‘You look like you need to go to the hospital,’ said Craig. ‘You look like hell.’
‘That’s not exactly funny,’ said Lazarus, ‘but he’s got a point.’
Whatever Clair had done, Lazarus could see that it had really affected her. She said she felt sick, but there was something else about her, too. Her eyes looked glazed over, like they couldn’t quite focus on what they were seeing, and Clair was shielding them from the light.
‘Seeing as I’m a nurse I’ll be at the hospital in a few hours anyway,’ said Clair, pushing her hair, damp with sweat, from her face and tucking it behind her ears. ‘I’ll just go home and get some shut-eye to clear my head before the night shift.’
‘You sure you’re going to be OK?’ Lazarus asked again. He wasn’t convinced. No one looking the way Clair did, so different to how they’d looked only minutes ago, could ever be described as OK.
Clair gave a tiny nod. ‘Look, Lazarus,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry about whatever that was. I… I can’t explain it. I’ve no idea what happened.’
Clair paused, took a deep breath, and when she stared back at Lazarus he saw fear in her eyes. ‘What if I’ve made things worse?’
Lazarus took a deep breath. He didn’t want to think about the possibility of that being true.
‘Whatever it was you opened is now closed,’ he said. ‘Maybe we were lucky.’
Lazarus knew he didn’t sound completely convinced.
‘What do you mean by making things worse?’ asked Craig. ‘What actually happened?’
‘I need to speak to some people about this,’ said Clair, making her way now past Lazarus and Craig to the door of the lounge. ‘See if I can find out more about all this.’
‘Like what?’ said Craig.
Clair shrugged, then again pushed her hair from her face. Lazarus thought how her skin didn’t so much look pale any more, but grey, like ash. He was beginning to wonder just what affect being touched by the Dead could have on a person. Clair wasn’t right, that was more than obvious, but if she was off to the hospital anyway, he figured she’d be able to get herself checked out if she still felt off.
‘Look,’ said Lazarus, ‘whatever happened, well, none of us can explain it, can we? What matters is that it’s over. If you can find anything else out, Clair, that’s great, but I reckon it’s probably best if we all just forget about it, right?’
Clair nodded and said, ‘I really am sorry, Lazarus. Nothing like this has ever happened before.’
‘Let’s hope it doesn’t happen again then, eh?’ replied Lazarus.
He watched with Craig as Clair shuffled out of the room, heading for the front door. They both heard it shut behind her with a tiny click. In the silence that followed he couldn’t shake a sense that whatever Clair had done, accident or not, was going to come back and haunt him.
Lazarus glanced around the room. ‘Best tidy up, then,’ he said.
‘Tidy up?’ said Craig after a moment. ‘You can’t be serious. Not after what we’ve just seen.’
‘I’m totally serious,’ said Lazarus. He could hear the anger in his own voice. ‘If you hadn’t brought Clair over…’
‘And what’s that supposed to mean? You saying this was my fault?’
‘Well I didn’t invite her!’
Lazarus didn’t like the way all this had started to dictate his life. He had to regain control.
‘Look, I didn’t mean it like that.’
‘I know,’ said Craig. ‘But you’re right – maybe I shouldn’t have got her to come over. I didn’t know anything like this was going to happen.’
‘Neither of us did,’ said Lazarus. ‘And I don’t know about you but I want to forget all about it and just get on with having a decent summer. Whatever Dad’s involved with, whatever all this is all about, he can deal with it. Not my problem.’
‘It’s going to be pretty hard to forget though, isn’t it?’ said Craig.
‘I guess so,’ said Lazarus. ‘You still on for that trip to your parents’ RV?’
‘Totally,’ said Craig, though Lazarus heard the uncertainty in his voice.
‘Good,’ said Lazarus. Although he was absolutely sure he wanted to forget the last twenty-four hours and get on with his life, he heard his voice falter a little. He coughed and forced a smile. ‘I’ll go and get a few trash bags and stuff and we can make a start on sorting all this out.’
As he reached the door, he looked back at his friend. If he couldn’t be honest with Craig, what was the point in being friends at all?
