Chapter 15

Michael

Behind me, Marcy snorted.

I ignored her. 'Pardon?'

'I want you to find out who...'

'Yes, yes, I thought that's what you said. Marcy, are we 'tied' yet?'

'Not until you enter into a mutually agreeable exchange of help.'

'Good, then I think I will give this some thought. Thanks.' I walked back toward home with the ghosts floating along behind me.

Marcy's voice called after me, 'Grace...'

The young man put himself directly in my path. 'Please, you have to help me, I think whoever did this to me will do the same to my wife and child.'

I groaned, and turned back to Marcy, still sitting on the bench, legs crossed. 'Can ghosts lie?' I asked.

'As easily as you or I. But why would they? There is usually a reason if they do.'

'I am not lying. I swear. Meredith...'

'You know Meredith?'

There was a pause then he said, 'I err, might do, okay, yes. We were training partners.'

'Eh?'

'We liked the same sports, you know running, cycling,' he struck a pose in his skintight Lycra. 'We hit it off.'

I stared at him. Meredith? Cycling? I found that unlikely. 'And you just happen to find me? That doesn't seem very likely.'

'Well, no, it isn't. I had a bit of work to do to make it happen. You see I am the ghost from her flat.'

'What?'

'She had spoken to me when I was alive about her... talented...,'

I had the feeling that was not his first choice of word.

'...friend. One who could speak to ghosts. So, when I was killed, I went to her flat and, well annoyed her basically, in the hope you would show up. Eventually, you did but you were not there long enough for me to introduce myself. I know she sent you to find me and talk to me. I followed you when you came back this morning with...' he nodded toward Marcy.

'She sent me to get rid of you. Believe me, I wouldn't have entered into any kind of meaningful conversation other than 'get out of this flat'.'

'But now you are.'

'Against my better judgment,' I muttered then added, 'You wouldn't have gotten as far as persuading me to find your murderer. That's for sure. Marcy, help.'

Marcy got up from the bench and sauntered slowly toward us. 'Okay. I admit it's a biggy. A massive request really. But it's up to you what you do with it. All I can do is guide you until you get the hang of things yourself.'

'I am not a detective. I have no idea who killed you or why. I have no way to find out. You need to find another necromancer,' I said, tipping my head in Marcy's direction.

She held up her hands. 'I told you I never promise more than I can deliver. I have my hands full already.'

'A different necromancer then, there has to be more.'

'Not that I'm aware of,' Marcy said. 'At least not in London.'

'Look, how about if I don't swear you to finding the murdering...the murder,' the ghost said. 'As it's your first time and everything. How about you just make the promise to do your best.' He turned to Marcy. 'Will that work?'

'It's an agreement between you two. If it works for both of you then that's all it takes.'

'I have leads,' he said obviously sensing my refusal was imminent. 'I have a good idea who it might have been. I even think I know why.'

'And what do I do if I find them? Pop into a police station and say 'by the way here are the killers of....' what's your name?'

'Michael James.'

''...' Michael James'. How far do you think that would get me? In a cell or in a mental hospital, that's where.'

'Actually, I think they are known as psychiatric....' he stopped at my murderous scowl. 'Think about it. And if there is anything I can do for you in return let me know.'

I said nothing.

'My wife is, Emma our baby is Hanna. She is one year old.'

I threw up my arms. 'Okay, I'll think about it.'

'Thank you, that's great, thank you.'

'I haven't said, yes, yet.'

'No. No, I know that, but thank you anyway.'

'I take it you'll be nearby while I think?'

'Until you get behind that awful barrier. What is that thing? It hurts.'

'It's meant to.'

'It's not designed to hurt and it's temporary until Grace here gets her new legs.'

'Eh?' Michael looked down at my legs. 'Oh, legs, right. Well, I'll be able to pick up your aura as soon as you come out from behind the barrier again so, yes, I'll be nearby.'

'Great.' I muttered. 'Maybe that's the solution; I'll simply never come out again.'

