by Amy Cross
"My name's Robinson," he says calmly, forcing a smile. "I have an appointment with Mr. Nicholls."
"I'm... sorry," the secretary says, leafing through the diary on her desk, "I don't have any appointments listed for Mr. Nicholls today. He's very busy with -"
"You misunderstand," he continues, holding his badge out for her to see. "I didn't call ahead, and I sure as hell didn't make any effort to let you know about the appointment. Nevertheless, I've marked this hour out for a meeting with Mr. Nicholls, and I'd very much appreciate it if you could tell him that I'm here."
"But if -"
"Hurry along," he adds. "I don't have all day."
She opens her mouth to argue with him, but finally a nervous smile crosses his lips.
"Is there a problem?" Robinson asks.
"I'm going to have to ask you to leave," she replies awkwardly. "I'm sorry, Sir, but Mr. Nicholls is very busy -"
"With his dam."
"He's a very busy man," she continues, neatly trying to sidestep the specifics, "and without an appointment, I'm afraid there's absolutely no way that -"
"Tell him that I've come to explain what's wrong with his precious dam," Robinson replies, interrupting her. "I know for a fact that he's paying a lot of very smart men to resolve the issue, and I just thought I could save him the time and money by coming and giving him the information he's after."
She stares at him, clearly not certain how to proceed. However, after a moment, her left hand disappears under the desk, and Robinson hears the faint click of a panic button being pressed.
"There's no point doing that," he tells her. "I had all the security men in the building stood down. Well, that's something of a simplification, but the overall result is the same. A couple of friends of mine scared them away, so no-one's going to come running through the door to drag me away. If you think I'm lying, that's fine, but consider one thing. If I was lying, wouldn't they be here by now?"
She looks over at the door, which stubbornly refuses to burst open.
"Tell Mr. Nicholls that I'm here to help him," Robinson continues, "and that I have someone waiting downstairs in my car, so I'd appreciate it if he could drop whatever he's doing and speak to me immediately." He waits for her to say something, but she seems to be in a state of panic. Her left hand is still under the desk, and he can hear her repeatedly clicking the panic button.
"Jane!" a voice calls out from the next room. "I need you! What's wrong with this place? The phones don't seem to be working."
"Huh," Robinson replies, keeping his eyes fixed on the secretary, "I wondered what that wire was for. Sorry, I'll reconnect your communication system on the way out. For now, however, I really must insist that you take me in to see your boss." Again, he waits for her to realize that there's no point resisting, and again she does nothing more than stare at him and continue to click the button. "I'd hate to just barge in," he continues. "It'd feel so gauche."
"Jane!" Mr. Nicholls shouts, suddenly opening the door and emerging from his office. As soon as he sees the unexpected visitor, he frowns. "Who's this?"
"Robinson," Robinson tells him calmly.
"Who?"
"Robinson."
"I didn't catch his first name," Jane mutters, still clicking away at the button.
"I didn't give it," Robinson replies, before heading over to Mr. Nicholls and reaching a hand out toward him. "I'm pleased to meet you. You weren't expecting me, but I've come to tell you what's wrong with your dam and how you can fix it."
Mr. Nicholls stares at his guest, as if he's not sure whether the man is a genius or a lunatic.
"You have a very large dam," Robinson continues, "or at least, your company has a very large dam, and thanks to a series of catastrophic failures in the dam itself as well as the reservoir system and the power control base down at the estuary, all the water from a very long stretch of the Thames has been drained away. You don't, as yet, know exactly how this could have happened, but by my reckoning you're currently spending in the region of twenty thousand pounds every minute trying to get the fault located."
"Who the hell are you?" Mr. Nicholls barks.
"It's wasted money," Robinson replies. "Your men, as smart as they might be, won't come up with any answers. The most they'll manage is to patch things up, but it'll all happen again. You see, the problem exists in a realm that doesn't exactly respond well to the efforts of engineers and bureaucrats. You need to take a more direct approach to the source of the issue."
