3.

When it was over, nothing but the seared foundation of the house still stood. Even Gabriel, who fell kneeling, hat between his thighs, was sobbing. It was over, yes. But the echo of what happened here would remain forever with him.

The spirit had tried to kill him. Tried to strangle him. He’d met angry spirits before, but none had more capability than perhaps moving light objects. This spirit had somehow placed its dead fingers on him, and if it hadn’t reeled back at the last second, Gabriel might not have been discovered until someone poked their noses into the remains of that house on Isaac Street. There they would find him dead. Would they see the marks around his neck he wondered?

The hat between Gabriel’s thighs was freezing; No, rather it was burning like a chunk of dry ice. Its coldness felt so intense it was almost impossible to touch. Gabriel sat there for some time letting his body and mind reset. As short as the interaction was with the spirit, Gabriel’s body felt as though it had been through a war of attrition. His mind was busy sliding the jigsaw pieces of information into what happened, and his throat…His throat felt three sizes too big, yet paradoxically, too narrow to suck in the air comfortably. Each breath took a conscious effort and burned through that tender canal, and each time he filled his lungs, Gabriel winced.

This spirit of ‘The Burned Man’ as he would come to call it later in life when visiting a certain man called: John Grimshaw, was the only spirit that came close to killing Gabriel. Others had attacked him, he wouldn’t deny that, but this one seemed all too able, too strong. After what seemed like perhaps thirty minutes, he could finally touch the hat on the ground in front of him. It was still difficult to touch but had cooled; or rather, warmed. He rescued his briefcase that had somehow been flung into another room of the house during the struggle and placed the hat within. Now, confident his legs could carry his weight, he left the house through the same open arch and ventured back out into the city streets of Liverpool. The street continued sleeping, silent as before. The only thing to cut that silence was Gabriel’s dress shoes which clicked against the road.

He backtracked his steps to Mill Street, then Marlow Street; using the Mersey to guide him back to his hotel. When he walked along the strip that led to his hotel, warm night lights made a runway for him. Taxis drove by to and fro. Partygoers were out in force, the girls dressed lightly in tight dresses while all the men seemed to wear polo shirts. They passed him as if he was no more than a stranger, which he was, but if he were to be wearing a paramedic uniform, or firefighter jacket, they might at least acknowledge him for his service to the community. To many, he probably looked one bottle from falling off the wagon, which he supposed in a way was also true.

Whether they knew it or not, however, he may have saved a life tonight. Especially if a spirit as dark and strong as this one was to stick about. The spirits that refused to move on were like leeches to the living, feeding primarily on both the weak and feeble. A spirit left unattended in a home might only get a healthy adult sick more than what was considered natural, perhaps even cause a pet to die a few years early. But against the old and very young, a spirit like that could be detrimental. Babies would die in the middle of the night due to unknown circumstances, most of which would later be chalked up to cot death, while an elder would appear to simply pass away of old age. A spirit could feed on the living…forever if left alone to do it. It would be confined to a single place, usually a house or area. Usually where they died. And almost all the spirits that stayed in this world after their date with death were the bad ones.

Gabriel had seen a few good ones stick about. Usually, these comprised of old people that died of natural causes but weren’t quite ready to move on without their lover. Gabriel once attended a haunting only to see the spirit smiling warmly next to his wife. Sometimes, people die of a broken heart Gabriel heard. When one partner dies, the other shortly follow; that was true even for rats. He didn’t think all of these were entirely just that. No matter whether the spirit was kept here by love, or by hate, it could only nourish itself on the living. Whether by accident or by intent, a spirit eventually pulled whatever it could into its world.

He limped back into the front of the Adelphi Hotel, his throat now throbbing with pain. He needed something for pain and ice for the swelling. He walked to the set of elevators, but instead of riding one up to his room, he entered a side door that led down into the hotel’s bar. The room was both spacious and at the same time cosy. Chairs, tables, lounges, and couches were all dispersed on different levels. Some tables required you to climb a few steps, while others required you to descend. Centring this was the bar that floated like a lonely island and took the shape of an octagon.

Gabriel sat on a stool at the bar, gazing dreamily at the hot pie displayed in the oven opposite him. He didn’t see the barman approach him, instead heard his voice break the white noise like a sonic boom.

“Jesus, mate.” He said, “You look like you’ve been through hell and just got back?”

The barman was tall and broad with a little too much gut for him to be anything less than a beer enthusiast. Gabriel tried to give him a reassuring smile but couldn’t. He waved a hand instead and said: “Bourbon. Doesn’t matter which. Plenty of rocks please.”

The barman looked at him as if contemplating whether to get him his bourbon or an ambulance. Thankfully, Gabriel saw him dash to grab a small glass and fill it with a generous amount of ice without saying a word. Gabriel rubbed at his throat which was now swollen to a dangerous size. Withdrawing his fingers back he noticed the tips of them were coated in what looked like black dust.

“There you are, mate. Jim Bean, extra ice.” The barman said placing the shot glass in front of him. The bourbon nested at the bottom of the glass, nearly two inches of ice burying it. Gabriel tried a smile again, only to get the uncomfortable sensation of hot wires running through his neck. He placed the glass of ice heavenly against the swelling.

