Soul Fire (5 page)

‘I don’t know. But I’m not the only one who thinks Tim was innocent. There’s a website.’

He leans forward. For the first time, he doesn’t look like he’s humouring me. ‘Those hoax emails you had hassle with when Meggie first died?’

I shake my head, perhaps too vigorously. Those ‘hoax emails’ were what led me to Soul Beach. ‘No, that finished ages ago.
This
is something the police mentioned.
It’s called Burning Truths and . . .’

Lewis is already at his computer. Or, one of them. The site loads instantly, in all its gothic crudeness.

‘Blimey, that’s not subtle, is it? I’ll bet whoever did this also loves nineties heavy metal, and is planning to get a secret skull tattoo when he’s sixteen.’

I try to smile but I can’t. ‘It’s not a joke. The design isn’t important. It’s what it says.’

He looks up at me and his expression changes. ‘You’re right. Sorry. Attack of the dangerously socially inept.’

This time I do manage to smile. ‘I know it looks like one of those awful tribute sites, but it’s not. Whoever wrote this is convinced Tim is innocent.’

‘
You
think he’s innocent, Ali.’

‘That site isn’t
mine
,’ I say. ‘Apart from anything else, I don’t have the computer skills. The thing is, whoever it is might know something important. Read
it yourself. The person behind this
knew
both of them, you can tell by the way it’s written. So they might be the final piece in the jigsaw.’

‘Or they might just be another conspiracy theorist who has become fixated on their stories the way stalkers do.’ He turns his chair round to face me. ‘Is it not time to let it
go, Alice? Tim’s death could be a full stop instead of a question mark. A chance to move on.’

I say nothing.

Lewis sighs. ‘OK. OK. That’s not an option. Silly suggestion, obviously.’

‘Could you find out who built the site for me?’

‘Probably. Anyone putting together something this ugly is unlikely to have the know-how to keep their identity a secret. I’ll make a start, shall I? I should have known this was more
than a social call.’ But he’s smiling as he says it.

Within seconds, lines of numbers and letters are streaming across the screen, and he’s gazing at the code with the adoration men usually save for supermodels. I guess it’s good news
that Lewis doesn’t have a girlfriend because then I’d have to try to get to the bottom of this on my own.

The thought of being without my only real-world ally makes me feel cold.

‘What?’ he says, catching me staring.

‘Just wondering how you can make sense of that stuff.’

‘By looking for patterns. People mystify me, but, with patterns, I can make
some
sense of the world. Isn’t that what we’re here for?’

‘Is it?’ I whisper. ‘After Meggie died, any ideas I had about life making sense kind of went out of the window. I’ve given up trying to make sense of anything.’

Lewis’s eyebrows go up.

‘What?’

He shakes his head. ‘Nothing.’

‘Come on, Professor. If there’s something you want to say, come out with it.’

‘Just that if you’ve really given up trying to make sense of stuff, Ali, why are you asking me to do all
this
?’

I don’t have an answer to that one: not one that I can tell Lewis, anyhow.

Almost an hour goes by. Lewis types away and makes the odd growling noise while I read yesterday’s paper. Finally I get up and walk over to him. On the screen,
there’s a map of the world, with dozens, no,
hundreds
of orange dots on the screen.

He growls again.

‘Is everything OK, Lewis? You sound a bit . . . like a wild bear.’

‘I might have been slightly . . . overconfident about how easy it would be. Look at this.’

‘Are these where the site visitors come from?’

Lewis looks at me. ‘Decent guess. But, no. These are the locations of the person who made this site. According to the IP addresses.’

‘Wow! They must have collected a few Air Miles.’

‘Their locations for the last twenty-four hours.’

‘But . . .’ The locations range from the west coast of the States to southern Africa, to New Zealand. Even the North Pole. ‘That’s impossible.’

‘Yes. Even with a private jet, you’d never do it. And I suspect the person behind this hasn’t actually shifted a millimetre from their beanbag. They’ve been masking their
true location. He or she is smarter than I thought.’

‘He or she? I thought you were convinced it was a man.’

‘It’s very,
very
painstaking work, this coding. The kind of stuff females are good at, like embroidery or crochet or ironing.’

‘You’re winding me up, right?’

He grins. ‘Me? I wouldn’t dare.’

‘But a woman?’ It makes the site feel even more unsettling somehow. Tim was never a ladies’ man, he only ever had eyes for Meggie. And the only other girl I know he hung out
with was Sahara, who thought he was guilty.