"I don't know what makes you think you can come barging in here," he replies firmly, "but if you don't turn around and get out of here right now, I swear to God I'll have you arrested."
"You don't want to know what's causing the problem with your dam?" Robinson asks. "It's a one-word answer. Very simple."
"Go on then," he replies. "Amuse me."
"Ghosts."
Mr. Nicholls stares at him, as if he can barely understand what he's hearing.
"You don't believe me?" Robinson asks.
"I think you're a fucking idiot," he says after a moment. "You're -"
"Thousands, maybe millions of ghosts are sabotaging your dam," Robinson continues, determined to make sure that he listens, "and unless you pay attention, they're not going to stop. They're rather annoyed at the way they've been treated, and they're sick and tired of having their pain and suffering ignored. They didn't ask you to build that monstrosity across the river, Mr. Nicholls, but now that you have, they're certainly not going to turn down the opportunity to use it to get what they want."
"And what do they want?" he asks with a grin. "Come on, you fucking lunatic. Tell me what these so-called ghosts want with my dam?"
Robinson stares into his eyes for a moment, but all he sees is greed and over-confidence. "Revenge," he says finally. "They want revenge."
Part Seven
The Watcher
Prologue
"There's flooding in the coastal areas around the estuary," she says, swiping the image on the screen to show a close-up map of East London and the northern parts of Kent. "The impact on wildlife can't be assessed right now, but it's likely to be huge. Even if we could put this thing right with the snap of our fingers, we'd be looking at significant damage for several years to come, and as every second goes by, the situation gets worse."
"Have you heard from Downing Street in the past few hours?" Robinson asks, his eyes darting across the screen as he tries to take in as much information as possible.
"They're screaming down the phone roughly every two hours," she continues. "As you can imagine, they're mostly concerned about how this is playing with the electorate. Analysis of social media sites have shown that public sentiment is shifting from shock and amusement to more serious concerns about the long-term impact. Environmental groups have weighed in, and the mood's getting darker. There are also worries in some quarters about possible financial links between the government and the owners of the dam."
"So they want things put back to normal as fast as possible?" Robinson replies.
"That would be something of an understatement."
"Tell them it's not going to be possible," he says after a moment. "You can't just turn the taps back on and fill the river up again, and even if you could, the root cause of the problem is still in place." He reaches out and swipes one of the screens, bringing up images of the dam's main operations chamber. "They can spend all day looking for the cause," he adds, "and they'll just end up losing their minds. The machinery works perfectly well. It's what keeps interfering with the machinery... that's the problem."
"Downing Street wants solutions," she replies. "Fast."
"Next time they call, tell them that they shouldn't have given the dam a go-ahead in the first place. There's no need for it. Let me guess, someone greased their palms in order to make a quick buck?"
"Actually," she replies, bringing up another screen, "that's not quite true. A lot of money has been poured into the project, but it seems to have been driven by ideol
ogy. Someone really wanted to spend billions of pounds on a dam in Central London that has no obvious purpose, provides no obvious benefits, and probably won't even turn a profit."
"They must have had a reason," Robinson mutters, stepping closer to one of the screens and staring at an enlarged image of the dam's main operations room. "Someone was the driving force behind this thing, and once we discover the identity of that person, we'll be a step closer to understanding their reasoning. If we can't do that, the river's going to stay dry and the whole city could be at risk."
"From what?" she asks.
"From those," he replies, pointing at a faint, smudge-like element on one of the photos. "The ghosts of London are tired of being ignored."
Chapter One
Katie
"I know this is a lot to take in," Carmella says as she leads me into the building, "but just try to get a general feel for how things work around here. And trust me, while we maintain very high standards at all times, it's really not that difficult to learn the ropes." Turning to me, she grins. "You'll be fabulous, darling! Absolutely fabulous!"
"And what's to stop me just turning around and walking out of here?" I ask, glancing back at the door.
