The Ghosts of London

by Amy Cross

  I pause.

  It's too late.

  He's gone.

  Placing his hand on his belly, I get to my feet and turn to look across the room. I half expect to find that he's come back to life, but I guess maybe that's a trick that only I know right now. I spend several minutes standing in the room, waiting to see if anything happens, but finally I realize that Moorgrave's body is just going to slowly rot until someone eventually comes looking for him. Truth be told, though, I can't imagine that many people are going to miss him. Turning and leaving the room, I pull the door shut.

  By the time I get back out into the street, I've made a decision, and I know exactly what to do next. There's only one person in this entire city who can help me.

  Chapter Nine

  Katie

  Izzy was right: the floorboard by the bathroom door does squeak.

  Stopping completely still, I turn to look back across the room. Fortunately, she doesn't seem to have stirred. There's a shaft of moonlight shining through the grimy window, illuminating the middle of the room and casting a darkening glow toward the far corner, where Izzy's form remains curled under various bedsheets. I can hear her breathing, but over the past several hours she's barely even moved in her sleep.

  I should know, because I've been awake the whole time.

  There's something about this whole place that gives me the creeps. Maybe it's the fear that Izzy might decide to cut my throat during the night, or the fact that I still haven't found Rachel, but my mind is racing with a million ideas and possibilities, veering with alarming speed between optimism and despair, and I feel as if I'm in the grip of crippling uncertainty. If I knew for sure that I wasn't going to find Rachel, I could get on with another plan, but I can't let go of hope. Then again, there was that look of pity in Simeon's eyes earlier, and I could tell earlier that he thought I was on a hiding to nothing. He's got more experience of London, but I've got more experience of Rachel, and I have to hope that I'm right:

  She's out there somewhere. She has to be. If she was dead, I'd know. We grew up together, and I refuse to believe that anything could have happened to her. I've always looked up to Rachel and admired her ability to look after herself, so it's impossible to think that she could be in trouble. I'll check my email in the morning, and I'm convinced she'll have finally replied to my message. Hell, this time tomorrow, I'll probably be in her flat with her, and we'll be laughing about the mix-up.

  Pulling the bathroom door open, I step inside and fumble around for a light switch. Eventually I find a thin cord hanging from the ceiling, and when I give it a pull there's a buzzing sound above and a faint yellow-white lighting panel flickers into life, illuminating not only the small bathroom but also the multitude of dead bugs that have died on the inside of the light fitting. Sighing, I pull the door shut carefully, making sure to close it as quietly as possible.

  After peeing, I realize that I might as well loiter in here for a while. It's not like there's much to do, but I'm wide awake and at least this way I'm less likely to accidentally wake Izzy by breathing too loudly or - God forbid - coughing. I flush the toilet, figuring that at least this isn't outlawed around these parts, and then I close the lid and take a seat. It's cold in here, but no colder than the main sleeping room, so I figure I might as well sit here for a few minutes. Spending the night in a bathroom isn't exactly ideal, but it's a step up from last night's underpass, and if keep on progressing at this rate then I might be in a proper room with a proper bed by the end of the week.

  "Please," I whisper, closing my eyes and trying to picture Rachel in my head, "just check your email. Please. I know you're out there somewhere."

  Hearing a noise in the bedroom, I realize that Izzy must have woken up. I try to peer through the glass in the door, but all I can see is a frosted, refracted pattern of moonlight; seconds later, however, I spot a dark shape moving on the other side of the room, and I realize with a sinking feeling that Izzy appears to be moving toward my mattress. I reach down to my trousers, before remembering that I left the knife under my pillow. My heart starts beating faster and faster in my chest as I lean forward and turn the handle, before gently easing the door open.

  There's a figure standing right next to my bed.