‘One more thing,’ he asked. ‘You mind staying over tonight?’
‘No worries,’ nodded Craig. ‘I’ll give my ma a call, but it’ll be fine. Always is.’
‘Cool,’ said Lazarus. ‘It’s just that, well, you know, after what’s happened…’
He didn’t want to spell it out. He didn’t want to admit he was terrified to be home alone.
‘Totally,’ said Craig, and pulled out his phone.
After Craig’s mom had agreed the stay-over, they carried on with clearing up. They didn’t make much of a dent, but it was a start. Tomorrow, Lazarus decided, he’d get some stain remover and work on sorting out the blood. But until then, he was happy that at least they’d cleared up some of the mess and broken glass.
With pizza delivered, they headed upstairs to pig out in front of the TV in Lazarus’s room. But no matter how they tried to distract themselves, neither of them were able to avoid the fact they were both scared.
‘You know,’ said Craig, finishing off the last piece of pizza without asking if Lazarus wanted any of it, ‘we can always go stay at my house if you want. My ma would be more than fine about it.’
‘I need to stay here,’ said Lazarus.
‘Why? You think that weirdo’s coming back?’
‘Maybe,’ said Lazarus. ‘Don’t know really. I guess I’m just spooked by it all.’
‘Thought you said it was down to your dad to deal with it, that you just wanted to forget all about it?’
Lazarus knew Craig was right – he had said that. Felt it even. But something deep down was gnawing at him. And no matter what he thought of his dad, or how flimsy their whole father-son relationship was, he was still his dad and that had to mean something, didn’t it?
‘Look, let’s go to my place,’ said Craig. ‘It’s no bother. Really. Get away from here and you’ll feel different.’
Lazarus shook his head. He was staying put, and he knew why. ‘It’s not just what I saw,’ he said. ‘It’s what Red told me about Dad. I need to be here if he calls, just in case.’
‘Just in case of what?’ asked Craig. ‘Look, I know what you saw – what happened in the living room was nuts – but do you really think your dad’s got anything to do with it?’
Lazarus didn’t have an answer. Not a straight one, anyway. But he knew he was staying because of his dad, and that was a little confusing. Was it because he felt a sense of duty to him? It certainly wasn’t love. Couldn’t be. Loving Dad would be like giving a hug to a dead fish.
‘I have no idea what to think,’ he shrugged, unable to make sense of how he was feeling. ‘But Red gave me a message, remember? I have to tell Dad someone is trying to get through from here to the Land of the Dead.’
‘Do you have any idea how nuts you sound?’ asked Craig. ‘Say that in a public place and you’ll be wearing a very tight jacked and locked up in a nice, comfy cell with no windows.’
‘To be honest,’ said Lazarus, ‘I think I’m more pissed off with Dad for not being around when all this happened than anything else. And I can’t believe he left his cell phone behind. Shows just how little he cares, doesn’t it?’
Craig didn’t reply.
‘But if he does know whatever the hell that was, has any idea what’s going on, I want to find out first. And I can only do that by being here in case he calls,’ Lazarus went on. ‘And tomorrow, I figured on having a look through his office. Might find some clue as to where he is. If I can find a
hotel address or something at least I can give him a call.’
Lazarus fell silent. If he was honest with himself, he wasn’t exactly sure why he wasn’t just heading off to stay at Craig’s. Perhaps it was in case that stranger turned up again. Perhaps it was in case his dad called. Or was it just that he was curious? He had a suspicion it was more of the last then anything else.
It was just past one in the morning when Lazarus stirred. He was thirsty as hell and knew he’d never get back to sleep unless he downed a glass of water first.
He stumbled across the room to the bedroom door, stepping over Craig on the way, his foot only narrowly missing the open pizza box.
The house was cool and silent, and Lazarus could see his breath in the air. With a shiver, he hurried down to the kitchen, where he poured a full glass of water from a bottle in the fridge. He then headed back up to his room.
Walking up the stairs, Lazarus noticed that the house seemed blacker. He checked the window at the landing. It was darker outside. He guessed that, once again, the summer wasn’t doing its job properly and that it would soon be raining. At the top of the stairs he turned right to head back to his room. He was exhausted and just wanted to pass out.