“Thank you. How much do I owe ye?” He asked. The barman eyed him for a moment, his thick moustache that sat above his lip as some oversized caterpillar twitched. The barman still looking to be contemplating calling Gabriel an ambulance, mainly on the account his words were sounding like they were being pushed through a tight hole.

“Two-thirty.” The barman said.

Gabriel reached deep into his trousers; still holding the ice to his throat with one hand and retrieved the ten he had split earlier today. He placed it on the bar noticing the black streaks that stained the paper from his fingers. Fearing those hot wires would cause him to scream, Gabriel raised a single finger and tried to talk.

“One more.” He whispered, “This one…closer to neat than Mount Everest.”

The barman understood and turned to shake his head. “Make it a double if you can,” Gabriel added and remotely heard how his voice sounded like that of a stage four throat cancer patient.

“You sure, you’re alright mate?” the barman protested when he returned, “Your throats swollen pretty bad. You might need a hospital. A walk-in at least?”

Gabriel was aware of the other patrons looking at him now and considered whether it would have been a better idea to simply head up to his room instead.

“I’ll be fine,” Gabriel assured him none-too-kindly. He wanted to smile to take the edge off his words, but his larynx felt like an overly tightened guitar string.

Frowning, the barman left him. Gabriel took a sip of his drink, rejoicing as the incredible ice water soothed and slightly numbed his throat. He hoped the ice would reduce the swelling; albeit a little, as the simple act of breathing was rapidly becoming an expensive luxury. Air whistled in and out making a series of musical notes. Gabriel giggled at how he sounded like some dying steam-engine train.

Uncomfortably aware of the eyes upon him, he reluctantly raised his briefcase onto the bar and flipped the latches one at a time. Inside, he pulled free the same Liverpool newspaper he had early this morning. Flipping to page five, he braced unconsciously for that same onslaught of fire and smoke smell…only this time, it did not come. He smiled broadly, overriding the pain that protested in his neck at the scentless page, then broke out in a fit of wheezy coughs.

The spirit was truly gone. The newspaper was evident of that. He still wasn’t sure how, or why, he could smell spirits in the pages of old newspapers, but in the same vein of receiving revelations by the simple act of walking, he was simply grateful. Tomorrow, he would purchase every tabloid he could find, and then in the afternoon, spend an hour or two, flipping from page to page to discover if any spirits required exorcism. If a month went by without a spirit showing up, he would branch out into other counties: London, Wales, Scotland. He supposed in some way he was like a Ghost Buster. The idea made me chuckle, then cough.

The glass which he held to his throat tinkled against something metallic. Gabriel ran a thin finger across his neck and pulled free his silver chain; he had forgotten he was still wearing it. Pure silver gleamed in the palm of his hand, attached to the chain was across. Black tread marks blemished some of the silver links and those jigsaw pieces that remained floating in Gabriel’s head suddenly clicked into place. He now understood why the spirit had pulled back so fiercely when it had him in its death grip. It had accidentally touched this silver thread during the struggle. Given how close he was to blackout at the time, Gabriel concluded that this chain likely saved his life. He raised the cross to his lips to plant a kiss, before letting it fall between his chest.

Gabriel sat at the bar all night, allowing himself to enjoy this moment. When he needed to piss after his fourth drink, he washed his hands in the bathroom and stared admirably at his reflection in the mirror. His briefcase rested on the sink while Gabriel scooped cold water in a closed palm and dash it against his face. Gabriel stared into the clouded toilet mirror, observing the thick purple bands hung around his neck like a set of chokers.

‘It was real.’ He thought. He wasn’t delusional, or crazy like he sometimes thought. The spirit he fought was real, there was no denying that. The bands around his neck were trophies to that fact, evidence of his sanity. The swirling motion that Gabriel couldn’t see the dead, but simply had: a screw loose, missing toys in the attic, wasn’t playing with a full deck of cards, swam around his mind.

Gabriel extended his neck out to get a better look at those beautiful bruises. Despite the pain, he wanted everyone to see them. To acknowledge them. To reinforce that they were there, and he wasn’t crazy.

“You did them yourself monkey.” A voice said, so close it made Gabriel jump backwards. His briefcase that rested on the sink suddenly twitched as if something alive was inside and wanted to get out. “You think you’re a hero today. But you’re nothing but a loon, a crazy. Everyone you pass knows you’re crazy! They watch you when you’re not looking, talk about you when you’re not listening. I can hear them talking about you right now! Out there!”

Gabriel looked to his right at the door that led out to the bar. The briefcase was dancing now, the thing inside pounding to get out. He was expecting someone to come in given the ruckus, but no one did. The voice was yelling now.

“CRAZY, CRAZY, NOTHING BUT A CRAZY MONKEY THAT NEEDS LOCKING UP! CRAZY, CRAZY!”

Gabriel ran at his briefcase, kicking it with all his strength. If he’d missed and hit the ceramic bowl instead, he might have broken a toe. Instead, he volleyed the briefcase onto the floor with a bang, Pain shot up his foot from the impact of such a kick. The briefcase gave one last defiant bounce then fell still on the floor. It went quiet. Gabriel breathed heavily, the air burning as it came in and then back out.

“See you in your dreams, Gabriel.” The thing inside the briefcase muttered and rested.