by Mike Carey
Melanie was also blond, and also talla match made in heaven, obviously, or at least at some very exclusive country club on the way to heavenand judging from the intact side, she had a beautifully sculpted face with aristocratic cheekbones and vivid blue eyes dusted with flecks of a lighter shade, like highlights. The ugly, swollen tissue on the left side sort of ruined the effect, though. She looked as though shed been in a bad car accidentor as though someone had bounced her off a wall.
Like Steve, she was immaculately dressed and exuded wealth and status. Like him, she seemed to be locked inside a sarcophagus of dense emotion that I felt would have rung aloud if Id tapped it with a finger. She kept her arms rigidly folded, hugging herself as if for comfort. The handshake here revealed complex, overlapping skeins of positive and negative affect: fear, pride, shame, ferocious love, more feara cats cradle of emotions that shouldnt make it into each others company.
Steve said he was a solicitor for a family firm in Stoke Newingtonnot quite a partner, but almost there. Melanie was a barrister, which was how theyd met. Theyd been married for eighteen years. This paltry small talk was as stiff and awkward as if Id been asking them where and how they contracted syphilis.
Things were going to be awkward in other ways, too: with three people in it, my office was already feeling a little crowded. Add to that the fact that the milk Id left in the portable fridge had soured, turned green, and mutated into a new life form since the last time I was here, and Id had to hide the fungus-sprouting mugs behind the filing cabinet, and my professional facade was hanging even more askew than it usually does. Once Id got them sitting down I couldnt even offer them coffee.
Straight down to business, then.
What can I do for you? I asked.
Our daughter, Mel mumbled, her voice slurred and thickened slightly by the swelling on the left side of her jaw. Having said that, she seemed to run out of words.
Abbie, Steve took up. Abigail. Shes gone missing. Where Mels voice had been carefully, rigidly flat, his was so full of formless emotion it almost sounded strangled. He fished in his wallet and took out something small and rectangular, which he handed to me. I took it and flipped it over so it was right-side up for me: it was a photograph, passport-size, of a girl. About thirteen or fourteen years old, judging by face and build; long, straight blond hair of the kind that gets called flyaway on shampoo bottles; an awkward, apologetic smile. Around her neck, a gold pendant shaped like a teardrop. There was something in her eyes . . . something a little sad and haunted. Or maybe there wasnt. Maybe my memory inserted that nuance, in the light of what happened afterward.
Im really sorry to hear that, I said, meaning it about as much as anyone does in those circumstances. These were just strangers, after all, and Abigail was just a name. How long ago?
Thats a stupid habit Ive got: when I cant think of anything else to say, I start in with the questions like a doctor looking to make a diagnosis.
Steve looked to Mel to answer, and again she seemed hard put to it to frame words. Saturday, she said, hesitantly, as if picking her way across some inner minefield. The day before yesterday. That was the last time we saw her, and there wassomething else that happened then. Something that we think might be connected. I registered the might, which seemed a little odd, and I was about to pin that one down, when Steve spoke up again.
We want you to find her for us, Mr. Castor.
Id already jumped to a different conclusion, and I had my mouth open on the first words of a speech Id made a hundred times before, so I was caught a little off balance. I closed my mouth, looked from the man to the woman and back again while I tried to think of something else to say.
Most people in the Torringtons position would be looking for some kind of reassurance that Abigail was still on the right side of the grave: thats a service that a lot of exorcists offer, whether they can make good on the promise or not. I was about to say yes: yes, Id look for Abbies spirit, try to find out if it was still inside her body, but with a whole long string of caveats and provisosbecause even with the wind at my back and the right kind of focus object I can only find a spirit if its there to be found. Some people depart very quickly after death and never come back, so only the sloppiest of cowboy operators assumes that the absence of a ghost is proof positive that someone is still alive.
Anyway, that had all gone out the window. Now I had a different proposition on my plateand a different set of options. I could still take the job on, if I was so inclined. There are ways of finding living people that are (putting this as neutrally as I can) only open to members of my profession, but I dont tend to use them. Rafi aside, I dont traffic with demons, and I dont raise the dead so that I can shake them down for information. Generally speaking, if someones sleeping quietly in the grave I leave them there. Thats the closest thing I have to an ethical standard.
So that left the other option: letting the Torringtons down without too much of a bump.
I dont normally do missing persons work, I said. It sounded lame, I knew, and it sounded cold. I tried again. Youve called the police, Im sure, and theyre already doing all they can. What I could add to that would beminimal, and pretty haphazard. I think maybe you ought to see what they can turn up before you start putting out feelers of your own. Or at least, you should discuss it with the officer whos in charge of the case. I know thats cold comfort, but they do know what theyre doing.
