Between Jobs

by W. R. Gingell

  “Let’s forget about vampires,” said the detective, clearing his throat. “And let’s forget about fae, and Hobart Between or Behind, or whatever you want to call it.”

  “If you want,” I said, shrugging. It’s not like it was going to make a difference to their existence, talking about them or not. I’d like to see anyone’s belief—or lack of it—affect Zero’s solid, immovable existence by one atom. Or JinYeong’s self-satisfied, pouty existence, if it comes to that.

  “Let’s talk about your parents instead.”

  Oh.

  I flashed him an insincere smile. “Let’s go back to talking about vampires and fae.”

  He gave me another of those ironlike looks, his lips pressed together. “How did you escape? There was no trace of you there, no sign you ever lived there—”

  Someone laughed tiredly.

  Oh. That was me. “You think I killed them.”

  He traded me look for look. “You were what? Thirteen? I’ve known thirteen-year-olds who killed their parents.”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Then how—”

  “The home invaders didn’t find me,” I said baldly. “What? The police didn’t find me, either, and I was at home then, too. If I’d been in my right mind I might have come out at the start, but after I’d been hiding for the first few hours it seemed stupid to come out and start crying on someone.”

  “Say I believe that,” he said. “Say I believe you were so well hidden that the police searching your house didn’t find you—what about the house? There were no photos of you anywhere. No certificates on the wall, nothing. Like they’d been cleared away by someone who didn’t want to be found. There wasn’t even a birth certificate, for pity’s sake!”

  “Dunno. I s’pose we weren’t photo takers.”

  The detective’s face almost looked despairing. “Do you know how downright dodgy that sounds?”

  “Dodgy?” I grinned. “That a police term? I don’t know what to tell you, mate. We didn’t take photos. We didn’t take photos of our food, either—is that weird too?”

  I mean, it’s not like there were photos of Mum and Dad and none of me. There were never photos of any of us on the shelves around the house. Just books. Lots of books.

  “Anyway, it’s not like you ever looked for me. No one did. Don’t think you guys even knew I existed.”

  “You were home-schooled,” he said, nodding grimly. I couldn’t tell if the grimness was aimed at me, or at his fellow police. “And all your friends are from out of state.”

  “Yeah.” I looked at him curiously. “How’d you know?”

  “I did what they should have been— I mean, I made inquiries. All right, if you were there that night, what happened?”

  “Don’t know,” I said briefly. “I don’t know what they did to them. Sometimes I see stuff in my nightmares, but…I don’t even know why I woke up that night. Maybe I was too hot. Kicked my sheets off and went to get some water but the place smelled funny. They were like that when I turned on the light.”

  The detective frowned. I couldn’t tell if he didn’t believe me, or if he just didn’t like what he was hearing. It didn’t matter either way. It’s not like I could change what happened, no matter how much I’d like to.

  Anyway, I wasn’t the one who insisted on the subject, so if he didn’t like it, that was his problem.

  “They were already dead when you came out?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All that happened without you hearing a thing?”

  “Seems like it,” I said. I didn’t want to talk about it before, and now I really didn’t want to talk about it. I was remembering stuff I hadn’t remembered in years—stuff you shouldn’t have to remember.

  I mean, it’s not like I didn’t know where he was coming from. The state the upstairs living room was in when I came out for my drink of water that night, it was impossible for me not to have heard anything.

  I hadn’t seen it straight away; it was dark, and the streetlights don’t really come through the side windows. I felt something sticky beneath my socks, though.

  That was the first thing. Then the stickiness was a wetness that went through the socks, and it came to my mind that all I’d been able to smell since I woke was something heavy and salty and metallic.

  The couch was lumpy; there was usually a throw rug there. But between the smell and the wetness underfoot—the weirdness of it all—I couldn’t push away the thought that I could see someone’s head in shadow above the backrest of the couch. It creeped me out, even though it could have been Dad, asleep on the couch—or Mum, for that matter. I was so creeped out that I was shaking by the time I was close enough to lunge for the light switch. And when the light flickered and began to brighten, and I saw the scope of it all, the shivers got bigger and bigger until it seemed that my teeth were rattling in my head.

