The Ghosts of London

by Amy Cross

  "Just answer the fucking question!" I shout, drawing a series of stares from the customers on the other side of the shop. "You know everyone around here, Dave, so please tell me you've heard of -" Before I can finish, I feel a sharp pain in my gut and I'm forced to lean on the counter while I wait for it to pass.

  "You alright, Rachel?" Dave asks.

  "Just tell me if you've heard of someone called Simeon," I gasp, as the pain starts to subside. "I don't know his surname, or his age, or anything else about him, just his name and the fact that someone was with him somewhere near here a few days ago." I pause for a moment as that flickering sense of recognition crosses my mind again; I feel as if I should know who Simeon is, but something's preventing me from remembering.

  "Sorry," he replies. "Can't help you."

  "Then who can?" I ask. "I need to find this guy fast."

  "You tried the cops?"

  "That's not an option," I hiss, "and even if it was, I doubt they'd be much help. This guy... I think he's into some seedy stuff, so he probably keeps himself to himself. He might be into girls, women, the sex trade, that kind of thing. Or drugs, maybe."

  "That's a pretty wide net you're casting," he replies. "I can't help you. Sorry, I know I've got connections, but that doesn't mean I'm a fucking A to Z of every miserable bastard in a five-mile area. Do you have any idea how many twats pass through this part of the city every year?"

  "I'll keep asking," I reply, hurrying out of the shop and making my way along the street. This part of London used to be my stomping ground; I lived in a flat nearby for a few years, and there was a time when I knew pretty much everyone who mattered. Times have changed, of course, and it's been a while since I was round this area, but I have to believe that there's still someone I can use for information. Stopping at the next street corner, I try to work out who might still be around, and who might not hate me too much to help. After a moment, however, I feel a heavy, rumbling sensation in my stomach, and I realize that I'm about to throw up.

  Hurrying down an alley, I stop next to some bins and wait for a moment. I have no idea what's wrong with me, and I've barely even eaten anything today, but I still feel as if I'm about to vomit. Feeling an itching sensation on my hand, I give it a scratch and realize that the skin is a little flaky, and then finally I start to heave. When I throw up, however, it's not food or water that comes up: instead, a blast of thick mud sprays out of my mouth and splatters against the wall.

  I take a moment to try to catch my breath, but seconds later I bring up more mud, and then even more.

  Finally, feeling as if there can't be any more, I stare down at the thick brown pile of muddy residue that just came out of my mouth, and I realize that it smells exactly the same as the exposed riverbed. I have no idea how it all got into my body, but I swear I can feel more of it still in there. As I try to get to my feet, I bring a little more of the mud up into my mouth and spit it out. I can't spend all day here being ill; I need to keep looking for Katie, but at the same time, running around the streets of Spitalfields might not be the most effective approach.

  Besides, I'm starting to think that Alexander Medion hasn't quite been honest with me.

  Part Six

  Innocence Bleeds

  Chapter One

  Katie

  Standing in the hallway with the front door wide open, I stare out at the alleyway. Freedom is only a couple of steps away, and yet I know that those steps are impossible.

  Still, I have to try.

  Slowly, I reach my hand out toward the empty doorway. After a few seconds, I start to feel the air pushing back, as if the atoms are binding together to form an impassable wall. Determined not to give up just yet, I keep trying to force my hand through, eventually closing my fingers into a fist, but I can feel the barrier becoming stronger and stronger. Finally, still refusing to yield, I let out a gasp as I feel my entire fist being absorbed into the tightly-packed air, and a tingling sensation starts to pass across my skin. For a tantalizing moment, I feel as if I'm getting further than before, and I actually allow myself to believe that I have a chance.

  And then a blast of air knocks me back, sending me thudding to the floor.

  "Impressive," Simeon says, watching from the kitchen. "How long've you been at that now, eh? Must be an hour at least."

  Ignoring him, I get to my feet and step back toward the doorway, determined to try again. I know I might be fooling myself, but I'm convinced that with each attempt, I manage to get a millimeter further.

