The Ghosts of London

by Amy Cross

  No.

  Rachel's going to come through for me.

  She's my sister. She can probably sense that I need help.

  "You find the place last night?" asks a familiar voice.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I see a guy grinning at me, and it takes a moment before I realize that it's the same person I saw last night when I was looking for East Street. My initial instinct is to just ignore him, but now that we've made eye contact I figure that I need to at least be polite. After all, I've read that people in London can get angry with very little provocation.

  "I'm fine," I say with a faint smile. "Thanks."

  Turning back to my cup of tea, I place my hands over the top and feel the warmth of the steam.

  "Sorry," the guy says, suddenly coming over and sitting opposite me. "I'm not stalking you, love, honest. I hope you don't mind if I sit here, but I'm getting a vibe from you, and I think..." He pauses, and he seems a little hesitant. "I've been right where you are," he says eventually, sitting back. "Right in your shoes."

  "Um..." I pause, not really knowing what to say.

  "My first day in London," he continues, "I had nowhere to go, no-one to see, no nothing, and I was fucked. I mean, completely fucked. Pardon my French, obviously. I didn't have a prospect in the world, and that's by no means an unusual situation. God knows how many people come here every year and just get flushed down the drain of life. Have you even cast a glance around this place? It's a fucking waiting room for the slums."

  I smile awkwardly, hoping that maybe he'll finish his little speech and then leave me alone.

  "My name's Simeon," he continues, holding a hand out to me. "Like I said, I've been in your situation, and I ended up doing okay. There's a few little tricks you need to learn, and most people, by the time they've picked 'em up, they're too bent out of shape to recover. What you need is for someone to give you some hints, free of charge, and just help you look after yourself. I'm not after anything in return. You don't even need to ever set eyes on me again, but it'd make me feel better if I could at least impart some useful words."

  "I'm meeting my sister," I reply, although I'm painfully aware that my voice sounds painfully uncertain.

  "That's cool," he says with a faint smile. "But until you two hook up, yeah, take some advice from someone who's been there."

  I stare at him for a moment, finally realizing that it might be better to just let him finish and then get out of here.

  "If you're not careful," he continues, "you'll end up like the rest of these sad fucks. Just another ghost. Believe me, you don't need to die to become a ghost, not around here. You just need to, like, kinda fade away a bit, so that you're shuffling around but no-one really wants to notice you." He pauses. "And the problem with that is that once you've gone that way, it's very difficult, if not impossible, to come back. Do you understand what I'm trying to tell you? There are decisions you can make today, decisions that might seem infinitely fucking small and trivial, that are gonna affect the rest of your life, however long or short that might be."

  "I'll take that into account," I reply.

  "I'll take that into account," he parrots with a smile. "Listen to you. So sure of yourself, huh? You still got the card I gave you the other day?"

  I nod, even though I'm not entirely certain where I put it; I guess it's somewhere in my increasingly disheveled and disorganized backpack.

  "Hang onto it," he continues. "I'm not saying you'll need it, but if you have any problems, I can give you a hand. I know it might seem a bit weird, and you've got every right to be cautious when some strange guy tells you he can help, but you seem pretty smart. I'm sure you can tell when someone's trying to pull a fast one on you." He pauses, before getting to his feet. "Just be careful who you trust, okay? You're smart, I can see that, but being smart's not enough. You also need to have a little knowledge, if you know what I mean."

  I watch as he heads out of the cafe, and after a moment I realize that while I was listening to him, I let my tea go cold. Taking a big sip, I realize that the guy behind the counter is watching me, which means I'll probably have to leave soon. Figuring that I'd rather just get out of here if I'm not wanted, I finish the tea, grab my bag and make my way to the door. It's only 11am, and I was supposed to wait until after lunch before checking my mail again, but since I'm not going to eat lunch, I figure I can be flexible.

  As soon as Rachel replies to my message, everything'll be okay.

  Chapter Five

  Rachel

  "So then I had to find a way to seal the door off completely," Mr. Moorgrave says as I massage his shoulders. "Water was pouring in, and it's not like the building insurance was going to cover it. Act of God, is what they'd call it. Hell, the whole thing's a joke. Anything could be an act of God, if you look at it the right way."

  I smile politely. The truth, though, is that I'm barely even listening to his long, painfully dull story about how last night's rain flooded his basement. I'm managing a few smiles here and there, and occasionally I zone in for long enough to ask a question or two, but for the most part I'm still in something of a daze. This always happens when I had an 'incident' the night before, and I know my only option is to push through it and wait for my head to clear.

  "Rachel?" says a voice near the door.

  Turning, I see that Maria has come to find me, and there's a slightly nervous look on her face.

  "I'm with a client," I tell her, as if that wasn't painfully obvious.

  "It's him," she whispers.

  "Who?"

  "Him!"

  I stare at her for a moment, trying to work out what the hell she means. After a few seconds, however, I realize that there's only one man who could possibly have caused her to seem so nervous, although the thought of Alexander Medion having come down to the parlor in person is somewhat hard to stomach.

  "Tell him I'm busy," I stammer, hoping to buy some time.