  There wasn’t a patch of carpet that wasn’t red; not a corner of the room that wasn’t at least dappled with red stickiness. I looked down at my socks numbly and saw that they were stained red, too, the colour leaching up and over the arch of my foot to the ankle. There was something trailing from my left sock. I whimpered and wiped it on the carpet, but it wouldn’t come off, and I couldn’t bring myself to reach down and pull it off.

  Mum and I had been studying anatomy since the start of last month. That piece of something squishy, I knew, was part of someone’s small intestine. And scattered around the living room floor were other parts of things I’d labelled and studied last week, clean and tidy on paper but glistening and weird and out of shape on the carpet. Stuff that wasn’t meant to be outside of skin.

  The detective sounded sick as he asked, “How could that—that room be like it—how could you not hear anything?”

  I hunched my shoulders. “You tell me.”

  I didn’t want to talk about it. Didn’t want to think about it, either, but that was impossible, now. It was all right for him to be sick; he didn’t even see the room first hand. I did see it first hand, and if I didn’t see the murder of my parents I feel like that’s something your average person should be glad about.

  But sometimes I have the Nightmare, and I wake up thinking that maybe I saw something, after all. Saw something, or heard something, or—I don’t know.

  Maybe the detective was right.

  “Those three,” he began, again.

  I was glad he wasn’t talking about my parents anymore, but I didn’t particularly want to go back to talking about my three psychos, either. They were gone, and my parents were gone, and now there was only an empty house with a bit of paper that said it was mine waiting for me when I got out.

  “What about ’em?” If he thought he was going to get anything out of me but their names, he was as mad as they are.

  “Why are they staying in your house?”

  Wait. He didn’t know that the house belonged to Zero? That was weird. With all the stuff he’d dug up about me and them, you think he’d know at least that much.

  “They needed a place for a while,” I said, shrugging. “I wouldn’t bother looking for them there any more, though. They’re finished what they were doing.”

  “They’re not still at the house?”

  “I told you; they don’t tell me stuff. I’m the pet.” I propped my chin in my palm and said crankily, “Oi. What charges are you holding me on, anyway? Aren’t I supposed to be told that I can have a lawyer if I want one?”

  The detective looked at me. “Do you want one?”

  “Nope. Just thought you ought to know I know my rights.” That was rubbish, of course; he’d turned off the camera and the mic, so what did he care about my rights? But I hadn’t got the feeling that he was a dodgy cop all the times I’d met him, and I wanted to remind him that he knew me, as well. I didn’t want to stay in the cop shop all night. I had a house to go back to.

  “You’re staying where you are until they come to get you.”

  “Yeah, you said that before. It’s nuts. They’re no
t going to come for me. They’re probably half way back to Behind by now.”

  “We’ll see,” he said.

  We sat in silence for a while; I don’t think he quite knew what to ask next.

  “Oi,” I said at last, tugging at the jean-wrinkles around my knees. “What about you, then?”

  He looked wary. “What about me?”

  I half-grinned. I didn’t really expect him to answer that. I expected him to be all business-like—“Don’t ask me questions, I’m asking you”—that kind of thing.

  “That thing you can do where you’re immune to stuff,” I said. “How d’you do that?”

  It was creeping JinYeong out, and even if I approved of creeping out JinYeong, I didn’t see why anyone else but me should be able to do it.

  The detective shrugged, his full lips compressing. This time it wasn’t annoyance making him do it. It was more like he didn’t know whether or not he should tell me.

  I wondered if it would occur to him that if he shared stuff with me, I might share stuff with him?

  I wouldn’t, but I still wondered if the thought would occur to him.