Into the strained silence that followed, Mel made the lips-parting sound that means someone is about to speak, but then she didnt.
Steve filled the gap. There is no police investigation, he said, looking like he was biting down on something bitter.
I blinked. There isnt? Well then, Id say thats the first thing you need to
Abbie is already dead.
Ever the consummate professional, I didnt actually allow my jaw to unravel all the way to the ground. It took a little effort, though, and there was a strained pause during which the statement just hung in the air, disturbing and palpable. Youd better run that by me again, I said at last.
Melanie shook her head, as if her mind were automatically refusingeven while she spoketo go back over this ground again. She died on a school trip to Cumbria, last summer, she said, her voice if anything even deader and harder than before. An accident. Three girls fell into a riverAbbie, and two of her friends. It was in spate. The current was very strong.
They were swept away before anyone could get to them, Steve took up, sounding angry, but it sounded like an old anger, much rehearsed now and very much sick of itself. They shouldnt have been anywhere near the water in the first place. They had no chance. No chance at all.
They both fell into silence, looking away from me and from each other: I could see that this was still raw, after most of a year. It would probably still be raw after most of a life. But she came back, I prompted. I was starting to get the picture now: it was a bleak and sad one, executed mainly in grays, but then I dont get to see many that are in bright primaries.
Steve nodded. Yes, she came back. About three months later. We were in her room.
Cleaning out her things? I hazarded, but he shook his head fiercely. Just sitting. In her room. And II suddenly felt that we werent alone. That somebody had come in, and was standing quite close to us. I couldnt see anything, but I just knew. He smiled a very faint, very tired smile. I turned to Mel, and said Can you feel it? Something like that. She thought Id gone mad. But then she nodded. Yes. She was getting it, too.
That was what it was like, at first. You just had to stand in a certain spot, and you could sense her. It was almost as though you could smell her breath. And about a week after that we started seeing her. Always out of the corner of our eye, at firstnever when we actually turned to look at her. It was as though she was coming back to us
slowly, from a long way away. We kept waiting, and she kept getting closer. Then we could hear her voice, some nights, calling out good night to us from her room when we were getting into bed. We shouted good night back, as though
He paused, and Mel came in on cue. I got the impression, just for a moment, that theyd told this story before, and I wondered if theyd tried out many other exorcists before they got to me. as though she was still alive. As though nothing had happened.
It seemed to be the best way to make her stay, said Steve. Id stand at the sink, in the evening, washing up from dinner, and shed start up a conversation from behind me. I didnt look around. I chatted back to her. Told her about what was happening at work, andand with her friends. Told her jokes.
He closed his eyes for a few seconds, then opened them again and stared at me as if he was expecting some kind of a challenge. After a moment, a single tear made its slow, meandering way down his cheek. He looked like a man whod find it hard to cry, and I felt, just for a moment, the guilty twinge of a reluctant voyeur. I know how strange this must sound, Mr. Castor, Steve Torrington said. But having her back was what stopped us from falling apart after losing her. We went back to being a family again. He shruggeda minuscule twitch of his shoulders that spoke volumes. I could see exactly how that would work. And given all the other places that ghosts can end up haunting, the bosom of the family seemed close enough to heaven to make no difference.
Which was maybe the point, a clinical, dispassionate voice pointed out from the back of my mind. For ghosts, happiness is a double-edged proposition.
I put it as gently as I could. SometimesId even say oftenwhat keeps the dead here on earth is a feeling that theres something they still have to do. Other times its just the fear and pain of passing over, or some other strong emotion like anger. I was trying to present this to them in a particular way, so that they could see it as what it wasa kind of happy ending. It usually tends to be something negative, anyway. Most ghosts are hurting, on some level. I thinkif you made Abbie feel as safe and welcome and loved as you probably didshe may just have gone on to whatever comes next. I wouldnt bring heaven into the equation: Im an atheist myself, as I think I may already have mentionedmostly because I cant handle the contradiction of an omnipotent God coming up with a world as badly thrown together as this one. A couple of CORGI-approved gas fitters could have done a better job. She may be somewhere else nowsomewhere where she should have gone to straightaway, after she died. The extra time you had with her was a gift and, you know, a comfortbut it was never going to last. The dead arent that durable, most of the time.
