CHAPTER FOUR

The Cells

Jeremy took me to a floor I suspected was below the one I had been housed on. In every other detail it was identical to mine. The guard at the desk stood to welcome us. Jeremy nodded and the guard unlocked a door allowing me, Jeremy and Ross into a dimly lit corridor. Here I saw the first difference between this corridor and the one I had been on. The doors down this corridor were studded metal and had small viewing hatches. And, as far as I could see, no oversized letterboxes for trays. Jeremy took us to the third door on the left. He opened the viewing hatch and pressed an intercom button.

'How are you today Margery?'

Margery got up from her bed and came to the window. She had a smile on her face but I saw the tension around her eyes deepen when she looked passed Jeremy to me.

'Just peachy. Brought spectators?'

'This is, Grace. Grace may be going to help at the clinic.'

'Like what you see, Grace?'

'Hello, Margery.'

'You should you know, like what you see I mean. It's by far the safest way.'

'Pardon?'

'Now, Margery. Be good.'

Margery let out a coughing laugh. 'That's rich. Be good? And just how do you suppose that's going to happen?' She dove to the side as a chair from the back of the room flew through the air and smashed into the viewing window. I jumped back in shock.

A moment later Margery's face was back at the window. 'That good enough for you Jeerremy?'

Jeremy closed the hatch.

'Telekinetic powers, in case you're wondering.'

'Okay,' I said, grateful for the solid looking metal door.

Jeremy continued down the corridor and I followed automatically while trying to figure out what I had really seen. I came to the conclusion it was staged. But how? Wires? And why? But why was easier than how. He wanted me to agree to... but here again my thought process stuttered out. They wanted me to agree to what? To help these...people? Or becoming the clinic's guinea pig?

'Jeremy I think...'

Jeremy had opened a hatch a few doors down, 'This is Richard.'

The voice of a child came through the intercom. 'Jeremy let me out. I'll do whatever they want, promise. Please let me out.'

Despite my reluctance I looked through the hatch. A young boy, maybe nine or ten years old was sitting on the bed. His legs were up under his chin, his arms wrapped around them. When he saw me he leaped off the bed and ran to the door.

'Miss, please open the door and let me out. I'll do whatever they want. Just let me out.'

'You have a child locked up? What is this? Let him out. Now!'

'We can't do that, not yet. Not until he has his powers under control.'

'His powers? For god's sake. He's a child. Let him out.'

'Look again.'

When I looked through the hatch I couldn't see the boy anywhere. The room was small, maybe nine by seven. There was nowhere to hide 'Where is he? What have you done with him?'

'Use your other senses, Grace. The ones you are continually suppressing.'

'What senses? What are you talking about?'

'The ones that come with being a necromancer. The ones that have lain virtually dormant for all these years. Open your mind and look for the boy.'

I wanted to snap at him and tell him I had no idea what he was talking about. But it would be a lie. Unfortunately, I knew exactly what he was talking about. My instincts, which were demanding that I find the boy, overrode my desire to tell Jeremy to go to hell. Steeling myself I lifted a corner of the curtain I had erected in my mind. I suppose the effect could be likened to taking off sunglasses in a dim room. Or removing ear defenders. Or both. I became aware of shadows I did not want to see. Heard sounds I did not want to hear. Could smell odors and sincerely hoped I never found out what caused them. I looked into the room. The shadowy areas were darker yet clearer now. The boy was not there.

'He's not...' Then a shadow moved. It dispersed and reformed closer to the door. Dispersed again. I moved the mental curtain a little further aside. A face, distorted and bestial, lunged at the viewing window. I screamed and threw myself backward colliding with someone behind me. My yell mingled with a high-pitched screech from the face at the window. I covered my ears and dropped the curtain shutting out the sight and sound. I was hugging myself and shaking violently. Ross moved me firmly away from him gripping my arms. I shrugged his hands off and stepped away.

'What did you see?' Jeremy asked.

'You damn-well know what I saw. You knew what I would see when you asked me to look. What the hell is that thing and what the hell did you think you were doing?'

'We aren't sure what he is yet, but I think you will agree the world is not ready for him. For everyone's sake he needs to remain here for the foreseeable future.'

'And I needed to see that, why exactly?' I shouted.

'I want you to understand just how important this clinic is. How vital its work is. You have led a sheltered life. You need to see the reality of your world and fast.

'A sheltered life? You call seeing ghosts at every turn 'living a sheltered life'? Growing up being scared half to death of things nobody else could see? Being called psychotic, neurotic and a downright liar because nobody would believe me when I told them. Being ridiculed, and shunned ...'

'Nothing you have experienced has prepared you for what you are learning today. And yes, compared to the people we have here you have lived a very sheltered and privileged life. I make no apologies for the brutal nature of your education. We don't have much time; we need you on our side. If we weren't here for the likes of Richard what do you think would happen? How long would it be, do you think, before he was killed or he became a killer.'