  "Do you mind if I ask you a question?" Simeon continues. "Do you really think you can get out of here? Or are you just trying to prove some kind of point? I don't mind either way, but I'm curious. I mean, what's the deal?" He waits for me to reply. "You're stubborn," he adds. "I like that. Don't get me wrong, Katie, it's not as if I don't respect you or anything like that. It's just that, well, fate brought us together like this, and I reckon we can both get something out of it if you just simmer down a little."

  Instead of answering, I try to focus on drowning his voice out. I can't help thinking that if I can just concentrate a little harder, I might be able to get through the door. After all, I refuse to believe that I could be trapped here for the rest of eternity. Even though I can hear the sound of one of the women having sex with a customer upstairs, I'm convinced that there has to be a way out of here if only I'm smart enough to find it. After trying to focus for a moment, I reach out toward the doorway again.

  "Jesus!" says a startled man as he steps into view, almost leaping out of his skin as soon as he sees me.

  I take a step back, shocked by the sudden intrusion.

  "Hang on!" Simeon shouts, running through from the kitchen. "Mr. Mulcahy, welcome! I'm sorry, I hope Katie didn't give you a fright!"

  "I'm not used to the door being open," the guy replies with a faint smile. He's a good-looking middle-aged man, and as he steps inside, he seems to be eying me up with more than casual interest. "Is this one of your new girls?" he asks, making no effort to disguise his lecherous intent. "I've got to admit, I was hoping you'd be bringing in some new recruits. Not that I'm finished with Izzy and the others yet, but it's always good to have some fresh meat on the shelf."

  "She's not quite ready for prime-time," Simeon says as he takes the man's coat. "Soon, though."

  "I don't mind if she's not ready," the guy says, looking down at my waist. "I'm not too bothered about them being professionals. How much for a shot at her? Maybe I can break her in for you. I helped out with Izzy, remember?"

  "I'm not sure that'd work," Simeon replies, "but I can assure you that when she is on the shelf, I'll ensure that you're the absolute first to get a crack at her."

  "A crack at me?" I reply, finding it hard to believe the way they're discussing me.

  "She looks feisty," the guy continues, unable to stifle a grin. "Young, too. How old is she?"

  "Twenty-one, twenty-two?" Simeon replies, before turning to me. "I never thought to ask, actually. How old are you, Katie?"

  "Twenty-two," I say firmly, before turning to the other guy. "Sorry, but I won't be sticking around."

  "Twenty-two?" he replies with a raised eyebrow, as if he doesn't believe me.

  "She's working on an escape plan," Simeon continues with a laugh. "She's been at the door all morning, like, trying to push her hand through. It's fucking hilarious."

  "When do you think she'll be ready?" the guy asks with a smile.

  "I couldn't say," Simeon replies, leading him through to the stairs. "Different girls take different methods, you know? Katie's a bit feisty, like you said, so I'm thinking it might be a few days before she sees sense. Still, you know how it goes, and while you're waiting, I'm sure Izzy'll give you a hell of a good time. She's still my top performer, so don't go getting dazzled by the new girl just yet."

  Standing alone in the hallway, I listen to them laughing as they head to Izzy's room. Although I feel completely helpless, I'm convinced that somehow I'm going to be able to find a way
out of this place. Now, though, there's something else I need to do: I don't have a plan yet, but I swear to God, I'll find a way to make sure that Simeon pays for what he's done to me, and for what he's done to all the girls here. Izzy might be willing to blend into the background and do what she's told, but I'm going to show them all that if they think they can do this to me, they're wrong.

  Chapter Two

  Rachel

  "Tell me what happened," I say, standing in the doorway and watching as Alexander makes some notes at his desk. "I want to know everything."

  "I'm busy," he replies, not even looking over at me. "Did you pick up everything you needed from your flat?"

  "My sister's missing," I continue, "and I need your help to find her."