As Lazarus went to push open his bedroom door, he heard the sound of breath being exhaled. At first, he thought it was Craig just about to start snoring. But then he heard it again and realised that it hadn’t come from inside the room at all, but from behind him.
From the stairs.
11 Rusty Sword
Lazarus felt a shiver of ice race up his back, the hair on his neck not so much standing on end as shrivelling up under the freeze that had stolen into the night.
The sound of the breath came again, and this time Lazarus was sure he didn’t just hear it. He felt it too. He didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want to face who or whatever it was that owned that breath. Not after the night before. Not after Red and those creatures…
Another breath. Lazarus tried to move. It was like the air around him had turned sluggish, as though he were trying to move through deep water. But eventually he managed to turn from his door, pushing the fear deep down inside himself, utterly determined to face whatever the hell else had appeared in his house.
Waiting for the darkness to clear, for his eyes to focus, the only sound Lazarus could hear was his heart once again thumping a beat that was more run-away than look-see.
Then, almost too quickly, the darkness took shape. Lazarus’s eyes zoned in on what was with him on the landing.
It was perched on the post at the top of the banisters: a crouched figure, arms resting over its knees, head down. The long brown coat it was wearing almost touched the floor, and made the figure look like a fat crow sitting on a tree stump. It looked up. With its face held in shadow, Lazarus couldn’t make out any features, but he knew it was staring at him. He also knew that it was blocking the only exit.
Moonlight broke through the window on the landing. It fell on the figure. Lazarus knew he’d seen this person before: first outside the front of the house, then in his dad’s study, then jumping through the window. Now he or she was here, almost floating above the stairs. In one hand was a sword: rusty, jagged and huge. In the other, a wine bottle.
Lazarus felt the glass slip from his hand. It seemed to take ages to reach the floor. When it did, the water splashed out across the carpet, over his feet. The glass itself stood upright for a second or two longer than it should have, then toppled softly on to the carpet. Lazarus opened his mouth to speak, but his voice felt trapped. He tried to back off. All he managed to do was shuffle away, his feet refusing to move more than a few inches.
Lazarus’s mind was spinning. Why was this person here? What did they want? What had they been doing in Dad’s study? But the one thing that bothered him more than anything was this: how on earth were they balancing on the banisters like that?
The figure jumped soundlessly to the floor. It landed with the grace and silence of a feather, then stretched tall and walked towards Lazarus, its sword hanging down and scraping a thin line across the carpet. It lifted the wine bottle and gulped and gulped. Then tossed the empty bottle to one side before wiping its mouth with its sleeve.
Lazarus had become utterly detached from his body. He was helpless as the figure drew closer. He was going to die. This person, this creepy freak was going to skewer him like a pig on a spit. Where was Craig, for God’s sake? Why couldn’t he hear what was happening?
Lazarus didn’t turn away when the figure stopped in front of him. He wasn’t going to give it the satisfaction of seeing his fear.
The figure spoke.
‘Lazarus, my name is Arielle.’
Lazarus was stunned. The voice was female. He had never heard a voice like it. It seemed to echo, like this Arielle was talking in a church. It sounded impossibly old, yet somehow young at the same time. It was freaky weird, almost hypnotizing to listen to.
‘I am an old friend of Tobias, your father,’ said the woman. ‘I need to speak with him urgently. I have not heard from him for a month now. Where is he?’
‘An old friend?’ Lazarus couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘Dad doesn’t have any friends, then two show up within hours of each other? Who the hell are you? How do you know Dad? I’ve never heard of you or seen you before!’ Another question struck him. ‘And if you are an “old friend”, why did you break into his office?’
Lazarus was beginning to tire of all this insanity. From Red turning up, to Clair doing her thing downstairs and re-opening the rip, to this Arielle with her weird as midnight balancing trick, he was halfway to just giving up. None of it made sense, and it seemed that sticking around was just making it worse.