  It did; he pulled a necklace out of his shirtfront and waggled the pendant at me.

  “This,” he said. “I think. My grandma gave it to me. She told me it would protect me from things that can’t be stopped by humans.”

  “Good for grandma,” I said in approval. I don’t know why I tried to find out; it’s not like Zero and the others are going to come back for me to share it with them. For me, it’s useless info.

  Habits die hard, I s’pose; even new ones.

  The detective looked tired; or maybe just a bit sad. He tucked the pendant back away in his shirt, and I was surprised to find myself feeling sorry for him. After all, who was he going to talk to about this? It wasn’t like he could share his suspicions with anyone. Not without people thinking he was bonkers, anyway.

  “Why d’you wanna know about them so much, anyway?” I asked him. “Thought you lot were trying to catch the murderer who killed the bloke across the road, but you seem to be pretty interested in me and those three.”

  “We are,” he said grimly. “I am. But I keep getting the feeling that if I can figure out those three, a lot of other mysteries will be solved. I think the murder will, as well.”

  “Oh.” I gazed at him for a long time, and that made him uneasy.

  He twitched his collar straight and looked away.

  “They didn’t do it, y’know.”

  “I thought you didn’t know what they got up to? Thought you were just the pet.”

  “I am, and I don’t,” I said firmly. “But I saw ’em arrive, and they’ve been trying to figure out who did this, too.”

  “Why? If they’re—if they’re—”

  “Behindkind,” I supplied, helpfully.

  He closed his eyes briefly, but gave in. “If they’re Behindkind, why do they care about a human murder?”

  “Yeah, well, that’s the question, isn’t it?”

  “What is the go with the murdered bloke, anyway?” he asked, impatiently.

  “The go?” I was surprised. A bit because he was finally asking about the actual murder he should have been investigating while he was running around spying on my three psychos, but also a bit because I hadn’t wondered about that for a while now. “Dunno. They’ve been trying to find out who murdered him, but I don’t know why.”

  “Like I said; he’s human. They’re…something else. Why should they care about him?”

  “Don’t know that they care about him,” I said, thinking it over. There was no need to tell him too much, but that bit wasn’t a secret or something important, so I didn’t mind telling him. “It’s more about the bloke who murdered him. Reckon they’ve been after him for a while.”

  “I suppose he’s been murdering fairies, too.”

  “Yeah,” I said laconically. It was no use putting him right again—he was doing it on purpose. Sort of a defence against what he knew was true but couldn’t bear to believe. “We done yet?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Not even close.”

  I sighed. The more I saw of this room, the uglier it got. It’d be nice to see some Between flickering around the edges; just enough so I could slip away and startle the detective.

  I looked around gloomily. Oh well. Even if there was a way Between, I probably wouldn’t be able to get through. Not without my psychos.

  Well, if I couldn’t get outta there, I wanted coffee. “Aren’t you supposed to give me coffee or something?” I asked the detective, accusatorily. “I don’t care if it’s to get my DNA or whatever. I’m having withdrawal.”

  He gave me a look that was all pressed lips and Dad-level disapproval.

  “What? I got you tea when you broke into my place. Least you can do is get me a cup of coffee. It doesn’t have to be good.”

  “Fine,” he said. “But when I get back, we’re going to talk about what happened in the house across the street from you, and how a whole house—a whole house—”

  “Yeah, good luck trying to make that bit normal,” I said, grinning.

  He gave up. Instead of trying to say it in a way that wouldn’t sound crazy, he got up and left the room.

  Hopefully he’d get me some coffee while he figured it out.

  I waited in the silence of the interview room, batting at the edges of Between that were visible to me; and every now and then I saw a bit of the room that wasn’t just room. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t do more than see a glimmer of it every now and then. I definitely couldn’t see enough to walk Between. Not here, anyway.

  Looked like I was stuck here until Detective Tuatu decided to let me go.