"If you stray too far," she replies, "you'll burn. Besides, I can assure you that soon you'll realize that this is your best option. It's a damn sight more agreeable than staying with Simeon Wilde in his rundown little whorehouse, and where else could you go? Being homeless and dead isn't much better than being homeless and alive. You might also have noticed a subtle change in your disposition."
"My disposition?"
She steps closer. "Can't you feel it already, Katie? Your mind is very slowly starting to accept all of this. That first little flash of rebellion always fades within twenty-four or forty-eight hours. All the new girls I buy from Simeon end up capitulating pretty quickly. No-one's going to hurt you here, darling, or do anything to you that you don't want. I run a very civilized operation and I only have two main rules. The first is that the customer always comes first, and the second..." She turns to the receptionist. "Maria, tell Katie my other main rule."
"No-one hurts the girls," the receptionist says dryly, as if she's parroted the same expression a million times in the past.
"No-one hurts my girls," Carmella continues, putting her hands on my shoulders as if to comfort me. "Not without a prior appointment, anyway," she adds with a laugh. "My girls are important to me, and all I ask in return is that this loyalty is repaid. Doesn't sound like such an inequitable deal, does it?"
I open my mouth to argue with her, but at the last moment it occurs to me that maybe I should be a little more patient. Although I don't like the look of this place, it's definitely got a better vibe than Simeon's hellhole, and the idea of running out the door and trying to making it on my own doesn't really appeal. I'm not sure whether this is my genuine reaction, or whether Carmella's right about my mind changing now that I'm dead, but I figure I can stick this out for a day or two and see what happens. One thing's certain: I don't think I'm ever going to find Rachel.
"There's a client due in ten minutes," the receptionist says, checking a large leather book on her desk, "but Her Ladyship still hasn't been in touch. I've tried her phone and email, but she's not answering."
"Perfect," Carmella says with a grin, "I'll take over. That way, Katie can watch me work and gain a better understanding of our approach. It's always better to learn by doing, isn't it?"
"What about her other clients this week?" the receptionist asks. "I don't think she's coming back at all."
"Share them out among the other girls," Carmella replies, before leading me through to one of the back rooms. "Your arrival is rather fortuitous, Katie," she explains as she starts lighting candles over by the mirror. "One of my best workers has rather suddenly stopped turning up. I have no idea where she's gone, but I doubt she's coming back, so I just so happen to have a vacancy. I would still have squeezed you in anyway, because you seem to have so much potential, but..." She turns to me. "Sometimes, I think the universe moves its gears to make our lives fit together perfectly, don't you? It's as if, behind the scenes, someone is making sure that everything just... works! Sometimes, I think I might be starting to become rather spiritual, but then at other times I just think... Fuck it!"
I smile politely.
"You're scared, aren't you?" she asks.
"I just..." Pausing for a moment, I can't help but feel that I'm slipping into this new life a little too easily. "I don't know how to give a massage," I say eventually. "I've never done it, not even for fun."
"You'll learn on the job," she replies. "There are some technicalities to pick up, but the crucial point to remember is that we're not a medical practice, darling. We offer relaxation therapy, so the emphasis is on providing a nurturing environment that stimulates body and mind. For most of our clients, the massage isn't even the most important part of the visit."
"What is?" I ask.
"All in good time," she replies, patting my shoulder. "You'll learn."
Looking over at the massage table, I realize that the room is starting to stink of some kind of potpourri concoction. For a fraction of a second, the smell reminds me of the kind of thing my sister used to have in her bedroom when we were younger, but the memory soon fades. I think Carmella was right: I am starting to accept my situation. It's as if my concerns and fears are sinking into the background. I want to turn and run, to fight against all of this, but instead I can feel myself being drawn into this world.
