 
## The Ultimate Privilege

## Book One - But Why...?

### A Paranormal Mystery Thriller

### By Andrew M Stafford

### Death is just another chapter in the cycle of your existence.

Text Copyright © 2018 Andy Stafford

All Rights Reserved

All the characters in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.

Thank you to

DC Rob Callaway (Retired) for his advice on matters of the law

Sharon Newton for beta reading and Penny Rowe for proof reading

For Kerry, Olivia, Sam, Mum and Sharon.

Especially for Dad and Ivan.

Please note: This is the first book in a two part series. The story begins with The Ultimate Privilege (Book One) – Why...? and carries on seamlessly and concludes with The Ultimate Privilege (Book Two) – Because...

The Ultimate Privilege (Book Two) – Because... can be sourced by searching the Internet.

Table of contents

Please note: This is the first book in a two part series. The story begins with The Ultimate Privilege (Book One) – Why...? and carries on seamlessly and concludes with The Ultimate Privilege (Book Two) – Because...

The Ultimate Privilege (Book Two) – Because... can be sourced by searching the Internet.

## 1

### Tuesday 24th October 2017

### 9.37pm

### Pucklechurch

### on the outskirts of Bristol

Robert Vice sat back and gazed at the empty wine glass on the dining table. Glancing up at the mirror he caught sight of Kathy's reflection in the kitchen. He shrugged off a grin and thought how lucky he was. Kathy brought in a bottle of red, plonked it on the table, leaned in and kissed him on the forehead.

"Don't drink it all, I might have something special for you later," she said, stroking her finger over his cheek.

She had that look in her eye. It was that look he didn't see often these days.

"Go upstairs, freshen up and come back in five minutes."

He kissed her, pushed back the chair and did as he was told.

He showered and thought about the day. His forty-fifth birthday was almost over. Kathy had made the day special. It had been a quiet affair, just the two of them and he had loved it. To end the day, she had prepared an amazing meal of ginger chili chicken and now he had seen that look he knew the night was not quite over yet. After twenty-six years' of marriage he was more in love with her than ever and knew she felt the same. He knew because she told him at least twice every day. He thought how beautiful she looked in her red dress and how her coal black hair fell over her shoulders. Her beauty made him shudder. But after twenty-six years' things had become a little less intimate. What was he to expect? When they first met they spent most of their time in the sack. But that was only lust. What they now had transcended all of that. He loved the woman with every fibre of his being.

Robert was a sales manager. He had been selling the same thing for over fifteen years. Nothing classy like sports cars or expensive suits. He sold hand dryers. The ones found in washrooms up and down the country. He worked hard and was well liked. Robert was a motivator. His team worked hard too and earned good commissions. At six-four he was an impressive man. His sandy hair showed signs of receding. He had young looking skin which knocked a good ten years off. People found it hard to believe he wasn't in his thirties. He knew he wasn't going any higher in the company. Regional sales manager was his stopping point. There had been an opportunity to rise to sales director. He had declined the offer, preferring to spend time at home with his family instead of chasing around the UK and Europe setting up new outlets. He was a motivated man, but not that motivated.

He dried off in front of the mirror and glanced at the fading tattoo on his chest baring his wife's name. He put on his dressing gown and returned to the dining room whilst at the same time tying the belt. The wine glass had been refilled, but only half way.

"I'm back," he called. Kathy didn't answer. He heard her in the kitchen clattering crockery into the dishwasher. He felt a pang of guilt for not helping, but she had insisted that he was not to lift a finger. He took a sip of wine and frowned. It tasted a little different, as if a few grains of salt had found their way into the glass. He frowned again and took another sip.

He thought about Ellen, their twenty-two-year-old daughter. She had phoned to wish him happy birthday and apologised for not being able to come over. She promised to drop by at the weekend with a belated present. She was working hard at university in the third of a five-year gruelling architecture degree. Robert was proud of his girl. He wished he'd paid more attention at school. If he had, perhaps he could have earned a degree.

He was proud of Kathy too. She managed a busy call centre in Bristol. He didn't envy her at all. He found cold calling by knocking on doors fairly easy, but couldn't stomach the thought of being on the phone all day drumming up business.

"Is this wine from the same bottle? It has an odd taste."

There was no reply. Kathy continued to clatter dishes. He was about to call again, but wooziness overcame him. He replaced the glass on the table with a shaky hand. He accidently knocked it over and spilt wine over the table cloth. His head fell forwards. He closed his eyes and rubbed his temple with the tip of his finger.

"Kathy," he croaked, his voice too weak to be heard. The sounds coming from the kitchen faded and his head rolled. He raised his heavy head and looked at the mirror on the dining room wall. With relief he saw the blurred reflection of Kathy coming out of the kitchen, her red dress stood out like a beacon. Her face was a haze as he tried to focus. Her hair looked different, as if she'd been out in the wind and weather.

"I feel awful."

She didn't reply. In the reflection he caught the flash of something in her hand. His head lolled, and he tried to turn around in the seat. He didn't have the strength to face her. Instead he aimed his sights at the mirror, which appeared as a mist covered haze, as if he was looking through a window covered with a fine layer of frost. Kathy's red form moved closer. In the blurred reflection it looked as though her arm was above her head. Again, in her hand he saw something silvery and bright reflecting the light hanging from the ceiling. She moved quickly, and Robert felt a searing pain in his back. He thought he had been punched, but the pain was too intense. Again and again the pain stung all around the back of his body. The next thing was a sensation of damp. Intense pain and dampness. Even though he felt light-headed, he knew what was happening. Kathy, the woman he loved was stabbing him. She was killing him. She dragged him from the chair, pushed him to the floor and rolled him onto his back. His eyes barely focused as he passed in and out of consciousness.

"Kathy," he moaned, in what was barely a whisper. "Why...?"

But she didn't hear. Kathy was in a world of her own dealing with her demons.

He saw the blade reflect the deep red of her dress, which mingled with his blood. A lunge to his chest made his body flinch as the blade ruptured his heart.

***

Robert was enveloped in darkness. He heard a thundering sound as if he was lying on the tracks below a speeding express train. The sound quickly changed and became shrill and he was falling into an abyss with air shrieking past his ears. Robert was suddenly jolted to his left. The sinking feeling stopped and was replaced by the sensation of tumbling sideways. All around was totally black. Then he felt as if he was on fire. He was engulfed in the most searing pain he'd ever experienced. All around him remained black and he didn't know whether his eyes were open or closed. He screamed but he made no sound. The burning pain stopped as soon as it had started, and his body started to relax. The pain from the stabbing was diminishing too, but it still hurt like hell. The speed at which he was tumbling was fast and unwavering. He was travelling in a void. There was nothing around him other than the sensation of air rushing over him.

***

Slowly, Robert opened his eyes and stared up at a blue grey light above him. He craned his neck to look around. He was in a room which was beige, bare and dull. He lay on a gurney with black restraining straps securing him across his chest and torso. He lifted his head again and looked along his body towards his feet. He wore what appeared to be a hospital gown which matched the beige colour of the walls. He struggled to recall what had happened and wondered where he was. He laid his head back on the gurney and stared upwards. A twinge of pain shot through his chest. And then he remembered.

"Kathy," he whispered. His voice barely made a sound.

He recalled what had happened and replayed the memory of his wife attacking him with a knife.

I must be in hospital.

As far as he could tell the room was empty. He could not see what was behind him, but from where he lay he could see no hospital equipment or pictures on the wall. There were no medical charts at the end of the bed or electrical plug sockets on the wall. He stared beyond the end of his feet and made out what looked like a door. The door did not have a handle or hinges, but he could see the edges of the frame and a small gap surrounding it.

What kind of hospital is this?

"Hello, is there anyone out there?"

His feeble voice went unnoticed. No one opened the door. He called again.

"Help, can anyone hear me?"

This time his voice was a little louder, but still no one answered. He lay still and listened to the silence.

His thoughts returned to Kathy, replaying the vague memory of what had happened. He wondered what had caused her to attack him. He lifted his head again and saw there were no blood stains on the gown he wore.

His mind was muddled and he tried to piece together the events, but things did not make sense. He recalled his birthday and their trip to Bristol Museum. He remembered bumping into his boss, Flint Taylor, the company's Sales Director. Taylor was a ruggedly handsome man who looked old before his time due to heavy smoking. Taylor had been in the ancient Egypt exhibition and the two of them had had a brief conversation. He tolerated his boss. Robert thought Taylor was aloof. Flint Taylor was a powerful man who was small in stature but big when it came to authority. He only spoke with you if he wanted something. Robert felt he had to be on his best behaviour when around him, like being back at school when in the presence of a head teacher. Taylor had been particularly standoffish in the museum. Robert wondered how Taylor had climbed so high in business. He definitely wasn't a people person. Although when he needed to, Taylor could certainly turn on the charm.

A stab of pain shot through his chest and made him wince, taking his thoughts temporarily elsewhere.

Someone must have done a good job of patching me up.

He lay back and decided it was best to be still. He had clearly been through a traumatic experience. The ordeal had left him exhausted.

Where are the doctors and nurses in this place?

Robert was trying to fathom out which hospital he had been taken to, when he heard a noise from the other side of the room. He slowly lifted his head and saw the door opening. A stunning woman entered the room. Her face was perfectly symmetrical. Robert had not seen a face so unflawed as hers in his life. She wore no makeup, nor did she need to. Her skin glowed with natural radiance. She wore a beige gown similar to the one he had on. He could not take his eyes away from her. Then it occurred to him that she was bald. She was completely hairless. No eyebrows, eyelashes or a single follicle on her head. He wondered why it wasn't the first thing he had noticed.

She closed the door, walked towards him, smiled and crouched down to his level.

"Hello Robert, my name's Jay. How are you feeling?"

Robert was taken aback by her voice. It was deep and masculine. It wasn't gruff, but was gentle with an effeminate tone. Now he couldn't tell whether she was female. Jay's androgynous nature confused him. He couldn't even judge Jay's gender by the voice.

Robert shrugged away his thoughts and looked into Jay's dark brown eyes.

"I'm feeling confused."

Jay smiled and undid the straps which secured Robert to the gurney.

"You can get up if you like."

Robert slowly eased himself into an upright position, pausing as his chest and back stung from the knife wound.

He looked behind him. There was nothing in the room other than the gurney on which he sat.

"Which hospital have I been taken to?"

Jay didn't answer.

"Robert, what's the last thing you remember before waking up?" asked Jay whilst gently holding his hand.

"I was attacked. Kathy, my wife, stabbed me. Where am I? Where's my wife?"

Jay gently rubbed Robert's fingers. The caring smile dropped and a serious look spanned Jay's perfect face.

"Robert, this isn't a hospital. There are no doctors or nurses here."

Robert pulled forward the gown covering his chest and looked down. He expected to see surgical padding covering his wounds. He reached to his back searching for signs of surgery.

"Robert, I've told you, you're not in hospital and you have not been operated on."

He looked at his chest again. He saw that the tattoo baring Kathy's name was gone.

Jay's grip on his hand tightened. Jay swallowed hard and looked at him sincerely.

"Robert, it's hard to explain exactly where you are. It's also hard for me to tell you what's happening."

Robert held his breath and waited for Jay to continue.

"Robert,....... the attack you remember, it would have been fatal,....... because Robert, people only come here when....," Jay paused and Robert waited in anticipation.

"Robert......., people only come here when they die."

## 2

### Tuesday 24th October 2017

### 9.52pm

### Pucklechurch

Nervous curtain twitcher and Neighbourhood Watch coordinator, Ava Mitchel, had been interrupted from her hot chocolate by a commotion at just after nine-fifty pm. Through the small gap in her net curtains she had watched the disturbance which took place outside a house on the other side of the road. Sulphurous street lights made it difficult for her to see exactly what was happening, but from her standpoint there had been two people struggling against the side of a car. Ava had not wanted to be involved. At the age of seventy-eight there was no way she would have confronted the couple. She had written down the time in her little blue book and then made the gap in the net curtain a little wider. Squinting, she saw that both characters were female. One appeared to be naked, but on closer inspection Ava saw that she had been wearing just her underwear. The other woman had worn a figure hugging dark red dress. Both had long black hair and Ava had wondered whether they could have been sisters. Although it had been dark and the road had been in shadow, Ava had been struck by their similarity. She had scribbled 'sisters' followed by a question mark. Out loud she counted how many houses away from hers the commotion was happening.

"Number twenty-nine," she had muttered, adding more information to her little dog-eared note book.

She had dialled 999, whilst continuing to keep an eye on what was happening. She had described what she saw from her window to the telephone operator who insisted that Ava was not to leave her house. Ava had made it clear to the operator that she had no intention of going outside. Ava had described how the woman wearing the dress had bundled the other woman into the back of a car. Ava didn't know an awful lot about makes and models so couldn't tell the operator much about the car. It hadn't been close enough for her to get a clear view of the registration number. She told the operator she thought she could make out two fives and a Y, but other than that it was a blur.

***

PCs Simon Wilcox and Alan Carter took the call to head to Moravian Road in Pucklechurch, a large village on the outskirts of Bristol. Ava was waiting for them when their police car swerved around the corner and parked unevenly two doors down from hers. She stood at her gate and watched the officers calmly step out of the vehicle.

"They've gone now," called Ava, whilst the two officers surveyed the road.

"Good evening madam, was it you who made the call?"

Ava nodded and stepped onto the pavement. She walked beyond the officers and stopped where the car had been.

"They were fighting just here."

"Fighting?" asked Wilcox, with his head tilted a little to one side.

"Well, not exactly, more like tussling I suppose. The one in the red dress was forcing the other woman into the car. The other woman, the one wearing underwear, wasn't putting up much of a fight."

Carter looked at the house where the car had been parked.

"Do you know who lives here?"

"The Vices."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Robert and Kathy Vice live there."

Carter nodded and muttered something into his radio. Ava strained to hear what he was saying.

"Do you think the people you saw had anything to do with Mr and Mrs Vice?" asked Wilcox.

Ava looked up at the house and pondered over the officer's question.

"To be honest with you, but I could be wrong, either of the women could have been Mrs Vice. They looked like each other."

Carter continued to speak into his radio and slowly approached the house. He nodded to Wilcox to follow him. Wilcox gestured to Ava to remain where she was.

A small crowd was gathering. The flashing lights of the police car had lured the neighbours like moths to a candle flame. Ava strolled over and quickly filled them in on what had happened.

Wilcox confidently stepped up to the front door and gave three loud raps which echoed along the road. No one answered the door, so he tried again. No answer.

"The lights are on downstairs," whispered Carter from behind.

Together, they walked along the path which led to the side door of the house. Wilcox glanced nervously at Carter when he saw the door was ajar.

"Hello, anyone at home?" There was no answer to Wilcox's question. He pushed the door which opened into the kitchen and saw signs that there had been a struggle. On the floor were smashed dishes and an upturned stool.

"Hello," called Wilcox while Carter continued to speak into his radio in a low voice. Cautiously, they stepped over the shards of crockery and turned to the half open door in front of them. Wilcox paused, looked at Carter and then pushed the door.

Wilcox's initial reaction was to recoil. He'd never seen a body before. He'd joined the force six months ago and what he saw took the wind out of his sails.

"Radio for an ambulance," barked Carter and then dropped to the floor to search for signs of life. Wilcox stuttered as he radioed for assistance and watched his colleague crouch over the body.

"The man's dead," whispered Carter before standing up and looking around the room, as if on the off chance the killer was standing in the corner and waiting to attack again.

"So much blood," said Wilcox looking at fresh stains from the multiple wounds. Blood was still seeping from the dead man's chest.

Within minutes, sirens filled the night air. An ambulance was first to arrive, followed by more police cars less than a minute later.

The crowd in Moravian Road had doubled and was getting larger as more people from the village flocked to the sound of the sirens.

DCI Colin Matthews pulled up and bullied his way through the crowd which encroached upon the pavement outside the Vice's house. Police officers ordered the anxious neighbours to cross to the other side of the road.

Once inside Matthews stood over the body as paramedics confirmed that the man was definitely dead.

"Do we know who he is?" asked Matthews with his hands in his trouser pockets and leaning back as he gazed down at the blood riddled floor.

"We think his name is Robert Vice," said Wilcox. There was a disturbance. A neighbour called it in.

"Okay, make sure she doesn't go anywhere. I'll speak with her soon."

"She's already giving a statement."

A blood-stained kitchen knife lay alongside the body. Matthews stepped back into the kitchen and saw that the knife block in the kitchen was incomplete.

"Whoever did this used a knife from the kitchen instead of bringing his own," said Matthews.

"It seems like the killer could be female. The disturbance outside was between two women."

There was a bang at the side door as forensics arrived.

"What kept you," said Matthews with half a grin.

Gillian West, who headed the forensics team, ignored Matthews' comment. She pushed past and made her way to the dining room.

"He's still warm, he must have died in the past twenty minutes, perhaps half hour."

"Okay Gillian, do your thing and keep me in the loop, I'll get the team organised and do our thing."

Matthews stepped outside, took in the cool air of the October night and mentally prepared to do what he did best.

## 3

### Wednesday 25th October 2017

### 9.14 am

### Wick

### near Pucklechurch

The following morning police officers made door to door enquiries in Pucklechurch and the surrounding area.

Donald shuffled through yesterday's paper in the house in which he'd rented a room for the past nine months. Lately, he'd not spent much time in the room for which he paid rent. Instead he enjoyed cuddling up with Lucy, the lady to whom he paid three-hundred and seventy-five pounds on the first day of every month.

Lucy and Donald had fallen in love. Both in their early fifties and from completely different backgrounds.

Lucy Hart was a widow and had moved to England from Jamaica when she was a little girl. She had lost her husband to pneumonia eight years earlier. She was well known and well liked in the village of Wick and helped at the church. Donald harboured a secret which had gnawed at him since he had arrived in the West Country just over a year earlier. He turned the page of the Bristol Post just as Lucy walked into the lounge with two mugs of tea and a smile which lit the room. She placed the drinks on the coffee table and nestled beside Donald. He swallowed hard and tried to distract his mind from the day that Martin Cooke stood on platform one of Durham railway station and arrived at Bristol Temple Meads as Donald Mortimer. He had not intended to fall in love. It was the last thing on his mind. But love had found him. The day he set foot on the 7.55 to Bristol in the August of the previous year, instead of the 8.01 to Newcastle upon Tyne was the day Martin's life had changed. He hated lying to Lucy, but he did not have the courage to tell her who he really was. Lying about his name was not the only thing he kept secret.

A knock on the door brought Donald from his thoughts. Lucy jumped up and looked through the bay window.

"It's the police. What on earth do they want?"

Donald's heart sank. Was it the inevitable day he had been dreading for the past fourteen months? After what had happened yesterday, he should have been more prepared.

## 4

Robert stared into Jay's mesmerising eyes and contemplated what he had just been told.

"Sorry Jay, but could you say that again?"

"People come here when they die. Whatever happened to you when you were attacked would have been fatal."

Robert took time to allow Jay's words to sink in. When they eventually did, he was still confused.

"You mean I'm dead?"

Jay nodded without speaking. Robert reached beneath his gown and again he felt for the scars.

"You won't find a blemish on your body, but the pain from where you were attacked will remain with you for a short while."

He thought about Kathy attacking him and wondered if it had been a dream. He wondered whether he was still dreaming now.

Robert stood up and felt light headed. He held onto the side of the gurney to steady himself.

"Things will feel different at first, but you will acclimatise," said Jay, in a soft and reassuring voice.

"I have to go now, but I'll return soon," said Jay, turning towards the door which opened of its own accord.

Robert strained his eyes to see what was on the other side of the door as Jay walked out. He made out a few figures, all bald like Jay and wearing the same beige gown. He heard faint voices which sounded like crying. The door closed and Robert sat on the gurney and tried to understand what was happening. He placed his head in his hands and replayed the last thing he could remember. Even before he could begin to think about the attack, he noticed that his head felt different. He touched his scalp. Like Jay, he was bald. Robert had had thick sandy hair but now he was as bald as Jay. He felt for his eyebrows and eyelashes and they too were gone. He assumed that someone had shaved his head, but after running his hands over his scalp for a second time he found that there was no short stubble. His head was completely smooth as if his hair had fallen out naturally.

What the hell is happening?

He stood up from the gurney and slowly walked around the room. The floor wasn't carpeted but felt soft beneath his bare feet. It looked like it was made from linoleum and had a squashy texture. It was warm too. The whole room was warm and matched his body's temperature. He pressed his hand against the wall. It was made from different material to the floor but had the same texture. He looked at where the floor joined the wall and saw that there was no seam. The floor melded into and became the wall. Robert looked up at the source of the light. It came from behind a grey translucent plastic disc which was recessed into the ceiling. He saw that the ceiling was made of the same material as the floor.

Is this some kind of a prison?

He walked the perimeter of the small room which he considered to be a cell. He pushed the door, which moved slightly against his hand but would not open. He ran his finger around the gap and saw that the hinges were tiny and made from the same material as the walls. The door was made of something different and was cold to the touch.

Robert sat back down on the gurney and thought about what Jay had just told him.

'People come here when they die'.

He considered his strange circumstances. He didn't feel dead, but could recall with relative clarity the agony of a knife plunging into his chest. Again, he ran his hand over his chest and winced at the discomfort.

And where the hell's my tattoo? he thought, staring down at his hairless chest below the strange beige gown.

He weighed up the evidence in his mind. The memory of Kathy attacking him, the strange room in which he was imprisoned, the disappearance of his hair and his tattoo.

Could I be dead, is this heaven? Is this all there is to death? He pondered as a tear welled.

He dismissed the thought and muttered whilst he lay on the gurney.

"I can't be dead; this place is too....... too much like life. I feel alive."

He checked his pulse and found it to be strong and regular. He gulped mouthfuls of odourless air and his chest rose as it filled his lungs.

I'm not dead. This is a practical joke, he thought.

He smirked and thought who could be behind such an elaborate hoax. He ran a list of likely suspects through his head, but couldn't think of anyone who could pull off such a thing as this. It had been his birthday. He tried to fathom out whether it was still the same day. Was it still his birthday? He thought about the film called 'The Game', in which the actor Michael Douglas is given a mysterious gift to participate in a game which integrates in strange ways with his everyday life. Robert wondered if something similar was happening to him.

He sat up with a jolt when the door opened. Jay re-entered the room and carried something. Robert noted how tall Jay was, which was something he had not noticed before. Robert was a tall man, but Jay towered over him. Robert judged Jay to be almost seven feet. He felt a strange attraction to Jay, even though he couldn't tell what gender Jay was. Robert decided to consider Jay male. Although Jay had the most beautiful face Robert had ever seen, his stature and depth of voice added a strong masculine edge. Robert shook any thoughts of attraction away.

"May I sit next to you? I have some questions," asked Jay.

Robert nodded and shuffled along the gurney. In Jay's hand was something black and rectangular which was about the size of a tablet device. It had no screen and was about twice as thick as a tablet. Jay ran his fingers over it. The device was covered in thousands of tiny little dots which made Robert think of braille.

"May I ask your full name?" asked Jay.

"You know my name."

"I only know you are Robert; I know nothing else about you."

"Robert John Vice."

Jay ran his huge, but nimble, fingers over the tablet.

Jay continued to ask his date of birth, he had questions about his family and finally he asked him what he had done when he was alive.

"What do you mean, what had I done when I was alive?" snapped Robert, who had become irritated by Jay's questions.

"What did you do for a job?"

Robert didn't answer. Instead, he stood up and stared Jay directly in the eye.

"I need answers. I don't know what kind of trick this is, but I know I'm not dead. If this is a birthday prank, then it must stop. It's not funny. I want to go home. Please Jay, end this and take me home now."

Jay stood up and looked down upon Robert, who shrunk back when he was reminded of Jay's enormous stature. Jay glanced at the tablet and ran his fingers over it.

"Oh, that's rather unfortunate, you died on your birthday, I hadn't put two and two together."

Jay paused and allowed Robert to take a breath.

"Robert, I need to know what you did for a job when you were alive."

Robert swallowed hard and looked up at his face. The way Jay conducted himself made him think that perhaps all of this was real.

"I was a sales manager. I looked after a team of sales people. We sold hand dryers." Robert's voice was shaky and just above a whisper.

Jay continued to take notes.

"Did you get on well with your colleagues, did they like you?"

"I think so."

"Do you think of yourself as someone that people could come and talk to if they had a problem?"

Robert nodded.

"What was your faith?"

"My faith?"

"Yes, what did you believe in?"

Robert contemplated the question.

"I don't really believe in anything. I mean I guess there is a God, but I don't go to church. I would say I'm agnostic."

Jay smiled and slipped the tablet beneath his robe. Robert noted that it had an inside pocket which the tablet dropped into.

"Okay, follow me, it's time to take you to The Terminal," said Jay offering his hand.

Robert refused Jay's hand and stood of his own accord.

"The Terminal?"

Jay didn't answer. He walked to the door which quietly swung open. Robert watched Jay pass through the doorway. He hesitated to follow him, not sure if he wanted to know what was on the other side. Sobbing and wailing could be heard from beyond the door. Jay turned and faced him.

"It's time to go," said Jay. His beautiful eyes reflected a hint of empathy.

Robert reluctantly followed. With each step something deep inside told him this was no birthday prank. This was no joke. He shuddered at the thought of what lay beyond the door. He peered beyond Jay whose huge frame blocked the doorway. He couldn't tell what was out there.

"Robert, please come with me."

Robert swallowed dryly, stood tall and continued to the door.

On the other side was another room. It was enormous and full of people. Thousands of figures were milling around. All of them bald and wearing the same gown as Robert. The room was larger than a stadium. It had the same beige linoleum floor and squashy walls. Every two or three metres was a door. There were doors as far as he could see. Attached to the wall between each door were brown bench seats. Some people were milling around aimlessly as if they needed someone to guide them, while others were sitting on the benches. Robert saw a lady who was bald and with her head down. Most people were in a state of distress. A few of them were in groups as if they were part of the same family. Robert stopped still. He was rooted to the spot, taking in what was all around. In the near distance he saw another person similar to Jay. Tall, beautiful and bald. And like Jay, it was difficult to judge the person's gender. The tall person was talking to a group of three people who were huddled together in grief.

Nearby, another door opened and out stepped another tall person like Jay. This person was even taller than Jay, but not quite as beautiful. Behind followed a bald man who Robert judged to be in his early twenties. He was beside himself with grief and protesting to the tall person that a mistake had been made. He referred to the tall person as Sam.

Another androgynous name, thought Robert.

Jay turned to Robert after giving him a little time to take in what was happening.

"This is The Terminal," said Jay, in a soft 'matter of fact' tone.

Robert's mind spun with confusion. Slowly, it sank in that he really must be dead. This is what happens after we die? He questioned inwardly.

"Why is it called 'The Terminal'?"

"Consider it a place for waiting. Somewhere for you to wait before the next stage."

"The next stage?"

Jay nodded without elaboration.

"All of these people are experiencing the same thing as you. That man who just came out of that door behind Sam, he would have died around the same time as you."

"This really is happening isn't it?"

Jay nodded.

More people emerged from rooms and trailed behind tall androgynous looking people.

Nearby, another door opened and this time two androgynous characters stepped out, followed by four people. Two bald adults, male and female and two hairless girls who looked as if they were in their early teens.

"Why are there so many people leaving that room together?" questioned Robert, whilst pointing to the group of four with the two tall androgynous people.

"Probably a family," said Jay. "More than likely they died at the same time in a car crash or perhaps a house fire."

The enormity of what was happening took hold and Robert's knees buckled. He fell to the floor and let his emotions take over. He thought of Kathy and he thought of their daughter Ellen.

"No, no, no," he sobbed and bundled himself into a ball at Jay's bare feet.

Jay crouched down to Robert's level and placed a hand on his shoulder. He allowed Robert's tears to flow freely, joining the throng of others who had just discovered the same thing.

Robert was briefly pulled from his grief by the sound of beeping. He looked at Jay as he pulled the tablet from the inside pocket of his gown. The beeping came from the tablet which was emitting a purple translucent glow. He ran his fingers over the tablet. The beeping stopped, and he replaced it in his gown.

"Robert, I need to go. There are new arrivals. I need to greet them."

Robert looked into Jay's beautiful epicanthic eyes.

"You mean new dead people don't you?"

Jay nodded.

"I'll be back with you soon. I will be your guide during this first stage. Robert, don't consider death as the end, consider it as a new chapter in the cycle of your existence."

Robert opened his mouth, but Jay raised his hand and Robert bit his lip. The tablet beeped again and Jay walked away. Jay entered the same room which he'd been in with Robert. Above the door was a flashing translucent light matching the colour emitted by Jay's tablet.

The door closed behind Jay and his words echoed in Robert's ears. 'A new chapter in the cycle of your existence'.

## 5

### Wednesday 25th October

### 9.15 am

### Lucy Hart's house

### Wick

"Good Morning, we're making enquiries about an incident which happened yesterday evening in Pucklechurch. May we have a minute of your time?" asked the officer.

Lucy invited the two young policemen into her lounge and offered them drinks, which they kindly declined.

After the two officers had finished their enquiries, Lucy slumped back in her chair with her hand over her mouth.

"Goodness me, how horrific. I knew their daughter Ellen. She used to attend Sunday school at Wick Methodist."

Donald let out a sigh of relief when it became apparent the officers' reason for visiting had nothing to do with him.

PC Johnson noted Donald's reaction.

"Is everything okay sir?" asked Johnson.

"No, I mean yes, everything is fine...... I don't mean things are fine about the incident, that's horrible.... but I mean I'm fine."

Lucy glanced at Donald and was taken aback by his behaviour.

"May I ask your name sir?"

Donald spluttered out the name he'd given himself, just over a year earlier. He was in two minds whether he should have told them his real name, Martin Cooke. Lucy grew more concerned.