The mental picture of the boy's snarling mouth, the animal-like jaws and frenzied eyes came back to me. 'Take me out of here. I've seen enough!'

'There is...'

'Now!'

I saw something pass behind Jeremy's eyes then it was gone. He retraced our steps back to the guard's room.

'Ross, take Miss Doyle to her room, she is tired. We'll talk tomorrow.'

'No! We'll talk right now. None of this has anything to do with me. I'm going home. Jeremy, get back here.' But Jeremy left the guard's room through a door into what appeared to be a stairwell, leaving the lift for me and the inscrutable Ross.

Ross didn't speak on the way back to my room. As he opened the door I said, 'I've chosen. Will you show me the way out?'

'No.' He put his hand on my back and guided me firmly into the room. I heard the door close behind me and the key turn in the lock. I sat on the bed, pulled the blanket around me, and tried to figure out what was going on. Despite what Jeremy had said about me leading a sheltered life I had been in some terrifying situations in the past. I survived them. Sometimes more damaged. Sometimes less. My defense had been to create a barrier in my mind over the years, segregating that part of me that could scare me the most. And, as a second line of defense, I had become adept at hiding my abilities from the ghosts I saw each and every day. Some knew anyway, there was no hiding my aura, but they took the hint, usually. Others, maybe those newly spirit or less aware, seemed not to recognize I was any different from every other living person they encountered. One way or the other I managed to survive my abilities. I knew there were others like me. They were on television, in books, at spiritualist halls, everywhere. But I had no inclination to speak to them. They lived their lives their way and I lived mine. Now I was being forced to recognize my skills. I had been dropped into a world where my ability to communicate with the dead was accepted. Even looked on as a gift. I wanted no part of either. I wanted to go back to my studio flat and forget everything I had seen today. And I could do it too, if they would just let me out. I thought about Lewis and Clair both eager and welcoming and about Richard and I wondered if he would ever get away.

'How'd it go?'

I looked up. My ghostly cellmate was back. 'Go away.'

'How'd it go?' she said again. 'Who did they let you see? I bet that was carefully monitored.'

'Lewis, Clair and a couple of others.'

'Lewis? And he didn't fry you?'

'I'm here aren't I.'

'In the flesh.'

'What do you want?'

'Nothing. Just wondering who's in my old cell. I cried buckets in here you know.'

'Yeah, the sheets are still damp, now go away. I'm trying to think.'

'Think about what? Whether you're going to help them or not? You should you know.'

'I'm thinking about how I'm going to get out, if you must know.'

'You aren't going to get out. No one ever gets out. But co-operating will keep you alive a little longer.'

I was only half listening. 'What's your name?'

'Sylvia. Sylvia Osborne.'

'Why were you here, Sylvia. How did you die, and what did you mean by this being a religious group?' I kept my voice low hoping the microphones wouldn't pick up my words.

'So now she wants to talk.'

'You said you knew things that could help me. So what are they? Start with what your powers were and how you got here.'

She looked at me for a long moment then dissolved in tears. Literally.

'Sylvia,' I hissed as loud as I dared. 'Sylvia, get back here.'

Later that evening a tray of food was posted to me which I readily accepted, I was starving. Other than that, between Sylvia's moist dispersal and late evening, absolutely nothing happened. I spent the time thinking and pacing the tiny room until the lights flicked off. It was well after midnight when Sylvia reappeared.

'I was an acolyte.'

I groaned and stifled the impulse to tell her to get lost. 'A what?'

'An acolyte, it means...'

'I know what it means!' I snapped. 'But what were you an acolyte of?'

'The Seekers of Emancipation.'

'The what?'

'The Seekers of Emancipation. We believed in the Promotion of Empowerment for all.'

'I have no idea what you just said. What is it? Some kind of new-faith thing?'

'I don't know. Maybe. We believed that the way forward was for everyone to be empowered in some way.'

'Empowered to do what?' I said propping myself on one elbow. 'And how is it relevant to you being dead?'

She hung her head and the tears threatened to take hold again.

'If you're going to disappear again don't come back until morning,' I snapped.

'You'll do well here,' she said wiping her eyes. 'All heart!'

I gave her a few seconds then said, 'Well?'

'I wasn't worthy of the gifts being restored to me.' She looked at me, her watery eyes begging me to understand.

I didn't. I flopped onto my back and stared at the ceiling just visible in the dim night light.

'Sylvia, I have no idea what you just said. Why not start at the beginning.'

'I did.'

I sighed. Ghosts often had the annoying tendency to leave out important details. I had come to believe that it was not in any deliberate way but more an inability to remain linear. They skipped from one thing to another like a butterfly not knowing they were leaving things unsaid. 'Then I must have missed something,' I said. 'Could you start again and take it slow?'