  "My help?" He glances at me. "I'm sorry, Rachel, but I really can't talk right now. I need to sort out this situation with the dam investors, and I have a telephone appointment with the deputy PM in a few hours. Later, while -"

  "You have connections," I reply, interrupting him. "You know people. I have an IP address for the last email she sent me, and I need you to find out where it's located. I know you can dig around for the information without having to go through the official channels." As I walk over to the desk, I take out the piece of paper with the IP details. "I think she's in trouble," I add, "but while you're doing all of that, I want you to tell me what really happened between us."

  "Between us?" he asks, conspicuously ignoring the piece of paper. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

  "You already admitted that you killed me," I reply. "The first time I died, it was with you, wasn't it?"

  "Rachel," he continues, clearly finding me irritating, "we can talk about this later, but right now -"

  "Look at this," I say, reaching my hand into my mouth and scooping out some of the mud, which I drop onto his desk. With a faint smile, I see that I've finally caught his attention. "I vomited up quite a lot of this stuff earlier today," I continue. "Stinks, doesn't it? At first, I couldn't work out what the hell was going on, but then it all kind of just came together." I wait for him to say something, but he seems to be frozen in place, as if he knows that the game is up. "You threw my body into the river, didn't you?" I continue. "The first time you killed me, I mean. You thought you'd just be able to get rid of me."

  I wait for him to say something.

  "I just want to know the truth," I add.

  "It was an accident," he replies, his voice sounding uncharacteristically quiet and uncertain. "I swear to God, Rachel, it was a terrible accident."

  "Killing someone during sex isn't really an accident," I reply, "is it? I mean, I don't remember what happened, but you must have been doing some pretty weird stuff to me -"

  "You agreed," he says firmly. "I hired you for a massage, and then you accepted some extra money in order to... try some things. I told you what I wanted, you told me how much it would cost, and then once the deal had been done..."

  He falls silent again.

  "So how did it happen?" I ask.

  He pauses. "You broke your neck," he says after a moment, with tears in his eyes. "I didn't even notice at first, until I realized your whole body had gone limp. I tried to revive you, I swear, but it was too late and I panicked. I knew that no-one would believe I hadn't done it on purpose, so I took your body to the river and... I'm so sorry, Rachel, but you have to see if from my point of view. Why should I have been punished and exposed just because of a terrible accident?"

  "And then what happened?"

  "The next day," he continues, "I was horrified. I sat in here, alone, contemplating going to the police and telling them everything, and then finally, just when I'd decided that I had to confess, there was a knock at the door."

  "Who was it?" I ask.

  "Who do you think?"

  "I remember that day," I reply. "I woke up at home. I had no idea how I'd got there. The last thing I remembered was being here with you, so I came back to collect my things, and you looked so shocked when you opened the door."

  "I knew you were dead," he continues. "I tried to convince myself that somehow I'd been wrong, that you'd just been unconscious, but there was no way to explain it. You died in bed with me, and then the next day you turned up as if nothing had happened. Once I realized that you didn't remember, I tried to rationalize it but I couldn't." He pauses. "I asked God for guidance, but after praying for two days and two nights, I realized that I had to just focus on my work."

  "And then you booked me again."

  He nods.

  "Because you wanted to kill me again?"

  "No, I just..." He pauses. "I had to see you. Don't you understand? I needed to know how much you knew. I thought that maybe you'd try to blackmail me, but then I realized that you truly didn't remember any of it. And then I paid you again, for extra services after the massage, and you let me tie you up. One of the ropes went around your neck, and..."

  "Let me guess," I reply with a wry smile, "another 'accident', huh?"

  "Not this time," he says calmly. "I wanted to know. It's like this whole other side of my personality had been unleashed. I always liked dangerous things, but suddenly I was pushing further and further." He pauses again. "When we were done, I realized that I'd pulled the rope too tight around your neck. I took your body, and... I dumped it again, in the river. In the same spot, more or less. And then the next day..."

  "I came back again."