"Mr Mortimer, please can you confirm your whereabouts yesterday evening between nine-thirty and ten pm."

"I was here, with Lucy," replied Donald. His voice more confident than a few seconds earlier.

"Can you confirm that Donald was with you?" asked the officer, directing his question to Lucy.

"Yes, he was here with me. We were watching television."

Lucy didn't like the police questioning Donald but understood their sudden interest in him. Johnson asked for Lucy's name, made notes in his book and then gestured to the other officer that they should go. Both officers had detected something about Donald which didn't add up.

After they had left, Lucy turned the lock on the front door and looked at Donald with a grave face.

"Donald, is there something wrong? Is there something you're not telling me?"

## 6

### Wednesday

### 9.30 am

### Pucklechurch

DCI Matthews took a statement from Ava Mitchel, the neighbour who had called the police after seeing the commotion in her road the previous evening. She was unable to add much to what she had told the operator with whom she had spoken after dialling 999.

"Are you sure one of the ladies you saw was Kathy Vice?"

"No, I can't be absolutely sure, but I think one of them was. They looked similar and both looked like Mrs Vice. I think she must have a sister. But in my defence, my eyesight isn't what it used to be and it was very dark last night."

Matthews closed his notebook and thanked Ava as his mobile chimed. He spoke quietly, nodded grimly into the phone and thanked the caller.

"More bad news?" asked Ava.

"Just the day job I'm afraid. Ellen Vice has just arrived from Leeds. I need to meet her."

"The poor darling. Heaven only knows how she's going to cope. She's barely out of her teens."

***

Matthews jumped into his car and was back on the phone as soon as Ava was out of earshot. Ellen had been flown from Leeds to Bristol International Airport courtesy of her faculty. She had been escorted by Mike Dawson, head of Student Services and Mandy Scott who was her personal tutor. Flying was the fastest way of getting her home. She was the closest relative to formally identify the body. Officers at Leeds had given her the grim news of what had happened. Understandably, she was in a terrible state. She had also been accompanied on the short flight by WPC Hughes of West Yorkshire Police.

Matthews arrived at Flax Bourton Coroners' Court ahead of Ellen and her entourage. He wasn't looking forward to what was about to happen. It had been a race to get to the other side of Bristol before Ellen arrived. After she'd identified her father, and if the man lying in the cold room along the corridor was her father, Matthews would be asking Ellen questions. He disliked dealing with family members of a victim so soon but knew that making enquiries at this initial stage in the investigation would be vital in moving forward and securing an early conviction.

Footsteps echoed along the corridor of the mortuary and Matthews heard quiet voices. He stepped out of the small waiting room and saw three people accompanied by two police officers walking slowly towards him.

PC Carter walked ahead of Ellen and quietly spoke with Matthews. Matthews nodded to Carter and introduced himself to Ellen, Mike Dawson, Mandy Scott and WPC Hughes.

"I understand PC Carter has advised you of what will happen," said Matthews, in a sombre tone.

Ellen nodded whilst clutching a tissue against her nose and staring at the floor with bloodshot eyes. She had no more tears. She had spent the entire night and the flight to Bristol crying.

The mortuary attendant opened the door to the morgue. Matthews entered first and was followed by PC Carter. Behind Carter walked Ellen holding tightly onto WPC Hughes' hand. Mike Dawson trailed behind and Mandy Scott decided to stay outside.

The silence in the morgue was unnerving. Matthews had been there countless times and had been present during dozens of formal identifications. But there was something about today which was more unsettling than usual. He put it down to having to witness a girl who was barely out of her teenage years with the responsibility of identifying her father. Perhaps it may not have been so bad if he had died in a car accident or had drowned. But with murder being the reason for his death the whole situation felt unsettling.

The mortuary attendant asked Ellen whether she was ready to proceed. WPC Hughes felt Ellen's grip tighten in her hand. Ellen gave a single nod to the attendant who then pulled back the sheet covering Robert Vice's body.

Ellen stared at her father's face for a few seconds before breaking down. She let go of Hughes' hand and dropped to the floor. Hughes moved to kneel by her side, but Matthews gestured to give her a moment. The attendant re-covered the body and no one spoke.

Fifteen minutes later Ellen sat with Matthews and sipped sugary tea. He looked at her compassionately, cleared his throat and commenced questioning.

"Ellen, I understand how difficult this is for you, but I need to ask some questions. And it's better we speak now rather than later."

Ellen nodded. Matthews watched the teacup in her right-hand shake as she brought it to her lips.

"Firstly, I can assure you that we are working hard to find out what happened to your father, but you may have some information which can help us with our enquiries."

She nodded again and placed the teacup on the table in front of her.

"Is there anyone you can think of who would have done this to your father?"

She buried her head in her hands and Matthews heard her muffled reply. "No."

She lifted her head and asked about her mother.

Matthews explained what Ava had witnessed.

"So, you don't know where my mother is?"

"No, but we are investigating her whereabouts. Ellen, were your parents happy?"

"Are you suggesting that mum could have done this?" snapped Ellen.

Before Matthews could answer, Ellen was answering her own question.

"Mum wouldn't, couldn't have killed dad. There was no reason.... they were in love. I spoke to them both yesterday morning. I called dad to wish him happy birthday and promised I'd be down to see him at the weekend." She paused to consider that she'd met her side of the bargain earlier than planned and under circumstances she'd never considered possible. "I spoke to mum too. She told me what they were doing for dad's birthday."

Matthews' eyebrows raised when Ellen said that it had been his birthday. He paused briefly before continuing.

"And what was that?"

"Dad had told mum he wanted a quiet day, just the two of them. He wanted to pay a visit to the city. He wanted be a tourist in the place where he lives, you know, visit a few places."

"Do you know where he had in mind?"

"Mum said they were going to the Cathedral on College Green and that dad wanted to look around the museum at the top of Park Street. She said he'd not been there since he was a boy."

Matthews gave her time to compose herself. She had become inconsolable. Instinctively, Matthews reached to the cooler and poured her a cup of water. After a few minutes Matthews continued.

"Did your mother say what else they had planned?"

Ellen shook her head.

"Nothing other than mum was going to cook something special for him at home. Dad wasn't big on birthdays, or parties or anything like that. He was happy with keeping things low key."

"So, you had no knowledge of any trouble between them, you know, financially or anything?"

She shook her head.

"The neighbour who called 999 told me that there was an incident involving two women outside your parents' house. It involved a lady wearing a dark red dress. Can you recall whether you mother owns a dress matching that description?"

Ellen cast her mind back. Everything was hazy, but she recalled a dress her mother wore on Christmas day. It was red and hugged her figure. It embarrassed Ellen at the time to see her wearing it. She knew her dad approved of it.

Ellen merely nodded to signify 'yes'.

Ellen was an only child. Her family group was limited to her mother and father. She had no uncles or aunts and therefore no cousins.

"Okay Ellen. I don't have anything else to ask right now," said Matthews as Ellen broke down again. He watched the young woman curl in her seat and weep.

"I'm stepping out for a second. I'll be in the corridor."

Matthews found Ellen's entourage huddled outside the door.

"Okay, I think I've done as much as I can for now. Where will she be staying?"

"We've found a family friend. A close friend of her mother's. She knows Ellen well and is happy to put her up for the foreseeable," said Carter.

"Okay, can I leave it with you to make sure she's made aware of counselling?"

"Consider it done, sir."

## 7

### The Terminal

Robert walked The Terminal amid confusion. Tears flowed freely from those around him. Robert's tears had taken temporary respite whilst he surveyed his surroundings. He saw the young man who'd been accompanied by Sam. He looked at the other androgynous figures and wondered what they could be.

They must be angels.

He strolled over to the young man who was sitting alone on a bench. Sam had left him to grieve. Robert plucked up courage and spoke. "Hello, I'm Robert. Who are you?"

The man raised his head and glared at Robert.

"Are you behind all of this?" he snarled in a South London accent.

Robert said nothing. Instead, he slowly shook his head. He looked at the man's tired and broken face. His eyes red with tears and his body shaking. Hearing the man's accent made him realise that Jay had no accent at all. Jay spoke in a flat monosyllabic tone.

The man looked around the room and turned to Robert.

"This is fucking absurd. What kind of place is this?"

"What did Sam tell you?"

"That I'm dead."

"Mine told me the same. Mine's called Jay."

Robert sat beside the man and asked his name again. The man was reluctant to reveal who he was.

"I think this is real, I think we're really dead."

"Why am I bald, why is everyone bald?" said the man.

Robert shrugged. He felt the man warm to him.

"I'm in the same position as you mate," muttered Robert.

The man held out his hand to Robert.

"My name's Jamie."

Robert took Jamie's hand and gave it a strong shake.

"What's your story?" asked Jamie.

"Not too sure. I think that I was murdered....... by my wife."

"Shit," muttered Jamie, watching fresh tears well in Robert's eyes. "What happened? If you don't mind me asking."

"She just came at me with a knife, I don't recall much else."

"You must have done something pretty bad. Screwing around were you?"

Robert's hackles rose. "There was no screwing around. I've no idea why she attacked me....... What's your story?"

"Cancer.... I think?"

"You don't know for sure?"

"It's too hazy for me to recall. But I do remember my mother calling for an ambulance. I have a hazy memory of being in and out of consciousness. I distinctly remember talk of a brain tumour and that's about it. I presume Sam will fill in the gaps."

"Don't bank on it. I don't think they know very much about us. Did Sam question you?"

Jamie nodded.

Robert was more convinced than before that all of this was real. He looked away from Jamie and thought about his life and what he may never have again. He would never taste the kisses from Kathy's lips. He thought about simple things like the sound of rain lashing against the window, walking on a beach and the smell of flowers in the summer. He thought of Ellen. Beautiful, beautiful, clever Ellen. He broke down again. Jamie turned away. He wasn't good with emotions, especially emotional men. He wasn't sure what to do or say. But then, Robert's grief triggered Jamie to cry too. The two men sat alongside one another and bawled like babies. Jamie reached to Robert and pulled him close. They were united in grief. No one around them noticed how hard they cried. Their anguish overflowed for all to see. But no one watched them. Most people were too consumed by their own confusion and sadness to pay any attention.

"I'm just a kid," spluttered Jamie. "It's not my time to die."

Robert gulped air. His chest hurt. Not from being stabbed, that pain was subsiding like Jay said it would. This was a different hurt. A hurt from crying. He hadn't cried so much since he was a boy. He gulped more air and tried to steady himself. For some reason, despite not knowing Jamie, he felt he had to be strong for him.

"How old are you?"

"Twenty-one," stuttered Jamie, shuddering whilst trying to fend off the next bout of tears. "I'm twenty-one years old, what kind of age is that to die?"

Robert nodded. At the same time he glanced towards the family of four who were still huddled together. He looked at the daughters. He judged them to be eleven or twelve.

"At least you made it to twenty-one. Look at those sisters, see how young they are."

Jamie took no solace from Robert's words. But what he'd said made Jamie think about those around him.

"There're no babies."

"What do you mean?" asked Robert.

"Babies die all the time, why are there no babies or really small children?"

Jamie was right. Other than the two girls with their parents, there were no babies or toddlers. Robert shrugged.

"I guess there are loads of things we're going to find out sooner or later."

Jamie was a little more composed and was in a slightly better mood for talking.

"So, your wife killed you? Seriously? What happened, if you don't mind talking about it?"

Robert told Jamie what he could remember. He told him of what he and Kathy had done to celebrate his birthday. He fought back new tears while the hazy memory of the stabbing flourished and fizzled in his mind.

"You must have done something wrong. People just don't kill like that, well at least not normal people."

"We've all done something wrong. You know, a few white lies here and there and little things of no significance. But I've never cheated on her. I've not even kissed another woman, not at least since we've been together."

"Your wife must have thought differently."

Robert was about to speak, when Jay emerged from the room in which he had been with Robert. Behind him was a new arrival. Another male, bald and wearing the same gown as everyone else. Jay glanced over at Robert and smiled. Robert acknowledged Jay with a single nod. He turned his attention to the new arrival. The man's face bore a look of wonderment as he took in the new world around him. Robert wasn't sure if he actually caught the man smiling. Jay strolled over.

"I see you've made a friend," said Jay, referring to Jamie.

"We're just talking," said Jamie on Robert's behalf, not wanting to commit to anything as loyal as friendship.

Jay nodded knowingly and gestured to the man stood next to him.

"This is Harvey, he's new too."

Robert and Jamie nodded reservedly.

"Would you be kind enough to stay with Harvey for a while? There's a lot going on right now," said Jay. The tablet under his gown beeped and flashed purple. He didn't wait for an answer and headed back through the door.

Harvey spun around and looked at the huge room with his jaw open. He impolitely stared at the grieving people near him.

"This place is fuckin' amazing."

Neither Robert nor Jamie spoke. They watched from the bench and stared at the astonished expression across his face.

Harvey pushed his hand against the wall and gazed up at the high ceiling. He swung round and gawped at the size of the place.

"You could fit a hundred-thousand people in here easy."

Robert was irritated by Harvey's laid-back attitude and wondered whether Jay had told him what this place was.

"You do know you're dead don't you?"

"Sure I do."

Harvey's voice sounded out of place. He had a strong New York accent.

"You don't seem particularly bothered."

"I've been waiting for this."

"What? Death?"

"Yeah. Every morning I wake up; I think shit.... I'm still alive. But not no more."

"How could you say that?" said Jamie, butting in to the conversation.

"'Life may have been good for you and all the others, but for me it was pretty shitty... okay!"

Robert and Jamie looked at him without speaking, urging Harvey to continue.

"I'm from New York and I'm homeless. Nobody gives a shit. I've nothing. Each day is like hell. I'm always being moved on by police. Those bastards don't care. I'm always hungry, my body aches and I'm always ill. I was sick man, real sick. The last thing I remember was lying in an ally, coughing up blood from my guts. I prayed. I prayed to God to take me. Guess what? He did.... and here I am. Okay!"

"Why didn't you just kill yourself?" asked Jamie.

"Because I'm not a coward."

Harvey flexed his arms and stretched his legs.

"It's like I've been given a new body. I'm a new person. I don't hurt. What's the deal with you two? You know each other?"

"No, not until now. We've just arrived too," replied Jamie.

"What, you arrived at the same time, you two die together or somethin'?"

"No. I died of a tumour and he was murdered...... by his wife."

"Shit man, your life must have been worse than mine," said Harvey.

Robert immediately rose to his feet and stepped up to Harvey an inch from his face.

"I had a great life and a great marriage. I don't know why she did what she did. I guess I may never know. Anyway, at least I achieved something. I wasn't a bum. I made something of my life."

Jamie edged along the bench and away from the two men. He didn't want to be involved in their spat.

"Don't judge me man. Once I had a great life too. I had a business. People had jobs because of me. I had a beautiful wife."

"What did you do?" asked Jamie.

"I owned three shops. One in Manhattan, one in Long Island and one in New Jersey".

"What did you sell?"

"Records, tapes, sheet music, books. Okay!"

"What went wrong?"

"The internet stole my business. I should have been prepared, but I wasn't. I should have moved with the times. I lost the businesses. Things went bad and I turned to drink. My wife left me and in the end I couldn't keep up the payments on my home. I lost everything, okay!"

Robert shrank back, regretting what he'd said.

"Anyway, none of that matters anymore. I feel good here. I'm out of touch with anger now. Jay said that this is all a new chapter in the cycle of my existence."

"Yeah, he said the same thing to me. Look Harvey, I'm sorry about what I just said. Forgive me, but I'm not in such a good place as you," said Robert holding out his hand. Harvey gripped it tightly without giving it a second thought.

"It's okay, I understand. Okay."

Jay strolled over with Sam.

"I see you three are getting to know each other. That's good," said Jay.

"When are we going to get some answers? I've got a hell of a lot of questions," asked Jamie.

"Yeah, like where's all my hair gone?" interrupted Harvey while he rubbed his hands over the top of his head.

Jay ignored the questions and continued.

"Sam and I can't answer just yet. Be patient, you will learn and things will begin to make sense. We're here to guide you until you find your own way."

Jay was interrupted by a booming voice which seemed to be coming from everywhere. Robert, Harvey and Jamie strained to understand what was being said, but it was a language none of them recognised.

"What's that? Latin or somethin'?" said Harvey. No one answered.

Again, the strange voiced boomed around the huge arena sized room. Robert watched as everyone looked towards the ceiling. Then, as if hypnotised, everybody shuffled in different directions to form groups. Little pockets of people were forming here and there. Robert and Harvey were drawn in one direction and Jamie in another. Jamie looked helplessly towards Robert as they walked in opposite directions. Harvey followed behind Robert.

"What's happenin' man? I can't stop myself?"

Both men felt the same magnetic force pulling them towards a group of people. The size of the group increased as more were drawn in. Confusion replaced grief as thousands and thousands of new arrivals jostled uncontrollably against one another as they vied to become part of a group.

Within a few minutes, ninety-three groups had formed with around one-thousand people in each group. Each group had en masse formed into rows. Robert stood behind Harvey.

"What the hell just happened?" whispered Robert.

"I don't know man; I think they're controlling our minds."

The floor became illuminated by rows of red lights. They reminded Robert of the lights on the floor of an airliner to guide passengers to the exits in case of an emergency. A line of lights glowed for each row of people. Robert and Harvey stood near the front of the row and could see that the floor beyond them was opening. It was slowly sloping gently downwards. Jay stood at the front of the row facing the crowds of nervous new arrivals with his back to the sloping floor. Robert spotted Jamie in the adjacent group which was about three metres to his left. Sam stood at the front of Jamie's row. Each group of new arrivals had a tall, bald androgynous person similar to Jay and Sam at the front.

Robert caught Jamie's eye and they nervously glanced at each other.

The arena was almost silent, other than the occasional murmuring from a few of the new arrivals.

Robert's thoughts turned to Ellen and then to Kathy but were interrupted by another booming voice from the ceiling. Like before, the voice sounded as if it was speaking Latin. Jay, Sam and the other androgynous characters turned to face the sloping floor, raised their arms, began walking and descended the smooth slope. Robert and the other new arrivals followed. No one had a choice. Their legs shuffled automatically, projecting them slowly forwards. Robert glanced over to Jamie's group who were moving faster than the group he and Harvey were part of. Each group proceeded at a different pace as they descended along the long sloping floor ahead of them.

"What's happening?" whispered Robert. Harvey turned his head and shrugged his shoulders as he shuffled forward in line with everyone else.

Robert saw that Jamie's group had overtaken them and were entering the huge cavern beneath the floor. He watched in awe as thousands and thousands of people made their way behind their leaders. Some held hands with the person they were next to. Robert assumed that these people had died together and were facing the same fate. But most were alone. Harvey glanced at Robert. Whereas before, Harvey appeared happy with his situation, now he looked nervous. Everyone looked nervous. Their eyes anxiously darted around weighing up the situation whilst apprehensively heading down the sloping floor.

Jamie was way ahead of Robert and Harvey. Robert could just make out the back of his head as he continued to drop away beneath the floor. Robert turned his head to the left and watched the adjacent group shuffle past. Suddenly he spotted someone. Another new arrival in Jamie's group. Robert squinted his eyes and examined the man's face.

"Shit, I don't believe it," he muttered beneath his breath, but not quietly enough for those around him not to hear.

"What?" whispered Harvey whilst continuing to shuffle forward.

Robert didn't reply. He continued to scrutinise the man, who looked different with no hair. His skin looked younger and fresher, but Robert was certain it was him. The man stood out among the other new arrivals because of his demeanour. His behaviour and manner were different to everyone else's. Although he was in the same situation as everyone around him his attitude was different. He looked around taking in everything he saw, his mind analysing the situation. Robert could almost read the man's thoughts, knowing that he was scheming to work out how he could take advantage of the situation.

As the man overtook Robert, their eyes met, and Robert was now certain it was him. The man nodded and smiled his charming smile. The smile, that in life had helped him get so far. Robert watched him continue onward.

Typical, thought Robert, even in death that man's ahead of me.

"It's him, it's really him," whispered Robert to himself.

"Who is it?" asked Harvey.

"That man over there, in Jamie's group," Robert replied, gesturing towards the man.

"Who, the one with the smug look on his face?"

"Yeah, him. I know who he is."

Harvey looked at the shocked expression on Robert's face.

"You gonna tell me who he is?"

"It's my bloody boss. Flint Taylor. I don't believe it. Flint 'fucking' Taylor."

## 8

### Wednesday 25th October

### 12.13 am

### Kelston – Between Bristol and Bath

### Nine hours earlier

The BMW Z3 was barely recognisable, as were the charred remains of Flint Taylor. His blackened corpse was still strapped in the driver's seat.

Fire and rescue had arrived in record time, but their attempts to quell the flames and rescue Taylor were in vain. Taylor wouldn't have known much about what had happened. The last thing he would have seen was the tree rushing towards him at over sixty miles per hour at just before midnight on the A431 between Bath and Bristol.

Taylor had been under pursuit by two young officers who spotted him driving dangerously on the winding narrow country road. Despite PC Semple's best attempts, he couldn't safely navigate the road and catch up with Taylor. PC Holmes saw the fireball in the distance and signalled to Semple to slow down. Thirty seconds later the officers were at the scene. The car was a furnace and neither officer could get close enough to help Taylor. Holmes called for the emergency services. When the paramedics arrived there was nothing for them to do. Other than Taylor, there were no casualties.

"Bloody idiot," muttered Mark Gregory. As a veteran paramedic he'd seen his fair share of avoidable deaths. He frowned at the smouldering remains of the Z3 and was aware of the performance the BMW had been capable of.

"Just because someone owns a fast car doesn't mean they have to drive like an asshole."

"Perhaps he was desperate to get somewhere," suggested Semple.

"Or to get away from someone," added Holmes.

"Whatever, it didn't get him very far did it," added Gregory.

Holmes shone his torch over Taylor's remains.

"How the hell can you tell it was a man? There's not enough left to tell it was a human," said Holmes.

"It's the sort of thing a man would do, isn't it?"

## 9

### Thursday 26th October

### 8.15am

### Lucy Hart's home

Donald had stuck to his story. The one he had been telling everyone since his arrival in the West Country just over a year earlier. Overall, he was a good person and an even better liar, but Lucy could see flaws in his deceits.

The reason that he'd told anyone who'd cared to ask why he'd moved to Bristol, was because he'd split up from his partner. The story wasn't completely fabricated, but what he failed to add was that the partner he'd spit up with was his wife. He, AKA Martin Cooke, and Jean had been married for coming up to twenty years, had twin teenage boys and a nice mortgage to go with their life. Martin was a respected businessman in the community. He was a governor at his son's school and was also an avid supporter of many local charities. He was regularly involved with fundraising schemes which helped the homeless. Those who knew Martin assumed he had the perfect life. He appeared to have a great job, a great family and a good social life. On the surface this was true, but during the few months before absconding to the West Country, Martin had become unsettled. Routine had begun to bite hard and he had become prone to anxiety. His sons, Gary and Paul, were lazy. They should have been knuckling down for their GCSE exams which were fast approaching. Martin had grown tired of his own pestering voice and being treated with indifference. He and Jean were constantly nagging them to get their thumbs out their asses and do some work. And then there was Jean. She was a good woman and a good wife, but Martin had become bored of her. She didn't need to work because Martin brought home a nice wage to go with the nice mortgage. But it was Jean who chose the holidays, it was Jean who organised their social calendar and it was also Jean who chose the way Martin lived his life. He couldn't remember the last time he'd even chosen his own shirt. He had become penned in by life. Martin thought that perhaps the world had become increasingly designed to depress him. Then on Monday the first of August two thousand and sixteen, everything changed.

Martin was a financial adviser and was doing very well. But as with most other things in his life, he was bored with his job. He had stood on the platform at Durham railway station waiting for the train to whisk him on the relatively short commute to Newcastle-upon-Tyne. In his briefcase, which he gripped tightly with both hands, was twenty thousand pounds in mixed notes. One of his clients, an elderly man called Clive, had been a customer of Martin's for fifteen years. Clive was a wealthy and somewhat eccentric old fellow who refused to deal directly with banks. This posed a small problem when having a personal fortune approaching two million pounds. Martin took care of all Clive's financial needs and that day Clive had decided to purchase a car. Nothing fancy, just something to nip around town. He had instructed Martin to organise the cash and bring it to him at his home in Newcastle. Robert would normally have driven but his car had been in the garage. The MOT had been due for renewal at the end of the week. The garage had arranged for him to borrow a courtesy car, but due to an administrative mix up the car was not available. Jean had refused to give hers up for the day as she had a coffee morning with the ladies and insisted she could not do without it. The thought of taking the train had appealed to Martin. He hadn't been on one for years. He had stood on the platform waiting for the 8.01 to arrive and considered that taking a simple train ride would probably be the most exciting thing he'd do all year. He pondered how pathetic the notion was. He thought about his selfish sons, his controlling wife and his dull job. He was interrupted from his thoughts by an announcement over the station's public-address system telling commuters that the 7.55 to Bristol was running late and was now due in at 8.05.

Without a second thought Martin had dropped his ticket to Newcastle in the recycling bin and strolled to the ticket office. He had purchased a one-way ticket to Bristol just as the train was approaching platform one. He had stood motionless on the platform, gripping the case against his chest while watching the train grind to a standstill. The door to carriage C flung open and a group of noisy school children had jostled their way off the train. In front of Martin had been an elderly couple, a teenager with a folding bike and a young mother. After they had boarded Martin stood stock still. He had taken a few seconds to consider what he was about to do. Carriage doors were being slammed shut and the guard was pacing the platform.

"Are you travelling with us today sir?" the guard had asked impatiently.

Martin nodded and stepped aboard the train. The slamming of the carriage door behind him was the full stop that had punctuated the end of his former life.

Calmly, he had taken a seat next to the teenager with the folding bike, and from the window he had watched the platform disappear behind him. He had huffed an audible gasp and for the first time in years felt his face break into a genuine smile. Martin had had no strategy, he had thought nothing through and had done the last thing that anyone could have imagined of him.

Just before one pm Martin had stepped off the train and onto platform ten of Temple Meads in Bristol. During the journey he had hatched a basic plan and had chosen a new name. He had no idea where the moniker Donald Mortimer had come from, it had just popped into his head as the train had approached Keynsham station which was less than ten minutes from his destination. Donald Mortimer sounded dull and innocent. He couldn't imagine anyone with the name Donald Mortimer being suspected of any wrong doing. He had wanted to blend in with the city of Bristol and just be the stranger from 'up north' who kept himself to himself.

He had booked three nights in a bed and breakfast. He had initially considered a budget hotel but was worried that he would be asked to provide his debit card details. He wanted to stay somewhere they would be happy to accept cash and ask no questions. He had wiped the name Martin into history, laid on the bed in his temporary accommodation and let Donald enter his new life.

"Donald, is everything okay?" asked Lucy.

He didn't hear, his mind was elsewhere remembering the day he made the decision to abscond to Bristol. But it wasn't him who made the decision, it was a voice inside his head prompting him to go. He had followed what the voice had instructed and had never looked back.

"Donald, what is it?"

He snapped out of his stupor and swung round in his chair. Lucy had startled him, as if she had woken him from a deep sleep.

"Sorry, what did you say?"

"Are you alright?"

"Yeah, yeah," he nodded his reply.

Lucy had been thinking about his strange reaction to the police the previous day. Something about it concerned her. He seemed almost relieved when he had heard of Robert Vice's death.

"Are you sure you've nothing to tell me? Are you hiding something?"

Donald was edgy and Lucy sensed something wasn't right. It wasn't the first time either. She had fallen in love with the man, but some of the things about him didn't quite add up.

Once she questioned why he always used cash to pay for everything. He paid for his keep with cash, bought groceries with cash and when they had a meal in either of the two pubs in Wick he would always pay with cash. She'd never seen him walk into a bank, write a cheque or flash a credit card. She had confronted him when he was reluctant to set up a monthly standing order to pay rent. His answer had been 'I get paid with cash, so I pay my way with cash'.

This was true. When she'd met him at Wick Methodist he'd been labouring for a local family owned building company. When work had dried up he picked seasonal fruit for the local farmers who were more than happy to pay him with cash. Now, he was back in the building trade.

Lucy brushed her thoughts to one side. But she knew they'd soon be back to trouble her.

Donald swallowed hard when Lucy left the room. He worried about what had happened on Tuesday. If anyone was to discover what he'd been involved in and informed the police, then it would be game over. His cover would be blown and his true identity would be revealed. He would be dragged through the courts in Durham for stealing Clive's money.

## 10

### The Terminal

Robert sat alongside Harvey on the floor, legs crossed and looking up at Jay. He could move his upper body with ease but from the waist down he felt heavy and cumbersome. He could only just wiggle his toes. Everyone was experiencing the same thing.

"They've paralysed us," whispered Harvey as he watched Robert running his hands up and down his legs.

The drone of almost one-hundred thousand whispers filled the huge room which Robert and the other new arrivals had descended into. He turned his head and sneaked a peak behind and saw the vast number of people of different ages and races all wearing the same dull beige gown as he. To his left was the group in which Jamie was in. Jamie was just out of Robert's view, but he could see the back of Flint Taylor's bald head.

What the hell happened to him? thought Robert, wondering how Taylor's life could have ended. He thought about when he and Kathy had bumped into him at Bristol Museum on his birthday.

Harvey squeezed Robert's arm and whispered in his ear.

"Something's happening."

Behind Jay appeared a huge person who had materialised out of nowhere. Harvey and Robert, along with the other new arrivals in his row, let out a simultaneous gasp.