‘Just a hunch. It’s definitely one person, though. The design, the infrastructure, it’s the work of a single brain. I almost admire it. Apart from the hideous colours and
warped obsession with death, this could be my kinda gal.’

He’s trying to lighten the mood, but it’s not working.

‘Are you saying it’s a dead end, Professor?’

‘No. Definitely not. I love a challenge. But I need to run a longer diagnostic. Plus there’s a virus infecting half of south London’s dental practices that I promised I’d
sort out today. I can run you home, on my way out – or to wherever you want to go.’

He begins to pack a briefcase, coiling cables and putting one laptop into a case lined with foam that’s cut to exactly the right size.

‘Um . . . I know I might be pushing my luck, Lewis, but could I ask another favour?’

‘You know I’m putty in your hands, Ali.’

He’s taking the piss, but I blush anyway. ‘I wondered if you’d let me stay here on my own for a bit? It’s so intense at home; Mum’s watching me the whole
time.’ That bit’s true, of course, but it’s not just the peace I want here. It’s the broadband.

He frowns. ‘I’m not sure . . .’

‘I won’t steal the family silver.’ The joke seems to fall flat. I hate lying. ‘Look, Mum’s banned me from the net.’

‘Woah.’ Only Lewis would understand how painful
that
is.

‘She thinks I’m obsessed. Which might be true but going cold turkey right now, with everything else going on, it’s too much. I’ll only stay an hour . . .
Please
?’

He looks torn. Then he smiles. ‘I am putty in your hands, Miss Forster. Putty.’ He takes a spare key out of his desk drawer and waves at his chair. ‘Double lock when you leave,
right?’

‘Thanks. You’re a mate,’ I say, and sit myself down in front of the three screens. I’ve never logged in away from home before. It might not even work. . . but if it does,
the Beach will lookthe best it’s ever looked.

So how come I suddenly want Lewis to stay here, with me, instead of leaving me alone while I go online?

‘Do you have to go now?’ I ask.

Lewis pulls out his gloves. ‘Why? Is there anything else you want to tell me, Ali? Anything else you know?’

Apart from the fact that there’s an entire other universe where dead kids go? And the fact that Lewis has already helped me to set one girl free from the eternal ‘paradise’
of the Beach, even though he doesn’t realise it?

‘It’s just . . .’

I break off. My friendship with Lewis works because we keep away from emotional stuff. If I want to be comforted, I go to the Beach, to be held by Danny or to hear Meggie’s voice.

But what happens if I do keep going and manage to solve her murder? I’d lose her, and Danny. Will I cope when the real world is the only one I can access?

‘Alice. An hour, right? Promise! You’ve got exams coming up, haven’t you?’

I pull a face. ‘It’s hard to take the exams seriously.’

Lewis gives me a long look. ‘Will failing your exams bring your sister back?’

‘Guess not.’

He nods. ‘Keep smiling, kiddo. And don’t worry about Burning Truths. I’ll get the weirdo behind it. Apart from anything else, I can’t stand the idea of being defeated by
someone who uses Copperplate Gothic as their font of choice.’

After he’s gone, I hesitate.

What if I’m wrong? What if my sister
has
gone since I logged in last, and Tim with her?

I focus on what I’m doing, trying to ignore the fear. I do what I’ve done a hundred times before: log into my email, find the one with the link, click.
Hope.

I’m there. In the bar. The detail on Lewis’s screens is breathtaking. The whorled knots on the bamboo struts, the tiny red bug climbing up the stem of a flower on the table.

Even though I hate being here – it means I’m about to be lectured, or worse – I am momentarily stunned by how real it feels.

Sam sits down next to me, loosening her grubby apron. Her tattoos look almost raw, and there’s a livid reddening around her eyebrow piercing. I wonder if she ever minds being the only one
on the Beach who doesn’t glow with inner beauty. She’s neither a Guest like them, nor a Visitor like me. Who knows what she is? Angel? Prison guard?

‘How’s tricks, sunshine?’ She’s smiling. Does that mean everything’s OK?

‘I . . . I don’t know. You tell me. Do you have some news?
Bad
news?’ I can’t bring myself to say the words, to askif Meggie’s gone.

As Sam shakes her head, her dreadlocks thump against her skinny shoulders. ‘Nothing bad that I know of. What’s rattled your cage?’

‘Your new . . . Guest.’

