by Amy Cross
“Perhaps if I let her ghost have the ruins of this place,” he gasps, “she won't come after me! Not if I go far enough away!”
“So are you going to sell it?” I ask. “Will I get the money?”
“The land must be held in trust,” he stammers, “so that there is no danger of it ever being used again. I don't care about anything else, not now! All I care about is making sure that she never comes after me! I thought I could make a deal with her, but I was wrong! She's too angry, too full of fury! Please, pass the telephone, so that I can call my solicitor in London and tell him of my new instructions.”
“But you promised,” I reply. “You said I'd get the hotel.”
“This is not the time for recriminations. Pass me the telephone.”
“You promised!”
“Child -”
“You promised!” I hiss, feeling a sudden burst of anger in my chest. “You told me I'd get it! You can't break your promise! You said we had a deal, and you said you never go back on a deal!”
“There's no time!” he hisses. “She might appear at any moment! Get me the telephone, you wretched boy! Hurry!”
“I want to get away from them,” I mutter, feeling a sense of shock at the idea that I might have to stay with Mum and Dad. It's less than twenty-four hours since I was promised the hotel, but already the idea of its riches has taken root in my mind. I can't imagine going back to how things were before. “I want to be a successful businessman.”
“Steven...”
“You promised,” I continue, staring at him as I feel my anger growing. “You can't take it back. Not ever.”
“Don't argue with me!”
“Why did they never catch you?”
“What are you talking about now?”
“If you smothered that little girl Mary,” I continue, “how did you get away with it?”
“Call my doctor back in!” he gasps. “I have much to do before I...”
His voice trails off.
He's almost dead already.
I watch for a moment as he struggles to breathe, and deep down I already have an idea. I hesitate a little longer, and then I glance toward the door.
There's no sign of anybody coming back into the room.
“Please,” Mr. Nash groans, filled with panic, “you must call my doctor.”
Slowly, I get to my feet.
“You'll understand one day,” he continues, staring up at me with scared, tear-filled eyes. “You're just a child, Steven. It's beyond your comprehension, but I assure you that one day you will see the sense in what I am doing today. I cannot see that girl again! I have to get out of here!”
He starts sobbing. Not just weeping, but really sobbing. I thought he was a great man, a man of resolve and brilliance, but now fear is turning him into a sobbing, spluttering wreck. The great Jobard Nash is letting a little girl tear him apart. I'm sure he must be losing his mind, and that deep down he'd never want to be like this. What he needs, I suppose, is an act of kindness.
I stare at him for a moment, before reaching past the bed and taking one of the spare pillows from a nearby table.
“Please,” he gasps, “send for my doctor.”
I hold the pillow carefully, trying to decide the best way to do this. I know I need to be quick, and I'm surprised to find that I'm not scared at all. I just want to make absolutely certain that I get the hotel, and to spare Mr. Nash the humiliation of letting other people see him like this.
“I recognize a lot of myself in you, Steven,” he splutters. “You're a bright boy. Perhaps Ellen was right all those years ago, perhaps I can never escape who I really am. Please, help me! I'm begging you, I need -”
Suddenly I place the pillow over his face and push down, telling myself that I have to act fast. As the old man shudders and tries to fight back, I press my hands hard against the top of the pillow, and I can just about feel his face beneath. He's trying desperately to push me away, and after a minute or so I realize that he still doesn't seem to be any closer to dying, so I switch my angle and press my shoulder hard against the pillow, pushing as firmly as I can manage. At the same time, I start trying to think of other ways I might do this if suffocation doesn't work, although after a moment I realize that the old man is struggling less and less.
“Just die!” I whisper. “Please!”
Finally he falls still, but I don't dare let go yet. He might be bluffing, or he might still recover, so I keep my shoulder pushed against the pillow for several more minutes before figuring that it's probably safe to stop.
I pull the pillow away, and immediately a shudder passes through my chest as I see his wide-open mouth and his terrified expression.
After setting the pillow back where I found it, I check to make sure that Mr. Nash no longer has a pulse, and then I gently close his mouth. I don't really like touching a dead guy, but I figure it might look a little less suspicious if the mouth is closed. Mr. Nash probably did the same thing to Mary Maywhistle all those years ago, and I feel pretty pleased with myself for being so smart.
“I'm sorry,” I whisper. “I just really, really wanted the hotel after you promised it to me. It was the only way I could be kind to you.”
With that, I turn and head over to the door. Once I'm out in the next room, I see that the doctor is speaking in hushed tones to the receptionist. They're obviously very worried, and it's already clear that they expect Mr. Nash to die soon. When they see me, they seem to wind up their conversation pretty quickly, and the doctor comes over to pat me on the shoulder.
“All done in there?” he asks.
I nod.
“You mustn't be too upset,” he continues. “Jobard Nash is an old man, and he's had what we call a good innings. I'll make sure he's well looked after during the time he has left. I'll ensure that he's comfortable.”
“He seemed pretty sick just now when I left the room,” I tell him. “Gasping for breath, that sort of thing. He said he wanted you to go in and see him.”
“And I'll do just that,” he says, turning and opening the door. “Ms. Lucas will take you back to your parents.”