‘Your father and I had an … appointment,’ continued Arielle, still hidden in the shadows of the hallway. It sounded like she was trying to choose the right words, like she was disguising something. ‘But he did not appear. And you said another old friend turned up? Who?’
When Lazarus answered, his voice hissed like a snake. ‘Where is Dad? He left his phone behind, and that doesn’t make any sense at all, not if I’m supposed to be able to call him in case of emergency, does it? What’s going on? Why do you need to speak to him? Oh yeah – and why did you steal his diary?’
Adrenaline was in his fingertips. He was in full on fight-or-flight mode. And Lazarus always stayed for the fight.
‘I can explain …’
‘I bet you can,’ spat Lazarus, clenching his fists.
‘Lazarus, I don’t have time for this,’ Arielle said. ‘Your father – where is he? And you haven’t answered my other question – who was this other old friend?’
‘Dad’s away on business!’ Lazarus shouted, deciding to keep anything to do with Red out of the conversation. ‘That’s all I know because that’s all he ever tells me.’
‘You have a contact number?’
‘Yeah,’ snapped Lazarus, ‘but like I said, it’s no damn use, seeing as Dad left his phone at home in his desk!’
‘You have no way of contacting your father? No way at all?’
‘None,’ said Lazarus, glancing back at his room, still wondering why Craig couldn’t hear what was going on. ‘I don’t even know where he is.’
‘That makes two of us,’ said Arielle, turning away from Lazarus and back to the stairs. ‘And that’s very wrong indeed.’
Lazarus watched as the woman walked away from him into the moonlight now hanging in through the window. At last he was able to see her. She was tall, slim, and seemed to glide rather than move across the floor. Her hair was black and long, but it didn’t look well cared for. It was matted and knotted and pulled back into a loose braid. Her eyes were sunken and her face, though not unattractive, was furrowed with stress, strong cheekbones standing out in an elf-like face. And her skin, Lazarus saw, was milky white, like it had never seen the sun, not even for a day.
Through his fear, Lazarus was intrigued. Why would his dad, the quiet mouse of a man who a
pparently had no friends outside of his clocks, hang out with this weirdly dressed woman?
‘Look,’ said Arielle.
A book lay in her hand. Lazarus recognized it straight away. It was his dad’s work diary. Arielle flicked through the pages, then pointed to a day circled in blue pen.
‘This is when I was supposed to meet him,’ she said. ‘But Tobias never turned up. Why not?’
‘I’m not my father’s keeper,’ snapped Lazarus. ‘Anyway, how do I know you’re not lying? How do I know you’re not after him for some other reason?’
Lazarus noticed a flicker of a smile on Arielle’s face. What on earth had he just said that was so funny?
‘I assure you,’ said Arielle, ‘I have only his best interests at heart.’
‘And so do I,’ snarled Lazarus.
He wasn’t sure why he was so angry. It wasn’t as though he really cared that much for his dad, was it?
For a moment neither spoke. Lazarus watched Arielle put his dad’s diary away, then pull something else from an inside pocket and lift it to her mouth. It caught the moonlight as she drank. It was a large hip-flask.
Great, Lazarus thought. An alcoholic. His dad didn’t drink a drop, was a teetotaler, so what was he doing getting mixed up with this wino?
Arielle let the flask drop and wiped her mouth on her sleeve. ‘I think your father is in trouble,’ she said, ‘the like of which you couldn’t possibly imagine.’
Lazarus almost laughed. ‘Oh, I think I’ve a fair idea,’ he said.
‘He is responsible for something,’ continued Arielle. ‘And I need to make sure he hasn’t turned from this responsibility.’
Lazarus walked towards Arielle, feeling more confident now that she sounded about as confused as he was. ‘You’re speaking in riddles,’ he said. ‘My dad advises banks and private companies and rich people on how best to make sure their money’s safe. What’s he got to do with you?’
Before Arielle had a chance to answer, Lazarus was speaking again, unable to stop himself.
‘You’re going to start talking about veils and the land of the Dead and how the Dead are coming in a minute, aren’t you? Well, however Dad’s involved, just leave me out of it, OK? It’s not my problem!’
The Dead Page 6