A few seconds later an identical person appeared in front of Jamie's row behind Sam. Further along the huge room Robert saw more and more clones of the same person appearing in front of each of the ninety-three rows of new arrivals. Each row was headed by their androgynous guide and a giant clone. The giants weren't adorned in the same beige gowns worn by the new arrivals and the androgynies. Instead they wore loose fitting black trousers and a black flimsy 'blouse' like top which was secured with what looked like a dressing gown belt. Harvey was reminded of something a martial artist would wear. In Robert's mind there was no doubt about gender. The clones were definitely male. They had short cropped receding grey hair and a neatly trimmed beard. Robert thought the clones looked like Obi Wan Kenobi. In synchronisation the male clones raised their arms causing the excited chatter to die down.

"They're holograms," whispered Harvey. One of the other new arrivals behind 'shushed' him.

And then in unison the clones spoke.

"Welcome and I apologise for involuntarily ushering you all to the lower level of The Terminal."

All eyes focused on the clone at the head of each row. Other than the sobbing of a few of the younger arrivals, no one made a sound.

"I can assure you that it is the most efficient way of grouping you all with the least opposition."

The giant smiled and cast an eye over the nervous and perplexed audience.

"My name is Numen. I expect most of you are in a state of shock and mistrust. I can assure you that what your guides have told you is true. All of you have recently died. I appreciate that what you see around you isn't what you had envisaged. You probably imagined the afterlife to be a little different to this. I must insist that whatever faith you are; you must not let what you see deter you from what you believe. Death, as you've experienced it, is nowhere near the end. Your guide may have told you that this is a new chapter in the cycle of your existence, and this is true. When you were born, you all emerged from a former existence. Some of you lived in recent times and some of you lay dormant for centuries before rebirth. Some of you may have vague memories of that previous life, but most of you won't recall any of it whatsoever. But here in The Terminal you will remember your last life with as much detail as if you are still living it. For some this will be comforting, but for others it will be upsetting."

The Numen clones paused briefly and smiled at the audience who shuffled nervously in silence.

"So, are you God?" called an angry voice from behind Robert.

"No, I am not God. I am Numen."

"This is a sham," called another voice.

Suddenly, voices filled the air. All angry and demanding an explanation. Again, Numen raised his hands and relative quietness returned.

"I understand your anger and I know you have many questions. You can ask your guides anything you need to know, and where possible, they will be more than happy to help. Consider this a plenary, so all new arrivals to The Terminal are made aware of what is happening."

The crowd settled into another uncomfortable silence. Children continued to sob. One child was heard asking for her teddy bear. Numen continued.

"Initially you will be allocated living quarters. We have family areas and other rooms where a minimum of fours will share. Accommodation is basic but functional. After a short settling in period, adults will be assigned roles within this vast community. Unlike what you've been used to there is no pay, but depending upon your progress you will receive privileges. Your guides will explain this in greater detail."

Numen continued to explain about the way things would be, albeit in brief snippets of bite sized information which resulted in more questions than answers.

Robert glazed over. Numen's words went over his head. His thoughts returned to Kathy and Ellen. His last memory of being alive bullied its way to the forefront of his mind. He recalled the reflection in the mirror of his wife wielding the knife. He couldn't forget the searing pain as she plunged it repeatedly into his back. He put his hand against his chest and could still feel a twinge of pain. Numen's words were far away as Robert tried to understand what had caused Kathy to kill him. He had been a good man and was frantic to know what he had done which was so wrong. He needed answers. He looked at his dull surroundings and glared at the thousands and thousands of bald people all wearing the same gowns as he. Anger enveloped him which then quickly turned to rancour.

I shouldn't be here, he thought, I just don't belong here. It's not my time to be in this place.

All eyes were on Numen. Every new arrival except for Robert was deep in concentration listening to Numen's voice.

I must return; I need to find out what happened.

His thoughts turned from questioning why Kathy had killed him to thoughts of revenge. There was no doubt that she had ended his life. Whatever her reason for killing him, it couldn't justify her actions. He screwed his hands into fists and ground his teeth.

Harvey watched Robert from the corner of his eye and sensed his irritability.

"Keep calm man, okay," whispered Harvey, but Robert didn't hear.

Robert found strength from the bitterness and spite brewing within him. He dug his palms into the floor and pushed with all his strength. He pushed against the dead weight which pinned his legs to the floor.

Harvey and the others near to Robert were distracted from Numen's words by Robert's attempt to stand.

"Don't sweat it man," said Harvey.

Robert ignored him and pushed harder against the squishy floor. His face bore the strain of a man lifting a heavy weight.

Suddenly his legs felt light. Whatever spell had been cast over him had been broken. He sprung to his feet and looked up at Numen.

Numen stopped mid-sentence and looked down upon Robert.

"Jay, it seems you have a strong one here," said Numen, referring to Robert who was perched upright on his unsteady feet.

Thousands of heads turned to look at the man who had broken free from his invisible restraint. Robert surveyed the room from his six-four vantage point. Jamie strained his neck and saw his new friend making a stand. Flint Taylor's eyes locked with Robert's and for a second Robert felt as if his former boss had control over him. He shrugged the thought away and turned his sights back to Numen.

"I shouldn't be here. I need to return."

Numen remained calm and in control. He looked upon Robert with a patronising smile.

"Please, tell me your name."

"I'm Robert Vice and I need to get back. I've unfinished business."

"Robert, no one can return. I don't make the rules, it's just the way of things."

Taylor watched Robert disapprovingly.

"You don't understand; I need to get back. I need to find out why I was killed."

"Robert, everyone here wishes the same. Everyone would like to go back and perhaps change what had caused them to die, but it just isn't possible. I'm sorry, but that's just the way it is."

Robert's eyes flitted between Jay and Numen.

"I'm sorry Robert, I wish you'd not created a scene and interrupted this important plenary meeting. You've made people more nervous and scared than before," said Numen. He paused before continuing. "Just now, I referred to privileges earned based upon how well assigned roles are performed. Unfortunately for you Robert, you've lost a privilege even before you've earned it."

"Privilege? What kind of privilege?"

Numen stared down upon Robert. His eyes reflected a look of sadness. His expression bore the look of a kind-hearted school headmaster charged with reluctantly handing out punishment to a schoolchild.

"I haven't decided yet, but when I do....... you'll be the last to find out."

## 11

### Thursday 26th October

### 9.05 am

### Kenneth Steele House

### Bristol

Matthews sat alongside DCI Tom Strawbridge in the incident room. Tom had worked closely with Matthews on many cases.

"Okay Colin, as always the world isn't working in our favour. All we know for certain is that two women were seen tussling outside the victim's house around the time of the murder and it seems one of them was the victim's wife. We have no idea who the other woman was, but we can assume that whatever was happening was related to the murder."

Matthews nodded.

"At least we have the murder weapon", said Matthews, referring to the knife found at the scene of the crime.

"There're no prints on the knife, so the murder could have been premeditated. But if Kathy Vice had murdered her husband, it could also have been the outcome of an argument. Maybe the other woman was Robert Vice's bit on the side? Perhaps all three of them had been arguing and one thing led to another?" mulled Strawbridge.

"That could have been what happened. Especially when the murder weapon was so close to hand. I can imagine the three of them arguing and one of the women grabbing the kitchen knife and lashing out."

"Women?"

"I'm assuming that the killer was one of the two women seen outside the house."

"Don't assume anything Mr Matthews. I thought you would have learnt that by now."

Matthews was about to say something in his defence but was cut short by Gillian West entering the incident room brandishing a manila folder.

"Results of the autopsy are in," she announced before slamming the folder on the desk between Strawbridge and Matthews.

"The wounds on the body match the knife found at the scene, so no surprises there. But what is interesting is that traces of Gamma Hydroxybutyric were found in Vice's blood."

"You mean GHB, the date rape drug?" asked Strawbridge.

"That's right. To be honest it's not a big revelation. Just before I received this report I heard from Callum in forensics. He found traces of GHB in the wine in the upturned glass."

"So, it had to have been premediated. What the hell happened that night? We know it was the victim's birthday. Ellen, his daughter, told me about what their parents had planned for the day. She said that her mother was planning to cook something special. The pots, pans and dishes in the kitchen confirmed that a meal had been cooked and eaten. Vice was found wearing a bathrobe. We know the bathroom was all steamed up, so he must have taken a shower shortly before he was killed. And we are certain there was someone other than Kathy Vice there when the murder took place. According to Ava Mitchel there were two women."

Strawbridge nodded and rubbed his chin.

"She'd have to be a strong woman to inflict those kinds of wounds," said Strawbridge, almost under his breath. "Something inside tells me the perp is male."

"Excuse me," barked Gillian, "I'm still here in case you hadn't noticed. A woman could have easily inflicted those wounds. I could have done that amount of damage."

"Sorry Gillian, I'm just saying."

"There is one thing we should investigate," said Matthews, mulling over a printout. "The door to doors haven't revealed much, but PC Johnson noted that one of those questioned by him acted odd."

Strawbridge and West stared at Matthews, waiting for him to continue.

"Johnson and PC Roach spoke with Lucy Hart and Donald Mortimer. They live in Wick, which is the next village to Pucklechurch. Johnson noted that Mortimer was acting peculiar. Tom, I think we should pay Donald Mortimer a visit."

## 12

### Thursday 26th October

### 9.18 am

### Rant&Rave TV production offices

### Bristol

Kelvin Quastel and Roger Bateman were on tenterhooks. Nervous energy consumed them and also the fifteen staff buzzing around the busy offices of Rant&Rave, the production company they had formed in 2006.

With less than a week to go until the live comeback show of the British paranormal reality television programme, The Ghost Investigators, tensions ran high. Kelvin and Roger were renowned paranormal investigators who had created the series back in two-thousand and seven. Kelvin presented the programme, whilst his life and business partner, Roger, directed and also appeared in it.

The two men had a history of connecting with the afterlife. In two-thousand and two Roger had captured an image of a ghost at the Odeon Cinema in Bristol on his camcorder. The ghost was said to be that of the manager of the cinema who was murdered in nineteen-forty-six. This fuelled both men to record future séances and all other attempts to connect with the spirit world. The footage they'd recorded was jaw dropping. Their recordings had been analysed by experts who had confirmed that whatever had been captured and committed to tape had not been tampered with or was fake. Their cameras simply had not lied. Quastel and Bateman had the ability to record clear and concise footage of spirits, where other paranormal investigators would acquire fuzzy images which could be anything the observer's imagination would lead them to believe.

The show had been picked up by television network company UKAY True. It had become an instant hit drawing in millions of viewers per episode. The original series ran from 25th May 2008 for eight weeks. Material had been abundant.

The premise of the show was that each episode was set in a notorious haunted location. In the first series locations had included a famous haunted Buckinghamshire pub called The Royal Standard of England and also Ettington Park Hotel, which is a famous neo-Gothic imposing Victorian mansion in Warwickshire.

The show included psychic medium Ade Morrison, sceptic Rick Polson and a different celebrity each week. The celebs were made up of 'past their prime' footballers, reality TV stars and others who had become celebrities more by accident than design.

But two years ago things went wrong. Kelvin and Roger had lost their ability to connect with the afterlife and the two men were struggling to hold the show together. The contract with UKAY True was for another two series and Quastel and Bateman had to come up with the goods.

After thinking long and hard about how to move forward they had made the reluctant decision that if no spirits were forthcoming, then Quastel and Bateman would have to fabricate them. They would cheat their viewers and UKAY True.

This required an awful lot of planning, hard work and above all, trust in the production team staff at Rant&Rave.

Ade Morrison and Rick Polson were easy enough to silence with substantial bribes, which Quastel preferred to refer to as a 'gift for long service' to the show.

Rant&Rave's budgets took a massive hit. Holographic three-dimensional images were created at specific 'haunted' locations. The images were filmed using the old Pepper's Ghost illusion from way back in the music hall era. What they filmed appeared to be convincing enough. Although Quastel thought it ironic that the holograms didn't film as well as the footage of genuine ghosts from back in the days when spirits were more than happy to materialise for their cameras.

Nobody thought that Quastel or Bateman would fake anything. Why would they? Their footage over the years had always been confirmed as legitimately genuine. Those who had bought into the show over the years had no reason to believe that what they saw was anything other than the real deal.

The Pepper's Ghost technique, which was invented by Victorian scientist Henry Pepper, was ingenious and at the same time surprisingly simple. It involved a large Plexiglas screen situated at an angle between Rant&Rave's camera and the point at which the ghost was supposed to materialise. The glass reflected a room which was just out of view from the camera. The room was built as a mirror-image of the scene at which the camera was pointed.

The technique was so convincing that even the invited celebrities were fooled into believing the image of the ghost was real. But to be fair, the celebrities employed were not the sharpest tools in the box. One reality TV star once had problems on a television quiz answering a question about well-known capital cities, including 'what is the capital city of France'? His answer had been Denmark.

But one celebrity hadn't been quite so gullible. Not long before taking part on The Ghost Inspectors, he had been a member of an invited audience who was asked to attend a show in which a recently departed singer from the nineteen-eighties was brought back to life by using the same Pepper's Ghost technique. Whilst he was taking part in filming The Ghost Inspectors and being fully aware of Pepper's Ghost he became suspicious of the apparition. The celebrity had slipped past security whose job was to ensure no one was to get within one hundred feet of the hidden room in which the ghost hologram was projected. He saw exactly what was happening. He took pictures with his smart phone and kept what he had seen to himself.

The day after the episode had been aired he had sold his story to the tabloid newspaper which offered the most money.

The story made headline news and propelled Rant&Rave into public eye for all the wrong reasons. The following week, Ade Morrison, was revealed as a charlatan. Whilst on his sell-out tour, which coincided with the latest series of The Ghost Inspectors, he was exposed by the same tabloid who had blown the whistle on Rant&Rave. To Quastel and Bateman it had come as a complete surprise as they had no idea that Morrison was a fake. He'd drawn them in hook, line and sinker. Even Rick Polson, the show's sceptic, was shocked when he'd discovered the truth about Morrison. The Polson thing was rather ironic considering that he was paid to be sceptical.

UKAY True had no choice other than to pull the plug on the show. A lengthy court case followed which saw Quastel and Bateman out of pocket and narrowly avoiding jail. Then shortly after the dust had settled the strangest thing happened. The ghosts came back.

Kelvin and Roger had been out walking late one evening in the churchyard of St Mary's in Fishponds. Fishponds, in Bristol, was where Kelvin was born, and St Mary's was where he'd witnessed his first paranormal sighting as a young man thirty-two years earlier.

The two men walked hand in hand and turned the corner towards the doors of the church. Kelvin's heart jumped when he saw the spirit of Edward Green on the steps leading to the church. It was Edward's ghost, the same spirit Kelvin had seen when he was a teenager. The ghost smiled and Kelvin felt no fear. Normally, the ghosts who had chosen to visit him had put him a little on edge. But that night the ghost of Edward had calmed him. It was Kelvin who saw Edward but it had been Roger who had heard Edward's voice. Edward Green had said that they should follow their instincts. He said that their abilities would soon return. He'd wished them well and faded from view.

Quastel and Bateman rushed home knowing what they had to do. It was time to get the show back on the road. They started by conducting low key paranormal investigations for which they didn't charge a penny. The investigations were for their benefit as much as those who had invited them to investigate their property. It was clear that both men had regained their ability to reach the dead and word soon got around that they were back in business, albeit on a much lower level than before.

Within six months' requests came in from all over the United Kingdom. Most of the investigations were successful. Phantasms appeared as if on demand and had been caught on camera. Slowly, their reputations returned. Hotels and pubs which had been investigated by Quastel and Bateman found that their customers had quadrupled. The footage recorded by the paranormal investigators had been sold to the hostelries and were permanently played on loop from wall mounted flat screen televisions. Customers queued around the block to get into the Angel in the market town of Coleford in Gloucestershire. Not only did the pub benefit from their ghost, so did many of the other businesses in the town who provided bed and breakfast and other services for the ambush of tourists to the otherwise sleepy town.

Bateman had contacted UKAY True to open negotiations and discuss a new series, but UKAY True had been bitten once and wanted nothing more to do with him. He and Kelvin approached other television companies and none had been willing to risk their reputations. Bateman was just about to throw in the towel when he received an email from a small Bristol based film and television production company called Happy House. Happy House had a fine reputation for making quality commercials and lately had diversified and moved into producing dramas and documentaries.

Talks began immediately. Quastel and Bateman sat down with Mark George and Paul Ottway and thrashed out a deal and a plan for the future. George and Ottway were taking a huge chance with Kelvin and Roger. For a small business they were about to invest a lot of money. The plan was for a comeback show. A paranormal investigation to be broadcast on live television. Never had anything like this been attempted before. Kelvin wanted a well-known and high profile location and all four men agreed that it had to be set in Bristol.

Quastel and Bateman didn't want to use the obvious spirit hotspots of Bristol. The Llandoger Trow, Arnos Vale Cemetery and the Bristol Old Vic theatre would be safe bets for a guaranteed sighting and recording of a ghost. But they wanted somewhere which was a higher profile location and which was representative of their home city. It took months of mulling over potential venues until Kelvin stumbled over the ideal place to set their comeback. And it was somewhere that had been staring him in the face all along.

Kelvin and Roger lived in a plush fifth floor apartment on Lime Kiln Road overlooking the River Avon. They had become accustomed to the amazing view from their lounge and had taken for granted the vista which greeted them every day.

It wasn't until Kelvin had accompanied his sister Claire and her teenage son David on a sightseeing trip around Bristol that it occurred to him. Claire had moved from Bristol to Northampton twenty years earlier and would visit her brother from time to time. She had arranged to stay for a week with David and take him on a tour of the city where she grew up. Kelvin had suggested taking a wander around the area where he and Roger lived.

Kelvin proposed they visit the M Shed. David loved it and spent hours looking around the museum situated in an old dockside transit shed. After which David, Claire and Kelvin boarded a steam train which took them on a short trip along the harbour railway to the SS Great Britain. Kelvin had lived over the water from the steamship for ten years and had never bothered to visit the Bristol landmark. That day Claire suggested that they should take a tour of the famous ship which had been moored in the same dry dock since its return to Bristol in nineteen-seventy. The same dry dock in which it had been built in the nineteenth century.

David was aware of his uncle's abilities to connect with the spirit world, although Claire had never let him watch any of her brother's television shows as she didn't want to influence or frighten him. Kelvin didn't speak much to Claire about his work because he knew she didn't approve. As much as she loved her brother, she would have preferred for him not to have the gift of connecting with the afterlife. He was the only one in his family who had the ability and Clare wanted it to stay that way. By no means did she want her son to be like Kelvin. But the day they visited the SS Great Britain, Kelvin couldn't help himself.

Part of the tour took sightseers to the bowels of the ship where animals had been stowed on transatlantic journeys between England and New York in the mid-eighteen-hundreds. Authenticity had been added to the tour by way of foul smells which helped recreate the conditions of the time. Understandably, the animals would have been frightened in their cramped surroundings and have been difficult to control. In eighteen-forty-seven, crew member Morris Ashford had been kicked to death by a terrified horse. The horse had subsequently been shot. With ten more days until the ship was due to dock in New York, a decision had to be made about what to do with Morris' body. The captain, James Hesketh, had made the grim decision to bury Morris at sea. Over two-hundred years later, visitors to the museum had reported sightings of a person dressed in seaman's attire wandering around the lower decks. Ironically, Kelvin had never investigated, or even been aware, of any hauntings on the ship.

The moment Kelvin set foot on the ship, he knew it was haunted. Claire saw the familiar 'glazed over' look in her brother's eye that she'd seen many times before. It was a look which signified something was going to happen. Within seconds he had snapped out of his stupor and was ready to commence the tour. Claire wanted to get off immediately and take David with her. But her son was having none of it. He couldn't understand why his mother had such an abrupt change of heart about being aboard the SS Great Britain. Claire didn't want to let on about what had just happened and couldn't think of a valid reason why not to continue. She took Kelvin to one side and made him promise to behave himself. Reluctantly, Claire agreed to proceed, providing her brother kept whatever he may see under wraps. David had not had a clue as to what was happening.

The tour took the visitors to the cramped cabins where passengers had to endure the transatlantic crossings. Kelvin, Claire and David squeezed along the narrow aisles of the steerage deck, which had been authentically recreated in the finest detail to replicate third class conditions back in the day. Kelvin saw what he had initially assumed to be a mannequin sitting on the lower bunk. It wasn't until the mannequin turned and looked at him that he realised it was a person. He assumed it was one of the many actors who were employed to wander around the ship to add authenticity. David hurled himself on the creaky bunk and passed through the person on the bed, at which point Kelvin realised it was a ghost. He did his best to ignore the situation and suggested the three of them re-join the tour around the rest of the ship.

Kelvin strolled around the ship and attempted to ignore the spirits who filled his peripheral vision. Dozens of characters reached out to him, almost pleading for him to help. Although Claire had no idea what he could see, she was aware of what was going on. Kelvin stopped in his tracks, mumbled a barely audible excuse and rushed back to steerage. The ghost was still on the lower bunk. He whipped his phone from his pocket and selected the camera app. The ghost was content to sit for Kelvin whilst he made a short video. Kelvin tried to speak with the ghost, but no dialogue was forthcoming.

Kelvin was in his element but had to keep his mouth shut to appease his sister. David was oblivious, although he could sense tension between his mother and uncle. Kelvin was aware that if he were to meet a spirit with strong resolve, it may not be only he who would see it. At given times his psychic abilities were so polished that the spirits with resolute character could be seen by anyone within proximity of him. This is what had been the driver behind the success of The Ghost Inspectors.

The tour guide led the twenty-strong group around the ship. Kelvin lagged behind, his attention diverted from the guide's memorised script by the dozens of spooks vying for his attention. To them, Kelvin was a magnet. They were lured towards him and sensed him as an escape from the purgatory to which they had been banished for hundreds of years. Luckily for Kelvin, their strength was not formidable enough for others to see them and it was only he who sensed their presence.

After visiting the galley, it was time for the tour to descend into the cargo hold in the depths of the steel ship. The entourage slowly made their way behind the guide who warned them of the steps. Kelvin had caught up and was making his way down the wooden staircase behind Claire and David. Suddenly he was overcome by a spirit force stronger than he had sensed in years. He paused for a few seconds and involuntarily shuddered. Nervous anticipation consumed him, and giddiness caused him to grip to the banister. He swallowed hard and continued down into the hold.

The guide continued her well-rehearsed, and at times, witty script while her captive audience took in their surroundings. Odours had been added to make the cargo hold seem more realistic. A lifelike model of a horse stood alongside a mannequin. The mannequin pulled on the horse's reins and stood next to a couple of dozen hessian sacks. Behind the horse and the mannequin strolled a man wearing a sailor's outfit. His expression was sad, presumably reflecting the difficult conditions the men had to endure below decks back in the day. Claire whispered to David how authentic the man looked. She turned to Kelvin and saw 'that look'. It was the same glazed and vacant expression she had seen when he set foot on the upper deck twenty minutes earlier. She followed his gaze and saw he was looking at the sad faced actor.

The guide stumbled over her script when the actor walked behind her. David and a few of the others noticed a flutter in her voice, as if the actor had caused her to lose concentration.

Kelvin stood motionless. He could see something about the actor that the others could not. And what he saw confirmed that he was no actor employed to add authenticity to the tour. This man had been an employee of the Great Western Steamship Company in the eighteen-forties. Kelvin saw that the sad faced man was surrounded by a faint pale blue aura, which signified that the man was a spirit. The sad faced ghost looked up at Kelvin and their eyes met. The atmosphere of the tour changed. A few people were entranced by the man and had stopped listening to the stuttering tour guide who by now had completely lost her thread. Some of the crowd noticed the man lock his eyes on Kelvin's and a couple of them recognised Kelvin from The Ghost Inspectors shows. The ghost slowly made his way to the bottom of the stairs whilst keeping his eyes firmly locked on Kelvin's.

A hushed dialogue took place between Kelvin and the ghost, which was overheard by several of the crowd including the guide. The ghost had told Kelvin that he was the only one who could help him. The guide heard the ghost tell Kelvin that he was Morris Ashford, the seaman who was killed by the horse. At this point the guide had no idea Ashford was anything other than an actor, but was taken aback as part of her script included the story of how Ashford had died in eighteen-forty-seven. She assumed he was a new employee who was hired to play the part of Ashford. He was authentically dressed in dark navy trousers and a navy jacket which was unbuttoned. Around the collar of his grey-white shirt hung a loosely knotted tie. He wore a blue cloth cap. His hollow face was framed by a scruffy beard. The tour guide was more than a little miffed as he had put her completely off kilter. Kelvin had tactfully dealt with Ashford and told him that he would return to help. A few of the crowd wondered what was happening, but most thought it was a private conversation between two acquaintances. Even the few who had recognised Kelvin from his television show did not put two and two together and had not realised Ashford was a spirit. Claire did. She knew exactly what was happening. Later, David had asked who the man was and Kelvin told him that Ashford was a very old friend.

After the encounter Kelvin had returned to the SS Great Britain several times and had brought Roger with him. They had won Ashford's trust and said they would find a way to release him from purgatory. Roger had filmed several conversations between Kelvin and the ghost, which when played back were remarkable. Kelvin thought that they were the best recordings he'd seen. Not only did Roger record Ashford, he'd managed to video five other spirits, including that of twelve-year-old Henry Jacobs who had been crushed by a barrel on a long and uncomfortable journey to Australia.

The ship was a gold mine. There were more spirits in one place than Quastel and Bateman could ever have hoped for. From then on, the decision had been made where to broadcast their live comeback show.

Mark George and Paul Ottway from Happy House had negotiated with the trustees of the SS Great Britain who thought a live show from the ship would be great for tourism.

Extensive negotiations also took place between Ottway and George and ITV West Country. An agreement had been made that the comeback show of The Ghost Inspectors would air at nine pm, on Tuesday 31st October live from the cargo hold of the SS Great Britain.

## 13

### The Terminal

The plenary meeting was over, the clones of Numen had faded and the ninety-three rows of bemused and skittish new arrivals were released from their invisible shackles. Other than Robert, who was already standing, everyone climbed to their feet.

"That was some show," said Harvey, referring to Robert's standoff with Numen. "But I don't think it's done you any favours man," he added.

Jay pushed through the crowd and stood alongside Robert.

"You shouldn't upset Numen, he's very powerful."

"Is Numen in charge around here?" asked Harvey.

"It's time to take everyone to their quarters," said Jay, avoiding Harvey's question.

The floor shuddered and another uneasy silence filled the room. The floor slowly descended, and as it did, a ceiling formed above the new arrivals. Jay, Sam and the other ninety-one androgynies ducked as the ceiling slid into place. Harvey watched it protrude from slits along the wall. The floor continued to descend and as it did, the androgynies stood tall.

"What's happening?" asked Robert.

"It's all about efficiency," replied Jay. "This is the best way of moving everyone in one fell swoop."

The floor continued to descend, and Jay walked amongst those in his charge. All eyes were upon him. His voice infiltrated the minds of those under his responsibility.

'Ladies and gentlemen. You will be taken to your living quarters. Those of you who are with family members have been allocated a lodge to accommodate you all. Those who are alone will be paired up accordingly upon the information we have on you. This will either be based upon best character match, or in some cases, whether you have an acquaintance with another new arrival.'

The floor shuddered to a halt. Harvey almost lost his balance and was steadied by Robert. The room was as large as it had been before the floor had descended, but since the new ceiling had slid into place everything had become very dim. Eyes adjusted to the low level of light and as they did, the new arrivals saw that there were doors recessed into the walls. They looked similar to the doors in the upper area of The Terminal from which new arrivals had emerged.

Jay's voice continued, addressing all the new arrivals in one announcement.

"Telepathy," muttered Harvey.

'You will now be guided to your allocated quarters. Please don't be alarmed, and just go to where your feet lead you.'

En masse, everyone shuffled in various directions. Ninety-three thousand lost souls moved amongst each other. Most moved independently of one another, but small family groups shifted together as one. The family groups looked like small flocks of birds heading in the same direction. Miraculously, no one touched another. Not even the slightest brushing of shoulders occurred. Hardly a word was muttered. It was as if everyone had given in and accepted their fate. Most of the new arrivals walked with their heads down, not wanting to make eye contact with those around them. Occasionally, a few heads lifted and sneaked a peak at others who scuffled within centimetres of them. The floor flexed under the weight of all who were there. Within minutes each door had a minimum of four new arrivals waiting outside and rooted to the spot. Robert was relieved he'd been paired up with Harvey. In the short time he had known him he had grown to like him. He turned to his right and saw Jamie too. Robert wasn't surprised, he had kind of been expecting him.

"Hello Robert. Fancy seeing you here."

It was Flint Taylor.

Robert's heart sank. Without even looking he recognised the voice. And as with Jamie, he wasn't surprised that the androgynies had teamed him and Taylor together.

"Christ Flint, what the hell happened to you?"

"I died Robert, why else would I be here?"

"I mean, what happened?"

"I had a disagreement with a tree... at sixty miles per hour. All my fault, no one else was involved."

"Shit. I can't believe it."

But Robert could believe it. Although it was a surprise to discover Flint had died, it wasn't much of a surprise how his life had ended. He had been a man who lived on the edge. He'd never settled down and had appeared to have the perfect life of a bachelor. He had plenty of money, was never short of female companions and lived life to the full. Robert had never warmed to Flint. He tolerated him because he was his boss. Whenever they'd spent time together, it had always been about Flint. Robert had become jaded hearing about the sales targets he had exceeded, the women he had bedded and the cars he had owned. But when he wanted something from Robert or anyone else, Flint could turn on the charm and woo the birds from the trees. Robert sighed and considered spending eternity with Flint 'fucking' Taylor.

"How do you two know each other?" asked Harvey.

"I was Robert's boss. I guess I still am," he replied with a smirk.

Harvey was about to speak but was distracted by an approaching man.

"Shit, he's got hair," muttered Jamie.

