by Amy Cross
"Perhaps he sent you to serve as an earthly reward," he replies. "After all, there has to be some reason why a simple whore would keep bouncing back from the afterlife. God knew that I'd need something to help me keep going, so he sent a simple sex worker."
"You're deluded," I tell him. "You're just a pathetic, rich fool who wants to fill his life with some kind of meaning, so you've degenerated -"
Before I can finish, he grabs my shoulder and slams me against the side of the balcony. I try to fight back, but he quickly takes holds of my legs and starts trying to tip me over the edge.
"You're no more use to me," he grunts as he tries to get me to fall. "Do me a favor this time, Rachel, and try to stay dead. There's nothing as sad as an old whore who doesn't know when it's time to quit."
Desperately clinging to the side of the balcony, I struggle with my footing and almost fall before finally managing to grab hold of Alexander's arm.
"You should consider yourself lucky," he says after a moment. "You've already died before, so at least there should be no more fear. If you happen to come back, though, don't bother coming to find me. I don't need you anymore. Once I've figured out the last problems with the dam and it's up and working, I'll be hailed across the world as a visionary. God has a plan for me, Rachel, but I'm afraid it doesn't include wasting time with a dead whore."
Before he can push me away completely, I reach up and grab his neck. For a moment, I try to pull myself back up, but finally I realize that there might be a quicker way to end this. Adjusting my grip, I focus on trying to tip him over the edge, and as he reaches out to give me a final shove, I'm able to shift my weight and pull him over to join me. For a fraction of a second, he tries to grab hold of the railing, but it's too late and we both fall, plummeting through the night air.
I hear his bones shattering as we land.
Chapter Three
Katie
"Do you feel something?" I ask, putting my hand on the railing that runs along the side of the gantry. "I thought it seemed to vibrate for a moment."
"There's nothing now," Quix says, before looking back over at Robinson, who's still sitting over in the far corner, lost in his own thoughts. A cool wind has been blowing along the river's wide, empty trench for the past few minutes, as if the elements are trying to soothe the crisis; Robinson, however, has retreated into himself, and having previously seemed like a miracle-worker, he now appears to have no answers.
"Can't we just leave?" I ask, turning back to Quix. "Someone else can fix the dam."
"It's not about the dam," she replies. "It's about who's behind the dam. Someone built this thing for a reason, and controlling the river's flow clearly wasn't the main issue. It's not a coincidence that all these ghosts have shown up, or that -" She pauses, as if she caught herself just as she was about to say the wrong thing.
"What?" I ask.
"We monitor paranormal activity across London," she continues. "Every day, we collate reports and analyze the situation. Since work began on this dam, the number of ghost sightings has begun to increase steadily. Robinson's been mumbling about the situation for years, and now it's coming to a head. We haven't worked out exactly what's happening yet, but we were going to wait until the dam's big opening to get to the truth. When the water drained away, we realized we might have left thing a tad too late."
"But why would someone want to drain the water away?" I ask.
"That's one of the pieces we haven't quite managed to fit into the overall puzzle yet. I can't speak for Robinson, but in my opinion, something's acting behind the scenes, pulling all these disparate parts together and using them to manipulate events in order to engineer some kind of higher purpose." She looks over at Robinson. "One of us just needs to come up with an answer soon. His way of thinking is to just shut down and let his mind drift."
"And yours?" I ask.
"Talking," she replies with a faint smile. "Just getting the ideas out is helping."
"How much longer are you going to give him?" I continue, keenly aware that Robinson has been so still and silent for so long now, it's tempting to believe that he might have fallen into a coma.
"Until there's no other choice," she says darkly, with a hint of uncertainty in her voice. "He'll come up with a plan, though. He always does. He just has to fit the pieces together."
"But who is he?" I ask. "I mean, where did he come from? Is he dead, like us?"
