The Ghosts of London

by Amy Cross

  You never know which ones are going to turn out to be dangerous.

  I relax a little as I reach the high street, although the crowd gives my stalker a better chance to blend in. I can tell he's still around somewhere, most likely behind, keeping pace with me. I guess it's entirely possible that his plan is just to follow me for a while, probably fantasizing about getting more than a hand-job, but the last thing I need is for some random client to find out where I live. Hurrying through the crowd, I spot a shop up ahead with a large glass window, so I quickly duck inside and position myself by the racks of clothes, waiting to see if a familiar face walks past outside.

  I wait.

  And wait.

  Suddenly Albert Moorgrave comes into view, stopping a little further ahead as if he's trying to work out where I've gone. My heart skips a beat; I guess I was worried that it might have been Alexander Medion who was following me, but Moorgrave might still be a danger. I watch as he pushes through the crowd, and from the way he's moving I think he's starting to panic. He's probably never followed anyone in his life before, but that doesn't mean he's not going to learn fast, and I've read enough horror stories in the media over recent years to know that even a bumbling little dick like Moorgrave could turn out to be a serious problem. I watch as he makes his way through the crowd, and then I head back out of the store and start following him, keen to see exactly where he goes next.

  At the next corner, he stops and looks both ways, as if he's desperate to find me again. Figuring that I need to deal with this problem quickly, I decide that my best option is to take control. To that end, I move around the side of the crowd and hurry past Moorgrave, with the aim of making sure that he sees me. He probably thinks he's doing a good job of keeping me under surveillance, so I make sure not to glance over my shoulder. Walking along the street, I spot a turn-off that leads down toward one of the canals, so I take a left and head away from the crowd. I can hear my footsteps now, echoing in the narrow alleyway, and I'm pretty sure I can hear Moorgrave following; he's keeping his distance, probably poised to hide in a doorway at any moment, and I'm almost tempted to look back and give him a fright.

  Almost.

  When I reach the tow-path that runs along the side of the canal, I immediately cross a nearby bridge and make my way into the park. I know this is dangerous, and that there's a risk I'm underestimating Moorgrave, but at the same time I figure I need to give him a proper lesson. I've got absolutely no sympathy for a guy who stalks women, so as I make my way along a narrow gravel path, I'm already trying to decide what I should do to give him the shock of his life.

  And that's when I remember the knife I always carry for protection.

  When I reach a secluded spot, I duck behind a tree and start going through my bag. Once I've got the knife out, I peer back the way I came, hoping to see Moorgrave. Sure enough, after maybe thirty seconds, I spot movement in the distance, and I smile as I realize that he's hurrying along, puffing as he struggles to keep up with me. The asshole is in no fit state to be stalking anyone, and if I didn't despise him so much, I'd find him quite comical. I watch as he gets to within a few feet of me, and then finally I step out in front of him.

  "Hey," I say, acting surprised. "What are you doing here?"

  "Me?" he stammers, clearly terrified. "I was just... I was... I mean, I was just out for a walk. There's nothing wrong with that, is there?"

  "I hope not," I reply, keeping the knife behind my back as I step closer to him. "I'm just out for a walk too."

  He smiles awkwardly, as his face turns red with embarrassment.

  "I didn't think you lived over this way," I continue, enjoying the fact that I've got him on the back-foot. "Don't you live somewhere near Muswell Hill?"

  "That's right," he says quickly, "but I just, I was... I just came for a walk. I thought I'd..." His voice trails off, and I can see from the startled look in his eyes that he's totally lost for words.

  "I know the feeling," I continue, surreptitiously moving the knife into view before holding it between us. "It's nice to get away from the crowd sometimes, huh? Really get into the natural world. I know we're not exactly in the jungle, but it's still good to get a clear head, isn't it? Away from all the noise and the traffic fumes..."

  He nods, but his eyes are fixed on the knife.