"And proper clothes," added Harvey.

Robert looked up and down the room and saw that each group of new arrivals huddled outside the doors of their quarters were also being met by men and women with full heads of hair and who were wearing regular clothes, instead of the dull beige gowns that he and the others wore.

The man with the hair and clothes introduced himself.

"Hello gentlemen. My name's Craig. Craig Tucker. I'm here to take you to your quarters and help you settle in."

Robert and Harvey stepped to one side to allow Craig to pass and step up to the door. On his right wrist was a small brown cube. It wasn't held on with a strap like a wristwatch, instead it was melded to his skin. He raised his hand to the door which slid open.

"Follow me please," said Craig entering the room.

The walls of the room bore the same dull colour as everywhere else. Beige. The room was small with bunks attached to the walls. There were two mocha brown bunks on one wall and two on the adjacent wall.

"Is this it?" snapped Flint.

Craig ignored him.

"This will be your quarters, and through that door ahead of you is a bathroom."

Jamie shuffled along between the bunk beds and pushed open the door. Inside the room was a regular sink with taps. There was also a toilet. It all looked very normal. He turned around and closed the door behind him.

"He's right, it's just a bathroom."

Craig smiled.

"I guess you have questions, which hopefully I'll be able to answer."

"What's in there?" asked Robert pointing to a smaller door which was next to the bathroom.

"Whatever you want," replied Craig. He gestured to Robert to push it open.

Inside was a small corridor which had four more identical doors.

"Choose a door, any door you like," said Craig from outside of the corridor.

The others bunched around Craig and watched Robert open one of the four doors. Inside was another dull, bare, beige room which was completely empty. He stepped back into the corridor and opened the next door. Beyond the door was another identical room. He opened the other two doors and behind were the same bland and empty rooms.

Craig walked along the corridor and into the last of the four rooms. The other followed and peered into the room.

"So, what happens here?" asked Harvey.

"Whatever you like. It's a blank canvas to be filled by your imagination."

"What's that supposed to mean?" snapped Flint.

Craig smiled, closed the door behind him and pressed the small cube on his wrist.

Then everything changed. The four men and Craig were on a beach. The sky was clear with wisps of fine clouds. Foam hissed as it crashed over the sand and whispered its retreat to the ocean. The beach went on for miles until it curved out of view along the coastline. Robert saw a pier in the distance. The beach was devoid of people but was teeming with seagulls, limpets on rocks and other sea life.

"What the....?" whispered Harvey.

"Gentlemen, let's sit down."

The sand was warm. Harvey let it run through his fingers. As far as he could tell it was real. A cool breeze blew across their faces.

"I know this place," blurted Robert with an air of excitement. "This is Poole, and that's Bournemouth Pier," he added, gesturing to the distance.

"Sandbanks, to be precise. This is my favourite place of all," said Craig.

"So now I'm very confused. Are we dead or not? Was it all a hoax?" asked Robert.

"No hoax. You're all dead and so am I."

Jamie got to his feet and headed to the sea. The icy water stung his toes, but soon his skin acclimatised and the water felt good. He pulled his gown up to his knees and waded up to his calfs. Then he turned his back on the sea and ran up to the beach to a gift shop on the edge of the sand. The shop was open and full of beach toys, sun cream and snacks. But there was no one attending the shop. He trudged his way back to the others.

"This place is real, it's all real."

"I'm sorry to disappoint, but it's not," said Craig.

The others looked at him, searching for answers.

"This place isn't real. It's a privilege. This is somewhere I've created in my mind and I've invited you to join me."

"A privilege? The same as Numen spoke of?" asked Robert.

"Correct, this is in lieu based upon the role I've been assigned."

"So by working for Numen we get to go wherever our imagination takes us?"

"Yes, but that's only one of the privileges. There are many to be earned. Look at the clothes I wear. They're my choice. I ditched that awful beige garb you four a wearing as soon as I could."

Flint eyed Craig's clothes and sniggered. He wore a pair of grey Adidas Samba trainers, skinny jeans and a track jacket.

"You're a bit behind with the fashion son," suggested Flint with a venomous sneer in his voice.

"That's because I died in nineteen-ninety-five. One of my privileges was my choice of clothes. I opted for what I wore the last time I was alive."

"What happened to you?" asked Robert.

"I was foolish. Ecstasy killed me. Stupid fuckin' drug."

Robert swallowed hard, then continued.

"So, what can you tell us about this place? Why are we all bald and why do you have hair?"

Craig wiggled his body into the sand to make himself comfortable before answering Robert's questions.

"Okay, when we die a transition happens but I guess you guys have kind of worked that out. We passed from where we were to here and in doing so we've been stripped of our outer layer."

"Outer layer?" asked Harvey.

"He's talking about our skin," said Flint.

"And our hair. You've probably noticed that your skin is different. It's smoother, softer and any scars you may have had are no longer there. You all have new skin."

"That would explain where my tattoo went," muttered Robert.

"Your hair will regrow, unless of course you were already bald when you died. Run your hands over your heads and you'll probably feel a few follicles pushing through."

Jamie did as Craig said and felt soft down on his scalp.

"He's right, it's growing back already."

"What's the deal with this place?" asked Harvey.

"Look, I don't know all the answers. Don't forget, I was once like you. It's just a case of fitting in, accepting what you see, knuckling down and getting on with things."

"Sorry, but I can't accept any of this," sighed Robert.

"I reckon it's pretty damn cool. You get to create places like this. If I get my privileges sorted I'm goin' back to a place and time when things were good. Back to when I was married and the kids were young. That was a good time," mused Harvey.

"Sorry, but it doesn't work like that."

"Why not?"

"Because privileges won't allow us to create people, only places. But you can invite others to the places you've created, just like I've invited you here."

"That sounds like fun....... not," humphed Flint.

"Don't knock it, I've invited quite a few to this beach and we've had some wild times. I've brought my lady here, just me and her...... if you get what I'm saying."

"You're in a relationship here in the afterlife, or wherever the hell this is?" asked Jamie, with a puzzled frown.

"Sure. You get to meet people, make friends and fall in love. It's like starting out all over again."

"You mean you've shagged here on this beach?" sneered Flint, running his fingers through the sand.

Robert lay in the sand and squinted up at the sun. He put his hands over his eyes. The heat was real like a day in July. He thought about what Craig had told them. He turned his head and looked at the others who were quietly mulling over their fate.

"How do you get privileges? What's your job?" asked Robert.

"I have several roles. But mainly I'm a guide. I help new arrivals settle in, like I'm doing with you."

"What other things can we do to earn privileges?"

"That depends on you. A lot of us have roles as counsellors. As you can imagine there are a lot of distressed people here who need someone to talk to. Also a few of us have roles which are kind of like security guards. Sometimes things get out of hand, you know, fights break out because of arguments. It's not all beer and skittles here."

"What else?"

"Loads of things. The stuff you've seen around you needs maintaining. Things get broken and need mending. Jay and Sam will fill you in after you've settled in."

"What's the deal with those guys? Are they angels or something?" asked Jamie.

"They could be. None of us really know what they are, or where they came from. It's one of the first things I wanted to know when I arrived, but I didn't get any answers."

"Sam's gorgeous, I'd shag her," said Flint, as he drew circles in the sand with his fingers.

"Good luck with that. One thing I do know about them is that they're neither male nor female. It's like they're some kind of third gender. God only knows what's between their legs, but I'm pretty sure it ain't compatible with anything we've got," smirked Craig. "It'll be like ramming a two-pin plug into a three-pin socket," he added.

The others laughed. It was the first time a real smile had formed on their faces since they had died.

Craig stood up and ran his forefinger over the cube on his wrist. The beach, sea and sky disappeared, and everyone found themselves back in the small dull room they had entered earlier.

"Where did the beach go?" asked Harvey.

"It was never there. We've been in here all along."

"That's impossible. I ran from the shore to the gift shop. That must have been a couple of hundred yards. This room's about fifteen foot wide. How could that have happened?" asked Jamie.

"It didn't. None of us moved an inch. It was all created in my imagination. I invited you in."

Jamie huffed a big sigh.

"What other privileges can we earn?" asked Robert.

"Loads. The list is pretty big. But some things cost more than others. There are the basic privileges like fancy meals, a choice of clothes, books to read and those kinds of things. What I've just shown you is one of the costlier privileges. You need to work hard for that one. But there are tons of other good things too."

"So instead of being paid with money, the privileges are the kinds of things you would buy if you had money," asked Robert.

"Exactly, but some of the privileges can't be bought."

"What's the highest privilege?"

"One that money won't buy, and I've never met anyone who has worked hard enough for it," replied Craig, his voice sounding suddenly guarded.

"What is it?"

"I shouldn't have said anything. I shouldn't have put the thought in your head."

"Come on, you may as well tell us."

Craig turned to leave. He looked at the cube on his wrist and muttered excuses about having to be somewhere else.

Flint stood between him and the door.

"Come on son, spill the beans. What's this 'once in a lifetime privilege' we should be aiming for?"

Craig shook his head.

"I'm sorry, I've said too much. I'll be in trouble."

"Only if we tell on you, which we won't," said Jamie with half a smile.

"No, it's not that simple. Numen will know. Numen knows everything."

"But we're only asking, what's the harm in that?"

Craig's shoulders sagged, and he groaned as if he had the weight of the world upon him.

"Okay, okay...... I'll tell you, but don't go passing this around."

The four waited expectantly and were desperate to know.

"It's the privilege to return."

"Return? Return where?" asked Harvey.

"Return to where you were before you died."

"What, like a ghost?" said Jamie.

"If that's the way you want to think about it. But it's a privilege which is not easily earned because you also need a valid reason. You must submit a request to the committee to consider your wish. They have the discretion to grant you the opportunity to return for one time only."

"But Numen said returning wasn't possible," said Jamie.

"He prefers to keep it quiet. See, I shouldn't have told you. He's gonna find out I've said something. Put the thought out of your heads. None of you can work hard enough for that privilege and I doubt any of you would have an acceptable reason to return."

Craig's words echoed in Robert's head. He thought of Kathy. In his mind's eye he could still see her reflection in the dining room mirror. The image of her raising the blade above her head. And then there was the pain. The memory of the knife plunging into his back, over and over. He put his palm against his heart and winced. The sting of where the knife pierced through his ribcage remained. It was fading fast, but it was still there. He had to know why she would have done such a thing.

A valid reason? Surely, I have a valid enough reason to return, thought Robert as he stared at the dull wall in front of him.

## 14

### Thursday 26th October

### 10.12 am

### Lucy Hart's home

"Hello," said Lucy, nervously peering from behind the front door.

"We would like to speak with Donald Mortimer," said Colin Matthews, flashing his police ID.

Her furrowed brow was indicative of wariness and perplexity. He had seen it a hundred times before when knocking on doors and showing his police badge.

"He's out back, come on through, I'll go and get him."

Matthews and Strawbridge followed Lucy to the lounge where she asked them to wait. Lucy went to the kitchen, out of the back door and into the garden where Donald was raking leaves. He looked up and smiled at her. His smile disappeared when he saw her sombre expression.

"The police are back."

"What, those two constables? What do they want?"

"No, different police. Detectives. Donald, what's this about?"

Donald became shifty. He put down the rake and she watched him scour the garden looking for a means of escape. The garden fences were six feet high. He was penned in.

"What on earth have you done? Are you in trouble? Do you know something about the murder?"

"No, I promise."

His actions spoke larger than words. Lucy's attitude towards the man she loved was changing.

"Then you'd better come in and speak with the police."

He huffed a sigh and slouched to the house. His body language told Lucy something was wrong. She had been with him at the time Robert Vice had been killed, so she knew he hadn't murdered him, but still, she knew that something wasn't right.

He kicked off his wellington boots and stepped into the house.

"Where are they?"

"The lounge."

He stepped into the room and saw the two detectives waiting for him. Tom was examining porcelain ornaments on a shelf and Colin was sitting in an arm chair. His white shirt was hanging out.

"Gentlemen, how can I help you?" asked Donald, trying his best to sound calm.

"Donald Mortimer?" asked Matthews.

"That's right. What's this about?"

"The other day a couple of our constables, PC Roach and PC Johnson called here. They were making door to door enquiries."

"That's right. About the murder in Pucklechurch."

"What do you know about the murder?"

"Nothing, only what the officers told us, what I saw on the news and read in the paper."

Matthews referred to notes taken by PC Johnson when he had visited them on Wednesday morning.

"PC Johnson was a little taken aback by your attitude when questioned."

He continued to read through Johnson's notes.

"He's noted that you looked relieved when you'd found out that the investigation was about the murder of Robert Vice. Almost as if you were happy that he had been killed."

"No. that's not right. I didn't even know the man."

"Is there any reason why you would have been relieved to know the investigation wasn't about you sir?"

Lucy became even more suspicious of man she thought she knew.

"I saw it myself Donald, you let out a sigh so loud it even alarmed me."

"I promise, there's nothing to tell. I don't even remember sighing," lied Donald.

"Mrs Hart, how long have you and Mr Mortimer been together?" asked Tom. It was the first time he'd spoken since Donald entered the lounge.

"About a year, give or take."

"Donald, what's your occupation?" asked Colin.

"Look, why are you asking me these questions? I've nothing to do with what happened in Pucklechurch."

"Your occupation sir?" repeated Colin.

"Builder."

"Who do you work for?"

He was reluctant to give the name of the company as he was paid cash in hand. He paid no tax or insurances because he wanted to remain under the radar.

"Um, a local building company."

Lucy was becoming even more suspicious. She couldn't understand why Donald wasn't directly answering the detective's questions. She decided to take the situation into her own hands.

"He works for Colin Jarrad. Colin runs a building company down the road in Bridgeyate. Donald works when Colin needs him. When I first met Donald he was working for Jarrad and since the spring they had no work for him. He found a job picking fruit. He wasn't working at all in April, May or June. In July he started at St Adlam's farm in Pucklechurch picking fruit because Jarrad had no work. But Jarrad called him last week. He's landed a big contract."

Matthews stood up and tucked his shirt into his trousers.

"So Donald, you're a bit of an odd job man. Did you sign up for benefits when you weren't working?"

Donald shook his head. There was no reason why he shouldn't have applied for Job Seekers' Allowance, other than he would have to give his real identity. He knew what was about to happen next and could hear his heart beat pounding in his head.

"Mr Mortimer, would you happen to have a form of identification on you?" asked Tom.

"No, I haven't."

"Really? Do you not have a driving license?"

"No."

"Or a passport."

"No."

"Do you have anything in your wallet with your name on? A credit card perhaps?"

"No, I don't use them."

"Come on sir, you must have a bank card, or something with your name on."

"No, I'm sorry. I get paid in cash."

"So, how did you survive the fallow months between April and June?"

"I fell back on savings."

"But you don't appear to have a bank account. Where did you keep these savings?"

"It was cash saved from the construction work."

Donald had no savings from Jarrad. He was paid little more than the minimum wage. After he'd paid rent to Lucy he had little left. The savings were the residue of the twenty-thousand pounds he'd stolen from Clive in Newcastle.

"What's your date of birth sir and where are you from originally?" asked Colin.

The colour drained from Donald's face. He gripped the back of the arm chair. Lucy answered for him.

"He was born twenty-fourth September ninety-sixty-six and he's from Durham, at least that's what he told me."

Donald felt his world slipping away.

"What was your last known address in Durham sir?"

Donald couldn't answer. His mouth was dry, and he felt sick.

Matthews made a call.

"Hi, Colin Matthews here. Please can you run an identity check on Donald Mortimer, twenty-four-nine-sixty-six. Possibly from Durham?"

Donald jumped up before Matthews finished the call, his hands raised and protesting that Matthews stop what he was doing.

"Okay, okay. It was me. I admit I did it."

Matthews ended the call and stared at Donald. Lucy glowered at him. Her arms folded and her lips harshly pursed.

"What exactly have you done Mr Mortimer?" asked Tom, in a semi-patronising tone.

"Did you murder that man?" shrieked Lucy.

"No, no. I've already told you, I've not murdered anyone....... I assume the detectives know about the drugs."

"The drugs?"

All eyes were on Donald. Colin put his phone in his pocket and Tom took a step closer.

"And what drugs are these?" said Colin in a calm voice.

Donald dropped to the settee and pushed his head in his hands. His life was crumbling away before his eyes.

"And you won't find Donald Mortimer from Durham. But if by chance you do find someone by that name, I can assure you he won't have anything to do with me."

"But why, what are you saying?" pleaded Lucy.

"I'm not Donald Mortimer. I never was. My name is Martin Cooke. I do come from Durham. I left just over a year ago. I couldn't take my life anymore. It was either a case of doing what I did, or....... or it would have been the end of the road."

Lucy's shoulders dropped. As far as she was concerned what he said was true. The only thing he had lied about was his name.

"But why do you call yourself Donald?"

"Because I'm married, I have a family...... I didn't want to be traced. I'm stupid. I knew it was only a matter of time before my past caught up with me."

"You were married?"

"I still am. Although I've no idea what Jean thinks has happened. She probably assumes I'm dead."

Lucy was in turmoil. It was like a punch to her soul. The man she had grown to love was nothing but a sham. He had lied to her. He was wrong on so many levels.

Tom sat alongside Donald and took time to allow him to come to terms with his confession. After what seemed a hell of a long time Tom spoke.

"You mentioned drugs. What drugs?"

"I can't say.... I promised."

"Donald, or Martin...... or whoever you really are.... tell me about the drugs."

Donald rocked back and forth. His fingers anxiously fingering his hairline. He muttered incoherently and sobbed.

"Donald, the drugs please."

The broken man's eyes met with Tom's.

"I was only trying to help."

"Help who?"

"I can't......."

"Who are you helping?"

Silence ensued. The tension in the room was unnerving. Tom knew when to shut up. The awkward hush would force Donald to speak. Tom's tactic was thrown out the window by Lucy who got down on her knees and pulled at Donald.

"Just fuckin' tell them."

He had never heard Lucy swear. Hearing the God fearing Christian spurt out the 'F' word brought him down to earth with a thud.

He lifted his head and looked her in the eyes. He was answering Tom's question to her.

"Joe. I was trying to help Joe."

"Joe? Who's Joe?"

"Joe Jarrad. Colin's son."

"What's he got to do with drugs?"

"The kid owed three-hundred quid to the scum that sold him cannabis. He didn't have the money and he was being threatened. The piece of shit selling the stuff isn't much older than Joe. He came around to the building site on Tuesday morning and he had Joe by the throat. He threatened to kill him unless he paid up there and then. I saw what was happening. I heard what it was all about and had to step in."

"What did you do?"

"I agreed to pay for Joe's drugs. I wanted the scum off his back. Joe's a good lad, but like other kids he's falling by the wayside. I told him I'd settle the score for him, just as long he stopped being stupid with his life. On Tuesday night I met up with the guy who sold the stuff, paid him and told him if he bothered Joe again I'd break his neck."

Colin smiled.

"So you thought that the Avon and Somerset Constabulary had the resources to undertake extensive door to door enquiries the day after you'd paid Joe's drug money. Did you really think that this was what it was all about?"

"I guess. At first, when the two bobbies were at the door, I assumed it was because of the drugs thing. I thought they'd be asking me all sorts of questions and my past would be revealed."

"There's no crime in leaving your wife, even though what you've done is pretty ghastly."

"I know, I know."

"But, I'm going to ask my colleagues at HQ to check the Police National Computer. See whether there're any other secrets Martin Cooke may have hidden away.

"Is that really necessary?"

"I think it would be wise sir. You've already lied to us once and it would be prudent to make sure there are no more skeletons knocking around your cupboard."

Donald thought about the twenty-thousand he'd pilfered from Clive. Compared to his millions it was a drop in the ocean and he doubted whether Clive was even bothered. But in the eyes of the law it would still be theft whether or not Clive pushed for charges. He thought long and hard whilst the two detectives spoke with each other and Matthews waited on his phone. Donald decided to get everything off his chest.

"Um, there is something else......."

All eyes in the room were upon him.

"When I left Durham....... I kind of brought something with me."

Nobody spoke. Lucy wasn't sure how much more she could endure.

"I brought some money."

"Some money? How much exactly?" asked Colin.

Donald spoke below his breath and no one could hear the figure he spluttered.

"We didn't quite catch that... say how much again."

"Twenty."

"Twenty what? Pounds? Thousand? Million?" demanded Lucy.

"Twenty thousand pounds," replied Donald, his voice sheepish with embarrassment.

"Where did the money come from?"

"One of my clients.... look, I'm not proud of what I've done. It was just a spur of the moment thing. I just went with it."

"You could have easily 'went with it' the other way and returned the money to your client," suggested Tom.

Donald looked into Lucy's eyes which were vacant pools. In less than ten minutes her world had been turned upside down. The man she'd fallen for had ended up being a liar, a cheat and a petty thief. But despite what she had just discovered about him, there was something deep within her which made her think that he was a good man. She considered how sad he must have been to leave his wife, children and life in Durham. But what he'd done was wrong and despicable. She pushed any thoughts of compassion out of her mind and stood tall.

"Gentlemen, do what you have to do and remove this man from my house."

## 15

The room was dark, damp, still and silent. The ropes were tightly bound and burnt her ankles and wrists. She had lost track of time and found it difficult to judge how long she had been there. Wherever 'there' was. She had been told not to call for help, even if she heard footsteps above. She had been told not to do that... 'or else'. Or else what? she thought. She knew what her abductor was capable of and could guess what 'or else' meant. She tried to work free from the ropes, but the more she struggled the more the rope strangled her joints. Diffused light crept through the cracks in the hardboard suggesting it was day and not night. She stifled a scream as another creature scuttled over her bare legs. She assumed it to be a rat. It was too big to be a mouse. Her throat was dry. She took another sip of water from the tube which dangled in front of her face.

The room stank of piss. Her piss. She was ashamed, but what other choice did she have? Her captor was a freak, she thought. How could she just be left there alone? She replayed the events in her mind like a worn-out film and tried to piece together exactly what had happened. But before she had a chance to employ reason, she broke down in tears... again.

## 16

### The Terminal

Robert had insisted that he spoke with Jay alone. Craig said he would do what he could but had told Robert not to get his hopes up. Jay was busy all the time. But Craig had come up trumps and had arranged for Jay to meet with him.

Robert sat alone in another dull beige room with mocha brown benches. The bench sloped at an angle. It reminded him of the benches on British bus stops which tilted to stop homeless people sleeping on them. He thought of Harvey. Harvey used to be homeless and sad. Now he was happy and dead. He thought about his daughter Ellen and about the last time they spoke. She sounded so cheerful when she wished him many happy returns. She even sang happy birthday with her own made up words. He didn't have a chance to say a final goodbye. And now he would never see her again. He tried to remember whether he had told her that he loved her. He ran the telephone conversation over and over in his mind but couldn't remember. She had told him that she loved him. She always did, every time she called. He was sure he had not told her.

"I didn't even tell her that I love her," he mumbled sadly to himself.

He thought about Kathy and bitterness enveloped him. Why did she do it? What had he done that was so bad? Slowly he was coming to terms with death, but he could not come to terms with how he had died. Why on his birthday? Did she choose that day for a reason? Or did she just flip? One minute it was all hearts and flowers and the next she was plunging a blade into his chest.

He replayed his birthday from start to finish. Kathy had set the alarm for seven and he had taken the day off work. She let him stay in bed while she cooked him breakfast. Kathy had brought it to him on a tray with a cut rose in a drinking glass. His card was propped up against the glass. He remembered the smell of grilled bacon and fried eggs which was a rare treat.

After breakfast Ellen had called. First, she had spoken to Kathy, after which Kathy had passed the phone to him. Again, he thought about the last conversation he had had with his daughter, and again he mentally beat himself up for not telling her he loved her.

They were out of the house by ten. Instead of driving they took a bus to the centre of Bristol. A glass of wine or two were in order so driving wasn't a good idea. He had lived near Bristol his whole life but had not paid an awful lot of attention to the city. She thought he was mad. Who else would want to take in a tour of the place where they lived? But Robert had. They had visited Bristol Cathedral, the Museum and the SS Great Britain. He had felt strange vibes on the ship but had no idea why. Kathy didn't like the cargo hold and had wanted to get out. She said it scared her. His mind skipped back to the museum and Flint Taylor. He tried to weigh up the odds of having to spend what could be eternity with him. Then Jay's words rang in his ears.

'Don't consider death the end, consider it a new chapter in the cycle of your existence.'

He brushed his hand across his arm and noticed new hair growth. He touched his scalp and felt the same thing. Soft down-like hair was pushing through his skin, just like Craig had said it would.

The door opened, and Jay entered. As always, he was calm and unruffled. His beautiful face smiled down upon Robert. Even though he had seen Jay several times, Robert couldn't get over his beauty or his stature.

"Hello Robert. I understand you wanted to speak with me."

Jay sat on the bench next to him and Robert felt it creak under Jay's huge frame.

"What would you like to ask?"

"Tell me about privileges."

"They're something you earn."

"I know that, but there's one privilege I need to know about."

"You don't have to tell me. I know which one."

Their eyes met and Robert had the strangest urge to kiss Jay. Robert had made the decision to consider him male, but now he was muddled.

Could Jay be female? he thought. He pushed the notion to the back of his mind. He was worried Jay could see inside his head and read his thoughts.

"Numen said there's no going back, but I've heard otherwise. I understand it's one of the hardest privileges earned. I also know a valid reason is needed."

"You know a lot don't you."

"Jay, this is important. I told you I was murdered; you remember that don't you?"

"Yes, you said your wife killed you."

"You see Jay, I've unfinished business. In fact, I'm surprised you didn't know that yourself."

"What do you mean?"

"I would have thought that you, Numen and the others could watch down upon the living and see what we do."

"No, we can't do that. Even if we could, we're far too busy here doing our own thing."

"I always assumed that dead people and gods could watch over their loved ones and those left behind."

"Perhaps, but not here. Maybe when your time is up with us you will have abilities to do such things."

"Are you referring to the next cycle in my existence after this one?"

"I am. Who knows what happens after your time here is finished?"

"What about Numen, doesn't he know what happened when I was alive?"

"No, not even Numen."

There was a momentary pause which was broken by Jay.

"So you see, the only things we know about your life are what you tell us. Oh, that's not strictly true. We knew your first name. We know everyone's first name. But that's all."

"Okay, so let me explain. Kathy, my wife, killed me. It was my birthday. We loved each other like no other couple I knew, or at least that was what I thought. I've been racking my brain thinking of why she would have done it. Nothing makes sense. We'd had a lovely day."

"If you could go back, what would you do?"

"Part of me wants to wring her fuckin' neck... sorry... but the other part of me just wants to talk with her and find out why she did it."

"I don't think Numen would grant that a valid enough reason."

"But why not, I was murdered for Christ's sake?"

For the first time Robert saw a glare in Jay's eye. He clearly didn't like blasphemy.

"Because people get murdered a lot. More than you'd expect. Numen can't let every soul who was murdered return and wring necks. No matter how hard they worked to earn their privileges. It would be havoc."

"But how many of those who were murdered were killed by the person they loved... and on their birthday?"

Jay said nothing and let Robert get everything off his chest.

"Jay, I don't know what you are, or where you're from. But I doubt whether you've ever experienced the kind of love Kathy and I had... or at least I thought we had."

Jay looked sad.

"I've experienced love. Albeit a very, very, very long time ago. I understand how you feel. But still..."

Robert cut in, interrupting Jay mid-sentence.

"Most of those murdered are probably aware of what pushed their killer over the edge. Or, perhaps had been a victim of circumstance. You know, caught in gangland crossfire and that kind of thing."

"Robert, I can assure you that your circumstances are not unique."

"Give me an example of something Numen would consider a valid reason."

Jay mulled over Robert's question.

"Sorry, I can't divulge."

"What can more valid than what I'm asking? I need closure."

"How can you be so sure your wife killed you?"

"I was there for fuck's sake. I saw her with the knife. I can still remember the pain."

"Calm down Robert, please."

"Okay, okay. But if I work hard and earn my privileges will you let me meet with Numen? You can't deny that, surely."

Jay didn't answer. The tablet in the pocket of his gown beeped. He pulled it out and ran his fingers over it.

"I'm sorry Robert. Our time's up. I'm needed elsewhere."

Robert stood up to protest, but Jay was already heading for the door. Robert slouched back on the sloping bench and sighed. He refused to give up. He would not be defeated.

The door remained open and Robert watched thousands of people mill around in the huge room outside. He recognised a few faces from when he arrived. A few had hair appearing. One man had the early stages of stubbly growth on his chin. He wanted to be on his own. He wanted silence and darkness, so he could reflect upon what had happened, but the thousands of voices from beyond the room would not let him. Dejectedly, he left the room and as he stepped outside the door slid shut behind him. He spotted Jamie chatting with a group of souls. He was no longer wearing the regulation beige gown. Instead, he wore a white shirt and blue jeans. On his feet were a smart pair of black brogues. Other souls had shed their gowns and were wearing clothes. A young girl skipped passed in a pink princess dress.

"Privileges," he muttered quietly.

He walked towards Jamie who was shaking hands with a soul. The soul looked content, as if a weight had been lifted. Flint appeared from Robert's right. He was also making a beeline for Jamie. Flint got to Jamie first.

"You look very smart. I see you're working for the non-existent dollar," sneered Flint.

"At least he's doing something," said Robert as he approached.

Flint turned to Robert.

"So, where've you been?"

"With Jay."

"Pretty isn't she."

"He. He's not a she."

"What were the two of you talking about."

"Nothing. It's between him and I."

"Her, she's female."

Robert considered how he could have put up with Taylor for so long when they were alive.

"Anyway, I know what you and Jay were talking about."

Robert looked up.

"You want to know why you were murdered."

"How the hell do you know I was murdered? I've not told you. Did Jamie or Harvey tell you?"

