Forces from Beyond (3 page)

“How long since anyone’s been in it?” said JC.

“I haven’t dared let this room for almost seven months now,” said Garth. “None of the staff will go anywhere near it. I have to do the turn-down and clean myself. When I can work up the nerve. I don’t like to just leave it . . . that would feel like giving up. Giving in. But I always make sure my wife comes with me, to hold the door open. So it can’t close on its own. So I won’t get . . . trapped. In there.”

“What happened, seven months ago?” said Melody. “What brought this to a head?”

“There were screams,” Garth said, reluctantly. “Out here, in the corridor. When guests came running out of their rooms to investigate, they found Mr. Harding staggering out of Room 418. He’d torn his eyes out. When they finally got him to stop screaming, he said the room showed him things.”

“Any idea what?” said Melody.

“That was all he had to say,” said Garth. “He was still saying it when they strapped him into the strait jacket and took him away.” He looked suddenly at JC. “Why are you wearing sunglasses indoors?”

“Style,” said JC.

The manager clearly wanted to say a great many things but didn’t. He braced himself and opened the door to Room 418. And then he turned and ran, bolting down the corridor as the last of his courage evaporated. He didn’t look back once, and he didn’t wait for the elevator. He was in such a hurry to get away, he plunged straight through the door marked
Stairs
. JC and Melody looked at each other, then at the door standing open before them. JC reached carefully inside, felt around till he found the light-switch, and turned it on. Dull, flat light revealed an empty, quiet, and completely unremarkable hotel room.

“I hate the sneaky ones,” said Melody. “Where they try to pretend nothing’s wrong . . .”

“Let us run through the briefing before we venture in,” said JC.

“You actually read the briefing file, for once?” said Melody. “I am seriously impressed. What brought that on?”

“A long train journey down,” said JC. “And I’d already read this month’s
FHM
. I’ll hit the high lights, and you can chime in on anything you feel is significant.”

“Because you don’t want to go into that room just yet,” said Melody.

“Got it in one,” said JC. “Something in there is sharpening its teeth. I can feel it. Anyway, what we have here . . . is a room where bad things happen. And the bad things are getting worse. No ghosts as such. No poltergeists, no dark shapes walking through walls, no menacing figure standing at the foot of the bed smiling at the occupant . . . Not even a door opening on its own in the middle of the night, or a strange face looking back out of the mirror. None of the usual give-aways. Just a room that really messes up the people who stay in it. Not merely suicides though 418 has racked up far more than its fair share. We’re talking really nasty cases of self-harming, screams in the night, and people who had such bad dreams, they wouldn’t even wait till morning to check out. And a hell of a lot of heart attacks, strokes, and other less-easily-identifiable medical problems.”

“Eighty-seven natural deaths in the past three years,” said Melody. “And over a hundred people who needed hospital treatment, for physical or mental distress.” She frowned. “That is so off the chart, I can’t believe no-one alerted us until now.”

“The manager hushed it up for as long as he could,” said JC. “Happy, are you with us? Are you sensing anything?”

The telepath gave him a vague, child-like smile. His gaze was far away.

“He’s only half-awake, most of the time,” said Melody. “Though he has moments of lucidity. He’s only fully himself, and properly operational, when he’s taking his pills.”

“And you keep on dosing him,” said JC. “Even though you know those things are killing him.”

“Yes,” said Melody.

JC shoved the door to Room 418 all the way open, slamming it back against the inside wall. The sudden sound was deafeningly loud, but it didn’t carry, and it didn’t echo. It was as though there was something wrong with sound itself inside Room 418. Happy’s head came up slowly, and he looked into the room.

“Bad place,” he said in a perfectly normal voice. “Genius loci. There’s someone in there.”

“I can’t see anyone,” said JC. “And I am looking really hard.”

“It can see us,” said Happy.

“What is it?” said Melody.

But Happy’s moment had passed.

“I have to look after him,” Melody said bitterly. “Like a carer, for someone with Alzheimer’s. He’s only thirty-two!”

Even as she said that, she tugged absently at Happy’s clothes, smartening him up like a mother with a child. Happy didn’t seem to notice.

“Be straight with me,” said JC. “How bad is he really? I need the truth, Mel.”