  "It's always good to be prepared, too," I add., stepping closer "There are different dangers out here, don't you think?" I wait for a reply, but he's clearly terrified. "Especially for a woman," I continue. "You never know what kind of perverts you might find out here. I bet you've seen the news. It seems like almost every month, there's some other poor cow who's ended up being killed, and eventually they always catch some kind of sweaty pervert who took things too far. We live in a very fucked-up world."

  He nods again.

  "Hold this," I say, suddenly pushing the knife's handle into his grasp. "It's pretty substantial, huh? A real old-fashioned hunting knife. My father gave it to me when I was little. It's the only thing of his that I still own. Hell, it's the only thing of his that I still need." I pull his hands a little closer to my chest, until the blade's tip is pressed against my shirt. "So much power," I add, lowering my voice. "It's kind of a penis extension, isn't it? Very Freudian and all that shit. I bet you feel like more of a man now you've got that in your hands, huh?"

  "I..." He pauses, clearly lost for words.

  "Or a clitoris extension," I add with a smile.

  He swallows hard.

  "Don't be frightened," I say, putting one hand on his waist and another on his shoulder. "You're not the one who should be scared right now. It's me. After all, I'm the weak and feeble woman." I look deep into his eyes, and I swear to God, I can see the fear. "You're not really a man of the world, Mr. Moorgrave, are you?" I continue. "I know you were following me today -"

  "No!" he splutters.

  "Yes," I say calmly. "What's wrong? Wasn't that hand-job enough for you earlier?"

  "I don't know what you're talking about," he continues. "I'm a respectable -"

  "It's okay," I continue, interrupting him. "You don't have to lie to me. How many times have you come to the parlor now? Ten? Fifteen? You're a regular. Is this the first time you've followed me, though? I'd like to think that I'm pretty good at spotting people who stalk me. You wouldn't be the first, either. There was another man, a while ago..." I pause as my memory seems to drop out for a moment. "Anyway," I add, "that's ancient history, but the point is, you're not the first man to follow me, and you won't be the last. Well... I guess you might be the last..."

  "I'm not sure if -"

  Before he can finish, I pull him close with such force that the knife slices straight into my chest, cracking a rib before plunging directly into my heart. As Moorgrave tries to pull away, I force him to remain in place for a moment, and I can feel the tip of the blade tearing through my body, filling my chest with hot blood. There's pain, of course, but in a strange way I don't really mind. As if to prove the point, I push Moorgrave away and grab the knife from his hands, before using it to stab myself several more times in the chest.

  "Wh -" he stammers, as if he's transfixed by the sight.

  I open my mouth to say something, but all that comes out is a thick river of blood. Dropping to my knees, I keep stabbing myself, driving the blade into my torso over and over again, twisting it each time in order to cause maximum damage until, finally, I drop sideways onto the ground and fall completely still. I stare straight ahead, and as the last breath leaves my body I smile faintly at the sound of Moorgrave turning and running away. My eyes flicker a couple of times, blinking spontaneously, and then everything just stops.

  Silence.

  Chapter Eight

  Katie

  As I step out of the internet cafe, I feel it again: that sudden, soul-destroying sensation that somewhere, something awful has happened. I stop for a moment, but it's as if the whole world is filled with such absolute sorrow and despair, I can barely even breathe.

&n
bsp; And then, as suddenly as it started, it passes.

  Checking my watch, I see that it's almost 6pm, which means that it's now been basically a day since I emailed Rachel, and she still hasn't managed to get back to me. I keep telling myself that she's just busy, or she's on holiday, or one of a hundred other excuses, but in the back of my mind there's the realization that Rachel isn't the kind of person to simply go AWOL like this. Something's wrong, and I can't keep waiting for her to eventually come and rescue me.

  Making my way along the busy street, I spot a man up ahead, sitting on the pavement with a cup in front of him, begging for money. I've seen beggars before, of course, even back in Cheshire, but this time something's different; as I slow to look more closely at this old man, I realize that right now, I'm pretty much in the same position. I've got about four pounds left in my pocket, and I'm down to my last energy bar. The thought of sitting by the side of the road and begging for money is horrific, but I guess it was horrific to this guy once too.