As I head back over to the receptionist, I hear the sound of the door swinging shut behind me. Any moment now, the doctor will discover Mr. Nash's body, but I'm pretty sure he'll just assume that he must have died from the stroke he suffered last night.
“You're a sweet little boy,” the receptionist says with a smile, putting a hand on my shoulder as she leads me toward the elevator. “It's very nice of you to spend time with Mr. Nash. I'm sure he appreciated it a lot.”
“Thank you,” I reply, even though deep down I'm terrified in case the doctor realizes the truth. “He's really a very great man.”
Chapter Thirty-One
“I just don't understand,” Dad says, staring in shock at the pile of papers on the solicitor's desk. “Steven only met Jobard Nash a couple of times. Why would the old man leave him his entire estate?”
“Mr. Nash had no children of his own,” the solicitor replies, his voice all plummy and aristocratic. “If he wanted to keep the hotel within the family, I imagine young Steven would have been one of the more obvious candidates.”
“But still...”
Dad's voice trails off, and it's clear that he's completely shocked. When I turn to Mum, I see that she looks even more confused, and I can't help smiling as I realize that they're both amazed by my good fortune. They've probably realized that I won't need them anymore, that at the grand age of eleven I'm going to be set for life. I imagine they're running through all the times they've been mean to me, and wondering whether there's time for them to suck up and make me like them again.
Fat chance.
“Steven,” Mum says finally, placing a hand on my knee, “I know you probably don't appreciate the magnitude of this news, but -”
“I appreciate it,” I reply, interrupting her. “I'm not stupid. I understand. I'm inheriting Mr. Nash's hotel.”
“Yes, and -”
“
So it's going to be mine,” I continue, “and nobody else can tell me what to do with it. Not ever.”
I pause, watching the growing sense of shock on her face, and then I turn and see that Dad looks just as dumb.
“I was the last person to see him alive, wasn't I?” I add, before glancing at the solicitor. “I guess that means I meant something to him. At the end, anyway. He seemed like he was falling into a peaceful sleep just before I left the room. The doctor said his death was caused by the stroke.” I pause, allowing my smile to grow. “I wanted to go to the cremation ceremony, but Mum and Dad wouldn't let me. They said it was too far to travel.”
“That's not entirely right,” Mum stammers, clearly embarrassed. “We just didn't want to take Steven out of school for those days. We thought it'd be too disruptive.”
“So when do I get the keys?” I ask.
The solicitor raises a skeptical eyebrow. “The keys?”
“To the hotel. I need to start thinking about what changes I want to make to the place.”
He stares at me for a moment. “Mr. Culshaw,” he says finally, “I must point out at this juncture that you are only eleven years old.”
“So?”
“So while the hotel has been bequeathed to you, it has been done so in trust.”
I feel a faint stir of concern in my chest. “What does that mean?”
“It means that Mr. Nash required the formation of a trust that will manage the hotel on your behalf and protect the estate until you reach the age of twenty-one. Then, and only then, will you take control of your inheritance.”
“That's ten years away!” I hiss.
“The trust shall be comprised of myself,” he continues, “your parents, and most likely one of my colleagues from this law office. Together, we shall ensure that the value of Mr. Nash's estate will be protected. I can assure you that we will do a sterling job, and upon your twenty-first birthday you will of course take complete control yourself.”
Staring at him, I realize that he's absolutely serious. This madman expects me to wait an entire decade before I take over the hotel, and when I turn to Mum and Dad I see that they're not surprised at all. Mr. Nash left the hotel to me, not to these idiots, but they're conspiring to push me out of the way and run the place themselves.
“I won't let you do this,” I stammer. “I want the hotel right now!”
“The legal situation is quite clear, Mr. Culshaw.”
“It's mine!” I shout. “I want it!”
“Steven, please!” Mum hisses, nudging my arm. “Remember your manners!”
“I don't care about manners!” I yell, pulling away from her as I get to my feet. “I'm old enough to have the hotel now! That's what Mr. Nash wanted!”
“His instructions were quite clear,” the solicitor replies. “Ten years isn't such a long time, young man, and I'm sure that in the end you'll be very thankful that people were around to look after your best interests. The running of a hotel is not a trifling matter and -”
“I hate you!” I shout, turning to Mum and then to Dad. “I hate all of you! You're trying to take it away from me, but it's mine! Mr. Nash gave it to me!”
With that, I turn and run out of the room, then along the corridor and finally out onto the street. There are several people wandering past, but I quickly rush across the road and over to the village green. Sitting on one of the benches, I put my head in my hands and try to get used to the idea that I'm going to have to wait ten whole years before I'm able to get the key to the hotel.
Ten years.
That's forever.
Ten years before I can become rich and successful. Ten years before I can get a proper girlfriend. Ten years before I can be like Mr. Nash.
Letting out a gasp of anger, I lean forward and try to make sense of the thoughts that are rushing through my head. I want to scream, but I also know that people will only start staring.