'I was an acolyte in the Seekers of Emancipation.'

'Got that.'

'We believe in the promo....'

'Promotion of Empowerment for all. Got that bit too. But I am a bit hazy about what it means.'

'We believe that every person has within them the ability to be a God. That if a person believes, truly believes and dedicates her life to the Founders then their birth gift will be returned to them. They become one of the chosen.'

'That's where I'm a bit hazy. What kind of gift?'

'It could be anything. No one knows what natural gift they should have had. It was suppressed at birth.'

'You're losing me, Sylvia.'

'Every human is given a gift...'

'What kind of gift...' I was barely keeping my voice in a whisper.

'You're not listening and if you keep interrupting I'm going.'

'Okay, okay, go on.'

'We are taught that every baby is born with a natural ability which is suppressed at birth by the authorities. It could be anything from necromancy, like your gift, to witchcraft or sorcery, even being a 'were' though they usually breed true anyway so are a little harder to control apparently. But not as bad as vampires as they aren't actually born. At least not in the usual way. Thank the Great One. Anyway...'

'Who....? Sorry, go on.'

'The only way to get your gift back is to believe implicitly that it is your birthright and it is yours for the asking. I thought I did,' she hung her head. 'I was wrong.'

I wondered where to start. 'Have you actually seen a werewolf?'

Silvia blinked then scowled, 'That's what you got out of that?'

'Well, I've never seen a...'

'No, because they stay hidden, don't they.'

'Right.'

'Do you want to meet a werewolf or a vampire?'

I tried another angle. 'If the authorities, whoever they are, suppress powers at birth how come I still have mine?'

'Some people slip through the net undamaged. There are a lot of supernatural people around, if you know where to look. But they stay hidden because of the risk of being hunted down and killed.'

'Lots of psychics don't. They work out in the open.'

'Yes, but most people just think they're crazy and anyway they aren't exactly seen as a threat. More like a joke.'

I felt a twinge of annoyance but stifled it, there was something more important to sort out. 'I thought the clinic was here to help people deal with the powers they had. Teach them how to cope with them. That's what I'm being told anyway.'

'Oh, it is. But many of us have to get the powers first.'

'They don't come here with powers you mean?'

'Some do. People like Lewis. But many of the other people here are those people who came to have their birth-gift restored.'

'Are you trying to tell me you think Jeremy is... giving, restoring, or whatever, powers that people have had taken away? At birth?' I tried to hide the disbelief I felt. I obviously failed.

Sylvia stood up and leaned over me. Her face was contorted in anger and with it came glimpses of what she had become. Eye sockets showed clearly through disintegrating flesh. I had to admit the effect was a little unnerving.

'Sneer all you like. You'll see.'

'Sorry, I'm not sneering, but this is a lot to take in.'

'You have lived your life in a little bubble of unreality,' she snapped, 'and as soon as you are confronted with the truth you try to stick your head...'

'How do you know that?'

'What?'

'That I live my life 'in a bubble' as you put it?

'Please! Spiritualist? It says everything. Spiritualist my eye. Even I could spot your aura at a hundred yards.'

'Sylvia, how did you die?'

She paused and sat back down. 'I obviously wasn't worthy of my gift. It killed me.'

'What was your gift?'

She went silent for so long I thought she had left me again. I turned my head to see her shadowy outline next to my bed in her customary place on the chair. She had her face in her hands and was rocking back and forward. I waited.

'I don't remember.'

'What do you remember?'

She shrugged. 'Being taken from the acolyte's quarters to the endowment room. I knelt at the altar for a while then I was guided to the bed.' She sobbed but held back the tears. 'I was given a relaxant to help with my meditation and then... I woke in here.'

'Dead?'

'No. I said I woke. I was alive.'

'Then what.'

'I... I was ill. I think. I don't know. I was in a room sometimes, not this room. I thought I had no body. I thought I was flying but... but that must have been my imagination. I was told that I was rejecting my gifts and they were making me ill. That my faith wasn't strong enough.' She was rocking backward and forward again. Her voice broke around her sobs. 'I begged them to help me, to try again. That I truly was worthy, that I would do anything. I was trying. I really was.'

'And did they help?'

'Not for a long time. Weeks maybe. Or maybe it was days. They did tests and said I wasn't ready that it would take time.'

'And then?'

'Then? Then it was too late.'

There was a pause while I tried to make sense of what Sylvia was telling me. She believed she had no powers until she came here. Then she had some sort of treatment to restore powers she ought to have had at birth. And it killed her. None of that seemed likely.

From what I had learned today a more likely truth was that she had been brought here struggling to cope with her powers and the clinic had been unable to help her and she had died. The religious thing was simply a way for her to make sense of what had happened. Or maybe it was due to the confusion associated with finding herself a ghost.

'You said you don't think they'll let me leave. Why?'

There was no answer. I turned my head. The chair was empty.