  Although I can only make out a silhouette, I'm pretty sure that it must be Izzy. I watch as she stares down at the empty space where I was sleeping earlier, and I'm convinced that at any moment she'll realize where I am and she'll come this way. Glancing over my shoulder, I look around for anything I might be able to use as a weapon; there's not much, and eventually I grab the foul, yellowing old toilet brush from its pot of stagnant brown water in the corner. I try to hold it as far from the rest of my body as possible, but I guess its metal handle might come in handy if I need to defend myself. Looking back out through the crack, I see that the figure is still standing by my bed and still staring down at the spot where I used to be.

  Suddenly, over on the other side of the room, Izzy rolls over in bed, lets out a sigh, and then carries on sleeping.

  My heart almost jumps into my mouth.

  Staring at the figure next to my bed, I realize that there's no way it can be Izzy, and it's clearly not Simeon either. It looks female, with a silhouette of thick busy hair and a slightly sloping back, and I have to force myself not to slam the door shut in a blind panic. Getting down onto the floor, I brave the thick clumps of dust in order to get a more secure vantage point, staring at the figure and waiting to see what it'll do next. With the toilet brush clasped in one hand, I feel that I'm at least partly ready to defend myself, although at the same time I'm worried that this figure might have something a little more lethal to use. After all, she probably -

  Suddenly she turns to look at me, and I get a glimpse of her wide, staring eyes in the moonlight. She takes a step forward into the shadows, and then she's gone.

  I wait.

  Nothing.

  My heart is pounding now, but I know what I saw: the figure just seemed to disappear into the gap between the shadows and the moonlight. Trembling with fear, I start getting to my feet, still clutching the toilet brush. I keep telling myself not to be scared, but my heart is pounding faster than I've ever felt before, and my mind is like a white-hot blank space. Just as I'm about to push the door open, however, I become aware of a presence directly behind my shoulder. Slowly, I turn around.

  The figure is standing right behind me, staring at me with yellowing eyes that peer out from her rotten, decaying face. One side of her mouth has been completely eaten away, revealing discolored teeth and part of her jawbone. Before I can even remember how to scream, she reaches a skeletal hand up toward my face.

  Chapter Ten

  Rachel

  I can hear him in there, coming to the door. It's late, way past midnight, and I bet he's not used to being interrupted like this, but still... I've never been the kind of person who goes running to other people, begging for help, but on this particular occasion I feel as if maybe I need another perspective. I don't exactly have many friends, and even if I did, I doubt they'd be the kind of people who could understand what I'm going through. Having managed to slip past the doorman and then made it up to the penthouse without getting stopped by anyone, I figure I've come too far to turn back.

  This is an emergency.

  "Rachel," Alexander says, still trying his dressing gown as he answers the door. He usually seems so cool and collected, and it's a pleasant surprise to realize that for once I've actually managed to catch him off-guard. Then again, I'm not here to delve into his psyche; I'm here to use his unique talents. "I..." He pauses. "I'm sorry, did we have an appointment?"

  I stare at him, still trying to work out if I'm making the right decision. My heart is racing and I keep thinking that maybe I'd be better off just going back to my old life and carrying on at the massage parlor. Then again, something has to give, and right now I need something a little more certain. Of all the people in this fucked-up city, right now Alexander Medion feels
like the one who's most likely to see things from my point of view.

  "I've been reconsidering your offer," I say, trying not to let my voice tremble. "I've been thinking about it a lot, and I've..." I pause. "Well, I've thought about it, and I want to..." My voice trails off.

  "I see," he replies, as his look of surprise is replaced by his more usual, calm expression of confidence. "Please," he adds, stepping aside, "won't you come in?"

  Walking into his penthouse suite, I stop for a moment and listen as he pushes the door shut. I don't really have a plan right now, but I can't let him see that I'm desperate. If this is going to work at all, I need to establish that we're more or less on an equal level of power, which means ensuring that he's not the only one who gets to set boundaries. I can worry about that side of things later, thought; for now, tomorrow seems so far away, it might as well never be coming, and all that matters is this moment.