The rest of the day was spent in comparative silence. Marcy obviously felt I needed time alone to think. She was right, I did need time alone but it wasn't spent thinking about Michael James. At least not if I could help it. I needed solitude and I ached to have a paintbrush in my hand again. After supper, we sat in front of the fire. Marcy had a crochet hook and wool. I stared into the flames.

'Have you thought any more about, Michael?' she asked.

'Marcy, would you mind if I got a few bits and pieces and do some painting?'

'Painting? What kind of painting?'

'I'm an artist. I paint. I'm really missing it.'

'No, of course not. You can use the dining room if you like. It never gets used for much else.'

'Thanks. Do you think we could go get some things tomorrow?'

'We could. It would mean seeing, Michael, again. Are you ready for that?'

'No.'

There was a silence.

'This is all so new, Marcy. And look what he's asking! Why couldn't he want me to tell his great aunt Maud he has passed and was happy and the key to the safe deposit was in his left shoe. I could just about handle that. Maybe.'

'Then where would be the challenge?'

'I don't want a challenge.'

'You've been without challenge for too long if you ask me.'

'That's how I like it. Besides it wasn't all that easy.'

'No. I suppose it can't be easy denying who you really are.'

'I can tell him I am still thinking about it. It's true. Sort of.'

'You can't do that for long. How long has he been dead? Where are his wife and child? Are they in danger?'

I stared into the fire. 'Do you have a computer?'

She smiled. 'A laptop. It's in the dining room. Bring it in here next to the fire.'

I settled back down with the laptop and typed in 'unsolved murders - London'. It produce various lists of unsolved murders over the years. Working on a guess he had been dead no longer than a year I looked for Michael James under recent murders. And there he was. A head and shoulders picture of him at what must have been a family gathering. All his surroundings, except for a blurry image of a Christmas tree over his right shoulder, had been cut out of the shot. His face was full of mischief and he held a book, he had apparently just unwrapped, up to the camera.

Michael James; killed by person or persons unknown at or around ten pm the night of 5 June 2018. Mr. James was discovered by his wife of two years on the drive of their home after she heard the sound of gunfire. Police welcome any information the public may have in respect of this murder.

And that was it.

'Found anything?'

I showed her the screen.

'His wife found him. Poor thing.'

I nodded. Then what? Was she questioned as a suspect? Surely she had been. Surely someone saw something. Ten O'clock in early June would mean it was still reasonably light. At least it wouldn't be totally dark. Did she hear a car? Or shouting? Had he felt threatened in the weeks leading up to his death? He had seemed happy enough in that Christmas picture.

I looked up to see Marcy watching me over the twisting of her crochet hook.

'I'll go get some paints and canvas tomorrow,' I said.

She nodded.

Marcy locked the door behind us the next morning.

'I could have done this myself, you know.'

'I know that but, if you get into trouble, it will be best if there are two of us,' Marcy said. 'Shield up?

I rebuilt the glass wall and infused it with light. 'Ready.'

'Here we go.'

As promised, Michael was waiting for me when we passed the barrier.

'Well?' he asked. 'Have you thought about it?'

'Yes. I have. But there is a lot of other stuff going on in my life at the moment, Michael.'

'I know, you want to find Meredith. I heard you at the flat. I can wait.'

'It's a bit more complicated than that.'

'So is that a no?'

'No.' His shoulders sagged. 'No, it's not a, no, I mean. I will help you but I can't do much yet. Not until I get my own mess sorted out.'

'Okay, that's fine. How long?'

'I have no idea,' I snapped.

'Sorry, Sorry. I'll not push. So what do you want in return?'

'I haven't done anything yet.'

'To make the tie.'

'The tie? Oh right. I have no idea, Michael. Can we leave it a while?'

His face fell and tension creased the corners of his eyes, 'I... okay, okay.'

We took a series of tubes to Old Street Station all the while the ghosts followed. I wasn't so inexperienced to hope a speeding underground train would shake them off but it was a satisfying mental image. It was unnerving to see so many ghosts in the underground. People wandered through them, busy about their business unknowing, uncaring. Had there always been so many ghosts? Had I just not been able to see them?

'I think perhaps the drugs have heightened your perception. Are there many here?' Marcy said when I asked her about it.