“Only the pills make him the man I remember,” said Melody. “Pump enough chemicals into him, and he can still do his job.”

“For how long?” said JC. “You must know that the Boss is pressing me to stand Happy down, replace him with another telepath. For the good of the team.”

“Is that what you want?” Melody said sharply.

“Of course it’s not what I want!” said JC. “But he’s damaged, now. Broken.”

“Whose fault is that?” said Melody. “You were always pushing him to take the damned pills, to make him a better telepath.”

“So he could do the job,” said JC.

“You must have known what they were doing to him!”

“Yes, I knew. So did Happy. He could have walked away from the team anytime. And maybe he should have. The way he looks now, it might be kinder if we did stand him down.”

“No,” said Melody. “It wouldn’t. At least this way, he still has some purpose in his life. Something to keep him going.”

“Is that the real reason?” said JC. “Or do you just want him to take his pills, so he can be the man you remember? The man you love?”

“You bastard . . .”

“I need the truth, Mel. Are the pills killing him?”

“Yes,” said Melody. She suddenly sounded very tired. “He’s taken them for so long, his tolerance is . . . inhuman. Only the most powerful concoctions have any effect at all.”

“What happens when the pills stop working?” JC asked.

Melody didn’t have an answer for that. She made a meaningless gesture with one hand. “We were supposed to have a life together. I was so sure I could help him, fix him . . . This wasn’t the life I saw for us. I hate this! But the only way I could have my old life back, have my freedom back, would be to let them put Happy in a hospital, or an institution. So they could look after him, for whatever remains of his life. I can’t do that. Can’t just walk away . . . They wouldn’t understand what he’s done to himself, or why it was necessary. They wouldn’t know what pills to give him when he has one of his crying jags. Or an attack of the horrors from something only he can see. I swore I’d hold him while he was dying. I just didn’t know it would take so long.”

“First thing you learn in this job,” said JC, “is that you can’t save everyone.”

“Even when it matters?”

“Especially then. All we can do is all we can do. Did you bring his pills?”

“Of course,” said Melody.

“Then give him some,” said JC. “Give him a whole bunch. Bring him back to us. Because he’s no use to anyone like this.”

Melody nodded stiffly. She already had the silver pill box in her hand. She flipped open the lid, carefully selected three colour-coded pills, and popped them into Happy’s slack mouth one at time. Like a mother feeding sweets to a small child. Her mouth pursed in a tight moue of pain; but her hand was perfectly steady.

Happy dry-swallowed with the ease of long practice. Beads of sweat popped out all over his face, he twitched several times like a dreaming dog . . . and then his eyes snapped back into focus with almost vicious force.

“I feel great!” he said loudly. “Great! Where am I?” He looked at Melody and JC. “Oh yes. I remember. This is the haunted-hotel case, right? Even when I’m not here I’m still listening. Apparently. No, Mel, let it go. I’d rather just get to work.” He peered through the open doorway, into Room 418. “That room is quite definitely inhabited.”

“What’s in there?” said JC.

“Not so much a what . . .” said Happy. “It feels more like a mood piece.” He looked around him disdainfully. “If you had to bring me back, did it have to be in such a dump? Next time, choose a really nice restaurant. You’re paying.”

“Not back five minutes and already complaining,” said JC.

He strode into the waiting room, rubbing his hands happily together in anticipation.

Happy slouched in after him, shoulders hunched in anticipation of an ambush. Melody brought up the rear, sticking close to Happy, in case he might need her. JC took up a commanding position in the middle of the room and looked carefully at everything. The bedclothes appeared to have been changed recently; but there was a thin layer of dust over everything else. It would seem there was a limit to how long the manager was prepared to stay in the room. The single window was closed, curtains drawn back to reveal a frankly depressing view. And the light in the room was oddly flat, lifeless.

The room had no character, no warmth, and nothing in the least threatening about it. Just an empty room where a great many people had stayed and left no trace of themselves behind. There wasn’t even a shadow worth the mentioning. But there was still something about the room . . . as though the Ghost Finders were only seeing, only being allowed to see, the mask on the face of the monster. JC pushed his sunglasses down his nose, and the golden glow in his eyes leapt out into the room, like a breath of fresh air in a killing ground. But he still couldn’t see anything out of the ordinary.