"No. I knew."

"How."

"It was all over the newspapers the following day. Man murdered in Pucklechurch. You made the headlines. You had your fifteen minutes of fame," replied Taylor. His hands forming an imaginary headline in front of him.

"Did they name me? Did they name my murderer?"

"No. But I put two and two together and came up with four."

"How?"

"Because you didn't turn up for work the day after. The police came a' knocking and spoke with us all. Asking all sorts of questions."

"Kathy killed me."

"Why is that not a surprise?"

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

Taylor sniggered and turned away.

"You mean you really don't know?" he replied with a grin.

"What are you talking about."

"Your wife's a whore, other than the fact she offered her services for free."

Robert lunged towards Flint, who took two steps back and laughed.

"You really thought you had the perfect life didn't you? Remember last Christmas, at the work's party? Didn't you notice the looks Kathy got from the other wives? Your wife shagged half the delivery drivers. You're so dumb. You've been walking around with your thumb in your ass. I couldn't work out whether you were in denial, you know, ignorance is bliss and all that, or whether you really had no idea."

"I don't believe you."

"Believe what you want. But I'm telling the truth."

Robert launched himself at Taylor, who this time didn't move fast enough. Robert and Taylor crashed to the floor. Robert manoeuvred himself so he was sitting on Taylor's chest with his fist ready to pummel his face.

"STOP!" bellowed a voice from above. Robert looked up and saw Jay towering overhead.

"Move away from Mr Taylor."

Robert didn't move. He sat motionless across Taylor, his fist still primed to punch his former boss.

"I said move away." Jay's voice was commanding, and Robert lowered his fist and retreated. Taylor stood up and brushed non-existent dust from his gown.

"You've already lost a privilege and now you've lost more. Violence isn't tolerated here. No matter what the reason."

"But he provoked me."

"You should have been the bigger person and stood down. Violence is not an option. You shouldn't have become aggressive towards Francis."

"Francis? Who's Francis?"

Jay raised a finger at Taylor.

"His name's Flint, not Francis," said Robert.

"His name is Francis. It's the one thing we know for sure. As I said earlier. We know everyone's first name. The name given at birth."

Robert started to snigger, the snigger developed into a chortle which was punctuated by coughing. It then turned into laughter. Uncontrollable cathartic laughter. He bent forward and held his hands against his ribs. Tears flooded his face. All the years he had worked for Taylor he had no idea his real name was Francis. He lifted his head and looked at the man he had just wrestled to the floor and laughed even harder. He was just able to spit out a couple of words, before launching into another outburst of laughter.

"Francis 'fuckin' Taylor."

Jay stepped forward to calm the situation, but before he could, Taylor launched himself at Robert and brought him to the floor. Robert landed in a heap, but still continued to laugh. Humiliation tore through Taylor. Even Jamie was laughing. Jay's powerful hand grabbed Taylor by the shoulder and he hauled him away from Robert. Robert lay on the ground. His laughter was only just beginning to subside. He stared up at Taylor. Suddenly, the man who had been his boss for almost fifteen years seemed very insignificant. The laughter diminished and was replaced by frantic gasps for air.

"I can't believe your name is Francis. Why the hell did you call yourself Flint? Who did you think you were, a movie star?"

Taylor attempted to lunge at Robert but was restrained by Jay.

"Sorry Francis, but I can never take you seriously ever again."

"At least I didn't marry a lying, murdering whore."

Taylor's words cut through Robert and brought him back to reality. He bent forward and placed his hands above his knees whilst his breathing returned to normal.

"She might have been my killer, but there's no way what you've said is true."

"Believe what you like," said Taylor. The smirk had returned to his face.

"I know what I know, and I know that she was faithful. I've no idea what drove her to kill me.... but I intend to find out."

## 17

### Thursday 26th October

### 11.28 am

Donald Mortimer, or how he was now correctly referred to, Martin Cooke, looked forlornly from the rear window of Matthews' car. Beside him sat Tom Strawbridge. Both Matthews and Strawbridge felt it unlikely that Cooke was going anywhere fast, but still, Matthews had advised Strawbridge to stay close to him.

It was late in the afternoon when Matthews steered into the carpark of Patchway Police Centre on Gloucester Road. Strawbridge guided Cooke into the police centre and after the formalities had been dealt with Cooke found himself alone in a custody cell.

Voices echoed along the corridor. Cooke sat on the hard bed with his knees pulled up to his neck and his arms folded around his shins. Slowly, he rocked back and forth whilst he considered his fate. He was snapped from his thoughts by the sound of the inspection hatch in the cell door opening. A pair of eyes obscured by a thick pair of glasses momentarily met with his. The inspection hatch closed as quickly as it had opened allowing Cooke to return to his thoughts. Despite the eventful day, which would have most people's adrenaline running wild, Cooke was tired. He relaxed his tense muscles and laid back on the uncomfortable mattress. The cell was warm and he was woozy. He closed his eyes and allowed sleep to swathe him.

His sleep was a fusion of memories including the journey from Durham when he had tumbled headlong from being Martin Cooke into becoming Donald Mortimer. Initially his dreams were made up of strong and vivid recollections. Mental images of ebony skinned Lucy mixed with images of his wife Jean. The two women could not have been more different. Jean, a lean redhead with a face that rarely smiled unless she was spending her husband's money, was the opposite of Lucy who was larger than life and always colourfully dressed. Her laughter was infectious and her love for the world unwavering. Her dress sense, like her outlook on life, reflected a lady who did not want to go unnoticed. Her love of God and the church in which she worshiped fuelled her life. She trusted everyone, unless her trust became hindered by misnomer. But even when this happened, and it happened a lot, she was able to forgive. Martin rolled over on the mattress. His face nuzzled into the pillow. Then his dreams took a U-turn. Instead of being infiltrated by Lucy, they became dark and oppressive. He found himself in a cell. Not like the sterile custody cell in which he was sleeping, instead he was in a dirty, dark and dank room. He was tied up. The rope burns on his wrists and ankles scorched like fire. He looked down at his bare feet and saw his toes were tipped with red nail varnish. His eyes followed his naked legs until they met with lady's pants. Above his navel was a splattering of dried blood. It was only a dream, but he was appalled by what his mind could summon. The dream faded, but not before he caught a flash of red material dumped in a black plastic bag in the corner of the room.

And then he was awake. He was relieved to lock the dream away in some dark corner of his mind.

The inspection hatch opened again and the same eyes obscured by spectacles stared down upon him. The hatch closed. Martin heard the clunk of the lock and the door swung open.

The eyes behind the spectacles didn't reflect the face that Martin had expected to see. Instead of a stony faced guard he was met by a friendly police officer who offered food and drink. He asked whether Martin was okay and once the officer was satisfied that Martin was no threat to himself he left him alone with a mug of strong tea, a sandwich and his thoughts.

Martin hauled himself into an upright position and stared at the sandwich. He hadn't eaten for hours and was starving. He quickly finished the sandwich. He ate it so fast it hardly touched the sides. He sipped at the tea and contemplated the odd dream. Normally memories of his dreams didn't hang around for long after he had woken. Within a few minutes they were often a blur of recollections which could have happened years before. But the dream he had just awoken from was vivid. Even though it was nothing other than a memory, he was able to replay it in his mind like a video. He could view the room he had dreamt of from different angles. He recalled the dark chamber, which now seemed lighter than when he was dreaming. He could see the legs of a woman outstretched before him. He shifted the view to just below the ceiling and could see light seeping in through cracks in hardboard which temporarily covered a window to block out daylight. His memory of the dream focused on the red painted toenails. The big toe on the right foot twitched. It made him wince. It was if he had caused it to move. He focused on the left foot and willed it to move. The foot tilted from left to right. Movement was limited because of the tight bind around the ankles. Martin shuddered at the reality. Then he willed both feet to move independently of one another. He craned his neck and the view of the room changed. To his left were Dexion shelves on which were box files. The files looked as though they had not been touched in a very long time. Empty boxes were strewn across the floor. The room reminded Cooke of a room in a warehouse which had not been used in years. A rat scurried past and made him jump. It was the strangest sensation. He wasn't asleep and his eyes were open. He could see the tray on which his sandwich had been. Next to the tray was the mug of tea. But at the same time he could see the room in his dream. He tried to shrug the vision away, but it remained lodged before his eyes. The rat scurried past again. Cooke hated rats. All rodents scared him. The rat was joined by another and together they darted away from him and towards a black bin liner in which was bundled the red material. He strained his eyes and watched the rats disappear behind the Dexion shelves. He turned his attention back to the bin liner. The dark red material was stained and splattered. He looked down at the navel above the lady's pants, the navel which seemed to form part of his own body. Around the navel was the same spattering of dried blood he had seen in the dream. He darted his eyes back to the material and realised that the stains were the same as the ones around the navel. Both were dried blood.

Again, he attempted to force the strange vision away. He focused on Lucy. He mentally tugged at a memory of her which lurked on the periphery of the scene from which he was trying to escape.

Her smiling face filled his mind and her laughter boomed in his ears. The vision of the room had gone and was replaced by the woman he loved.

He was relieved that whatever his mind had conjured up had now gone. But relief was tinged by sadness. Sadness because he would probably never see Lucy Hart again.

## 18

### Friday 27th October

### 9.50 am

### Fay Short's House

### Coronation Road, Bristol

Ellen trembled and tried to compose herself. She gripped her phone and struggled to comprehend what Colin Matthews was telling her.

"Listen to me. I can assure you that mum would not have killed dad. We've been through this before. Besides, have you even tried to find mum?" said Ellen, interrupting Matthews mid-sentence.

Matthews explained to Ellen that an investigation into the whereabouts of Kathy Vice was underway, but nothing had turned up. Matthews, Strawbridge and the rest of the team were deeply suspicious of Kathy despite Ellen's confidence that her mother was innocent.

Ellen had made the call to see whether there had been a breakthrough on solving her father's murder. Matthews had not dealt with her enquiry as tactfully as he could have, and she had ended the call feeling as if she was harbouring a fugitive. Matthews had asked whether Ellen could think of anywhere, no matter how unlikely, her mother could be.

To be fair, Matthews and Strawbridge were under a lot of stress. Their caseloads were overflowing. It wasn't just Robert Vice's murder that was under investigation, there were others too. Martin Cooke had muddied the waters and had added half a day of what Matthews had considered to be 'unnecessary work'. The paperwork he had to complete regarding Cooke seemed a needless burden which ate into precious investigation time.

Ellen was temporarily lodging with Fay Short and her husband Gerry. Fay was Kathy's best friend and knew Ellen well. She had agreed to look after Ellen until further notice. At twenty-two years old Ellen was considered an adult, but right now she felt like a lost orphan in need of support.

Fay had been present during Ellen's call to Matthews. She didn't need to ask how the conversation had gone. Just hearing Ellen's side of the dialogue had confirmed that there were no developments. Fay sat alongside Ellen on the settee and put her arms around her. More tears flowed. Both women were distraught.

Fay had been holding a thought to herself. If Kathy wasn't in hiding, then perhaps she too was dead. All that was known was that two women were seen leaving the scene of the crime. Both were prime suspects and one of them was very likely to be Kathy. What was preying on Fay's mind was whether the other woman could have also killed Kathy. Like Ellen, Fay was certain Kathy wasn't responsible for Robert's murder. She was deeply concerned that Kathy was either being held against her will, or worse, she was dead.

## 19

### The Terminal

Robert fumed. Despite the hilarity of finding out that Flint Taylor's name wasn't Flint, but was Francis, he was as mad as hell.

He was furious that Taylor had thrown around wild and unfounded accusations about Kathy. He was also livid that he had lost two privileges even before he had started to earn them.

Harvey sat alongside Robert on a bunk and Taylor sat alone on another. The atmosphere in their small quarters was tense. Jamie was out amongst the new arrivals earning privileges by helping souls settle into their new environment.

"I wouldn't worry about these privileges if I were you," grunted Taylor.

Robert ignored him. He refused to rise to his bait. In life Taylor had been annoying, but in death Robert found him unbearable.

"Even if you do get the green light to return, you won't be doing yourself any favours."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"All I'm saying is forget about what happened and move on."

"Move on? MOVE ON?" shouted Robert. "You don't seem to understand the significance of what...."

"I do understand," interrupted Taylor. "But if you go back, you're gonna find out things about your wife that you probably won't want to know. She killed you. She's a nutter. Just accept it and move on. Going back down there to haunt her or whatever you're planning on doing ain't gonna bring you back to life. You're dead. We're all dead here. Put it in a box and move on."

Harvey shuffled awkwardly on the bunk, not knowing what to say. He turned towards Taylor and tried to change the subject.

"So, what are your intentions?" asked Harvey.

"My intentions? Well, I'll tell you this for free. I'm not working for any shitty privileges, that's for sure."

"So what are you gonna do?"

Taylor stood up and paced the room.

"See this, it's gotta come from somewhere. It just doesn't turn up by magic," he replied whilst slapping the wall with the palm of his hand. "There must be a manufacturing plant here. Someone's in charge of making things around here. Look at the ceiling. There's a light behind that plastic diffuser. It has to run on electricity. Something's providing the power to this place."

"What are you getting at?"

"Do you really think whoever makes this stuff is working for shitty privileges? 'Cause I don't. Someone's getting paid for being in charge, otherwise it just doesn't add up."

"Why doesn't it add up? Things are different here. It's not like before."

"Bullshit! Nobody works for free."

"That's right, but they do get paid in privileges. Look at Jamie. He's already out of his gown and wearing proper clothes. He's earned that."

"You call wearing clothes a privilege? I call it a God damn basic human right."

Taylor paced the room with his hands behind his back and surveyed their quarters.

"There's more to this place than Jay is telling us. He's not letting on. Somewhere around here there are big bucks to be earned and I want a piece of it."

"You're impossible," said Harvey.

"Really? That's easy for you to say. Remind me what you did before you died?... Oh, yes, I remember. You were a vagrant. You were a bum. You threw your life away."

"No he didn't," snapped Robert. "He owned businesses. He employed people. He was a good man. Things just didn't work out the way he'd planned."

"Oh yes, that's right. He sold records, tapes and magazines. Jamie told me. But he was sleeping on the job wasn't he. He was lazy."

Robert and Harvey stared at him. Robert was desperate to lash out at him again. Harvey remained calm.

"He should have moved with the times. But he let his business crumble. Because of him people lost their jobs."

"He's right," mumbled Harvey. "I was sleeping on the job. I wasn't keeping up with the times. Business was changing and I should have kept up. I should have branched out. I should have joined the trend and set up an internet shop. But I didn't. Perhaps I should have been more like you."

"You'll never be like me. You'll never amount to anything. You'll always be a bum Harvey. A bum in life and a bum in death."

"You're such an asshole Francis," snapped Robert. "Why are you such a prick?"

"Sticks and stones Robert. Sticks and stones. And don't forget, I'm still your boss."

"My boss? And what exactly are you the boss of?"

"You were a good worker Robert. Although, I'm sure you could have upped your game. But on the whole you were good. One of my top men. I liked you. I thought you worked well."

"Well, you're not my boss now."

"Maybe not right now. But when I find out more about this place, you know, see how everything ticks, I'm gonna quickly work my way up and like before, I'm gonna be in charge around here."

"What? Are you planning on taking over Numen's role?"

"Probably not, but you never know. You gotta aim high. I can see myself running the place that makes the stuff that holds this place together. And Robert, you can be my right-hand man. I'm telling you, there's money to be made here."

Taylor stood up and pressed the device on his wrist. The door slid open.

"Where are you going?" asked Harvey.

"Off to find Numen. Get some answers."

Taylor marched out of their quarters and the door slid behind him.

"He's an idiot," muttered Robert.

"You can't knock a man for trying. Perhaps if I'd been more like him I wouldn't have ended up the way I did."

"No, you're a good man. You probably just made a few bad decisions. Taylor's not good. He's a psychopath. He's literally psycho. He doesn't give a shit about anyone other than himself. That's why he did so well when he was alive. He's one of those who charmed his way to the top. He used people to get where he did. There's no love in that man."

Harvey shrugged his shoulders.

"Perhaps you're right. But I have to agree with one thing he said."

Robert looked up.

"I think you should move on. If you did earn enough privileges to go back, you may regret what you find. If Kathy killed you, then whatever you discover won't be good. You seemed to have a lot of good times but something clearly went wrong. Why don't you just concentrate on the good times and forget about how your life ended?"

"No, I can't do that. I need closure. I need to know what pushed her to kill me. Even if Taylor is right about what he said, she had no reason to kill me. It just doesn't add up. Anyway, I don't believe what he said. She didn't screw around. I know that deep in my heart of hearts."

Robert paused and stared at the floor. He rubbed his chin and felt new stubble poking through his skin.

"What're you thinking?"

"I'm thinking about Taylor. It almost seems he's scared of something."

"Like what?"

"Dunno, I can't put my finger on it."

"Sorry Robert man. I'm not taking sides or anything, but I still think he's right. You should move on. You can make new friends here. Make a new life, if you know what I mean, and see what this place has to offer. Craig seems happy enough. Perhaps we can all be happy here too."

Robert continued to stare ahead. His mind was buzzing. He looked at Harvey. What he had said made sense. Perhaps he should try and forget about what had happened and move on. He thought about his daughter. He wondered how she was coping with what had happened and missed her terribly. And what about Kathy? Was she in prison? Was she in hiding? He assumed that she was still alive as he had seen no sign of her in The Terminal. But with so many new souls arriving all the time there was every chance that their paths may never cross.

"If I could just go back.... just for a day....," Robert couldn't continue. He broke down. Tears flooded. It was the release he needed. It was the first time since he arrived at The Terminal that he really let it all out.

Harvey watched Robert rocking back and forth. He howled with anguish. His face was red and his emotions were peaking. Harvey sat alongside Robert and placed his arm around his shoulder. Robert fell upon Harvey and cried. Harvey held him close. Robert seemed oblivious that Harvey was even there. He was lost in his own world of sorrow. Harvey felt uncomfortable being so close to another man and it seemed even more surreal that Robert was almost a stranger. He barely knew the man. Harvey was dealing with the death thing much better than Robert. His circumstances were so different and he had found death easier to come to terms with.

"It's okay man, let it all out. It's okay to cry."

Harvey hugged him closely. Robert's tears tugged at his heart. He thought about his kids. He hadn't seen them in years. They'd grown up, left home and had been out of his life for years. He cast his mind back to happier times. Times when he was together with his wife and his children were young.

Now both men were crying. They had different reasons for grief, but the end result was the same. Floods of unmanageable tears.

After a while, the tears started to subside and were replaced by snuffling. Robert pushed away from Harvey and the two men shuffled away from each other on the bunk.

"I'm glad Taylor didn't see this," said Harvey, dabbing his eyes on the sleeve of his gown.

Robert smiled and looked at Harvey through bloodshot eyes.

"Me too. I'm sure he would have had something to say. Let's keep this our little secret eh?"

Harvey nodded, stood up and breathed deeply.

"Okay Robert man. I'm out of here."

"Where're you going?"

"I'm gonna earn myself some privileges. And I think you should too."

## 20

### Friday 27th October

### 10.02 am

### Rant&Rave TV production offices

### Bristol

Cherry Griffiths sighed heavily. The antiquated photocopier had jammed again. She opened the machine and awkwardly tried to retrieve the crinkled sheet of A4 which had become wedged between the rollers.

"Fuckin' piece of shit," she cursed at the machine.

The sixteen-year-old had left school in July and had spent the summer doing very little other than hanging around with her friends. Her parents had nagged her about getting a job. Eventually, after Cherry's iPhone 8 had fallen into the bath and had subsequently packed up, she had reluctantly agreed to get a job because her father had refused to buy her a replacement.

Cherry's father, Simon, worked for Rant&Rave, the television production company run by Kelvin Quastel and Roger Bateman. Simon was in charge of payroll and pensions. The business only employed seventeen people, but Simon's job was a busy one. Although he was the payroll and pensions manager he found himself doing virtually every other kind of role imaginable. He had spoken with Quastel and Bateman to see whether they were willing to employ his daughter. Things were getting busier for Rant&Rave due to the upcoming live television comeback show which was only five days away. Quastel and Bateman agreed and now that Cherry was on her father's payroll there were eighteen employees.

Cherry yanked the paper free, leaving a small shred between the photocopier's rollers. She cursed again as the neatly manicured nail on the forefinger of her right hand snapped whilst she tried free the scrap of paper.

"Bastard!"

Eventually Cherry had the machine up and running again. Although, in the big scheme of things it was a minor achievement, Cherry felt good for doing something useful without having to call her father for help.

The temporary replacement to her iPhone, which was a rather battered old Nokia, rang as it poked half way out of the back pocket of her jeans. She grappled with it just before it rang off. She'd had missed a call from her best friend Kiasha. The copier was clunking away happily so Cherry took the opportunity to return Kiasha's call.

"Hi Ki, what ya doin'?"

Cherry listened with intense jealousy as Kiasha told her of what she and the gang were up to. They were trawling the clothes and makeup shops of The Galleries Shopping Centre in Bristol.

"So, you've just called to gloat have you? What am I doin'? I'll tell you what I'm doin', I'm working for my dad's crappy company on minimum bloody wage doin' the crappy jobs no one else wants to do."

Kiasha asked what sort of company she worked for.

"I don't know. They make films about ghosts or somethin'. I'm not sure. The place is run by two old queers. A pair of right old queens. It's hilarious really."

Kiasha was intrigued by the idea of ghost films and pressed Cherry for more information.

"I don't really know what they do. There's some kind of live TV thing going on next week. It all sounds fucked up. I think the gays talk to ghosts or somethin' and it's all goin' to be broadcast."

Kiasha wanted to know more. She was obsessed by ghosts and anything paranormal. Kiasha asked whether Cherry could get her in to watch backstage.

"I'll ask dad. I think there's an audience. People will be there watching it all happen. Perhaps dad can bag you a couple of tickets. I can't promise anything though."

Cherry saw that the copier was jammed again.

"Listen Ki, I've got go. The bloody copier's broken down. How many tickets did you say? Four? I don't know if I can get any, let alone four. Why do you want so many?"

Kiasha explained that she wanted tickets for her and her mum. She also wanted one for Lucy, her lovely Nan who was also fascinated by anything supernatural. The spare one was for the man her Nan was living with. Kiasha wasn't sure of his name, she'd only met him once. He was an old fellow with a northern accent. She tried to think what his name was. She seemed to recall that it was either Daniel or David. Then she remembered.

His name was Donald.

## 21

### Friday 27th October

### 10 .50 am

### Bristol Magistrates Court

Martin Cooke sat forlornly in the dock of Bristol Magistrates Court. The hearing seemed to be over as soon as it had started. When it was agreed that he was temporarily a free man, providing he met the terms of the bail conditions, he felt a little better. Despite assurances by the duty solicitor, Martin was certain he would be spending a long time in custody until the official hearing was to take place. He had been told that this could be months from now. The duty solicitor had argued Cooke's case that despite the crime he had committed, he should be considered a trustworthy man who could be relied upon not to abscond. The solicitor was confident that Cooke would abide by the conditions of bail. He was required to report to a police station every two weeks and to provide an address where he could be contacted.

Cooke wasn't sure which address he should give. He looked out from the dock and could not believe his eyes when he saw Lucy staring back at him with a stern expression.

The woman, with a heart as big as a hornet's nest, had been considering what he had done. Initially, she was devastated by what she had learned about his true identity. She felt stupid and used. But during the night Lucy thought long and hard about Martin. She found it hard to refer to him as Martin and not Donald. She had been thinking about Martin's life back in Durham and how unhappy he must have been to have disappeared in the way that he did. To just 'up sticks' and go without telling his wife, children, family or friends was a selfish and cruel thing to have done, but whatever had driven him to do such a thing must have been severe.

She had been present during the hearing and was relieved to hear he had made bail.

After the hearing was over she allowed him to give her address in Wick as the home in which he would reside. She had helped him meet one of the conditions of bail. The warm-hearted Christian woman was giving him a second chance.

Martin was allowed to leave. He walked alongside Lucy to her car. He brushed his hand against hers, but felt her quickly retract her hand and thrust it into her pocket. The situation was surreal and the atmosphere tense. Martin had no idea where to begin, so he decided to say nothing other than three words.

"Thank you Lucy."

Lucy grunted 'you're welcome' and continued to walk two steps ahead of him until they reached her car.

The journey back to Wick wasn't any less awkward.

She parked in the drive and Martin trudged behind her to the house. The first thing Lucy did was to traipse upstairs to the bedroom they shared. She opened the chest of drawers in which were his clothes and bundled them into the other bedroom.

"You're sleeping in there," she mumbled. Martin stood on the landing between the two bedrooms. He didn't respond. His head hung and tears welled. Lucy pushed past and clumped down the stairs. He sat on the bed amongst his pile of clothes and thought about his circumstances.

After a few minutes he heard her voice from the kitchen. Lucy didn't sound any happier, but her words suggested to Martin an olive branch was on offer.

"I've made a pot of tea. There's a cup for you in the kitchen if you want it."

He didn't reply, at least not at first. He fell face down on the bed and wept. He wept because Lucy was such a wonderful woman. Such a different person to his wife Jean. In all his years, he had never met a woman quite like her.

Lucy sat in the lounge hugging her mug of tea. She gazed beyond the net curtains without seeing anything. She had spoken to her daughter Marcia the night before about what had happened. Marcia was shocked but said that there was something about Donald Mortimer that had not seemed right. Marcia could not put her finger on what was wrong, but things didn't add up. It was a gut feeling. Perhaps just woman's intuition? Lucy had told Marcia that her relationship with him was over. But now, in the cold light of the following day she was reconsidering what to do.

Lucy was tugged from her thoughts by the sound of Martin's footsteps creaking down the stairs. She sighed. He didn't enter the lounge. Instead, she heard him in the kitchen rattling crockery and pouring tea. She swallowed hard and waited for Martin.

When he walked in she didn't acknowledge him. She just couldn't. She continued to stare beyond the window as if he wasn't there.

He sat down, choosing the single chair. He decided not to sit next to her on the settee. Eventually Lucy spoke.

"So, what am I supposed to call you? Donald or Martin?"

There was a pause before he answered.

"Martin. Please call me Martin."

Another uneasy silence followed.

"Okay, My name's Lucy Hart. You know all about me. Tell me all about Martin Cooke."

Martin put his mug on the small table beside him and slouched into the chair. He wanted it to swallow him up and take him away. Lucy waited for his answer and continued to stare through the lounge window. She had not turned to face him. She just could not look at him.

"What do you want to know?"

As the words fell from his mouth, he knew what he had said was stupid.

"What do I want to know? WHAT DO I WANT TO KNOW? I want to know absolutely everything about you. Every fucking detail."

Hearing her swear shook him to the core. She rarely raised her voice, let alone cursed.

"Where do you want me to start?"

"From the moment you were fucking born until now. Don't miss out anything. I've got all the time in the world."

"You really want to know everything, even about my childhood?"

"Yes."

Martin Cooke spent the next few hours revisiting his life. Lucy said nothing as he spoke. Sometimes his words were nothing more than mutterings and rambling incoherent sentences which were punctuated by tears of guilt.

Lucy became more animated when he reached the part of his life when he met Jean. She shuffled on the settee as if she was jealous of the other woman. Martin sensed her envy and briefly paused. Lucy looked up and their eyes met. She didn't speak, but Martin got the impression she wanted him to continue. During the next hour he recalled married life with Jean, the birth of their sons, their summer holidays, the death of both of their parents, his decision to set up his own business and many other intricate details. He was amazed by how many memories he had amassed and how easy it was to recall them. It was if they had been neatly filed away on a shelf and indexed for him to put his hand on and read like a book.

He was explaining the part of his life when things had started to change. Lucy listened as Martin rambled on about life being humdrum and how he no longer felt any love from Jean. He told Lucy how life revolved around everyone else. His existence was work, home, the school council and paying off credit card bills which Jean had built up by spending his money on clothes, meals with her lady friends and holidays. His boys had become obnoxious irritating time wasters, who spent much of their time stuck in their rooms on their iPods and God only knew what else. Despite repeatedly trying to motivate his boys to make something of their lives he was losing the battle with them. Tears streamed down his face as he recalled the moment when Paul, the eldest of his twin sons, had told him to 'fuck off and mind his own business'. He told Lucy that from that day on he didn't want to live the life he had anymore. He paused as he pictured himself on the platform of Durham railway station with the briefcase of money gripped against his chest. He could hear the announcement clearly ringing in his ears telling commuters that the train bound for Bristol Temple Meads was arriving. He could hear his footsteps echo as he sprinted to the ticket office to buy a single to Bristol. It was as if he was watching a film of someone else's life. He felt sorry for the man at the window of the ticket office handing over cash and desperately waiting to be given his pass to freedom. He could hear the train pulling in and was fretting that it would leave without him. He knew that if he didn't get on the train that day he would have continued with his dull and monotonous existence. He was sure that if he didn't get away from Durham and all that he had grown to hate about his life, he would die an unhappy and bitter man.

He had been talking nonstop for three and a half hours and now he was on the home run. Lucy could tell by the tone of his voice that life in Bristol had turned him around. As he spoke of walking away from Temple Meads station and starting his knew life as Donald Mortimer he sounded like a different person. It was as if Martin Cooke and Donald Mortimer were as far removed from one another as they could be. It seemed as if they really were two different men from two different backgrounds who had lived two different lives.

Lucy listened intently when he reached the part in his life when he met her. How he had been sitting on his own at the rear of the church in Wick that he occasionally attended. And how one Sunday morning he had heard her voice ascend above the rest of the congregation as Abide With Me filled the air. He paused for a second, closed his eyes and quietly sang the opening line of the hymn.

"Abide with me, fast falls the eventide, the darkness deepens Lord, with me abide when other helpers fail and comforts flee Help of the helpless, oh, abide with me."