"He's not dead," she says with a faint smile. "As for where he came from and who he is... I don't think those are questions that can be answered with words. Robinson just... is who he is, and if you're looking for a quick rundown of his credentials, you won't find anything. Just trust me when I tell you that he's the kind of guy you need to have around in a crisis. He might leave it a little too late for comfort, but he'll figure things out eventually."
"I wish I shared your confidence," I reply. "To me, it looks like he's just given up. I mean, he's just sitting there, not doing anything. Shouldn't we start thinking about a back-up plan?"
"I've already got a back-up plan," she replies, "but I really, really hope that we don't need to use it."
"But if -"
"I will do it," she continues, turning to me. "If we have to implement my plan, a lot of people are going to die, but it's better than letting this mess carry on until thousands, maybe millions end up suffering. I've made decisions like that before, and I'm willing to do it again, but I'd really rather wait and see what Robinson comes up with. His plans are always a lot more..."
I wait for her to finish. "More effective?" I ask eventually.
"More humane," she replies. "The problem with my plans is that they usually involve destroying a lot of stuff and sacrificing a lot of people. I don't design them that way, but it's how they work out. Robinson always -" She pauses, and finally a faint smile crosses her lips as Robinson gets to his feet. "I think he might have something," she adds.
Glancing along the gantry, I realize that it's been a while since I last saw Rachel. I'm still mad at her, but I can't help wondering where she's gone. Still, she's dead, so I guess there's not too much that can really happen to her. I know I'll have to talk to her eventually, but I want to make her understand that she hurt me.
"I always knew that trip to Spain would come in handy," Robinson says as he comes over to join us. "Everyone thought I was wasting my time learning the liturgical scripts, but I was adamant, and now look who turned out to be right." He turns to me. "I suppose you have no idea what I'm talking about," he adds, before turning to Quix, "but you, you remember, don't you?"
"I remember you spending two weeks in Spain and sending a lot of postcards back home," she replies.
"Fortunately," he continues, "I learned something that I think might just help us out here." He steps over to the edge of the gantry and looks down at the ghosts. "I've figured out what they want, and it's something we can give them. Just because they're dead, and just because they're here tonight and they sabotaged the dam, it doesn't mean that they're evil. They simply want something that shouldn't be denied to anyone. It's quite tragic, really."
I look over at Quix, but it's clear that she's a little lost too.
"Dignity," Robinson says after a moment. "They're here because their lives were thrown away, and now they want someone to set things straight." He turns to me. "I'm sure we can all understand exactly how they feel."
Chapter Four
Rachel
"You stupid bitch!" Alexander shouts, roaring with pain as he tries to pull himself up from the mud. There's a kind of deep rattling sound as his shattered bones jostle together, and finally he slumps back down in a heap. "What the hell have you done to me?"
"We fell nearly fifty meters," I point out, feeling strangely calm. "I'm already dead, so it wasn't much of a problem, but you..." I watch as he tries yet again to free himself, but it's clear that he's got no chance. Like a lame animal, he desperately pulls himself through the mud, but the effort is too much and once again he collapses.
"I'm sure medical science could put you back together," I continue. "If you've got the money to pay for the best surgeons, anyway. And you'd also have to find a way back up, which might be tricky."
All around us, the ghosts are still in position, staring up at the dam. They don't seem to have paid any attention at all to the fact that we suddenly landed amongst them; as far as they're concerned, I guess we're an inconvenience, something to be ignored, and the strangest thing is that now I'm down here with them, I don't feel scared at all. If anything, I feel as if I'm meant to be here. After all, we're all dead, with the exception of Alexander, and I'm not sure he's got too long left.
"You think I won't get out of here?" Alexander grunts as he pulls a cellphone from his jacket pocket. "You think -"
Before he has a chance to call for help, I step over, grab the phone and throw it several meters away.
"Bitch!" he yells, immediately trying to crawl toward the phone. "You think it's my fault that you ended up like this? Is that why you're so angry? You're nothing but a common whore!"
"A common whore who got a lot of bookings from one particular customer," I point out. "You must have liked something about me."