  "You still didn't seem to remember," he continues. "The third time, I made sure to check your pulse. I was subtle about it, but I could feel your heartbeat. I still don't understand what was happening, but after a while, it got to be a habit. I can't even explain why I did such awful things, but some hidden part of my fantasies seemed to have been opened up and there was nothing I could do to..."

  "You just couldn't stop killing me?" I ask.

  "I'm not a monster," he replies quickly.

  "Of course not," I reply. "You just like killing women while you're -"

  "No!" he shouts, getting to his feet. He heads over to his drinks cabinet before stopping and turning to me. "Tell me you didn't enjoy it too," he continues. "Tell me that, on some subconscious level, you didn't know what was happening. Seriously, didn't you have a clue?"

  "I knew it was something unusual," I tell him. "I developed this strange compulsion to keep washing my hands, sometimes until they bled. I never felt clean. I guess I know why now. I was pulling myself out of the river every night."

  "It's not natural," he replies. "When someone dies -"

  "They should stay dead," I continue. "Sure, but I guess it's a bonus for both of us that something a little different seems to have been happening with me."

  "Do you have any idea..." He pauses. "I mean, do you understand why this is happening?"

  I shake my head.

  "For a while," he continues, "I thought I was losing my mind. I mean, I really thought that every time you came back, I was just hallucinating and that in some way I was going crazy. Or maybe that you were a ghost. I even started asking the doorman if he'd seen you as you came in, because I thought that maybe no-one else..." He stares at me for a moment. "I filmed us once," he adds. "I didn't tell you, but I filmed us while we were in my bed. The next day, I watched it back, and there you were..."

  "I want to know why," I tell him after a moment. "People don't just come back to life like this. I want to know what's different about me."

  "Are you sure?" he asks. "If you know, maybe it'll stop."

  Walking over to the door that leads out to the balcony, I stare out at the gray city for a moment, marveling at the distant site of the empty, drained river. There are helicopters hovering above the dam, and it's almost as if the city has changed somehow. Without the Thames, London doesn't feel like London anymore.

  "I need you to tell me where you dumped my body," I say eventually, turning back to him. "You said it was roughly the same spot each time. I need to know."

  "I'll show you," he says quietly.


  "I want to go alone," I reply. "Show me on a map."

  "Are you going to tell people what I did to you?" he asks, clearly terrified that his dazzling reputation might be tarnished.

  I shake my head.

  "That IP address," I continue. "While I'm gone, I need you to find out the location. My sister's out there somewhere, and she might need help."

  "I'll do my best," he replies. "I owe you that much, at least."

  "No," I reply, fixing him with a determined stare. "You owe me a whole lot more, Alexander, and I promise you, this is just the start."

  "I'll pray for you," he says.

  "Pray for yourself," I reply. "You need it more than I do."

  Chapter Three

  Katie

  "How was it?" I ask, watching as Izzy examines her face in the bathroom mirror.

  "The sex?" She smiles. "Same as always. Mr. Mulcahy's a rough guy, but at least it's always over pretty fast. The guy can only go for a couple of minutes at a time. It's kinda pathetic, really. No wonder he prefers coming here instead of going out and finding a real live girl. I guess ghosts are more expendable." She turns to me. "I think he's taken a bit of a shine to you, though. I don't mean to give you a scare, Katie, but I'm pretty sure he's told Simeon to hold you back for him."

  "I need help," I reply. "I've been thinking, and I've come to the conclusion that I can't get out of here alone. I don't know enough about this place, about what's happened to us, about Simeon... about anything. I need someone to help me."

  "Who you gonna get?" she asks with a grin. "Me?"

  I nod.

  "Are you fucking out of your mind?" she replies. "Seriously?"

  "You've been through the same stuff that I've been through," I point out, trying to stay calm. "Simeon's done the same things to you, except with you it's lasted longer. Don't you hate him, Izzy? Don't you want to see him suffer?"

  She pauses, as if she's actually thinking for a moment about what I'm saying.