“So,” said JC, pushing his sunglasses back into place. “Not exactly welcoming; but not actually worrying, either. Hello, ghosts! Come out, come out, whatever you are!”

Kim appeared out of nowhere, snapping into existence like a jump cut in a film. Tall and shapely, carelessly elegant, with a pretty face and masses of bright red hair, the ghost girl looked like a pre-Raphaelite angel. Because she wasn’t real any more, she could make her ectoplasm look like anything, so for now she wore a charming white pant suit, to complement JC’s outfit. None of the group jumped at her sudden arrival; they were used to Kim. She blew JC a kiss and smiled dazzlingly.

“Hi, JC! How’s my sweetie? Miss me? I’ve been having a quick look around the other rooms on this floor. You wouldn’t believe what that sweet old couple in 402 are getting up to. But . . . I haven’t seen a ghost anywhere.”

“Odd,” said JC. “You’d expect there to be a few. Just bog-standard local spirits, same as in any hotel.”

“It could be that whatever’s in here is so powerful, it actually suppresses everything else,” said Melody. “I need to go back down and fetch my equipment, so I can run proper scans on the environment.”

“Not just yet,” said JC. “Let’s get a feel for the place first.”

“It feels depressing,” said Happy.

“Yes . . .” Melody nodded slowly. “I’m getting something. Dark, brooding . . .”

“Lonely,” said Kim.

“Are you picking up anything useful yet, Happy?” said JC. He was concerned about how long Happy’s current frame of mind would last but didn’t like to say anything.

“Nothing specific . . .” said Happy. “Just . . . really dark feelings. The whole room is saturated with them.” He looked slowly around him. He seemed calm and centred, but his face was an unhealthy colour, with sweat still running down and dripping off his chin. As though the pills he’d taken had lit a fire inside him, and not in a good way. “I thought at first I was just picking up old emotional echoes . . . but it feels more like whatever happened here is still happening. I’m talking real
long, dark night of the soul
stuff. Deep angst and melancholy; despair on an industrial scale. Nasty! But, I have to say, not linked to any particular person, living or dead.”

“Given the sheer number of people who died in this room, we should be seeing some ghosts,” said JC. “Even if they’re just intense emotions imprinted on the surroundings.”

“I don’t like it here,” said Kim, wrinkling her nose. “I mean, I’m dead, and this room is still spooking the crap out of me.”

“Could be an extreme case of Sick Building Syndrome,” said Melody.

“No,” Kim said immediately. “It’s more than that.”

“Okay, this is getting seriously weird,” said Happy. “And I know from weird. I’m getting abstract, almost conceptual psychic pressure. A spiritual undertow, dragging us down.”

“Haunted Building Syndrome?” said Melody.

They were all standing close together now, as though they’d been driven into a defensive circle by unseen forces. JC looked quickly back and forth, his skin crawling. It felt like something was sneaking up on him, from every direction at once. As though the walls were closing in, and the ceiling and floor might slam together at any moment. There was a threat in the room, close and real, but he couldn’t seem to pin it down. Part of him wanted to just get the hell out while he still could. Because something was coming straight at him, like a runaway ghost train. To run him down and grind him under its wheels. JC held his head high, and snarled around him. Ghost Finders don’t run; they make everything else run.

Kim glanced at a mirror on the wall beside her and made a sudden noise. JC’s head snapped around.

“What?” he said.

“I always forget I can’t see myself in a mirror,” said Kim. “Ghosts don’t have a reflection because we’re not really here. It’s been so long since I could see my face that I’m beginning to forget what I look like.”

JC smiled at her. “You look great.”

But Kim turned her head away, refusing to be comforted.

“So!” said JC, determined to lighten the mood. “Did I ever tell you I once stayed in a hotel room where there was this long, jagged crack in the ceiling, right over my bed? Every night I had to pull the bed out into the middle of the room because I couldn’t sleep with the crack hanging over me. And every morning I had to push the bed back into place again, so the chambermaid wouldn’t think I was chicken!”

He looked around; but the story didn’t get a response from anyone. JC sighed and nodded to Kim.