"You were a test sent to me by God," he continues. "I see it now. He wanted me to prove to him that I could reject your vile, sluttish ways and remain on the true path."
"Well done with that," I mutter. "How many times did you kill me again?"
"Mere distractions," he replies. "I saw through you eventually, and I reject you. You're nothing but an angry, resentful whore who can't see the glory of God even as it builds all around her. By the time you realize the error of your ways, it'll be far too late for anyone to help you."
"I'm not angry," I tell him. "I'm just tired. I've died a hell of a lot of times, mostly at your hands, and I think maybe it's time to stop." Feeling the pain in my belly again, I realize that there'll be more mud in my mouth soon. "Tell me something," I continue. "If God really told you to build this dam, what was the reason? I mean, I don't even believe in all that religious bullshit, but I guess I can humor you for a few minutes. If God actually existed, why would he send a messenger down to get some smarmy rich arsehole to build a fucking pointless dam? You're hardly a prophet, Alexander."
"He appeared to me," Alexander replies, still trying to reach the phone. "God's messenger appeared in a blaze of light when I was at my lowest. He told me that God had recognized my achievements, but that it was time for me to build a monument to his everlasting glory. Up until that moment, I was a weak and empty man, caring for nothing but carnal thrills and material possessions. I'd made billions of pounds, but my soul was falling away. Once the angel came, I had a higher purpose." He glances up at me, with pure hatred in his eyes. "I guess that's not something you'd ever understand, being a whore."
"You're right," I reply calmly. "I don't understand."
"No-one does," he sneers. "I didn't either, at first. He told me to build this dam, and he said that once it was finished, its purpose would become clear. I spent years putting the deal together and greasing the right political wheels, and I hired a firm that had an impeccable track record. The whole thing was supposed to be perfect, and then..." He turns to look over at the dam. "The devil must have stepped in to stop the project, but he won't win. I'll find a way -"
"It's not the devil," I tell him. "It's ghosts. They're the ones who saw your dam as an opportunity to empty the river and expose their corpses. They want to be seen by a city that forgot all about them."
"Liar!" he shouts, lunging at me but falling short.
"Your dam's never going to work," I continue. "After this disaster, the whole thing'll end up being dismantled. If God really did tell you to build it, then you failed miserably."
He shakes his head, and after a moment he starts laughing.
"You really are insane, aren't you?" I continue. "Tell me something, though. Even if you heard a voice, how do you know it was God?"
"The angel told me something else," he replies. "Something that explains it all." He lets out a gasp of pain, and it takes a moment for him to regather his composure. "God is angry," he adds eventually. "Don't you realize? The world as it has become... the world around us, full of war and hatred, devoid of faith and love... God despairs at this mortal coil of misery. We should have known it was coming. God has become angry, and he's no longer willing to stand by and watch the devastation."
"And he chose you as his go-to guy?" I ask skeptically.
"I'm just the first," he gasps, as blood starts to flow from his mouth. "There'll be others. God's anger knows no boundaries, no restraints. He'll cut through this world and reshape it as it was always intended to be. After all this time, he's coming back to deal with the mistakes that were made by the lowly hands of men. If I have to die in order to help with that mission, then I embrace death completely, safe in the knowledge that I'm doing all that I can to help usher in a new world."
"You're really out of your mind," I reply. "You know that, right? All this talk of God just proves that you're completely deluded. You obviously had some kind of mental breakdown and hallucinated an angel, and now you're convinced it gave you a bunch of instructions. Honestly, Alexander, I don't know whether to be disgusted by you or just... It's pitiful."
"You'll see," he says, as more blood erupts from his mouth. "This is what God wants. Every moment, every word, every line... God wants this to happen, and no-one can stop him."
"You really believe that?"
"I know it," he replies firmly. "I feel the truth in my heart."
"A dam?" I ask. "I mean, seriously, what the fuck does God want with a dam?"