‘Ah! Ah . . .’ She lights a cigarette with dirty fingers and I smell the nicotine: the only nasty thing I’ve ever smelled on the Beach, where everything else is as fragrant as
a designer perfume. ‘He’s the one they arrested, isn’t he? The one everyone but you thinks killed Meggie.’

‘Tim. Yes, he is.’ Sam’s the only one on the Beach I can talk to about the forbidden stuff.

‘Topped himself, did he?’ In her Liverpool accent, everything sounds like a joke, even when it’s not.

I look at her. ‘Aren’t you meant to know that?’

Sam sniffs. ‘Come on, Alice. You know the Management like to keep everyone in the dark. Even me.’

‘In the dark. You said it. Nothing’s making sense, Sam.’

‘When you’re lost, stick to what you can be sure of, Alice. Your sister needs you, especially now. She needs to know you love her, so tell her.’

‘She’s going to disappear, isn’t she? You
do
know something. Tell me.’

‘I don’t know anything. I promise. But, yes, she might go. It used to be rare, but since you arrived on the Beach, things seem more . . . unpredictable.’

‘Did none of the other Visitors manage what I did, then? To set anyone free?’

Sam stubs out her cigarette. ‘There’s no point looking backwards, mate. Make the most of what you’ve got, while it’s still here.’

It’s still morning here on the Beach. The sky is a soft baby blue and the sun isn’t fierce yet. The shore is quiet, too, as the Guests stay in their bamboo huts,
dozing or making love.

There are no deadlines here. Nothing much to get up for.

As I walk along the sand, the Guests who are out already wave or smile at me. Most of the faces are familiar now, though I’ve lost track of who was famous in the ‘real’ world
and who I’ve only seen here. The guy over there made the news as a freedom campaigner who was gunned down during protests in Burma; the girl lying with her head in his lap drowned off a Greek
island after the ferry she was travelling on was sabotaged. Knowing there is happiness to be had on the Beach makes their short lives feel a little less pointless.

‘Alice!’ I hear a whisper behind me.

‘Javier?’

‘Over here.’

I don’t see him at first, but then I notice something move under one of the palm trees. A boy and a girl, their backs leaning against the trunk, playing cards.

I walk across the hot sand. Javier grins at me – that’s not like him – and the girl smiles shyly. She looks younger than many of the Guests. Still pretty, of course, but the
dusting of freckles over her cheeks makes her seem like a schoolgirl, rather than a supermodel.

‘Good day, Alice.’ Javier says, kissing me on both cheeks. ‘If you’re looking for your big sister, she’s with the new guy.’

I hold my breath. ‘You’ve seen her? Today?’

He nods. ‘They appear to be
inseparable
. So sweet!’

She’s still here
. I feel my eyes blurring with tears of relief. Though the relief is mixed with anxiety; her killer is still free too.

I blink hard. On the sand, I see piles of pinkand white shells on top of the cards.

‘Gambling, Javier?’

‘To make it more interesting. Obviously we Guests are like royalty. We do not carry cash, so I had to improvise. But it was Gretchen who invented the currency. The whites are worth five,
the pinks ten and the ones with the . . .
madreperla
. . .’ he picks one up and I see the shimmering inside.

‘Mother of pearl,’ I say.

‘The same as Spanish! The ones with the mother of pearl inside, are worth fifty.’

‘In German, is the same too. Perlmutt,’ Gretchen says. She holds out her hand. ‘Hello, Alice. It is
very
nice to meet you properly, at last. You are very popular, here,
since . . .’

‘Nice to meet you too, Gretchen.’ I interrupt her, to stop her mentioning Triti’s name. Triti and Javier were so close, and I can’t bear to remind Javier of what
he’s lost.

Though perhaps that’s less of an issue since he’s found Gretchen. I recognised her vaguely when I first arrived here, remembered something about a kidnapping that went wrong. Then,
after I noticed Javier hanging out with her a few days ago, I Googled her. The details of what the kidnappers did to her were too painful to read.

Javier sniggers as I shake hands with Gretchen. ‘So English. And so Germanic. Now that you two have been formally introduced, would you like to play, Alice? Or we can see if Sam will
rustle us up some tea and scones and cucumber sandwiches for you.’

I should be finding Meggie and Tim, but if Gretchen is going to be the newest member of the gang, it’d be rude to rush off this minute. ‘I’m useless at cards, but I’ll
sit down for a bit. So, are you keeping this boy under control, Gretchen? He can be quite a handful.’