  "You're kidding, right?" she continues. "Tell him yourself. He's out here now."

  I look down at Mr. Moorgrave's shoulders and realize that there's no way I can concentrate on his massage, not if I know that Alexander is waiting outside.

  "It's okay," Mr. Moorgrave says after a moment, with a kind of deflated tone to his voice. "I can wait."

  "I'll be back in two seconds," I reply, hurrying to the sink and giving my hands a quick rinse before drying them on a towel, checking my hair in the mirror, and heading out into the reception area, where sure enough Alexander Medion is sitting somewhat incongruously on the low sofa in the corner.

  "I hope you don't mind that I came down here today," he says as he gets to his feet, "but I wanted to speak to you in person about a little... proposition."

  "Perhaps we should talk in the office," I reply, remaining calm and polite as Maria gawps from behind her desk. "This way," I add, leading him over to the little room at the back of the building that doubles as a kind of office whenever we need to talk to a client in private; as I shut the door behind us, I can't help but realize that this is a much more cramped space than I would have liked, and I immediately feel distinctly uncomfortable.

  "I spoke to Carmella this morning," he explains, "about arranging some more sessions, but then I realized that it might be more appropriate to talk to you directly. As you might understand, the situation is rather delicate, and I certainly would like as few people as possible to be involved in any arrangement that might be made." He pauses, and for the first time since I met him, he actually seems a little nervous. "I know that I pay more for your services than anyone else," he continues, "and money really isn't a problem for me, so I was thinking that perhaps our situation could become a little more formal and... exclusive."

  "Okay," I reply, struggling to understand quite where he's going with this. "You're going to have to be a little more specific."

  "I want to hire you," he continues.

  I stare at him.

  "I want you to be my personal masseuse, and mine alone. You'll be my employee,
and when it's necessary for me to travel, you'll accompany me. Your duties will be more or less the same as they are now, probably a little more frequent, but there'll be no need for you to worry about..." He pauses again. "Well, you won't have any other clients to attend to. Apart from the hours when I need you, you'll be free to do as you wish, and of course your remuneration will be considerably better than anything you receive at the moment, and much more regular."

  "My..." I take a deep breath as I realize that he's trying to lure me away from the parlor so that I can work for him full-time. The idea is certainly tempting, especially because of the financial stability that it would bring, but at the same time I know that there's no way I could ever commit myself to one client like that. "It's a very generous offer," I start to say, "but -"

  "If it's the more intimate side of things that bothers you," he replies, interrupting me, "then we can, of course, set some boundaries there as well. I can understand that you might not want to enter into an arrangement without having everything planned in advance. That's why I was thinking that we should set things out properly, in a contract. That way, you'll know exactly what's expected of you, and there'll be no room for confusion." He waits for me to say something. "I know this might seem a little unusual," he adds eventually, "but... after last night... I just feel that there's no point wasting time when a solution has presented itself."

  "It's not that," I explain, choosing my words carefully. "I just... prefer working the way I work now. Carmella has been very good to me, and I could never walk out on her. I'm happy to continue seeing you, but I don't think I can give up my shifts here at the parlor. I'm sorry."

  There's an awkward silence, and I can tell that he's disappointed with my answer.

  "It's nothing to do with you," I continue. "I just feel that, at this time in my career, I'm not ready to offer my services on an exclusive basis."

  "I see," he says. "I suppose it would be foolish of me to make any effort to change your mind."

  "Not foolish," I reply, "but... I'd prefer it if you could just accept my decision. I'm flattered, and I hope this won't deter you from coming back for more sessions, but in terms of an exclusive arrangement, I'm afraid that my answer has to be no. I just can't do something like that at the moment."

  "As is your right," he replies, clearly a little embarrassed. "I have a lot of work coming up anyway, so this probably wasn't a good time to start arranging anything, but maybe when I'm free again I'll get in touch with Carmella and we can see about another. session. Non-exclusive, of course."

  "That sounds good," I tell him, desperately hoping that he'll leave.

  "And I hope that this conversation won't impact upon your willingness to -"

  "No," I say firmly, "it won't. I promise."

  "Fine," he says calmly, before heading to the door. It's clear that he's not happy, but I guess he has too much pride to ask again. He pauses and almost turns back to me, before leaving the room.

  I open my mouth to say something, perhaps to make him feel a little better, but in the end I just let him walk away. That was quite possibly the most excruciatingly embarrassing conversation I've ever had with a client; hell, the guy pretty much just tried to hire me as some kind of concubine, and I had the temerity to turn him down. I've spent enough time with Alexander Medion to know that he's a complex man who keeps his emotions to himself, but I've got no doubt that he'll have felt a little rejected by my answer.

  Once I'm sure that he's left the building, I head back through to Mr. Moorgrave, who has been sitting patiently waiting the whole time. The one difference, however, is that he has not-so-subtly opened his towel to reveal his pudgy little penis.