Taking a series of deep breaths, I finally realize that my only option is to turn this setback into an opportunity. Over the next ten years, I can make a lot of plans, and I can figure out exactly what I'm going to do with the hotel. And when I'm twenty-one years old, I'll go back there and make sure that the Lakeforth becomes the greatest hotel in the world. I even think I can sense Jobard Nash's voice deep in my mind, as if he's guiding me from beyond the grave.
I won't end up like Mr. Nash, though. I won't let some stupid little ghost break me. I'll be strong. And if the ghost of Ruth Maywhistle tries to stop me, I'll make her pay. After all, I've got ten years to figure it all out and come up with a better plan.
One day, I'm going to be the coolest, richest person on the planet. The world's going to bow down before the great Steve Culshaw.
Part Eight
Steve Culshaw - Today
Chapter Thirty-Two
“I'm sorry, Beth,” I say firmly, as I force the knife deeper into her back, “but I really need you to stay.”
She slumps toward me, and I barely manage to catch her in time. Gasping and struggling futilely to push me away, she seems unable to stand properly, as if her legs have buckled. Hell, I figured she'd at least try to put up more of a fight, but instead she's folding so fast. I twist the knife slightly, causing her to let out an agonized cry, and then I carefully lower her down onto the cold, damp patio. That was so, so much easier than I ever expected.
“There's nothing you can do now,” I tell her. “Just try to stay calm. You're gonna lose a lot of blood.”
Suddenly her whole body starts shuddering, as if the knife's blade flicked a switch deep inside, and a trickle of blood erupts from her mouth. Her trembling hands reach toward the blade that's jutting out from her chest, and her eyes are wide with shock. I think she's still in the denial stage, still hoping that somehow this isn't really happening. I watch as her fingertips brush against the blade, smearing her own blood across the metal.
“There's nothing, Beth,” I continue. “Don't fight it. Hush now. I've got you.”
She grunts and tries to twist away, but I hold her down so that she can't get anywhere.
“It's not fatal,” I add. “Hopefully not, anyway. I was very careful about where I stabbed you. I want you to see what I built here, Beth. I couldn't tell you before, I knew you wouldn't understand, but this hotel belongs to me now. I've spent ten years waiting to get my hands on it, ten years coming up with so many ideas, and now I'm finally twenty-one so it's all mine. The trust shuttered the place, they said it couldn't turn a profit, but they were just short-sighted. They didn't see the potential that I see. They weren't great minds.”
“Help!” she gasps, as more blood runs from her mouth. “Somebody...”
“Hush,” I whisper, kissing the top of her head. “I know how to patch you up. I've got great plans for us, Beth. Great, wonderful plans. You're in shock now, but you'll understand soon enough, and then you'll realize that I'm doing something really brilliant. You're gonna have so much respect for me.”
I kiss her again, this time taking a moment to enjoy the smell of her hair.
“They're all going to see what I can do with this place,” I add. “All those lousy, stinking assholes who doubted me. I've had Jobard Nash's ghost guiding me, pushing me along. I can do this!”
“Help!” she groans, reaching out with her trembling right hand. “Please, Annie...”
It takes a moment before I realize that she's talking to the vision of her sister. Looking up, I see Annie's form shimmering in the night air. She can't actually do anything to help, of course, since her physical body is still down in the swimming pool. All that's up here right now is a whisper of her former self, and like all new ghosts she's barely even aware of who she is or how she got here. I've studied ghosts over the past ten years, and I've begun to understand more and more about how they work. Perhaps Annie will gain a stronger sense of herself over time, perhaps she'll get some of her old personality back and she'll start causing trouble. Or, perhaps more likely, she'll simply fade away to nothing.
“I have to get moving,” I mutter, reaching under Beth's arms and hauling her up. “Come on, babe. We can't stay out here all night. It's too cold, and I have a delivery coming soon.”
She lets out a grunt of pain, but that's only to be expected. After all, she's got a great big knife skewered straight through her chest on the right side, just at the top of the breast.
“I know it hurts,” I tell her, “but don't worry, this is all part of the plan I've been working on for the past few years. I always knew I needed a girlfriend here with me, somebody to share the journey. You're going to have such fun!”
I start pulling her back toward the doors that lead into the dining room, but after a moment I stop and look over at Annie's ghostly form. Even though I've studied ghosts and come to understand a great deal about them, I still find myself transfixed by their beauty. Plus, Annie was hot and I always kind of hoped she might come around to my way of seeing things. Oh well. Too late now.
“And as for you,” I tell her with a faint smile, “you don't really matter at all. Do what you want. I'm not scared of you. You're nothing I haven't seen before. This hotel is already full of ghosts, but I guess one more can't hurt.”
Part Nine
Beth Hayes – One day later
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Hey, do you wanna come with me and check out this weird-ass hotel?”
Squinting slightly, I try to check the time on my phone, only to find that the numbers are swimming slightly. I focus, but still the numbers wriggle and squirm, refusing to take any kind of form that I recognize.
“Beth?”
“Wait,” I whisper, still watching the phone. “I can't -”
“Ignore that.”
Grabbing the phone from my hand, Steve sets it face-down on the table and grabs my shoulder, forcing me to turn to him. He's on the other side of the bed, with morning light streaming through the blinds and catching the side of his face. Outside the window, London sounds so noisy and busy.