I stopped. Steve was shaking his head very emphaticallyalmost angrilybut he didnt speak. Instead he turned to look expectantly at Mel, whose eyes were on the desk. Evidently this part of the story fell to her, and evidently she knew it.
Theres something else, she said, and swallowed hard. I met a man. Three years ago. She darted a quick glance at me, to see how much Id infer just from those words. I stared back at her, deadpan. I prefer to have the i-dotting and t-crossing done for me. He was . . . a client. Someone I was representing.
A man in your line of business, Steve supplied.
An exorcist?
Yes, exactly. An exorcist.
Mel was looking at Steve with a curious expression now: tense, supplicating, submissive. I wondered whether hed given her that bruise in the course of a marital disagreement that turned ugly. Three years ago . . . did that count as ancient history or current affairs in this marriage? He didnt look like the wife-beater type. But then, most wife-beaters dont.
As if to shame me for having those suspicions, his arm curled around her shoulders and he drew her close, kissing her on the top of her head because the side of her face that was closest to him was the bruised side.
You dont have to put yourself through this, he said softlyso softly I could barely hear him. Im not blaming you. You know Im not blaming you?
Mel nodded, eyes on the ground.
Do you want to go and wait in the car?
She nodded again, and he removed his arm, kissing her again.
Mel stood. I hope . . . , she said, flashing a wild look at me. I hope you can help us, Mr. Castor. Then she gave a jerky shrug, turned, and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
A heavy silence fell. I decided to let Torrington break it.
The mans name was Dennis Peace, he said at last, his tone mildbut mild with an undertow. Perhaps you know him?
I shook my head. Maybe a vague echo, but ghostbusters arent that community-minded. And even when we do meet up, we dont always bother to exchange names or sniff each others backside. The echo was an interesting one, though: something about a fight that ended badly. Id have to try to pin it down later because Steve was still talking.
He was being sued over an exorcism that had gone wrong: the ghost wasnt bound properly, and it did a lot of damage to the house it was in. He said it had gone geist, and that that happens sometimes, no matter careful you are.
Firmer ground again: I welcomed it like an old friend. Thats why its in the standard contract, I agreed. The exorcist is responsible for any damage he directly causes, but not for the damage that the ghost does in the course of the binding. It should have been open-and-shut, provided hed given them a contract in the first place. I was a fine one to talk: I never bothered with any of that legal paraphernalia myself, although I knew only too well how important it could be to have a safety net if things went bad.
If thered been a contract, Im sure everything would have been fine, as you say. Mr. Peace preferred to work on a handshake, I gather, so it was a lot tougher than it seemed. Anyway, Mel ended up representing him, and she decided to plead custom and practice: the plaintiff had employed another exorcist before, knew the standard terms, et cetera. She didnt win.
But she did spend a lot of time with Peace, while she was preparing the case. There was a hardness in Torringtons tone now. I think, from what shes said since, that she enjoyed talking to him because he belonged to a world shed never seen before. He was almost like an action hero in some Hollywood blockbuster. Shewas attracted to him, and they had a relationship. Briefly. It was the only time. The only time, ever. Im absolutely convinced of that. And she knew even while she was doing it that it couldnt be right. She ended it after about two months. There was a scenea very unpleasant, traumatic onebut in the end Peace accepted that she didnt want to see him again. And then, when it was all over and she had time to think about what shed done There was a long pause. She told me all about it, and she asked me to forgive her. Which I did. Absolutely. Because shed been absolutely honest. We agreed that wed never even talk about it again.
I waited. There was presumably a point to this story, but I couldnt see what it was yet.
After Abbie diedI mean, after she came back Steves voice dropped again, so that I had to strain to hear it. Mel made the mistake of calling Dennis to ask him what we should do.
Why was that a mistake? I asked.
Because he took it as a hint that she wanted to get back together with him again. He laughed, shaking his head incredulously. Our daughter had just died, and she was close to a breakdown, and he was asking her to meet up with him. He booked a hotel room in Paddington. He suggested Mel should tell me he was going to hold a séance for Abbie, and then spend the night there with him. She told him to go and fuck himself. The guttural harshness in his voice came out of nowhere, but it seemed to fit the mood of the moment. He blinked very quickly a few times, as if fighting another outburst of tears. But he wouldnt take no for an answer. He kept on calling her. He booked appointments with her at chambers, which she had to cancel. Then he waited for her after work a few nights. He said they had to talk about their relationship, wh
ere it was going. She told him they didnt have a relationship. She told him to leave her alone. He threatened to tell me what had happened between them, but of course shed already done that, long before.