"This will be your room soon," Carmella continues as she places a pot of oil above a small flame. "You'll be able to decorate it however you want, of course. The previous occupant loved all this fragrant material, but I've always felt that it's a little overpowering. Still, it takes all sorts to make a world, doesn't it? Where would we be if everyone was the same and there was -"
Before she can finish, there's the distant sound of a bell ringing as someone opens the front door.
"That'll be our next client," she says. "Wait here and I'll bring him in, and your exciting new career in the massage and relaxation industry can begin. This particular gentleman is rather passive, so I don't think he'll give us any problems. I'm sure he'll be delighted when he realizes he's got two practitioners for the price of one."
As she hurries back out into the reception area, I wander over to the small table in the corner. Whoever used to work in this room, they seem to have had the same tastes as my sister. Picking up a stack of old CDs, I flick through them and realize that they're exactly the same as the kind of albums that Rachel used to play while we hid in her bedroom as kids. I know I should keep trying to find my sister, but I just don't seem to have the motivation any longer, as if I'm being drained. I remember Izzy telling me that this would happen, but I didn't think it'd start so soon.
For a moment, I think back to Izzy's screams as she was engulfed in flames. I'm sure Simeon is already working on finding replacements for us, probably luring fresh girls back to that house. Still, my anger feels stifled, and every powerful emotion just seems to dissipate as soon as it reaches the surface of my mind.
"Katie," Carmella says as she leads a balding, blank-faced little man into the room. "I'd like you to meet one of our regular customers, Mr. Albert Moorgrave."
Putting the CDs down, I head over to the table and watch as the man shuffles closer. There's a strange look in his eyes, as if he can barely even look either of us in the eye, and as he slowly starts unbuttoning his shirt, I'm struck by his deathly pallor and the fact that he barely even seems to be alive. In fact, as he gets closer, I can almost feel the air starting to chill.
"Mr. Moorgrave has had a very stressful couple of days," Carmella continues, grinning as if she's hoping to infect us both with her optimism. "We're going to help him out, though, and get rid of all those knots and tension points. By the time he leaves us today, he'll be a new man."
Moorgrave glances at me, and I can't help but feel that somewhere in those
dark little eyes, there's a scream waiting to be let out.
Chapter Two
Rachel
Sitting up suddenly, I let out a gasp and then take a series of deep, heavy breaths.
"Fascinating," Robinson says, sitting in the front of the car. "I can't claim to understand the mechanism right now, although I'm sure I'll get to the bottom of it eventually. Still, it's absolutely one of the most fascinating things I've seen for quite a while." Reaching back to me, he pulls the pads off my chest. "I'm going to very much enjoy analyzing this data, Rachel, and I hope you'll let me continue these tests once we have a little more time on our hands."
"I still have the same body as before," I say, pausing for a moment to catch my breath before starting to re-button my shirt. "I thought I got a new body each time, or at least the first time. None of this makes sense."
"Like a snake shedding its skin," he mutters, taking a look at the screen of his laptop. "Well, not like that at all, really. I'm sorry, sometimes even the neatest analogies are completely misleading. I'm afraid I don't have any answers for you, Rachel. Not yet, anyway. The paranormal world has rules, just like any other, but they can be very difficult to figure out. There's a logical explanation for everything that's happened to you, but it'll take a while to hammer it all out."
"How long is this going to last?" I ask.
"There's something very wrong with the city right now," he replies. "Once it's resolved, the rules should go back to normal."
"So I'll die permanently?"
He pauses. "The distinction between life and death will be much clearer," he says evasively.
"I feel like..." Pausing, I can't shake the feeling that my mind is roiling and changing, as if long-dormant emotions are starting to come to the surface. "Something doesn't feel right in my head," I add. "It's like there's a storm in my memories."
"When you died and came back in this form," Robinson continues, closing the lid of his laptop, "your mind will have begun to dissipate. It's an unfortunate process, but it happens to most ghosts. A strong emotional disturbance can interrupt things, though, at least to some extent. Parts of your mind that sank to the bottom are now being brought back up again, and the results could prove to be rather traumatic."