Lucy stood up, walked from the settee to the chair where Martin was perched and reached for his hand. She didn't need to hear anymore.

He looked up at her with eyes that begged for forgiveness.

"I didn't intend to fall in love with you. I couldn't help it. It was as if you were the last piece in the puzzle to make my life complete. I know I've done wrong. I'm not talking about stealing the money and leaving my family. I'm talking about lying to you. That's the worst thing I've done. I lied to you. But I had got myself into a corner and I didn't know what else to do."

Lucy didn't smile. She wasn't quite ready yet. But she did gently squeeze his hand and she understood why he had left Durham. She couldn't condone his decision to do the things he had done, but at the same time she empathised and could identify with what he had been going through. Then, for the first time since he had been relaying his life story, Lucy spoke. Her throat felt dry and gravelly. He words were hoarse and raspy.

"Are you going to speak with Jean? Don't you think you owe it to her to let her know what happened?"

Hearing Lucy's voice after listening to his own words for such a long time took him by surprise. Martin shook his head.

"The police have told me not to contact her or anyone in Durham. I've committed a serious crime. I'm considered a thief. Jean, my sons and anyone who knows me back home are considered witnesses. I'm not allowed to contact anyone from home. The police have informed Jean of what's happened. I can't imagine how she's taking the news. I presume that after I'm found guilty, which I will be because I'm not going to deny what I've done, I will be going to prison."

He closed his eyes and continued to speak. Lucy squeezed his hand again. His voice sounded strangely different, almost feminine.

"It's okay Martin. You don't need to tell me anything else."

He opened his eyes and she was shocked by what she saw. He bore a vacant expression, as if he was awake and asleep at the same time. She leaned in and looked into his eyes. He looked like he was dead. It was like staring into the eyes of a shark.

"Martin, what is it? Are you okay?"

"Who's there?" asked Martin. His voice sounded so different. He was scared and Lucy felt his hand tremble.

"Who's talking? Where am I?"

Lucy was astonished by how different he sounded. Although it was Martin's voice she could hear, it sounded as if he was being controlled by someone else. And that someone was a woman.

"Martin, what's happening?"

"Whoever you are, please get me out of here. Please, please. I can hear you, but I cannot see you. Please get help. Tell them you've found me."

## 22

### The Terminal

Robert sat alone in his assigned living quarters. The bland décor of the small room matched his demeanour.

Jamie was out and about earning privileges, Harvey was putting himself forward for work and Taylor had disappeared earlier to find Numen. He apparently had bigger fish to fry than the others. Robert was bored of his own company and decided to explore. He looked at the device on his left wrist. He was yet to figure out exactly what its function was. He remembered both Taylor and Harvey using it to open the door. He brushed the palm of his right hand over it and heard the door swish as it slid open. Slowly, he left his quarters and surveyed the huge room ahead of him.

Thousands upon thousands of souls walked around. Most were either forlorn or still in a state of shock. Although some souls seemed to be more positive, as if they had a purpose. The ones with purpose were dressed differently to the others, who still wore beige gowns. The same gown that Robert wore.

Robert turned left and walked away from his quarters. He recognised a few souls and exchanged glances. The souls appeared to recognise him. Probably from the outburst between him and Numen at the plenary meeting.

Robert struggled to take in the enormity of the room. He knew that there were other rooms above, which were equal in size. He presumed that below there were similar rooms to the one he was in. With his hands behind his back he continued onwards, observing the disparate souls who were doing much the same as him. Then, to his left, he noticed a small recess in the wall. A female soul wearing a jogging suit had appeared from it and then walked away mingling amongst the others. She had thin strands of wispy brunette coloured hair appearing in small clumps on her head. He peered into the recess which was just wide enough for an adult to squeeze through. It was a narrow passage illuminated by blue floor lights. He turned sideways and forced his way through the recess. Once inside he found the recess to be a little wider than it had looked from the outside. Robert had been blessed with a large frame and he found he could just fit in without brushing either wall with his shoulders or arms. But if he were to meet another soul coming his way there would be a standoff. There was only room for one at a time. He walked along the passageway which curved to the right. As it did it became wider. The lighting changed and he noticed the walls were not the same shade of beige that they were everywhere else. As he continued to walk the colours around him became different. The further he walked, the more the hue around him became increasingly vibrant. Instead of beige, the walls were orange. He could feel the texture of the floor changing beneath his bare feet as he proceeded along the passageway. The floor had the quality of an expensive carpet, but when he looked at it he saw it was as flat as linoleum.

In the distance he could hear laughter. It sounded as if a small gathering of people were celebrating. Robert quickened his pace. Curiosity was getting the better of him and he wanted to know what was around the corner. The passageway suddenly veered sharply to the left and revealed a room lined with tables and seats. The walls were adorned with pictures of various foods. There was a picture depicting a harvest scene. Alongside was a colourful image of different spices. On the other side were more pictures of food. Mainly bright fruit. A bowl brimming with oranges, lemons and limes and another picture of strawberries and bananas caught his attention. Seeing such vivid colours after a period of dreariness was almost too much for his senses. The room was bright and he raised his hand above his brow to shield his eyes.

The sources of the merry voices were sitting at a long table. Five adults in various styles of dress enjoyed assorted platters of food. He saw Jamie who was finishing a meal which looked to be a classic pub lunch. Roast potatoes, vegetables and chicken with a generous helping of gravy. Alongside him was a lady who was enjoying a colourful fruit salad. On the table were a mixture of red and white wines and a pitcher of water.

Robert realised for the first time since he had arrived at The Terminal that he had had no pangs of hunger or a desire to eat. Watching Jamie and his new friends eat their food gave him no appetite. It was as if food was no longer a necessity.

Jamie looked up and spotted Robert. Jamie looked a little embarrassed, as though he had been caught doing something he wasn't supposed to.

"Robert, come and join us," said Jamie, whilst wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Jamie introduced him to Cilla, who was the lady with the fruit salad. Next to Cilla was Colin who had just started eating Chicken Jalfrezi. On the other side of the table was an elderly lady called Sarah, who was also eating roast chicken and vegetables. Next to her was Jack who slurped tomato soup.

"Where did you get the food from?" asked Robert, who for the first time noticed that the food had no odour.

"We've worked for it," replied Jamie.

"Another privilege?"

"That's right."

"Tell your friend that it's not the food that is the privilege," said Sarah.

"She's right. The privilege we've earned is hunger. The food is a bonus. We can choose whatever we want. I didn't appreciate how good it felt to need food when I was alive."

"And I didn't appreciate how good it felt to quell hunger," added the elderly lady.

Robert looked at what they were eating. Food seemed strange to him. He hadn't thought about it since he'd died. He sat next to Jamie expecting the aroma of roast chicken to waft past and stimulate his palate. But he couldn't smell a thing. He looked at the Jalfrezi which was a couple of feet away from him. The smell of the curry should have been overpowering. Robert had loved spicy food when he had been alive.

"Does it taste good? It seems rather bland. I can't smell any of what you guys are eating."

"That's part of the privilege of hunger. Smell and taste come with it," said Sarah.

Robert took a second to appreciate some of the things he missed about being alive. Food wasn't something that he'd thought about since he'd been murdered, but now it was preying on his mind.

"Tell me more about privileges. What else is on offer?"

"You've already seen what Craig can do. You know, when we ended up on the beach with him. I'm yet to earn that one," said Jamie.

"I like music," added Sarah. "Colin and I watch shows together."

Colin flashed Sarah a smile.

"Shows? Where do you go to see shows?"

"At the far end of The Terminal there's a room which is used for all sorts of things. We go there to hear music. Colin and I share a love of classical music. We've seen lots of different concerts. We're both working towards a piano recital of Handel's Water Music. Hopefully we'll both have earned enough privileges for that soon."

"What else?"

"I'm off to Silverstone, I love racing. I've been there a few times now," said Cilla.

"Silverstone? Really?"

"No, of course not really. It's another privilege. But the realism is amazing. It's as if I really am there. The sounds, the smells, the hustle and bustle. Even the greasy hot dogs. Everything is so unquestionably real."

"Wow! It's that good is it?"

"It is. You need to get yourself signed up. Get working. There's tons of stuff you could be doing."

"You seem really happy here if you don't mind me saying Cilla."

"I suppose I am happy. Once I accepted that I was dead, I just got on with things. Honestly, it isn't so bad here."

"How long have you been here, you know, how long have you been dead?"

"I couldn't tell you. Have you noticed that there are no clocks around here?"

"I don't suppose I've thought about it."

"Time means nothing here. There's no sunrise or sunset. There's nothing with which to measure time."

Robert thought about what Cilla had said. He tried to work out when he had arrived at The Terminal. He could not judge how long he had been there. He had not slept or eaten or done anything which would suggest time had passed.

"It takes some getting used to, but like I said, once you accept things are different here, then it's not too bad at all," said Cilla, reading Robert's thoughts.

"But don't you miss those you've left behind?"

"At first. To begin with I was a wreck. Like a lot of the souls who've recently arrived. I missed my husband and my kids awfully. I still miss them, but like a lot of things, you learn to live with it...... not live exactly, but you know what I mean. I presume it's the same with my family. They've learned to accept that I've died. Hopefully they're moving on without me and making their way in the world."

"I've always assumed the dead could watch over those they've left behind," said Robert in a reflective tone.

Sally laughed. "No, that would be just downright weird. I hope my husband has moved on, met another lady and is happy. But I would hate it if I was able to look down upon them. Ughh, what an awful thought! "

Robert smiled.

"Go see Jay, have a chat. Let him find you something to do," said Jamie, reaching for another glass of red."

Robert nodded, bid the diners farewell and headed back the way he came. The passageway became narrow and the vibrant colours faded to dull beige. He squeezed through the recess and back into the huge room. Jay was there. It was almost as if he was waiting for him.

"I guess you've had a peek at some of the privileges."

"Yeah, I've seen the food. Can we have a chat?"

Jay gestured to Robert to follow him. They stopped in a crowded area. Forlorn souls dressed in beige mingled with others wearing traditional clothing. Most were showing signs of hair sprouting from their scalps. Jay pulled the tablet from his gown, ran his fingers over it and Robert found the two of them alone in a small room.

"Where did everybody go? Where did we go?" asked Robert.

"No one has gone anywhere. I've cloaked us to allow for some privacy."

"What's this, some kind of pop up office?"

"Exactly Robert. That's a really good way of thinking about it. The others you saw are just beyond the walls. Don't worry, no one can hear or see us. We have total isolation. What would you like to talk about?"

"Privileges. I'd like you to find me a role around here. I may as well make the most of things."

"Good, that's the spirit" said Jay. He pointed to a table and two chairs, which Robert hadn't seen until Jay gestured towards them.

"Sit down, please."

Jay and Robert sat opposite one another. The small table separated them by half a metre. Jay placed the tablet on the table and fiddled with the thousands of 'braille like' lumps and bumps on the surface.

"Hello, I'm pleased you could join us," said Jay, as two androgynies appeared behind Robert.

"Robert, let me introduce you. This is Sam, who I believe you've already met, and this is Alex."

Sam? Alex? More androgynous sounding names, thought Robert.

The three androgynies looked identical, but at the same time were very different. They were tall, and without a single hair follicle between them. And all three were beautiful. Absolutely strikingly beautiful. Alex, like Jay and Sam had wonderful symmetrical facial features with gorgeous epicanthic eyes. Stunningly smooth skin made his face radiant. Robert made a subconscious decision to refer to Alex as male, as he had done with Jay and Sam. Although, there was a continual nagging doubt over which gender they were. Robert stood up and held out his hand. He shook Sam's large hand and then Alex's. His hand appeared childlike by comparison to theirs. Although powerful, their grip was gentle. The instant his skin met with theirs he became struck by a feeling of serenity. He sensed that like Jay, both androgynies were good individuals who were here to help.

Robert sat back down opposite Jay while Sam and Alex were happy to remain standing.

"Robert would like us to find him something to do. He wants to earn privileges," said Jay.

"I understand I'm starting on the back foot. I've already lost two so I need to work harder than the others."

"Numen and I were talking about you. I spoke up in your defence. I told him about what happened with Francis. I explained that you were provoked and your reaction was understandable, although not acceptable. Numen has agreed to overlook that particular incident."

Robert smiled to himself. He considered it a small victory over Taylor.

"What about the other privilege I've lost, the one from the plenary meeting?"

"Unfortunately, Numen isn't so forgiving. You created a scene in front of thousands of scared souls. You shouldn't have done that. But I have to say that Numen was very impressed with your resolve. I think he has his eye on you for bigger and better things."

"What do you mean, my resolve?"

"You are the only new arrival who has been able to make a stand against him. He was surprised when you got to your feet during the plenary. You're the only soul who's ever done that."

"I was angry and I couldn't accept what Numen was saying. I still can't. My intention is still to return and find out what happened."

"We understand," said Jay. Sam and Alex said nothing but smiled knowingly.

"Let's get down to business," said Jay. He cleared his throat and referred to the tablet on the table before him.

The three androgynies questioned Robert about his life, his passions and dislikes. They asked about his parents, his wife and his daughter. He told them in detail of what he had done for a living. Jay, Sam and Alex took notes on their tablets as Robert answered their questions.

"It seems you were a very well-liked and respected man," said Alex. It was the first time Robert had heard him speak.

"Reading between the lines, the people you managed when you were alive thought an awful lot of you. Why do you think that was?"

"I don't know. I suppose I listened to them. If they had a problem, not just at work, but at home too, I'd listen and see if I could help. My door was always open."

"But who was there to help you?" asked Jay.

Robert paused while he considered Jay's question.

"No one I suppose. Taylor was my boss, but he wasn't interested in anything other than hitting targets. He was driven by numbers. It was all about profit."

"Were you not interested in profit?" asked Sam.

"Sure, I was, but what was more important were the people in my team. The ones on the frontline. If not for them, there would be no profit, no sales."

"If you needed someone to listen to you, who would you have turned to?"

"No one. I dealt with my own problems. But to be honest, I was a lucky man. Things had been good for me... until I was killed."

Robert's head drooped and silence filled the room. The androgynies gave him a little time for reflection.

"I think we've found a role for you. Something which we feel would suit you," said Jay, breaking the awkward hush. Robert looked up.

"One of the most important roles here is that of a counsellor. As you know, there are thousands and thousands of new arrivals. As we speak, there are more turning up on the upper levels of The Terminal. These souls are lost and need someone to turn to. The counselling role is crucial and there are thousands who are happy to take it on. But we need others to counsel the counsellors. Counselling is a heavy job and draining upon one's resolve. We would like you to help the counsellors. Provide them with support. Be there for them. It seems to us that you've already gained experience in this kind of role by virtue of the type of man you were."

Robert leaned back in the chair with his hands behind his head whilst he contemplated the offer.

"Wow! That does seem to be role and half."

"It is, but it's not very often we find someone who fits the bill. And, bearing this in mind, the role attracts triple privileges."

"Triple privileges?"

"Yes, so you could be earning some fantastic things. You could use them as you earn them or accrue them for something really fantastic."

Sam stepped forward and pressed buttons on his tablet. An image projected on the wall in front of Robert. It was a written list of privileges. It was the first time he had seen written text since he had died. The list included the things of which he was already aware. Clothing and food were first on the list, followed by the privilege which allowed imagination to create seemingly real places which others could be invited to join. He remembered Craig and the beach in Dorset. It was like a list of activities available to vacationers who were staying in a holiday camp. Further down the list Robert saw that the writing had changed. It was no longer English but appeared to be something like Arabic.

"Is there a glitch with your machine? I can't read the privileges at the bottom."

"No glitch. That's the language of Sam, Alex, Numen and I. They're coded. You would be required to have accrued an awful lot of privileges just to know what they are."

Robert stared at the list. He focused on the script written in the language he couldn't read. The last five privileges on the list fascinated him. He stood up and ran his fingers over the writing projected on the wall.

Robert pointed to the last on the list and turned to Jay.

"How many privileges do I need for this?"

"Why are you even asking? There's no way you could read what it says."

"I don't need to be able to read it. I know what it says."

Robert paused and focused on the swirly text which was beautifully written. He turned around and looked at Jay.

"It's the privilege to return isn't it. The privilege to allow me to speak with my wife for one final time."

## 23

### Friday 27th October

### 11.32 am.

### The Cargo Hold of the SS Great Britain

Kelvin Quastel and Roger Bateman had been granted access to the SS Great Britain after the museum ship had closed its doors to paying patrons. Both men were feeling apprehensive about their return to television. So much depended upon things which were out of their control. If the live comeback show was successful, it would propel them back into the limelight and cement their career in television. But if it went wrong, it would be game over for the two of them.

Quastel and Bateman were taking one hell of a chance. So were Mark George and Paul Ottway from Happy House productions who had invested more money than they could truthfully afford. There was one thing both Ottway and George were certain of, which was the viewing figures. The predictions were high, and they were just as anxious as Quastel and Bateman. The future of Happy House hinged on whether the show was a success or a failure. If no ghosts materialised, then the viewers would be changing channels in droves.

The show would rely upon tension. Ottway and George did not want any of the ghosts Quastel and Bateman had promised to manifest immediately. Instead, they wanted the show to build little by little and bit by bit and end in a dénouement of spirits and ghosts. They had confidence in Quastel and Bateman and hoped their gut feelings would prove to be true.

Kelvin and Roger descended into the bowls of the ship. They'd asked to be alone, not wanting any of the staff who worked on the ship to be present. Kelvin could see spirits everywhere. Roger wasn't as perceptive but could certainly sense the afterlife on board. Kelvin couldn't care less about the vague 'peekaboo' spirits that came and went. He was interested in one ghost only. The spirit of Morris Ashford.

Crew man Morris Ashford had died in eighteen-forty-seven. He had been given a sluggish burial at sea which no one had attended other than James Hesketh, who was the ship's captain and carpenters Jacob Jones and Jack Dickens. Dickens and Jones had hauled Ashford's stiff body, which was wrapped in a bedsheet and weighed down with iron, onto a plank and slid the corpse irreverently into the boiling waves of the ocean. Captain Hesketh, who wasn't a particularly religious man, had said some half-hearted words which were cut short as the body slipped into the sea before he had finished. Jones and Dickens tossed the plank overboard and returned to their quarters. Hesketh was a busy man and quickly returned to the helm without giving a second thought to Ashford. Ashford had remained in purgatory ever since.

Kelvin was first to enter the hold. Roger, for the first time in years, felt nervous. He slowly followed Kelvin down the creaking wooden steps. When he reached the hold he felt beads of perspiration on his forehead. He dabbed his face with a handkerchief.

"Are you okay?" asked Kelvin, noticing how flushed Roger had become.

"I'm fine, just a little out of shape. I'm not used to all these steps."

They didn't have to wait long before Ashford materialised. It was the third time the spirit and Kelvin had met. Ashford was a grumpy soul, and rightfully too. He had been aboard the ship for one-hundred and seventy years.

***

In eighteen-eighty-six the ship had been badly damaged in a storm and she had sailed no more. The SS Great Britain spent the next forty-seven years as a floating warehouse on the Falkland Islands. Forty-seven years of loneliness for Ashford. After the long years had passed, the ship became too unsafe to be used as a warehouse and was eventually towed to a remote bay near Port William and was scuttled in its shallow waters. The ship lost her fittings to trophy hunters. Ashford was forced to watch as the ship had been looted before his dead eyes. But then, things began to change.

In nineteen-sixty-nine, Naval Architect Ewan Corlett refused to let the ship rot in a shallow sea and decided to organise a rescue mission to return her to Bristol, the city where she was built. The ship was now nothing more than a rusting wreck and nothing like how she was when taking the elite of the nineteenth century from England to America. The ship was full of holes and at risk of breaking in half. Urgent work was needed to make her safe enough to be raised and floated onto a giant pontoon. The salvage team worked around the clock to prepare her for the eight-thousand-mile journey from the Falkland Islands to Bristol. In freezing conditions divers, patched up her ruptured hull using mattresses and timber donated by Falkland Islanders. Hundreds had gathered at Port Stanley to wave her off and see the ship officially handed over to the SS Great Britain Project.

Morris Ashford had watched with pride as the ship, with his spirit aboard, left Port Stanley on the long journey to Bristol.

In July nineteen-seventy, the SS Great Britain was finally welcomed home. She was back in the dock in which she was built, exactly one-hundred-and-twenty-seven years to the day of her launch in eighteen-forty-three.

***

Kelvin smiled at Ashford's spirit, who in return nodded. Ashford didn't smile and Kelvin felt the pain of the man. It wasn't often that Kelvin engaged with the ghosts he encountered, but Ashford was different. The mortal and the spirit had become acquaintances, but not friends. Kelvin sensed decades of pent up anger and loneliness. For the first time Kelvin felt sorry for a spirit. Up until now, he had viewed those from the afterlife with fascination, as if they were performers in a hereafter freak show. He had been interested in their stories. Not because he cared, but because he had seen pound signs to promote The Ghost Inspectors. Now, for the first time Kelvin had become personally involved with a ghost. Ashford had pulled at Kelvin's heartstrings by telling him of the sadness and loneliness he had endured since death. Ashford didn't engage with the other spirits held captive on the ship as most existed on different frequencies of the astral plane and did not come into contact with one another. Years of watching families enjoying the ship which had become a museum had made him bitter. Once, he had had a wife and a daughter. He had hoped that when they passed away he would be with them again. But as time had moved on he knew that would not happen. He had assumed they had died and gone to heaven, whilst he remained incarcerated aboard the ship. He had spent a long time thinking about what he had done to spend eternity on the SS Great Britain. Nothing sprung to mind. He had been a hardworking and honest God-fearing Christian.

Kelvin had listened to Ashford's story and felt sorry for him. Ashford had revealed what it was like to be captured between life and the hereafter. Ashford told Kelvin he longed to smell fresh air. He would do anything to feel the touch of woman against his skin. Simple things such as the taste of wine, or to feel sand beneath his feet. But more than anything else Morris Ashford wanted to sleep. In all the one hundred and seventy years since he died he had never slept. Night turned to day and day turned to night. He had witnessed the passing of every day in loneliness.

Kelvin truly wanted to help. But, at the same time, he needed Ashford for the show. Kelvin had introduced Ashford to Roger, but at the time the two couldn't really make each other out. Both were fuzzy blurs lacking in definition. But Ashford and Roger believed each other were there because of Kelvin.

Four days ago, Kelvin had made a promise to Ashford. If Ashford could help him and Roger, then Kelvin would vow to release Ashford from the anguish and suffering of purgatory. Ashford had faith in Kelvin. He believed Kelvin because he was the only mortal with which he had engaged since his body slipped down the plank and was buried at sea.

"Morris, it's good to see you again my friend," said Kelvin, sounding confident as he spoke with the ghost.

"Hello sir. Have you come alone?"

"No, I'm with Roger. He's standing just to the right of me."

The ghost squinted his eyes and watched as Roger's fuzzy image faded into view.

"Yes, I can see him now. He needs to lose some weight."

"Yep. That's Roger," said Kelvin with a smirk.

Roger watched Ashford materialise in front of him. It was the first time Roger and Ashford had clearly seen one another. Roger had his smartphone at the ready and started recording the meeting as soon as the dead seaman appeared.

"Do you really think you can help me?" asked Morris. His strong Liverpudlian accent sometimes made it hard for Kelvin to work out what he was saying.

"I do, but in exchange you'll need to do something for Roger and me."

Roger glanced nervously at his partner as Kelvin began negotiations.

"What on earth can I do to help you?" asked the ghost warily.

"In a few days' time Roger and I will be putting on a show here on the ship. In fact, it will take place right here where the three of us are standing."

"What, here in the hold?"

"That's right. There will be a small audience here to watch, but by virtue of the wonders of modern technology, there may be over a million people watching."

"A million, on this ship? Surely that's not possible."

"No Morris, the audience on the ship will be around seventy, but we have the ability to transmit pictures of what happens on this ship to peoples' homes. It's called television."

"Is television the small thing I see children looking at?"

Kelvin was taken aback by what Ashford had said. He wasn't sure to what the dead man was referring.

"I watch the children of today visiting this ship. Half of them don't seem to be interested in this glorious vessel on which I once sailed. Do they not know it was the first iron steamer to cross the Atlantic?"

"I'm sure they do Morris."

"Well, if they do, I wish they would pay more attention to the ship and not to the little square boxes in their hands."

"What boxes?"

"The boxes with the talking faces. Like the thing your friend is pointing at me."

Kelvin glanced at Roger who was recording Ashford with his iPhone 8.

"Ah, I see what you mean Morris. No, those aren't televisions, but I'm pretty sure there will be a lot of people watching you on one of those."

Ashford struggled to keep up. He didn't really care what Kelvin was telling him. Providing he kept his side of the bargain and released him from limbo, he was happy to do anything Kelvin and Roger asked.

"So what do I have to do?"

"Not a lot. Just be present the next time Roger and I are here. There will be a lot of other people here other than us. People to help make sure the show runs smoothly. It will be fun, you'll enjoy it."

Roger was recording everything. Ashford's spirit was easy to video. It was clear enough to see, whilst at the same time it had an almost translucent quality about it. Every few seconds it phased in and out, like a poorly tuned radio. Ashford's voice had a hollow quality about it with a slight echo.

"And how are you planning to help me? We must talk about what you can do for me."

Kelvin swallowed dryly.

"Roger and I have a plan, which we're fine tuning. I'll let you know the details when we come back to put on the show. Morris you're going to be famous. You're going to be a star."

"A star? Do you mean like Janet Achurch and Paul Bedford?"

"Who?"

"You've not heard of Janet Achurch and Paul Bedford? You surprise me sir. I watched them in The Merchant of Venice with my wife."

"Yes Morris, you'll be like those two fine actors. In fact, it's very likely that you will be more famous than them."

"And if I agree to help with your show, will you promise to free me? Because if you can't, you must tell me now. I need to know."

"Morris, I promise," said Kelvin.

Kelvin took a few seconds to scrutinise Ashford. He found it hard to believe that he wasn't a ghost. He looked as alive as Roger did.

"My God Morris, are you sure you're dead. I've never met a spirit like you before."

"No, I'm dead. I can assure you that I'm very, very dead."

## 24

It was mild for the month of October, which was fortunate as she was dressed only in her underwear. She remained tied to the heavy oak table with thick blue rope. She could no longer smell the stench of the room in which she was captive. If anyone cared to join her, they would gag from the stench of urine and faeces. Her urine and faeces, to which she had become oblivious. Apart from hunger and tiredness, all she had to accompany her was the memory of what had happened. She sucked on the rubber tube, but the water that had been left for her had all gone.

Footsteps could be heard above. Her lips were cracked and dry and her throat was parched. She was too weak to call out. Even if she had the strength to shout, there was little chance she would be heard. It had been made very clear to her not to call for help.

Earlier she had dreamt of a man. A man, who like her, was locked in cell against his will. The dream had seemed very realistic. His kind face came and went, but his voice remained clear and concise. In her dream she heard him tell his life story. It was the story of a man who had eventually escaped his humdrum existence and found love. The more she listened to his story, the more she bonded with him as if she and the man were one and the same.

In her mind she had called to him. She was sure that he could hear her. She was certain that the person in the cell was her saviour.

She recalled the words she cast to him in her dream.

'Whoever you are, please get me out of here. Please, please. I can hear you, but I cannot see you. Please get help. Tell someone you've found me.'

But no one had come. The man in the cell had not come to rescue her, nor had anyone else.

Light seeped in around the edges of the boarded-up window just below the ceiling. The room was dark, but her eyes had adjusted well enough to take in her surroundings.

A rat ran across her leg. She didn't even flinch. Rats no longer bothered her.

To her left were Dexion shelves which were stacked high with box files. Even in the dim light she could see they were covered in dust and had not been opened in years. Cardboard boxes were strewn across the floor. On the box nearest to her she made out fading writing stamped in black ink.

Industrial Strength Cleaning Fluid

A sound from her right caused her to flinch. Another rat scurried past and was narrowly missed by a six-foot-long banner which came crashing down as if from nowhere. It had been placed against a wall away from her line of sight. The rat had nudged something near the base of the banner causing it to slip from the place it had rested for the past fifteen years. The banner lay alongside her. She was so tired and malnourished that her vision was double.

Other than the rats, the fallen banner was the only thing that had stimulated her senses in days. Her head hung low as she tried to focus on what was written on it. The lettering had been hand painted in red bold bubble style text on a pale background.

'Welcome to Industrial Rentals'

Industrial Rentals rang a distant bell in her muddled mind. Lack of food and water had scrambled her brain and she could not think straight. Why did Industrial Rentals sound so familiar? She tried her best to remember but couldn't summon up enough energy to concentrate. Instead, she fell deep into another sleep. A sleep fuelled by hunger, thirst and low blood sugar.

## 25

### Friday 27th October

### 11.49 am.

### Incident Rooms

### Kenneth Steele House

Colin Matthews pushed back in his chair. He was investigating another case that had been troubling him for a long time. The case of a school caretaker who had murdered a teacher. The caretaker of Compton Wells School had literally vanished into thin air.

He was pulled away from his thoughts by Tom Strawbridge who came crashing through the door of the busy office. Strawbridge made a beeline for Matthews and almost tripped over a box file which had fallen from a desk. Tom cursed, picked up the file and slammed it on the nearest table.

"What's the boggle Tom? Got something to tell?"

"Not sure, it could be something. It's probably just a coincidence, but it may be worth checking out."

Matthews leaned forward and rested his forearms on the table waiting to hear what Strawbridge had to say.

Strawbridge pulled a plastic bottle of water from the inside pocket of his jacket, took a sip and then began.

"Did you hear about the fireball on the A431 at Kelston?"

Matthews stared blankly. Strawbridge took the expression on his face to mean 'no'.