I stared at her, 'You don't see them?'

'I see the ones around you and me. I see one or two others who look as though they may be in a loop, you know repeating the same actions over and over. But if there are more I can't see them. My skin prickles though which is often a sign of the unseen.'

'There are dozens. They don't seem remotely interested in us, thankfully. I'm surprised you don't see them.'

'Why? Do you think you would have seen them a few weeks ago? Before the clinic?'

I thought about how it had been pre-clinic. Compared to now it was virtually ghost-free. 'No,' I said. 'I don't think so.'

At Old Street Station we wound our way through the streets to the artist supplies shop. I spent a happy hour choosing paints, brushes, canvas, a cheap easel, and a few other bits and pieces I convinced myself I would need.

Weighed down, we made our way back to the underground.

'I knew I would come in handy for something,' Marcy said, arms full of carrier bags.

It wasn't until we were almost back to the underground I saw, Paunch.

'Paunch,' I hissed to Marcy.

'Excuse me?'

'Paunch, Leon, one of the guards from the clinic is coming this way.'

We were on a narrow street with no way off it. Crossing the road to avoid him would have been suspicious.

'Keep walking, keep walking,' Marcy intoned.

I ducked my head behind the out-sized bundle of canvas and kept walking.

'You want me to get rid of him?' Michael asked.

'Can you?'

He shrugged 'Maybe, I've never tried before.'

'Try now, try very hard.'

Michael scudded away into the oncoming path of Leon who walked right through him.

'Not a very sensitive soul is he,' Marcy muttered.

'No one could accuse Leon of being sensitive. Send Ignatius.'

'I can't he's off doing something else.'

Michael came around for another try. He drifted a step in front of Paunch and swelled to the size of a horse. Then he burst. There was a blast of wind. The large flat parcels we carried swung around and we barely hung onto them. Paunch, who got the full blast, was not so lucky. He was pushed backward into the railing. His carrier flew from his hand and landed in the narrow strip between the house and boundary rails.

'Damn blast.' I heard him mutter as we walked smoothly past and he struggled with the catch on the gate trying to get to his lost bag.

'Well done, Michael,' I whispered but Michael was nowhere to be seen. 'You don't suppose he really has blown himself up do you?'

Marcy looked about, 'No idea, I've never seen that tactic before. Ingenious.'

We had taken the underground home and were approaching the barrier at Marcy's street before Michael showed up again looking less solid than usual.

'Did it work?' he asked.

'Yes, it did. Are you okay?'

'Tired, not sure what I did but it hurt. A lot.'

I smiled, 'Thanks, Michael, we appreciate it.'

'No problem, see you soon?' There was a hint of desperation in the question.

'Yes, soon. And we'll sort something out.'

'Well it looks like you got yourself your first escort,' Marcy said as we cleared a space in the dining room and set up my easel.

Though I was immensely grateful for Marcy's hospitality and being able to paint again, it looked as though my stay was beginning to be more long-term than I would have liked.

'Marcy, I can't stay here indefinitely. How is this going to get sorted? Do you think the clinic will stop hunting me after a while? Will the CSC step in and stop them do you think?'

Marcy slid into one of the dining chairs and motioned me to do the same. 'From what I understand the clinic was initially interested in you because you were a loner.'

'I...'

'I mean you were an outsider. No one at the CSC or in the supernatural community knew of you so you had no protection. Once the clinic found out about you you were easy pickings.

'I did okay.'

'Well, not anymore. Thanks to Ross the CSC also know about you now. And, equally important, you, in a limited capacity are aware of the supernatural community.'

I had already figured out Ross was a CSC plant at the clinic. But there was something else in her voice. 'And?'

'Normally that would give enough protection for you to live in peace, or a kind of peace anyway. We are all forever on our guard where the clinic is concerned. But you have turned out to be everything the clinic has been waiting for. I'm not talking about your necromancer skills. I don't suppose they care one way or another what your gifts are. Just your abilities. Now they know of you they will not let you go easily.'

I waited.

She studied me, sizing me up then apparently satisfied she said, 'I think it's time you and I had a heart to heart.'