  "Spare some change?" he asks.

  I shake my head, but I can't stop staring at him and trying to imagine how he ended up living on the streets. His eyes look kind of crazy, almost as if he's lost his mind, and he's got a big, unkempt beard.

  "What are you looking at?" he barks. "If you wanna get a good look, it'll cost you."

  I mutter an apology before continuing on my way, but I can't stop thinking about him. He looked to be in his fifties or sixties, but he must have been young like me once; has he always been living on the streets, or did something happen to him more recently? I want to go back and ask him, to find out what mistakes he made so that I can avoid them, but I get the feeling that he doesn't want to be disturbed. As I reach the next street corner, I spot another figure sitting on the pavement. A woman, with a scarf over her head, is asking people for money, and she looks younger, more like my age.

  I hurry on, keen not to get caught staring again. With every step, however, I realize more and more that I don't actually have anywhere to go. I've been hanging around the same part of London since last night, and without help from Rachel, I've got nowhere to turn. Feeling tears start to well up in my eyes, I focus on forcing them back until, finally, I turn down a side-street and stop for a moment next to some bins. I crouch down so that no-one can see me, and that's when the tears really start to flow. I thought coming to London was going to be an adventure, and I thought I was finally going to be able to get away from home; now, with no sign of Rachel, I not only have to worry about my sister, but I also have to face the prospect that my only realistic course of action is to call my parents and ask for them to help.

  I was an idiot to think I could ever escape.

  For several minutes, I remain in place, sobbing behind the bins. Slowly, my fear turns to anger at the thought of my father's patronizing smile when I eventually get home. He'll be so pleased to see that I failed, and he'll never let me hear the end of it. The thought of that bastard smiling as I walk back through the door is too much to take, and I swear to God, I want to smash something in frustration. Finally, I manage to force back the tears, and that's when I remember the card in my pocket.

  Fishing it out, I stare at the phone number that this Simeon guy gave me.

  I know it would be a mistake to call. After all, there's no way some random guy is just going to offer to help me without wanting something in return. Then again, the situation would be pretty similar if I went home, and at least if I stay in London I can buy myself some more time to find Rachel or, in the worst case scenario, to get myself sorted. I can call this guy, accept his help on a temporary basis, and then find a job; once I've got a job and I'm earning money, I can get a flat, and then I'll be able to support myself. I know it won't be easy, but it's an option, and right now, I need to make a decision.

  It takes a few minutes before I've managed to dry my eyes, but finally I get to my feet and head back to the high street. I wander a few hundred meters before spotting a payphone, so I put a coin into the slot and dial Simeon's number. As the phone rings, I keep telling myself that this is only temporary, that I'll find Rachel soon and get a job, and that even if anything dodgy happens, I can handle myself. If the worst comes to the worst, I can always just run. I'm not an idiot; I can look after myself.

  "Simeon Cole," says a familiar voice on the other end of the line.

  "Hi," I say, turning my back on the crowd of people passing along the street. "My... My name's Katie. I met you earlier, and last night, and you gave me your card, and..." My voice trails off as I'm struck by how naive I must sound.

  "Katie!" he replies, sounding genuinely pleased to hear from me. "I was wondering if you'd give me a ring. How's things? You living it up in the city, yeah?"

  "I'm okay," I reply, as my credit on the phone starts to run down. "I'm on a payphone, so I can't talk for long, but -"

  "You need somewhere to kip?"

  I open my mouth to answer, but the words seem to catch.

  "Katie?" he continues. "Do you need somewhere to sleep tonight, love?"

  "Kind of," I stammer.

  "Can you meet me at the cafe where we talked earlier?" he asks. "Say, in twenty minutes? I'll buy you some grub and we can sort you out, okay?"

  I pause as I try to silence the voice in the back of my head that's screaming at me not to do this.

  "Katie?"