"A Z3 hit a tree a few days back. The driver was burnt to a cinder and the BMW was incinerated."

Strawbridge paused, as though he was adding drama to the scene.

"The car was registered to a Mr Francis Taylor."

Again, a pregnant pause punctuated Strawbridge's announcement.

"Come on Tom, spit it out."

"Francis Taylor worked for Hi Dri UK in Bath."

"Hi Dri UK? Where Robert Vice worked? We interviewed everyone there. I can't recall speaking with anyone called Francis Taylor."

"He goes by the name of Flint, not Francis."

Matthews stifled a laugh.

"Flint, not Francis. Who on earth calls themselves Flint?"

"Dunno. But he was the Sales Director at Hi Dri. He was Vice's boss."

"That is interesting. But like you say, it could just be a coincidence. It's probably worth following up. See if anyone at Hi Dri knows something about Taylor."

Colin resumed the slouched position he was in before Strawbridge had entered the room.

"I remember Taylor. He came across as being rather arrogant. I didn't like him. He thought a lot of himself. As I recall, he was a bit of an ass."

"It's not nice to speak ill of the dead Colin, but I have to agree with you, he was an ass."

## 26

### Saturday 28th October

### 9.02 am.

### Lucy Hart's house

### Wick, near Bristol

Martin woke in the single bed in the second bedroom of Lucy's house. He had overslept, which was unlike him.

Lucy was confused and torn. The man she had fallen for had proved to be a cheat, a liar and a criminal. But after hearing the story of his life she couldn't help but still be in love with him. She was going against her better judgement by allowing him to stay in her house. She couldn't help herself. Lucy still cared deeply for him.

She was also concerned for him. Something had happened to him yesterday. Towards the end of his cathartic and marathon life story, he had acted strangely. It was as though he had become a different person. His voice had taken on a different character. He had spoken in a voice which had a feminine quality. The last words he said before losing consciousness stayed with Lucy.

'Whoever you are, please get me out of here. Please, please. I can hear you, but I cannot see you. Please get help. Tell them you've found me.'

Lucy knocked on Martin's door and pushed it open with one hand whilst carrying a cup of Early Grey with the other. She found it hard to refer to him as Martin after knowing him as Donald for such a long time. She stood over him with a stern expression. It was difficult for her to act the same around him now that she knew who he really was. But still, she cared for him and worried about his wellbeing.

She placed the tea on the bedside table and sat beside him.

"How do you feel today Donald...., sorry I mean.... Martin?"

He gazed at her through tired eyes. He looked fatigued and drawn. The events of yesterday had caught up with him. He was so tired he couldn't even remember taking himself to bed the night before.

"Tired. I feel very tired."

He pulled himself up into a sitting position and reached for the Earl Grey. He took a sip and thanked her for the drink.

"You've decided not to throw me out then."

Lucy did not answer. She stood up and pulled open the curtains. Martin turned his head to avert the low sun from hitting his eyes.

"So, what was that performance about yesterday?" asked Lucy in a snappy tone.

"What performance?"

"You tell me. Crying for help, sounding like a woman."

Martin frowned.

Lucy assumed a more feminine voice than her own and impersonated Martin when he had said the strange words. She minced around the bedroom as she spoke.

"Whoever you are, please get me out of here. Please, please. I can hear you, but I cannot see you. Please get help. Tell them you've found me."

Martin watched as she bobbed across the room. She patronised him as she spoke. He just stared at her blankly.

"Are you saying you don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

"Sobbing like a girl."

"No, I don't. I don't even remember going to bed last night."

"I can believe that. You were Zombified. I had to virtually drag you up the stairs."

A vague recollection lurked somewhere in the back of his mind.

"Tell me again what I said."

"You were pleading to be set free. You wanted me to tell them I'd found you."

Martin replaced the teacup on the bedside table and concentrated on a distant memory. A vision flashed before him. A dark, rat infested room, strewn with empty cardboard boxes hung before him. The memory went as soon as it came, leaving Martin confused.

Lucy briefly saw the same vacant look she saw in him yesterday.

"What is it, what's wrong?"

"I don't know. Déjà vu, I think."

Lucy wanted to change the subject. Things were becoming tense again.

"I had a call from Marcia this morning."

Martin was still acting confused, as if he didn't know who Marcia was.

"What's the matter with you? Marcia, my daughter called me."

Martin nodded and apologised, blaming his poor memory on tiredness.

"My lovely granddaughter has got us tickets to a show."

Martin's ears pricked up.

"Kiasha's friend, Cherry, works for a television company and she's got tickets for a live broadcast next week. It sounds interesting. It's taking place on the SS Great Britain."

"What kind of show?"

"Not sure, Marcia didn't have all the details. But it's done by those two fellas who did the Ghost Investigators."

"I remember them. They were dragged through the press. Revealed as fakes as I recall."

"Revealed as fakes eh? Listen to who's talking."

Martin chose to ignore her glib remark.

"Seriously, they were charlatans. The two of them were caught faking ghosts. I'm surprised they're allowed back on television."

"Well I want to go. I like that kind of thing. The tickets are free. You don't have to come, I'm happy to go with Marcia and Kiasha."

"No, no, I'd like to come too, that's of course if you'd let me."

Lucy didn't take long to make up her mind. She wanted him beside her. He had become important to her and despite recent revelations she couldn't imagine life without him. She decided to play things cool. She didn't want him to think he was off the hook, because he wasn't. He had a lot to make up for.

"It's up to you. But I can tell you one thing for sure. I don't think Marcia will be pleased to see you."

"You've told her about me?"

"Of course. I've told her everything. She had one word for you. 'Scum'."

Martin lowered his head. He couldn't blame Marcia. He couldn't believe his luck that Lucy hadn't thrown him out onto the pavement.

"I promise I'll make things up to you."

"There's nothing you have to make up to me. The only promise I want from you is that you'll never lie to me again. Ever!"

"I promise."

Silence followed, and Martin thought about his future.

"Lucy. I think there's a very good chance I'm going to prison and I need to ask you something."

Lucy faced the bedroom window with her back towards him.

"What?"

"If I go to prison.... will you wait for me?"

## 27

### The Terminal

Robert found that the role he had been assigned of counselling the counsellors challenging. He had been allocated a small room behind a hidden door from where he dealt with his clients. From the outside the door to the room was almost undetectable, as opposed to the mocha brown doors leading to the thousands of living quarters. Robert discovered that between each of the living quarters were small rooms which were used for all different kinds of things. Robert's room reminded him of a psychiatrist's consulting room. It was a simple affair which housed a table, a couch and an armchair. As far as he was concerned the walls were bare and dull. But those who entered to engage with Robert saw something different. What his clients saw as they entered the room varied upon the privileges they had earned and the limit of their imaginations. But what they saw was generated by them subconsciously. Happy memories of their life turned the counselling room into a relaxing place to be.

The device on his wrist flashed blue and vibrated signifying his next client had arrived. Robert brushed his hand over the device and the door slid open.

He walked to the door and was met by a short man with thick grey hair wearing a T-shirt and a pair of jeans. Over his T-shirt he wore a dark grey waistcoat. The amount of hair on his head signified that he had been at The Terminal for quite some time. Robert smiled at the man and held out his hand. They shook hands and Robert invited him in.

"Hello, my name's Robert. What's yours?"

"My name is Pascal and I am very pleased to meet with you," he replied in a strong French accent.

Pascal entered the room and the door slid shut.

"Wow, this is a beautiful room you have here. You are a very lucky man. These pictures remind me of where I grew up when I was a boy."

Robert stared at the dull beige walls and wondered what Pascal could see.

"Such a calming room. I feel more relaxed just being here. And the smell, it's wonderful. I love the smell of freshly baked bread," he added.

With his arms behind his back, Pascal surveyed the pictures which hung from the consulting room wall.

"I swear this picture is of the town where I lived as a boy," said Pascal, pointing to something Robert couldn't see.

"Where did you grow up?"

"Brittany. We moved around a lot, but I spent several years here. This is a picture of Benodet yes?"

"I'm not sure where it is," replied Robert, without letting on that he could not see what Pascal could.

Robert invited Pascal to relax on the couch while he sat in the chair.

"How can I help you Pascal?"

Pascal took a few seconds before he answered. Robert felt an air of tension. Pascal rubbed his eyes, he was holding back tears.

"I've been doing this role for some time now. Don't ask me how long, because I have no idea."

Robert waited patiently for Pascal to continue.

"It's the children."

"The children?" asked Robert.

"Yes, the children. I'm fine when it comes to helping adults, but lately..., but lately I'm finding that dealing with the children is very hard."

"In what way?"

"They're too young to have died. And the children who have left their parents behind..., it's as if..., it's as if they're orphaned, but the other way around. They just don't understand, and I feel helpless around them."

Pascal broke down. Robert moved from his chair to the couch and rubbed Pascal's shoulder.

"It's okay Pascal. It's okay to cry. Let it all out."

Robert waited. He knew not to speak. It was best that Pascal took time to let his emotions run wild. There was no clock to watch nor fee to pay. He sat alongside Pascal on the couch and allowed him the time he needed.

After a while, Pascal's tears slowed. He coughed and shook his head. Pascal apologised, saying that he had no idea what had come over him.

"Are you okay to continue?"

Pascal nodded and blew his nose.

"How do you help the children?" asked Robert.

"It's different every time. No child is the same. They all have different needs. But that's not the problem."

"What is the problem Pascal?"

"Well, when I counsel adults, they're more accepting of their circumstances. Still, it's not easy, but they do understand. All they really want is someone to open up to. They're angry and they want to let it all out. For them it's therapeutic. I remember being the same when I died and arrived here in The Terminal. I can relate to adults because I've been through the same thing. I died before my time was due so I can understand their anger and frustration. Normally, it only takes a couple of sessions and my work is done. But with the children it's not so easy."

Robert listened. He found it hard to keep from being emotionally involved.

"I was with a little boy earlier. He was seven years old. The sweetest and most polite little boy you could imagine. The sort of lad you would be proud of if he was your son. He didn't know how he had died. He was on his own in The Terminal among thousands and thousands of other souls. He was crying for his mummy. Jay brought him to me. Do you know Jay? Jay asked me to counsel him. This little boy had dark brown eyes like a puppy dog. He stood there in his tiny gown, like the one you are wearing, and asked me to take him to his mummy. He looked up at me with his big eyes and bald head and asked where he was. It was my job to tell him he was dead and he may not see his mummy and daddy ever again. I had to tell him that. Can you imagine how that feels?"

Robert couldn't imagine.

"What happened next?"

"I took him to the nursery with the other children. I waited with him for a while and he seemed a little happier. The other children took him under their wing. Robert, do you know he'll never grow old here? He'll remain a child. He'll exist as a little boy until the next chapter in the cycle of his existence begins."

"I know Pascal. I know that the children will stay together and are looked after."

"They're overseen by andrgunes; how scary must that be for them?"

"Andrgunes?"

"That's what Jay and his friends are. They're andrgunes."

"I didn't know they had a name."

"I don't know if they do, it's how most of us around here refer to them. We call them the andrgunes."

"Tell me Pascal. What do you know about the andrgunes?" asked Robert, attempting to change the subject, before returning to discuss the children.

"I don't know much, other than they seem to have been here for ever."

"Do you know where they came from?"

"They came from the same place as you and I. They were once mortals, but in a time long before you and I were alive and, in a time when things were very, very different. I've debated with others and we've concluded that life was brought to earth by the andrgunes."

"You mean they're from other planets?"

"It's nothing but conjecture," replied Pascal, shrugging his shoulders.

"But I do believe they are good people, whoever they are."

Robert pondered over what Pascal had said. Could he be right? Could the andrgunes have come to earth from another faraway place eons ago? He pushed the thought away.

"So, Pascal. These children. You care deeply for them don't you?"

"I do, because I left my own children behind when I died. I think of my little boys and wonder how their lives are without their father."

"Perhaps you should change your role here. Not be a counsellor."

"But then what should I do?"

"Look after the children. Make them happy."

"How could I do that? How could I make them happy?"

"By using your privileges. Create somewhere fantastic for them and invite them to your world. It could be anywhere. Disneyland, or they could meet Father Christmas at Lapland. Let the children tell you. It won't bring them back to their parents but it would help."

Pascal smiled. Robert had come up with a great idea.

The two men made small talk before Pascal stood up to leave.

"Robert, may I ask you a question? I know this role pays high privileges. I just wondered why you still wear your accouter?"

"Accouter?"

"Yes, the dull gown you're wearing. Here it's called an accouter."

Robert looked down at what he was wearing. It was paper thin and did nothing much other than cover his modesty.

"I'm banking my privileges Pascal. Saving them for a rainy day."

"What, are you not using any of them? You could be wearing nice clothes or eating fancy food. You should have some fun. You deserve it."

"No, I'd rather not Pascal. I need as many privileges as possible for what I require."

"I presume you have unfinished business to attend," said Pascal, with a knowing look in his eye.

Robert nodded shamelessly.

"That I have Pascal, that I have."

"Good luck sir. I hope Numen grants your wish."

## 28

### Saturday 28th October

### 10.07 am

### Hi Dri regional sales offices

### Bath

Colin Matthews sat in the shabby reception area of Hi Dri, the business where both Robert Vice and Francis Taylor had worked before their recent deaths. The atmosphere was sombre. Clearly the loss of two members of such long serving staff was having an impact on those who worked there. He supped coffee from a disposable cup and waited for Carl Jones, the Regional Manager.

Two delivery drivers spoke with one another as they walked past reception. There was no manly testosterone fuelled banter today. Conversation was in hushed tones. Matthews strained to hear the topic of conversation. The drivers leaned against the door leading to the carpark. One vaped on an e-cigarette whilst the other drank from a can of Coke.

"I can't believe both have gone. This place must be jinxed," said one of the drivers.

"I liked Vice. He was a good bloke. I'm gonna miss the poor sod," said the other.

"I can't say the same about Taylor, I know I shouldn't speak ill of the dead, but he was a bastard."

"I just can't accept that Robert Vice was murdered, he was such a nice man. But if it had happened to Taylor instead, then I could understand."

Matthews stepped out of the reception area and through the fog bellowing from the vaping man.

"Good morning gentlemen, my name's Matthews, DCI Matthews from Avon and Somerset. I believe we've spoken before. Sorry, if I can't remember your names off the top of my head."

Matthews had previously talked with both men when he and Strawbridge had spoken with the employees of Hi Dri about the murder of Robert Vice.

"I couldn't help but hear your conversation. Wasn't Mr Taylor a nice man?"

Both men shuffled their feet, as if they had been caught saying something they shouldn't have.

"It's okay not to like someone, even if they're dead. I've come to speak with Carl Jones, but whilst I'm waiting for him perhaps I could have a quick word with you."

"Taylor was okay I suppose, but he was the kind of person who always got what he wanted. He upset a lot people to get to where he did in the company. He could be lovely one minute and horrible the next. He had a nick name."

"A nick name? What was it?"

"Scitz Fritz," said the vaping man, lowering his head.

"Scitz Fritz?"

"Yeah, it was like he was schizoid."

"How come?"

"Like I said, one minute he could be lovely and the next he could be really nasty."

"Do you mean schizophrenic?"

"I don't know; he was just Scitz Fritz."

Matthews was about to speak, but was interrupted by Carl Jones who came bounding down the stairs from his first floor office.

"Perhaps we'll speak again gentlemen," said Matthews to the vaping man and his friend.

"Hello again Detective Matthews, would you like to follow me to my office? It's upstairs."

Matthews nodded and smiled. He panted and huffed as he followed Jones to the first floor. He hadn't realised how out of shape he had become. Too much junk food and sugary drinks.

Matthews dropped into a swivel chair and Jones sat in a seat behind his desk. Jones' office was a mess. The bin overflowed with empty cans of Coke and disposable cups. A half-eaten sandwich lay on a pile of paperwork and his 'in tray' bulged with unopened post.

"Mr Jones, I have some questions for you, but first, would you be kind enough to provide me with the contact numbers of all of your staff including your own. You never know when I might need to speak with you or one of your employees."

"Sure thing, I'll see to it right away. I presume you've more questions about Robert?" said Jones.

"Actually, I wanted to ask about Mr Taylor."

"He wasn't murdered, was he?"

"Not as far as we know, but it does seem coincidental that two men from the same company have died within a few hours of each other. I thought it would be worthwhile asking about Mr Taylor, just to be certain."

Jones nodded.

"As I expect you're already aware; Francis Taylor was killed when his car crashed into a tree on the road between Bath and Bristol. The accident happened at Kelston."

"Francis Taylor? Don't you mean Flint Taylor?"

"No, his real name's Francis."

"Well, I never knew that," said Jones, adjusting his chair. "We all knew him as Flint. I suppose I shouldn't really be surprised. He liked to put on a tough man image. Flint sounds a bit like Clint doesn't it? You know..., like Clint Eastwood."

"I suppose so. Can you tell me about him?"

"He was our sales director and was devoted to his job. No family, no wife. His life revolved around his job. He was negotiating Hi Dri a deal in Bulgaria. He'd already set up offices in Poland, France and Germany. He was ripping through Europe. He told me he had his sights set on Asia. He would have done it too."

"He sounds like a man who had a lot of drive."

"He was. He was like a Rottweiler. Once he got his teeth into something, there was no letting go."

"Was he liked? I've just been speaking to a couple of your men. Taylor had a nick name. Scitz Fritz."

"I know. But I bet my life that no one would have said that to his face. Not that it would have bothered him."

"Thick skinned was he?"

"He didn't give a shit."

"So he had some enemies then."

"Listen, you don't make it to the top without upsetting a few. He's the sort of guy who wouldn't let anyone get in his way. He'd get whatever and whoever he wanted."

"What do you mean?"

Jones retreated into his chair. Matthews sensed he had said too much.

"He didn't have a family, or a wife, or a specific girl. But he had his pick of the women."

"A bit of a lady's man was he?"

"He was, but he preferred the women who were the hardest to win."

"Like who?"

"Like women who were married. He had a reputation around here. A few of the drivers and engineers came close to knocking his block off after he'd tried it on with their wives. He'd bagged a few wives though. To Taylor they were just a notch on the old bedpost. But there was one woman who he had his eye on. But he didn't have a chance."

"Who was that?"

"Robert Vice's wife Kathy. Robert was a lovely guy. I miss him like crazy. But he was naïve. It was clear to all of us that Taylor was sniffing around his missus. You know, at Christmas parties and office away days when families were invited."

"Vice had no idea?"

"If he did, he didn't let on."

Jones felt awkward. He felt he was saying more than he should. Taylor wasn't around to defend himself. He was dead.

"Do you think Flint; I mean Francis Taylor could have killed Robert?" asked Jones.

"No, not for one second. We're pretty sure he was killed by a woman. Perhaps his own wife, Kathy."

"Yeah, I heard about that. I can't believe it. Those two were inseparable. Robert once had the opportunity of Sales Director. It was many years ago. He decided not to go for the job. He didn't want to be away from home. He preferred to be close to his family. Shame, he would have been good."

"How did you know Kathy Vice is a suspect? I don't recall either myself or DCI Strawbridge saying anything about that."

"One of the office girls lives near the Vice's. She was there with the crowd watching the hubbub the night of the murder. She didn't even know it was to do with the Vice's. She heard the neighbours talking about two women fighting outside the house. Have you found Kathy yet?"

"No, we're still trying to locate her."

"So, why are you asking so many questions about Taylor? It sounds as if he was driving like a fool and hit a tree, which doesn't surprise me. He was a bit of a loose cannon when it came to his BMW. It was a sporty little Beamer. Just enough room for the driver, an overnight bag and a woman to shag."

Matthews thought about what Jones had told him about Taylor and his intentions to lure Kathy away from Robert. Even with this new piece of information, Matthews was sure Taylor's death was coincidental and had no connection with the murder of Robert Vice. 

## 29

### The Terminal

Robert made his way back to his quarters. Everything about The Terminal looked the same. None of the brown doors were numbered or had any means to identify which room had been assigned to him. Without the little device melded to his wrist he would have had no idea which of the doors led to his room. The closer he got, the more the device vibrated. It flashed blue when he got to the door which slid open automatically.

Inside he found Jamie sleeping soundly on his bunk. Harvey was reading a book. He made a shushing gesture to Robert and pointed to Jamie.

"Don't wake the baby."

It was only then that Robert realised he hadn't slept since he had died. He hadn't felt tired since he had arrived at The Terminal. There was no way of knowing whether it was day or night. The terminal had no windows to see outside, even if there was an outside. Robert had so many questions. He intended to sit down with Jay and get some answers. But that would have to wait because right now he was too busy earning privileges.

"Is he okay?" asked Robert, referring to Jamie.

"He's fine. He's using a privilege."

"What, sleep? Is that a privilege?"

"Sure it is. Here we don't need to sleep, but never the less, sleeping is something everyone loves. I know I did. I reckon it's a privilege well spent. What have you been up to?"

"I've been busy. Jay, Sam and Alex found me a role. I've been helping the counsellors. It's a tough role and there's thousands of them."

"I saw that job on the list. It pays well, but it's not something I would want to do. You'd need to be someone special to do that. I tip my hat to you sir."

"What're you reading?"

"Oscar Wilde, The Canterville Ghost. It's a quirky little story. I'd let you read it after me, but you have to earn it."

Harvey watched the expression on Robert's face change. The title of the book had struck a chord with him. Robert thought about Kathy. His determination to get back to her and find out why she had killed him was as strong as it had been since he had been murdered.

"Sorry man, that was a bit insensitive of me. You okay?" said Harvey, placing the book face down on the bunk.

Robert sat alongside Harvey and reached for the book. His hand went right through it as if it was a hologram.

"See what I mean. That's why I can't let you borrow it. You must have earned a few privileges by now. Why don't you treat yourself? Get some nice clothes or something."

"No can do Harvey. I need to bank as many as I can. You know what I'm saving for."

"I know, I know. But the thing is, you may not even get the privilege you're aiming for. Numen may never authorise it."

"I mustn't think like that. It's the only thing I have on my mind. I can't stop thinking about what Kathy's done."

"Give yourself a break man. It'll be the death of you," said Harvey, realising the unfortunate turn of phrase he had used.

The door slid open and Taylor walked in with a face like thunder.

"What happened to you man?" asked Harvey.

He didn't answer. He dumped himself down on Jamie's bunk, shoving him nearer the wall to allow him more room to sit. Jamie stirred but didn't wake up.

"What's up with him? Is he ill or something?"

"He's sleeping," said Harvey and Robert in unison.

Taylor didn't query why Jamie was sleeping.

"How did you get on with Numen?" asked Harvey.

"He's a fuckin' idiot."

"Guess you didn't get very far then."

Robert hadn't seen Taylor like this before. When he was alive he invariably got what he wanted. His face was red with rage and he was trembling.

"Met your match?" said Robert, enjoying the moment.

"He kept me waiting for God knows how long. When I eventually got to meet with him he dismissed my proposal before I'd barely started."

"What did he say?"

"He said that things don't work like that around here. He wants me to believe that no one makes the stuff we see. The bunks in this room, the floors, the ceilings. He expects me to believe they just grow or something."

"But the things around here need fixing. They wear out. Why can't you get a job repairing stuff?" asked Harvey.

"Listen to me you idiot. You might be happy to work your ass off for a meal or clothes or a stupid book to read. But not me. I'm worth more than that. I'm an achiever. No one gets in my way. Ever!"

"Perhaps Numen's right. Things are different around here. We're all dead for starters. Things are no longer the same. Perhaps you should learn to accept that."

"No! I'm not going to accept that."

Taylor stood up from the bunk and paced the floor. He pushed his hand against the wall and felt it flex beneath his palm. He knelt down and did the same with the floor. He strolled around the quarters and tried to work out what everything was made from.

"Some kind of plastic," he muttered beneath his breath.

"Uh oh, you've woken sleeping beauty," said Harvey, pointing to Jamie who was coming around.

Jamie stretched like a cat, screwed his face up and yawned. Harvey and Robert watched and felt a pang of jealousy. Jamie snuggled into a ball in the bunk and made snuffling noises as he tried to get back to sleep.

"That looks so nice," said Robert. "I miss that feeling of having an extra five minutes in bed. It's funny what you miss, isn't it?"

"You're right. Sometimes the things that cost nothing are the things that are worth the most," added Harvey.

"Bullshit, listen to both of you. The pair of you are soft in the head."

Jamie stretched and yawned again. His eyes peeled open and he squinted at the light.

"Keep the noise down will you. Some of us are trying to sleep."

Jamie sat up and rubbed his eyes.

"That was amazing. I'd forgotten how lovely it was to sleep. At least it was until you lot came in and woke me up."

"Did you dream?" asked Robert.

"Yup," he replied with a smile.

"What about?"

"That's for me to know and you to ponder over. So mind your own business," he replied with a sparkle in his eye. He stood up, stretched one more time and made his way to the bathroom then closed the door behind him.

The others could hear running water and Jamie whistling a tune.

"He's having a wash. I've not thought about washing. It's never crossed my mind," said Robert.

"That's because none of us other than Jamie have slept. Washing is normally something you do just after you've woken up. It's all part of the privilege I suppose. When I was alive and homeless I went days without washing. It was hideous. Like I said, sometimes it's the things that cost the least that seem most valuable. The things we take for granted," said Harvey.

Jamie stepped out looking refreshed. Taylor pushed past him and stormed into the bathroom. He stared at the sink and ran finger around the bowl. It was bone dry. He turned the tap. Not a drop of water came out.

"He's lying," called Taylor from the bathroom. "There's no running water."

"There was for me. Lovely warm water."

"I guess it was part of the deal which came with the sleep privilege," said Robert.

"You got it. Sleep also comes with breakfast. I'm off to the food hall. Anyone care to join me?"

"No, we're okay, but thanks for asking," said Robert.

"I'll come with you," said Harvey. "I've banked half a dozen privs, I may as well use some."

Harvey and Jamie stepped out of the room leaving Robert and Taylor alone.

"So when are you going to start spending your 'privs' then?" asked Taylor, in a patronising tone which was becoming more and more common.

"I'm not spending them. At least not yet."

"I hear you're doing pretty well. You're on triple time."

"Yeah, what I do earns three times as many privileges as most other roles."

"How many have you earned?"

"I'm not sure, twenty or thirty I think."

"Twenty or thirty? My God, you could get an Armani suit and a trip to the moon with that many," said Taylor in a mocking voice.

Robert chose to ignore him. He couldn't understand why Taylor was acting in such a way. When they had been alive and working together they had got on well, with only few disagreements here and there. Robert couldn't say he particularly liked Taylor, but as business people, they got along fine. But since he had died he was a complete pain. No one seemed to like him. He was just plain irritating. Robert wondered why. He concluded that in The Terminal there was no pecking order. No person was above another and It was something that Taylor just couldn't accept. Robert felt a tiny bit sorry for him.

"Are you still planning on haunting Kathy?"

"I'm not planning on haunting anyone. I just need answers."

"How many privs do you need to do that?"

"I don't know. A lot more than I have right now."

"And, don't forget, you need a reason. A reason valid enough to convince Numen and the other freaks around here that you can be a ghost for the day."

Robert glanced towards the bunk on which Harvey had been reading his book. The Canterville Ghost lay where he had left it. It was becoming translucent and Robert could see the bunk beneath the book. He hadn't read The Canterville Ghost, but had read enough ghost stories and seen enough spooky films to know how ghosts were supposed to be. He recalled a programme Kathy used to enjoy watching called the Ghost Investigators. If he did manage to earn enough privileges and also convince Numen to let him return, then what would it be like to be a ghost? He could understand Numen's reluctance to grant anyone the opportunity to return from the afterlife. A spirit could easily misuse their return to wreak havoc on mortals. Inwardly he smirked while he thought of the kind of trouble a spirit could cause. But if he was to return what would it be like? Would it be the same as when he was alive? Could he be seen by anyone? Could he communicate in the same way? He wasn't interested in anything else other than finding out from Kathy what it was that he had done which was so awful it drove her to murder. Whether she was locked away in a cell, or on the run he needed to get to her. He was worried for their daughter Ellen. Where was she? Who was looking after her? She had no aunts or uncles to take her in. Granted, she was twenty-two years old and considered an adult, but in Robert's mind she was still his little girl. He thought of her as vulnerable and young. Even though she'd been away at university for over two years and had proved that she could live independently from her parents, he hated the thought that she was likely to be all alone. When he was alive he dreaded the thought of Ellen bringing a boyfriend home. He had been an over-protective father. He had tried not to think about what she might be getting up to while at university. But now he was no longer going to be there for her, and now that Kathy was very likely behind bars, he hoped that there was a strong and loving young man for her to turn to.

"What you thinkin'," asked Taylor, interrupting Robert's train of thought.

Robert didn't speak. He really wasn't in the mood for talking to Taylor anymore.

"Don't worry, I already know. You're thinking about your philandering wife."

He refused to rise to Taylor's bate. Robert sensed that Taylor was very bitter about something. But he couldn't be bothered to find out what. He had got to know the man more since the two of them had died than in all the years that they had worked together. What he had discovered about Taylor was that he was not the confident person he thought he was. In fact, he seemed to be a rather insecure man who could not function unless he was in complete control over everything. Here at The Terminal he was a nobody. In the afterlife he was no worse or no better than anyone else. Other than clothes and the strange device worn on the wrist, there were no possessions. Privileges only paid for things that didn't last, such as food and books which only remained in one's possession until they had been read and other such things which once used, were never seen again. Nobody owned anything. Taylor came from a different background. He drove fast cars, had a hell of a lot of money and an expensive flat amongst many other material things. But without those possessions the only thing he had left to fall back on was spitefulness and rancour. He wasn't making any friends in the afterlife, he was only making enemies.