  "So I had some sandbags left from the last time it happened," he continues, as I resume massaging his neck, "and I hauled them over to block the door. I knew they wouldn't be totally watertight, but I figured it was better than nothing. Unfortunately, as I was piling them up, I remembered that I'd moved my mother's old refrigerator down into the basement last summer, on account of it having become much noisier than before..."

  As he continues to tell the story, I find it hard not to keep thinking back to Alexander Medion's offer. Maybe in another lifetime, I would have accepted, but the truth is, I can't afford to plan too far ahead. I have no idea if I'll be alive tomorrow; hell, I'm not even sure that I'm alive right now.

  Chapter Six

  Katie

  With Rachel having still not replied, I find myself wandering the streets and trying to keep myself from panicking. I don't have any spare change to spend on a drink, so I tell myself to calm down and try to find somewhere to sit for a few hours.

  The truth, though, is that I'm starting to worry that maybe something has happened to my sister.

  After walking for almost an hour, I unexpectedly find myself coming across a narrow canal that winds its way behind a row of buildings. My first instinct is to turn and head back the way I came, but the place looks so peaceful and quiet, and in my current state I'd rather keep as far away from the crowd as possible. Making my way carefully down the grass verge until I reach the tow-path, I glance both ways and see that there's not a soul in sight. In a way, it's hard to believe that I'm still in London, although the distant roar of traffic is ever-present.

  Looking down into the canal's depths, I realize that although there's been a lot of rainfall over the past twenty-four hours, the water level looks surprisingly low.

  I make my way along the side of the canal for a few minutes before chancing upon a rickety old bench. Figuring that I've got nothing better to do, I take a seat and start rooting through my bag, desperate to find the energy bars I brought from home. I've been carefully rationing myself over the past twenty-four hours, but it's been a while since I ate anything so I figure it's time for a boost. My fingers tremble slightly as I open the wrapper, and then finally I sit back and try to ignore the growing sense of panic in the back of my mind.

  What if Rachel's dead?

  What if she's left London?

  What if any one of a thousand other things has happened to her?

  When I left home yesterday, I knew there was no turning back. By now, my parents are going to have realized that I've gone, and they'll probably be desperately searching for me. I made damn sure not to leave any kind of a trail; I even did all my research on a computer at the library, so that my internet history at home wouldn't give anything away. It's been a long time since my parents had any contact with Rachel, so I was hoping that I'd be able to come down to London and join my sister's new life, far away from everything that happened before. Unfortunately, having hidden herself away from our parents, Rachel now seems to have disappeared completely.

  Lost in thought, I barely notice something moving a little further along the canal, but finally I hear a faint splashing sound and I look along toward the nearby bridge. I blink a couple of times, not really certain that I'm seeing what I think I'm seeing, but then finally I realize that there's someone down in the water, waist-deep, standing in the shadows under the bridge and seemingly staring straight at me. I instantly feel a kind of cold chill, but I tell myself not to panic. Whoever the person is, from her silhouette I think it's a girl, but she's at least fifty meters away and so far she's not coming any closer; from this distance, her eyes look less like eyes and more like two black smudges.

  I pause.

  Glancing over my shoulder, I see that I'm close to a path that should lead back to the main road, so it's not like I'm in the middle of nowhere. I look back at the girl and see that she hasn't moved, and I tell myself that I should try not to be too paranoid; if she starts coming toward me, maybe I should consider moving on, but right now I figure there's no reason to be alarmed. I take another bite of my energy bar and force myself to look away, focusing instead on the calm water of the canal while keeping an eye on the tow-path just in case the girl makes a move.

  As the minutes pass, however, I start to feel more and more worried about the fact that I'm being watched so in
tensely. The girl seems happy to just stand and stare, and finally I decide that I should pack up and find another spot. I start closing my bag back up, but as I get to my feet I spot something falling from one of my pockets. I bend down to pick it up and find that it's the business card that Simeon gave me last night. For a moment, I consider dropping it in the bin next to the bench, but at the last moment I realize that it might be worth hanging onto, just for insurance.

  I mean, things can't get that bad, but...

  Shoving the card into my pocket, I turn and start climbing up the grass verge. When I get to the top, I look back toward the bridge, and to my surprise I see that the girl seems to have vanished. After checking both ways to make sure that there's no sign of her, I head back toward the main road, feeling as if maybe it was a mistake to get too far from the crowd. There's something about the stillness of the canal that makes me a little edgy.

  Chapter Seven

  Rachel

  It's raining again by the time I leave the parlor. My shift ends at 6pm, just as the after-work clients are starting to arrive: businessmen, a mix of ages, most of them looking confident, as if they don't give a damn about being seen coming to a place like this. A few of them check me out as I slip through the door and head past them, but I'm careful to avoid eye contact. Hell, the last thing I want is any kind of contact at all.

  As I make my way along the narrow little alley, I immediately realize that something's wrong. I can't explain it; I just have this tingling sensation in my gut that tells me I'm being watched. I glance over my shoulder, but there's no sign of anyone, which is bad news because it means that I need to be careful. I'm fairly sure that no-one's going to try anything right now, since it's still light and there's a busy street just a few meters away, but everyone who works at the parlor knows that being followed by a client after work is a major worry.