  "Can I interest you in a drink?" he asks.

  "The deal you offered earlier," I reply, turning to him. "I'm willing to accept. There are a few minor details I want to renegotiate, and it's important to me that we both know where we stand, but the basic principle... the idea behind the whole thing... I'm willing to go with it under certain conditions."

  "You want to come and work exclusively for me?"

  I nod.

  "What changed your mind?" he asks, heading over to the drinks cabinet. "You seemed so certain earlier that it wasn't an option you wished to pursue."

  "I just had time to think," I reply, still wondering whether it might not be smarter to turn and run. Then again, in some perverse kind of way, I think Alexander Medion might be the only person in the whole of London who can help me right now. "Everything I said earlier still stands," I continue, "but a few other things in my life have changed. Personal situations, things like that. Today has been..."

  I try to think of the right word, but I figure that explaining the incident with Albert Moorgrave might be a step too far, even for a man like Alexander.

  "I've just had a bad day," I continue, "and it's brought some things into focus. I've had to deal with some people, and now I'm not quite sure where to go from here, except that I can't be scared, not anymore. I need to know the truth, even if it kills me."

  I pause as he pours himself a shot of whiskey.

  "Give me one of those," I say suddenly, surprising myself.

  "I thought you -"

  "Just give me one."

  Looking a little amused by my request, he pours me a shot and brings it over to me.

  "You're not the only one who's had a trying day," he says after a moment. "I assume you heard the noises coming from the river. One of my key investment vehicles has hit a major stumbling block, and I'm afraid we might have to pour a considerable amount of additional capital into some repair work."

  "If the -"

  "I have five meetings before 9am tomorrow," he continues, "and -"

  "I don't care," I say firmly, interrupting him before downing the whiskey in one go and almost coughing it straight back up again.

  "Careful," he says, reaching out to pat my back before evidently thinking better of it.

  "You can tell me about your investment vehicles later," I rasp as I catch my breath. The whiskey burned my throat, but at the same time it's given me a pleasantly warm and strong sensation in the pit of my belly. I think I'm starting to understand why people drink this stuff. "I swear," I continue, "I'll listen avidly all night and you can talk about your investments until the cows come home, but first I need your help."

  "Please," he replies, taking a sip from his glass. "Go on."

  "I want you to do something for me," I tell him. "It's going to sound crazy, and you might be horrified, but I want you to do it exactly the way I describe, and then I want you to watch and tell me what happens next. You don't have to actually do anything physically. All I want is for you to watch so you can describe it to me later."

  "I'd be honored," he replies.

  "No," I continue, "that's definitely not what you'll be, but you've got to follow my instructions to the letter, without changing anything and without trying to help me... Just trust me on this one thing, help me, and in return I'll do anything you want."

  He pauses. "You have my full attention," he says eventually, with a faint smile.

  "We're going to have to go through to your bedroom," I reply, "and we're going to need a few things, starting with the biggest knife you've got."

  Part Four

  Storm Warning

  Chapter One

  Katie

  "You're lucky you're still alive," Izzy says, placing a cup of slightly brown water on the floor next to me. "Seriously, I usually kill people who wake me up."

  Taking the cup, I examine the small sooty particles floating in the water before deciding to just stop worrying and take a swig. To be fair, it doesn't taste too bad, although there's a slightly chalky aftertaste which is totally at odds with the color. After a moment, I realize that Izzy is staring at me, and when I look over at her I see for the first time a hint of... not sympathy, exactly, but definitely much less hatred than before.

  "Where did she go?" I ask eventually.

  "Who?"

  I look back over at the bathroom door.

  "Let's narrow this down a little," Izzy continues. "What color hair did she have?"

  "Black," I reply, thinking back to the hideous, rotting face I saw a few minutes ago.

  "Eye color?"

  "Dark. Kind of rotten and yellow."

  "Tall or short?"

  "A bit taller than me."