  "Okay," I reply, feeling a flood of relief rush through my body. "I'll be there. Do you think -"

  "See you soon," he replies, interrupting me before I can finish, "and Katie, don't worry. You've done the right thing by calling me. I know it must have taken some guts, but I'll see you right, yeah? Just make sure you're at the cafe in twenty minutes, and everything'll be okay. There's a lot of sharks out there, but I promise, I'm only gonna help you. Trust me. I've been where you are, and I know how scary it can be, but everything's gonna be fine. You just have to know who to rely on, and you've started out pretty well. You've made that leap of faith."

  "Okay," I say, once again having to force back tears. The last thing I want to do is let this guy think that I'm some kind of weak idiot, even though I'm asking for his help.

  As soon as the call is over and I've put the phone down, I turn and make my way back along the high street. There's a voice at the back of my head, screaming at me that this is insanely naive and dangerous, but at the same time I know that I can look after myself if things go wrong. Right now, I need a roof over my head, and if there's even a chance that this Simeon guy is going to help me out, I'd be crazy not to accept his offer. It's only for a couple of days. What can go wrong in two days?

  Chapter Nine

  Rachel

  As the sun sets over the park, all the colors seem to become much softer. I've got my eyes closed, of course, but I can see the brightness of the sun filling my vision with a kind of warm pink glow. Finally, tilting my head a little, I open my eyes and look down at the grass, which is still drying after last night's torrential rain.

  I pause, and then I take a deep breath.

  It happened again.

  Out of habit, I unbutton the top of my shirt and pull the fabric aside so that I can inspect my chest; as usual, there's not a mark to be seen. I can still remember the sensation of the knife's blade ripping into my body again and again, and the pain seems to still be within me, making my bones tremble. There's blood on my shirt, and several ragged holes that show where the knife went in, but I don't seem to have any injuries at all.

  I can't help but smile.

  Getting to my feet, I stretch for a moment, feeling less like I've just died and more like I've taken a power nap. The park is looking particularly beautiful this evening, and as I grab my bag from the ground, I can't help feeling that there are times when the world is actually kind of appealing. Walking across the grass, I allow myself to think back to the days when, as a child, I used to play in the park with my sister. Some time, I really should give Katie a call or an email, just to see how she's doing. I guess I should try to get
my life in order first, though. The last thing I need is to have her hanging around while all this craziness is going on.

  Stopping at the edge of the trees, I look over at the canal and spot a figure standing in the water, waist-high and staring at me. The glare of the setting sun makes it hard to look directly at the person, but as I shield my eyes I'm momentarily blinded; after I've blinked a couple of times, I realize that the figure has disappeared. I guess it was just some kind of weird optical illusion. I glance both ways, but there's no sign of anyone else at all. Still, I saw that figure, and I have a strong image in my mind of her eyes; they were black smudges, just like my eyes back in Alexander Medion's bathroom.

  Turning and making my way back along the path, I decide that it's time to get home. Night is closing in and if there's one thing I hate, it's being out after dark. After all, that's when the really bad things start to happen, especially near the water's edge.

  Epilogue

  "What kind of problem?" Nicholls asks, his voice sounding a little crackly over the phone. "Be specific, man".

  "I've had two separate teams examining the entire system for the past five hours," John replies, watching the various red lights blinking on the master control unit, "and none of them can work out exactly what's happening. It's just as if the entire mechanism has started to clog". He taps at one of the screens, bringing up report after report in the hope that somewhere in the flood of numbers he might spot the root cause of the problem.

  "You promised me that this couldn't happen," Nicholls replies. "You spent more than two million pounds on a study that was supposed to ensure everything ran like clockwork. I was repeatedly assured that there was no possibility of error. This thing was supposed to be perfect!"

  "And it was!" John replies, flicking a couple of switches. In the distance, there's an ominous rumble as the huge dam struggles to open its secondary sluicing system. "I swear, everything was working just fine until this afternoon, and then the problems just started to proliferate".