I watch as Alexander tries one final time to reach the phone before rolling onto his back and staring up at the night sky with a pained look of acceptance in his eyes. His lips move, as if he's whispering something to himself, but he seems to be losing consciousness fast.
"There's no God," I say after a moment. "There was no angel, either. You're just a madman trying to find meaning after living an empty life. Most people find meaning in love and family and friendship. Only a hollow, cold-hearted bastard would look for meaning in money and giant construction projects. I mean, seriously, it's kind of ridiculous when you think about it."
"I can see them," he whispers, struggling to speak as blood continues to fill his mouth.
"Who?" I ask, looking up at the dark sky. "A bunch of angels flying past?"
"Ghosts," he replies. "All around us, just like you said earlier. Ask yourself something. If everything I've said is false, then how did all of this happen? Ghosts walking through the city. You, dying and coming back over and over again. Can you really not feel his presence starting to be felt in the world?"
I open my mouth to reply to him, but although I want to point out that he's deluded, something holds me back. He's right about one thing: I still don't understand why all these ghosts came to sabotage the dam, and why they're now staring up at it as if they're waiting for something. It's almost as if they see this place as some kind of church, and the thought sends a shiver through my body. By the time I look back down at Alexander, however, I realize that it's too late.
He's dead.
Chapter Five
Katie
"They don't want the river to be dry," Robinson says as he leads us into the control room. "That's just a means to an end, but it was entirely necessary. All the ghosts care about is that the modern city of London recognizes all the lost souls whose bodies were dropped into the river and left to rot."
"So the ghosts sabotaged the dam?" I ask, watching as he starts accessing various screens.
"Not spontaneously," he replies. "Someone or something was guiding them, telling them what to do and how to do it. Without a hefty push, the ghosts would have left the dam well alone, but whoever's behind all of this, they had everything planned from the start."
"So the dam was built precisely so it could be used to empty the river?" Quix asks.
"It's like I said before
," he continues, bringing up a diagram of the dam's main power room. "Whoever's behind this, they've been moving their chess pieces into place for a while now. This whole mess has probably been years in teh planning. They persuaded Alexander Medion and his friends to build the dam, and once that part was done, they persuaded the ghosts to sabotage it. And the reason..." He pauses, before turning to us. "Well, that's as far as I've got so far. Someone wanted the modern city of London to face the crimes of its past, but I don't understand the motivation."
"So what's the problem?" I ask.
Robinson and Quix both turn to me.
"They just want people to recognize what happened to them, right?" I continue. "So why can't people just recognize what happened and then we can all move on? The ghosts will get what they want, and the dam can be fixed so the water comes back."
"But that still leaves the puppet-master," Robinson replies. "The person who orchestrated all of this is still going to want something, and I doubt he or she will just walk away once the river's flowing again."
"You make it sound like God's behind the whole thing," Quix says darkly.
"Well, God would fit the bill," Robinson says with a smile, "if he existed." Turning, he looks over at the door just in time to see a well-dressed older man enter the room. "Mr. Nicholls," he adds with a grin. "I was starting to think that maybe you wouldn't show up at all. I hope the stress of this whole situation isn't causing you too many problems with the -"
"Where's Medion?" he shouts, hurrying over to Robinson and pushing him away from the terminals. "You, Sir, have no authority to be on this site."
"I sent the guards home," Robinson replies. "They seemed tired."
"Tired?" Nicholls replies. "They should try walking in my goddamn shoes for a few minutes! I haven't slept for forty-eight hours!"
"Well, yes," Robinson says with a smile, "you are the biggest victim in all of this."
"I demand to be updated on the situation," Nicholls shouts, looking over at Quix and then at me. "Who's in charge? I was told there'd be a team here twenty-four hours a day until the problem's resolved! Jesus Christ, why did I ever think I could rely on other people to fix this mess?" Taking off his jacket, he rolls his shirt sleeves up and returns to the monitors. "You can hire all the PhD-waving experts you want, but at the end of the day, nothing beats a bit of common sense."
