was a sharp crack and a streak of heat singed my arm. I threw myself sideways, tumbling to the floor and scrambled behind the office divider. Blood seeped from my arm and with it a burning pain, reeling me towards panic of the worst kind. I pushed it into a far comer of my mind and rolled onto my knees scrabbling away from Paul into the shadows of the office. My back slammed into a wall. I waited for Paul to come after me, but there was silence save for my harsh breath pumping into my lungs. Elliot followed me, crouching in front of me, his face tight with horror.

  “Laura!” I whispered to him.

  “He’s standing over her,” Elliot said.

  I glanced over the divider. I saw Paul, standing motionless, staring at the floor. There was a dreamy look on his face, a lethargy to his body. The gun was limp in his hand, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to use it again. Laura was vulnerable where she was. Rage snarled. My heart hammered in my chest. There was no way he was going to do anything to my sister.

  “Get away from her!” I screamed.

  His gaze swept to me. I grabbed a keyboard and ripped it away from its attachment. I dove around the divider and smacked Paul in the head. He staggered backward, gripping his face. I brought it down on his head again. The keyboard disintegrated. Pieces of plastic smashed in all directions. Veins of blood spewed from his forehead. He cowered, hands over his face.

  “That was the distraction, but it won’t keep him down for long. Now run!” Elliot was beside me.

  “What about Laura?”

  “You’ll distract him. He’ll follow you if you run,” Elliot said.

  I dove through the maze of office compartments. I dodged an overflowing bin then glanced back, making sure where Paul was. I stopped short. He’d disappeared.

  “Cassie, in front of you!” Elliot yelled.

  Paul stepped in front of me and smashed a fist to my cheek. My head snapped back. I went flying, landing square on my back on the threadbare carpet. Breath slammed from my lungs. My chest constricted. I tried to inhale, but my body had other ideas. My vision blurred through watering eyes. Paul stepped towards me, emerging from a black, foggy haze.

  “Paul. Stop!” Elliot yelled.

  Of course, Paul didn’t hear him. I felt Elliot’s frustration roll in waves from him as well as Paul’s intent, both as palpable as each other. I sucked in air as my chest released. Slithered backward on the floor, heels catching and slipping. My gaze skated from his face to the gun at his side.

  “My life is hell. When George told me about Henry, I knew that was my chance to right all the wrongs my father had done to me.”

  “Keep him talking, Cassie.” Elliot said

  “He...knew nothing about you, Paul,” I gasped.

  “Liar! He did and he ignored me!”

  The gun shook as rage filled his body. I glanced at Elliot, hopelessness filling me.

  Henry’s head fell into his hands, his shoulders hunched and shook. “Tell him when I found out about him I felt so guilty. I always wanted a son.”

  “He had one all along and he didn’t do a damn thing about it. What does he say about that?” Spittle flew from Paul’s mouth.

  “If I only had known…” Henry said.

  “Good girl. You’re doing well. You need to get off the ground. Can you stand?” Elliot said.

  “God, Cassie. I should never have asked you to do this for me,” Henry said.

  I nodded, willing my body to move the way I wanted it to. “He says he’s sorry.” I made it to my elbows, shuffled back with my backside.

  “Sorry! Is tha
t all!” Madness laced Paul’s face.

  “No. Of course not. More than that. He says... he says...”

  Henry stood next to Paul, watching him with such loss on his face. I felt sorry for Henry. I knew he would never desert a child. It had been Lucy all along who had single-handedly turned a young child into a killer. “Tell him I would have been proud of him. Tell him he would be everything I would want in a son.”

  Lethargy tugged my limbs. I wobbled onto my knees. Warmth ran down my arm. Distracted, I looked and saw it was covered with my blood.

  “Tell him what Henry said, Cassie,” Elliot prompted.

  I blinked, trying to keep my gaze focused on Paul. “You have to believe me, Paul. He’s standing right behind you.”

  “Doing well, Cassie. Draw it out, keep him listening. Do you think you can stand?”

  I didn’t know. I felt groggy. I knew I had to do what Elliot asked of me. I hauled myself upright using a bench for support. Sweat prickled my face and trickled down my back, but I was standing.

  “Henry. Step into Paul. Move now!” Elliot yelled.

  Henry merged with Paul. Paul swayed as energy drained into Henry. The gun dropped from Paul’s limp fingers and he buckled forwards, “What’s happening to me?” His words slurred and he wobbled on his feet.

  “Your father’s taking control of your body,” I said.

  “Hold steady, Cassie. I’m going to try to use your arm.”

  Elliot merged his arm with my good arm. Instead of feeling my energy drain, I felt his strength pouring into me. Felt both our energies wrap and merge together, his masculine strength dissolving into my muscle, my veins, my bone. Controlled by Elliot. I still felt my arm, and yet it wasn’t mine. Just a lump of muscle whose energy had been temporarily transferred. “Oh my God. I can feel you, Elliot!”