  It was only a few minutes later that I heard his voice outside the door. It was raised; annoyed and disbelieving. I couldn’t hear exactly what he was saying, and I didn’t know who he was talking to, but whoever it was—whatever it was—it got under his collar.

  That meant it was probably about my three psychos.

  He slammed into the room after another minute, his phone still in his hand.

  “Oi!” I said indignantly. “Where’s me coffee?”

  “Are you lot playing games with me?”

  “Ay?”

  “You think you’re part of the police force, or something?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, that’s a good one. Better give me a badge, then. I could use it next time I need to ‘trespass’.”

  “Don’t play games with me!” the detective snapped, his voice cracking. “Somehow they’ve got to the chief commissioner as well—they’re a part of the force now! Freelancers! Don’t tell me you didn’t know that!”

  “What?” If my face was as blank as my brain, he had to know I wasn’t lying. “They’re what?”

  He looked like he wanted to punch something. He made a circle around the desk to give him a chance to squash that urge, and then said bitterly, “I had the news from the commander. They’re attached to the police force now. Whenever we’ve got a case with anything weird or difficult about it, they’re the ones we’re supposed to call. And anything that shows the same M.O. as this case—it goes straight to them. We don’t even get a look in.”

  The room seemed suddenly very cool again. This—none of it—made any sense.

  I saw them getting ready to leave. I saw Athelas clearing out cupboards and JinYeong emptying the blood stock in the fridge. I saw Zero putting that bit of paper, that important bit of paper, on the kitchen island before the detective arrested me.

  “When did you hear that?” I asked. It probably didn’t matter, but it could.

  “I took the call five minutes ago,” he said. “While I was out of the room. You’d better start talking. I can’t let this go, not when they’re conning their way into the police force.”

  “They’ve got a lot of guts,” I said. What was going on? They were definitely going when I saw them; it was no use feeling hopeful now. “Gotta hand it to ’em. I don’t know what they’re up to, but
they’ve got a lot of guts.”

  I sighed, and hunched down. I really wanted to be out of here. Times like this, it’d be really handy if I could get into Between by myself. If I could get Between by myself, I could just sort of push at that curling edge of Other I could see dividing the interview room, and walk right through the walls.

  But I was stuck here for as long as the detective chose to keep me. Or as long as he could do it without getting in trouble, I supposed. Actually, it was kind of insulting: did he think I was going to talk for this?

  “Are you listening to me?”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I said wearily. Everything seemed to be catching up with me now, and I felt that I’d really like to sniffle in a corner somewhere, then go to sleep.

  The almost translucent edge of Between space through the interview room was brightening. I smiled at it, wondering if it was responding to me—if maybe I’d managed to influence it by thinking about it and wanting it.

  C’mmon. Open up just a bit. Just a little bit. That’s all I needed to slip through into Between. And if I was lucky, maybe I could get myself out again, too; like I did the first time.

  “What?” said the detective. He sounded wary. “Why are you smiling?”

  I glared at him. “Who’s smiling?”

  “You are. Don’t. It creeps me out.”

  I yawned at him this time.

  “I can wait all day,” Detective Tuatu said warningly, sitting back with crossed arms. His body language said he wasn’t concerned, but I was pretty sure he was sweating. He really thought they were going to come for me. Or maybe that hit on the head was still bothering him. “I can wait all day for them to come for you. Then we’ll all have a bit of a talk about this and that.”

  Completely troppo. Which was worrying, since he’d already admitted he disconnected the camera and audio feeds.

  I made more of an effort with the divide I could see between the human world and Between.

  See ’em like they are Behind. See ’em as more than just dust bunnies sweeping across the floor on a draught.

  Nothing. It did nothing.

  I sighed, my shoulders sinking. And then it occurred to me.

  The dust bunnies were sweeping across the floor like miniature tumbleweed. Why were they doing that? There was no breeze in here. The aircon was so high up on the wall, with its vents pointing straight across from itself, that it couldn’t be that, either.