  "Did she have, like, stitch marks around her mouth?" She reaches up and makes a series of crosses along her lips. "Like she'd been stitched shut some time?"

  "I don't know," I reply, before realizing that there were some holes on what was left of her lower lip. "Maybe."

  "Sounds like Quix," she replies.

  "Who?"

  She smiles. "Quix was one of the girls who stayed here for a while early last year. She didn't say much, even before..." She pauses. "She was here for about a month. Kept to herself, mostly, but I think she was kind of okay. Then one night she got into some kind of trouble, and she ended up with these thick metal staples criss-crossing her mouth." Again, she uses a finger to mark small crosses on her lips. "I offered to help her get them undone, but she refused at first. Later, when they started to fall out, I saw why."

  I wait for her to finish.

  "No tongue," she adds.

  "Seriously?"

  "Just a bloody stump at the back of her mouth," she continues. "Someone, and I never heard who, really didn't want her to talk." She frowns. "Weird, really. If they wanted to shut her up, I don't know why they didn't just bump her off. Metal staples cost money, but life's cheap as shit in these parts. Anyway, whoever it was, they obviously wanted her to stay alive, but..."

  I take a deep breath, trying to get my head around such a horrific story.

  "Jesus," Izzy says with a smile. "Your fucking face..."

  "It's just kind of shocking," I reply. "What happened to her? Why would she come back and sneak up on me in the bathroom?"

  "Maybe she's just a bit of a pervert?" Izzy suggests.

  "She was staring at me," I continue. "I thought she was going to kill me."

  "After about a month," Izzy replies, "maybe two, she disappeared. Simeon said he didn't know what happened to her, although that's his line whenever someone vanishes. Later, though, I heard a rumor that she'd ended up going out the window, if you know what I mean."

  "Out the window?" I ask.

  "Into the river."

  "She swam away?"

  "That's one way of putting it," Izzy replies with a grin. "Either way, I never saw her again, never heard anything else, and never really thought about her. In a place like this - hell, in a city like this - you learn to just let go of people when they disappear."

  "But she's back," I reply. "What did she want?"

  "Until tonight,
" she continues, "I thought Quix was kinda smart, so I figured she'd maybe managed to get away and start a new life somewhere. After what you've described, though, it's pretty clear that she came to a stickier end." She pauses. "Don't you see? She's blatantly dead."

  "She can't be dead," I reply, "not if she was here."

  "Grow up," Izzy replies sharply. "If she was alive, she'd never come within ten miles of this place again. The only reason she'd come back was if she was haunting the place and couldn't get out." She looks across the room for a moment, almost as if she expects to see something. "I'm glad she only appeared to you, though," she adds. "I wouldn't like to see her face again, if you know what I mean. I'm not into ghosts."

  "Ghosts aren't real," I point out.

  "God," she says, turning back to me, "you really are a special one, aren't you?"

  Checking my watch, I see that it's almost 5am, which means the night's nearly over. The first rays of morning sun will be appearing soon, and it's clearer than ever that I need to find Rachel as fast as possible.

  "You said it yourself," Izzy continues, getting to her feet, "she was out here, staring at your bed, and then suddenly she was right behind you. How did she manage that?"

  "There must be a secret door," I reply, although the words immediately sound ridiculously silly. "I mean, she did it somehow, so it's just a matter of working out the trick."

  "And then what?" she asks. "You tried to hit her with a bog brush, then you ran out the door and slammed into a wall, I woke up, and old Quix was long gone. Is that basically your version of events?"

  "When you put it like that," I reply darkly, "it sounds stupid."

  "That's because it is stupid." Yawning, she stumbles back over to her mattress. "Don't make a habit of screaming in the middle of the night," she adds as she settles back down under her covers. "Just because I've been all nice and friendly this time, don't assume it'll happen again. If you don't believe in ghosts, then you're at a distinct advantage. Just ignore all the weird shit and leave it to the rest of us who know what's really going on."