Robert flicked the device on his wrist and the door slid open. He couldn't bear being on his own with his former boss and decided to go for a stroll around The Terminal.

The Terminal was a great place for people watching. By now, most spirits were no longer wearing an accouter. Instead they wore clothes. The styles varied immensely from fashions which Robert considered to be contemporary to those which had gone out of date decades ago. Most of the spirits had hair. It hadn't taken long to grow back. Robert hadn't seen a mirror since he arrived at The Terminal and had no idea how much of his hair had returned. He ran his fingers over his scalp and could feel a fair sized mop had grown back. He recognised a few faces. Some of them were those he had counselled. There was now a different atmosphere in The Terminal compared to when he and the other spirits arrived. The first time he'd stepped into The Terminal there had been an air of gloom and despondency, but now the spirits seemed happier. As if they had come to terms with their fate. Robert considered the saying 'time is a healer'. But time didn't exist at The Terminal. Yet something had changed. Those around him bore smiles. They engaged in conversation with one another. Friendship groups were forming. Children seemed happier and were playing with new found friends.

Raised voices caught his attention. Two females to his right were arguing. One was dressed glamorously, while the other still wore an accouter. Robert stepped closer. Curiosity had got the better of him. The woman in the accouter was accusing the glamorous lady of steeling her boyfriend. He took another step forward. A small crowd had formed around the arguing women. It was clear that they were quarrelling over something that had happened before they had died. He thought about what Taylor had said when he had told Robert that Kathy had been unfaithful to him. Then, out of nowhere, two burly spirits arrived wearing black leather jackets, black shirts and black trousers. They calmly separated the women and led them in different directions. Serenity had been restored to The Terminal. Robert wondered how well the security men were paid in privileges. It wasn't a role that he would want to do.

He looked at the device on his wrist. He couldn't recall how it had got there. There was no strap to hold it in place, it just seemed to bond with his skin. At first he had no idea what its purpose was. None of the androgynies had instructed him how to use it. Now he'd discovered that it opened doors, guided him around The Terminal and reminded him of upcoming appointments. It was like a personal organiser. Jamie told him he used his to keep an eye on how many privileges he had earned and how many he had spent. He ran his fingers over the device which confirmed he had no new appointments. His time was his own.

He decided to explore The Terminal further. He had hardly moved a few hundred yards from his quarters since he had been there. He casually strolled onwards, keeping the wall to his left-hand side. This was the first time that he had really taken on board the enormity of the place. He had been to Wembley Stadium and it paled in comparison to The Terminal. The place just went on and on and on.

He spotted androgynies that he had not seen before. They smiled at him as if they knew who he was. All of them were beautiful, but none as striking as Jay. Jay still confused him. Although he had made his mind up to accept him as male, he was still hugely attracted to him. He was stunning.

Like the others, Robert had so many questions. He took in his surroundings and considered how the afterlife was so unlike anything he could have imagined. Spirits came and went from their assigned quarters. A family stepped out from behind a door. Parents with three young children. The children held hands and the parents walked behind them. He overheard the mother warning the children not to stray too far. The children didn't wear the devices on their wrists. Robert assumed that they were only for adults. He walked and walked and everything looked the same. Nothing changed. He assumed he could use the privileges he had earned to make the place look brighter. The bland beige décor made him feel downbeat. But Robert was resolute in his decision not to waste a single privilege on anything superfluous.

He heard a voice calling from behind. He turned around and saw Alex, the androgyny who had been present with Jay and Sam when Robert had made his decision to counsel the counsellors.

"I hear good reports about you," said Alex.

"Who from?"

Alex didn't answer. Instead he smiled and tapped the tablet tucked in his accouter.

"You're making a difference around here. You're making The Terminal a better place. Well done."

"Alex, can I ask you a question? How do I know how many privileges I've earned?"

"Use your naisa."

"My what?"

"Your naisa," repeated Alex, pointing to the device on his wrist.

"Is that what it's called?"

Alex nodded and took a step closer. He ran his finger over Robert's naisa and frowned.

"It's not registering your privileges."

"Why, is there something wrong with it?"

"No, there's nothing to go wrong. It has no working parts."

Alex looked again and shrugged his shoulders.

"Have you chosen anything to spend your privileges on yet?"

Robert shook his head.

"Not yet. I'm saving them and you already know why."

"That's the problem. You need to have chosen something from the list of privileges before what you've earned can be logged."

"I don't understand."

"As soon as you spend a privilege, the remaining ones will show. But until then, they won't flag up."

"But I don't want to waste any. I'm not interested in clothes, food or sleeping. I'm saving them all."

Alex looked serious.

"You think I'm wasting my time don't you?"

Alex shuffled nervously and didn't answer.

"What you're asking for is the most prized privilege. I think you're already aware of that. The decision on a privilege of that immense value can only be granted by the committee."

"I presume Numen heads the committee?"

"Yes, but he takes advice from those closest to him. From those he trusts the most," Alex paused and took in a breath. "The thing is Robert, the privilege you're aiming for is one which has no guarantee."

"Why?"

"It depends upon factors outside of our control. But if you were granted the privilege to return and something went wrong, or all the factors didn't align, then all the privileges you would have earned would be wasted. Wasted on nothing."

"So, I'd be back to square one."

Alex nodded.

"Well if that was the case, I'd brush myself down and start over again."

"I must say Robert, I'm impressed by your determination."

Robert sensed a reticence in Alex's tone, as if he didn't want to talk about Robert's ambition. He changed the subject.

"I expect this place fills you with wonder. I always speculate what goes through the minds' of new arrivals to The Terminal."

Robert was easily distracted. Alex was right, Robert had hundreds of questions.

"I still don't believe this is actually the afterlife. How big is this place?"

"It's ever expanding and infinite. It has multiple levels and layers. Almost every spirit who has ever lived passes through here before ascending to the next level."

"What's the next level?"

"We don't know. In the same way that you didn't know what would happen to you after you died. Spirits don't stay here forever. Eventually they move on, It's all part of the cycle of existence. But if you want my opinion, I think spirits move on to a better place than this."

"Are you talking about Heaven?"

Alex didn't answer. He merely shrugged his shoulders, as if they were discussing some 'throwaway' subject of little significance.

"Why did you say that almost every spirit passes through here? Don't all those who die come here?"

"Not all. Some remain locked in the place where they died. None of us are really sure why."

"Are those spirits ghosts that some mortals claim to have seen?"

"Very likely. And occasionally, just very occasionally Numen has the chance to free them."

"Tell me more."

"I can't. I've said too much already. I always do."

An awkward silence followed. Alex was distracted by his tablet which buzzed and flashed within his accouter.

"You'll have to excuse me."

Robert nodded dejectedly and Alex turned to walk away. He paused, turned back to Robert and spoke.

"Robert, the next time you're with Jay, mention the name Nofret."

"Who's Nofret?"

"Just do it," said Alex, before walking away and disappearing amongst the spirits.

## 30

### Saturday 28th October

### 11.02 am

### SS Great Britain

The cargo hold in the depths of the SS Great Britain was a hive of activity. The Ghost Investigators comeback show was less than five days away. Workmen laboured hard to construct seating to safely bear the backsides of the seventy invited guests. The guest included directors of the SS Great Britain Project, David Davidson, who was the elected Mayor of Bristol, influential local businessmen and Free Masons among many others. Kelvin Quastel and Roger Bateman had invited the B list celebrity who had blown the whistle on them by exposing them to the media. They wanted him to be present when Morris Ashford materialised during the performance. The B lister declined the invitation.

The cargo hold wasn't a safe place to house so many people, let alone the technical crew, camera operators and other staff needed to ensure the show would run without a hitch. The workmen had their work cut out. They were overseen by naval engineers to make sure they didn't cause any damage to the museum ship.

Employees of Rant&Rave were on hand to make sure everything was going to plan. Mark George and Paul Ottway from Happy House, the TV production company who were providing the financial resources, were also present. Quastel and Bateman were busy promoting the show. They were being interviewed by newspapers and magazines who were clambering over one another to grab a piece of the action. Secretly, the press hoped that the show would be a massive failure. If it was to fail, it would provide them with days of copy to fill their pages during what was a particularly news light period.

Morris Ashford watched without being seen by the workmen, staff of Rant&Rave or Ottway and George. It was the most exciting thing he had witnessed since the ship was brought back to Bristol in July nineteen-seventy. He considered whether he should make his presence known, but decided against it. He didn't want to cause a commotion and jeopardise the show. He had made a deal with Kelvin and Roger in exchange for release from limbo. Kelvin had told him that all he had to do was make an entrance, react with Kelvin, Roger and a selection of the invited guests. After which Morris would disappear.

Kelvin had told Ashford that he would return to the SS Great Britain as soon as the show had finished, the workmen had removed the seating gallery and the ship had been returned to normal. This is when Kelvin promised to release Ashford from purgatory, freeing him from the monotony of limbo. Ashford had put his faith in Kelvin and was relying on him to keep to his word. Ashford had no idea what was so special about Kelvin Quastel and why he had the ability to do as he had promised. But because Kelvin had been the only person he had engaged with since his death, he believed the man had the ability to do things that other mortals couldn't.

Cherry Griffiths, the sixteen-year-old employed by Rant&Rave, presented her laminated pass to the lady manning the ticket office of the SS Great Britain. The ship was open for business, but the cargo hold was out of bounds to the public and would be for the next seven days, until the Ghost Investigators show was done and dusted and the area made safe again.

A handsome teenager was standing at the entrance to the ship which was a few feet away from the ticket office. The teenager was utterly hacked off by the condescending television people who seemed to think they owned the place. They came and went with no consideration for those who worked there. He was pleasantly surprised when Cherry flashed her smile along with her pass to the lady. Her smile was infectious. He couldn't help but grin like a fool. Cherry glanced at him and noticed there was a picture of him hanging on the wall of the ticket office, in which he posed with other employees. She blushed and then scurried aboard the ship struggling to carry a huge cool box of sandwiches and drinks for the workers.

"I can give you a hand with that if you like," called the teenager. "I'm just about to go on my break. Wait a couple of minutes and I'll be with you."

Cherry turned and smiled again. It was the first time she had been aboard the museum ship, and she didn't know her way around.

"Okay, thanks."

A couple of minutes later the teenager stood alongside her and introduced himself.

"Hi Cherry, my name's Dan."

"How did you know my name?"

"It's on the pass dangling around your neck."

She blushed again. This time with embarrassment.

"Are you heading for the hold?"

"The what?"

"The hold, the cargo hold. That's where the TV people are setting everything up."

"Oh, sorry. Yes. I'm bringing their lunch."

"Follow me. I'll take you the quick way."

She followed the tall teenager carrying the cool box. His pace was quick due to nervous excitement. Dan was shy around pretty girls and Cherry was the prettiest he had seen in a long while. Just the fact that she had spoken to him made him feel good. Very few people spoke to him these days, especially the attractive young ladies. The ones who were out of his league.

"Slow down, I can't keep up."

Dan apologised and waited for her to catch up.

Something flashed before Cherry's eyes. It was just to her right.

"Wow, what was that?"

"What was what?" said Dan.

"I dunno, I thought I saw something. It was probably nothing."

Her voice was shaky. Then she saw it again. This time it was a little clearer.

"Woah!"

"Are you okay?"

Cherry didn't answer. Something else flashed and this time it was from her left. She saw a face of a woman. It stayed with her for less than a second, but it had been there long enough for her to know what it was.

"This place is weird. I keep seeing things? I'm not sure if I like it."

"What can you see?"

"Faces."

As she replied, more faces came and went. Almost brushing against hers.

"Can you see ghosts?"

"I don't believe in ghosts."

"Well, you should do, this place is as haunted as hell. That's why the TV people are here, surely you would have known that."

"I know why we're here, but that doesn't mean I believe in any of that crap. I'm just the new girl on minimum wage. I've got nothing to do with this bullshit."

Cherry shuddered as something else brushed past.

"Did you not see that? It almost touched you."

"No," laughed Dan. "I didn't see a thing. Stick with me, you'll be fine."

He picked up the heavy cool box with one hand and reached for hers with the other. Nervously she took his hand and allowed him to guide her through the ship and down to the cargo hold. She noticed how warm his hand was compared to hers.

They walked past visitors to the ship. Cherry witnessed more strange sightings of faces flash by which seem to go unnoticed by everyone else. She wasn't scared, just a little nervous. Having Dan with her made her feel safe.

The two of them stood atop the steps leading to the hold.

"I hate these steps, I don't trust them. I'm sure they wouldn't get past health and safety. One day someone's going to get hurt... or worse."

He lay the box on the floor at the top of the steps.

"Could you carry it down to the hold for me please."

Dan shuffled nervously from foot to foot. "I'm sorry, but I don't trust those stairs. I never have done in all the years I've worked here. Perhaps one of the workmen could carry it down for you?"

"What do you mean, all the years? "You can't be much older than me."

Dan looked awkward and brushed her comment aside.

"Look, I'd better get back to reception. I'm due back at any time. My break is almost up."

Cherry thanked the handsome teenager for his help and watched him until he had turned the corner and disappeared in the direction they had come. Cherry thought he was a good-looking guy. He would have been almost perfect had he not had a lazy right eye. She found it hard to look him face on, without staring at his eye which seemed to be permanently half closed.

The cool box was too large, heavy and awkward for her to carry down the stairs into the cargo hold. She called for assistance and had no trouble attracting the attention of three burly workmen who cheerily brawled with each other over who was to be the lucky lad to help the pretty teenager standing at the top of the stairs.

Young Luke Thomson struggled with the cool box.

"Woss in 'ere? There must be enough for the feedin' of the five thousand."

"Just sarnies. It's the cans of drink that make it so heavy."

"You carried it all the way 'ere yerself?"

"No, Dan helped me."

Luke felt a pang of jealousy when he heard that another lad had helped her.

Cherry was a pretty thing. Boys always vied for her attention. She followed Luke, who grappled with the box and plonked it at the bottom of the step. He tried a little harmless flirting with her, but soon gave up when he found he was getting nowhere.

She undid the box, took out the sandwiches and drinks and placed them on a nearby work table. The labourers downed tools and made their way to the food.

Cherry was still bothered by the faces appearing in her peripheral vision. Her face reflected her nervousness.

"You okay?" asked Luke.

"Yeah fine. This place is a bit weird though. Don't you think?"

"S'posed to be 'aunted innit." He replied in his broad Bristolian accent. "Not that I've ever seen anyfin. 'Though Trevor, the old fart over there, 'ee reckons that 'ee sees things all the time. 'Ees a piss 'ead though," said Luke as he unwrapped a ham and mustard sandwich.

Trevor ambled over. He had heard what Luke had said and dismissed his comment.

"This place is haunted. Been like if for years. You can feel it in your bones."

"Does it bother you?" asked Cherry who was intrigued.

"Nah, ghosts won't hurt you."

"What have you seen?"

"Nothin' much really. Just this and that."

Cherry checked her watched and was surprised by how much time she'd spent on the ship.

"I've got to go. I'm needed back in the office. I'll see you guys later. Are any of you coming to the show?"

"No", answered Trevor. "We're not important enough to have been invited. Shame, it would have been good to watch it from here. I'll watch it on the telly. How about you?"

"Yeah, I've got tickets. I'm going with my dad, he works for Rant&Rave too. He got a few tickets for my mates too."

"It's who you know I suppose," said Trevor, in a dismissive tone.

Cherry said her goodbyes and made her way back up the steps and out of the ship. She strolled past the ticket office and looked for Dan but he wasn't there. Instead, there was the lady she had seen earlier.

"Is Dan still here?"

"Dan?"

"Yeah, he was here around half an hour ago. He helped me carry the lunches for the workers in the hold."

The woman looked at Cherry with a blank expression.

"Tall guy. About eighteen or nineteen," added Cherry.

"No one called Dan working here. What did he look like?"

"Dark hair, well-built. He had a funny eye. Couldn't seem to open it properly"

The woman looked up. The colour had drained from her face.

"Which eye? Which eye wouldn't open?"

Cherry thought for a few seconds before answering.

"Right. It was his right eye."

"Are you sure?"

Cherry nodded.

"He's the one in the picture behind you."

The woman turned and looked at the picture. She hadn't needed to. She knew the photo to which Cherry was referring.

Her face became paler.

"Are you telling the truth?"

She nodded her head.

The woman sat down and Cherry noticed her judder as she slumped in her chair.

"What is it?" asked Cherry nervously.

The woman found it hard to speak. Eventually, she managed to get her words out.

"That's Dan for sure," said the lady in a quiet voice.

"Where did he go?"

"He's gone. He left us years ago?"

"But I just saw him, he helped me carry somethi...," she paused. The look on the lady's face confirmed something was definitely wrong.

"You can't have seen him.... he's dead."

"No, I'm telling you. It was Dan from the picture."

"Dan died two years ago. In the cargo hold."

She paused before continuing.

"He tripped on the bottom step. Split his head open and died there and then."

## 31

### Saturday 28th October

### 11.43 am

### Lucy Hart's House

### Wick

The atmosphere remained frosty in Lucy's house. It was a difficult situation. After Martin's confession of leading a double life, their relationship was obviously strained. Martin wondered whether it would be better for him to just walk away from Lucy and let her rebuild her life. She wasn't a youngster, but there was definitely enough time on her side to find another partner. A good one who wouldn't lie to her.

They sat across the lounge from each other. He watched her sewing as she repaired a hole in a pillowcase. He couldn't help but love her. He woke every morning, excited about the prospect of spending the rest of his life with her. The thought of going to prison and being without her terrified him.

But he couldn't leave even if he wanted. One of the conditions of the bail agreement was to stay at Lucy Hart's house until the court hearing, which was yet to be announced.

He had been a fool. Such a stupid, stupid fool. He had upset so many people.

Lucy was trying hard to love him, but love wasn't coming so easily as it had since she had found out who he really was and what he had done. She considered her circumstances and decided they could be worse. Martin could have harboured a more sinister secret. At least he hadn't killed anyone. She glanced up from her needle and thread and watched him staring out of the window and into the middle distance. He looked so innocent and trustworthy. She found it hard to believe he had done all the things to which he had confessed. She thought how little she really knew about the man. Perhaps he was a killer? Who was to say that there wasn't a body somewhere in a grave because of him?

Lucy was a very religious person and had put her faith in God. If she was doing the wrong thing by staying with Martin, then she was sure God would have let her know. One way or another he would have sent her a signal. Something to warn her. But there had been nothing. Her friends from church weren't so sure she was doing the right thing and had told her that she should give him up. But she couldn't. Despite everything he had done and despite how hard it was to love him right now, she was certain that their love would soon flourish again. As she pulled at the thread she started to understand the mixed-up emotions in her head. It wasn't loving him which was hard, it was trusting him. It was the lying that hurt her so much.

Before things went wrong, the two of them had loved nothing better than talking. They discussed anything and everything. They loved to debate, agree and at times to disagree with each other. But now, hardly a few sentences were exchanged between them.

Things were awkward.

Martin felt he had to say something. He hated the silence between them.

"Would you like a cup of tea? I'm having one" asked Martin. He wasn't thirsty. It was just something to say to break the stale air between them.

Lucy nodded and then feigned a smile. She didn't speak. But just acknowledging his question made him feel a little better. He got up from the chair. His body ached after sitting in the same position for so long. Lucy watched him head to the kitchen and considered how much older he seemed the last few days. He had developed a slight stoop which added five years to him.

He cluttered around the kitchen. From the lounge Lucy could hear the kettle boiling. It clicked as the thermostat kicked in and the kettle turned itself off. She continued to darn the pillowcase and listened to the sounds from the kitchen. After five minutes Martin hadn't returned, nor was he making any noise. There was no opening and shutting of drawers, no clinking of teaspoons and no pouring of water. Nothing. She assumed he had become distracted by something. Perhaps he was reading yesterday's paper which was on the kitchen work surface. But it was just too damned quiet. Something wasn't right. Lucy put down her sewing and made her way to the kitchen.

"Martin!" she shouted.

He was sitting on the floor with his hands behind his back. His head drooped forward and his back rested against the fridge. His legs were stuck out in front of him and jarred tightly together as if they were bound by an invisible rope.

"Martin, what is it?"

He didn't answer. His eyes were closed and his breathing was heavy. Lucy became frantic. She had no idea what had happened. She hadn't heard him fall, or trip. He hadn't called or yelped. It was as if he had just decided to sit down and go to sleep. She shook him but there was no response.

She was concerned about his heavy breathing. It wasn't as if he was asleep, it was more like he was unconscious.

"Martin, wake up."

Nothing.

She was hysterical and had no idea what to do. Instinctively, whether it was the right or wrong thing to do, she filled a mug with cold tap water and flung it in his face.

He stirred. Water ran down his shirt and he shuddered. Lucy refilled the mug and threw more water. His head lolled from side to side. She grabbed his shoulders and shook him hard, almost banging his head against the fridge. His eyes slowly opened and relief hit her hard. She flung her arms around him.

"Martin, thank God."

His eyes rolled in their sockets as he attempted to focus on his surroundings.

"Can you hear me?"

He didn't answer. She filled the mug again and this time placed it to his lips. She was shocked by how dry and cracked they were. It looked as though he'd been sitting in the blazing sun without a drop to drink. He didn't drink from the mug, so she dipped her finger in and smeared water across his lips. He flinched.

"Come on, come on... wake up."

Slowly, he was coming round. His voice was quiet and croaky.

"Where am I?"

"At home. Did you fall, did you hurt yourself?"

"You've come for me, at last."

"Who's come for you?"

He didn't answer. His head dropped. He was falling back into unconsciousness. Lucy shook him to try to keep him from slipping away again.

"Martin, stay with me please."

She put her arms around his shoulder and tried to pull him forward and away from the fridge. His arms dislodged from behind his back and fell on his lap. She stifled a scream when she saw his wrists. Both of them were red raw. The skin was rubbed to blisters and oozed with infection. Ligature marks were imprinted in his blistered skin as if he'd been secured by rope. For a second time, he began to stir.

"What the fuck?" said the woman who hardly ever cursed.

"Martin, Martin wake up. Please."

She stood up and was about to sprint to the lounge and grab the phone, but stopped when he quietly called her name. She knelt close to his mouth.

"Martin, can you hear me?"

He nodded, slowly.

"Can you stand up?"

She attempted to help him up, but he was a dead weight.

He moved his right leg, and as he did his trouser leg rode up exposing his ankle. She couldn't believe what she saw. Just like his wrists, his ankles were cut and blistered.

"Wait there, I'm calling an ambulance."

"No, don't, I'm okay."

"You're not okay. You need help."

To prove his point, he began to pull himself up from the floor by holding onto the edge of the kitchen table which was just within reach. He wheezed as he struggled to hoick himself up. Lucy pulled a kitchen chair over to him and strained to help him on to it. Now that he was moving she found it a little easier to help him. Slowly and awkwardly she guided him to the wooden chair. Martin let out a sigh when he eventually sat down.

"Look at your wrists, what on earth happened to you? And your face. You look awful."

He winced as he rubbed his fingers over the raw skin on his left wrist. He shook his head.

"What's happening to me?"

"I don't know, but you definitely need help. I'm calling an ambulance."

"No, don't."

"Why ever not?"

"How on earth are we going to explain this?" he replied in a shaky voice whilst holding out his arms and showing both wrists.

She ignored him and scurried to the lounge for the phone. She was about to dial but was interrupted by Martin. She walked back to the kitchen with the phone in her hand.

"We need to talk. Something's happening to me."

"No shit Sherlock! I can see that."

"I keep getting these thoughts. Kind of like visions." His voice was low and slow. He swallowed dryly and took a sip of water.

"Ever since I was in the cell at the police station I keep seeing things. But it's like in real time."

"Is this to do with woman's voice you were speaking in?"

"I think so. I'm not sure. But in the visions I'm definitely bound by my wrists and ankles. And now there's this," he said, showing his wrists again. "It's like the visions are actually something real."

Lucy was shaking. The shock of what was happening was taking hold. So much had happened in just a few minutes, her body couldn't cope. She held on to the edge of the kitchen table and cried inconsolable tears.

"This is the Devil's work. This is evil," said Lucy, in between tears and gasps of breath.

Martin was as confused as Lucy but was certain that whatever was happening had nothing to do with the Devil. Now the tables had quickly turned and it was Lucy who needed help. Martin mustered enough inner strength to stand. He shuffled to Lucy and put his arm on her shoulder. He noticed the pain in his wrists wasn't quite as acute. His shoes rubbed against the blistered skin on his ankles and stung like crazy. He lovingly rubbed the nape of her neck. The stinging in his ankles diminished and his body felt stronger than it had a few minutes ago. The dryness in his throat subsided. Lucy looked at him. His face was blurry because of her tears, but even through wet eyes she could see that his lips were no longer cracked and dry. She ran her fingers over them. Martin raised his arm and took her hand in his.

"Your wrists... look at them."

Martin let go of her hand and saw that the blistered and raw skin had faded. All he could see were faint red marks on both wrists. He held out his arms. They watched as the red marks faded to nothing. He pulled up his trouser legs over his ankles and saw that the damaged skin was as if it had never been there.

Lucy took a step back. Her whole body trembled.

"What are you? What are you?"

She backed further away from him, scared of what was happening.

"I don't know Lucy. I can't explain it."

She ran to the lounge. Lucy was fearful of him. He followed her.

"Keep away from me. I saw what happened. I watched those scars fade. That's not normal. You're not normal."

Now it was Lucy's turn to lose consciousness. All around her went white and a whining sound filled her head.

Martin ran over and caught her before she collapsed on the floor.

## 32

### Saturday 28th October

### 12.17 pm

### The Bridewell Police Station

### Near Bristol City Centre

Colin Matthews straightened his tie and made sure his white shirt was tucked in. He stood outside the entrance to The Bridewell Police Station, which was a two-minute walk from Bristol City Centre. Alongside him stood Fay Short, whose arm was around the shoulders of Ellen Vice. Ellen was in no position to talk, but Matthews knew that having her present during the police television appeal would add weight to the broadcast which might result in the plea being a successful one. Ellen wore a blue winter coat. Her eyes were obscured by large dark glasses. But they couldn't conceal the tears which ran down her cheeks.

Fay, who was temporarily letting Ellen live with her and her husband Gerry, had agreed to speak on Ellen's behalf. Fay and Kathy Vice were best friends and Fay was as desperate to know what had happened to Robert as Ellen was. Like Ellen, she was convinced that Kathy did not kill her husband. She was certain that the murder was connected to the mystery woman who was seen with a lady who was believed to be Kathy. Seventy-eight-year-old Ava Mitchel, who was the only eye witness, had provided the only information as to what may have happened on the night of Robert Vice's murder. Ava's description was the only definite visual evidence that Matthews and Strawbridge had to go on. But it was vague and sketchy and hadn't allowed them to move forward with the case. Hopefully the appeal would reach out and jog someone's memory or convince somebody who was harbouring a secret to come forward and contact the police.

The camera focused on Matthews, Fay and Ellen. The camera man put up his thumb to signify he was recording. Matthews drew upon his best voice to dilute his Bristolian accent and began.

"We are appealing to anyone who has information which may help us with our enquiries into the murder of Robert Vice. Mr Vice was found in his home in Pucklechurch, near Bristol, on Tuesday twenty-forth October at just before ten pm."

Matthews paused before continuing. Press conferences made him nervous, but at the same time there was something about knowing his face would be on the television sets of tens of thousands of viewers that excited him. If the appeal went national, he would be seen by millions. He pushed the thought away and concentrated on the job in hand.

"As well as the murder of Mr Vice, we are also investigating the whereabouts of his wife, Kathy, who is believed to have been at home with her husband at the time he was murdered. At the present time, we have very little information to go on."

He paused again. His head turning slowly from left to right to make eye contact with the small crowd who had formed behind the cameraman.

"A neighbour called the police at approximately nine-forty-five on the evening of the twenty-forth. She reported an incident which took place outside the home of Robert and Kathy Vice. Two women were seen to be involved in a fight. One of the women was stripped to her underwear, the other was wearing a dark red dress. We believe that the woman wearing the dress is Kathy Vice. The woman wearing the dress was seen to push the other woman into the passenger side of a car. Unfortunately, the eye witness was not able to provide information in respect of the make or model of the car. Although, she said it was a dark colour, perhaps blue or black. The woman, who we believe to be Kathy Vice, then got into the drivers' side and drove the car away."

Another pause.

"Police officers arrived at the scene within five minutes of receiving the call. They entered the house where the car had been parked and found the body of Robert Vice. It's estimated that the time of death was around the time the eye witness reported seeing the two women. Mr Vice had been stabbed multiple times in his back and heart."

Ellen winced as she heard the brief description of how her father had been murdered.

"The murder weapon was found at the victim's house. Unfortunately, there were no fingerprints or DNA evidence on the weapon."

Matthews glanced at Ellen, who was nestled into Fay. The young woman looked like a lost seven-year-old girl waiting to be reunited with her parents.

"At present, we have very little to go on. I am appealing to members of the public to come forward with any information to help us with our enquiries. Whoever murdered Mr Vice is likely to have been covered in his blood. Does anyone remember a friend or family member acting strangely that night? Perhaps someone washing blood from their hands or clothes? We have reason to believe that Mr Vice's killer was one, or perhaps both women seen by the witness who reported the disturbance. But of this, we are not certain. If anyone has any information, please contact Avon and Somerset Constabulary on the number you see at the bottom of the screen. I will now hand you over to Fay Short, who will read a statement prepared by Ellen Vice, the daughter of Kathy and Robert."

Matthews took a step back and nodded to Fay, who let go of Ellen and moved to the spot where Matthews had stood. Ellen shuffled alongside. She wanted to be seen, but not heard. Nervously, and in a monotone voice, Fay read from a sheet of A4 paper containing the printed words which were torn from Ellen's heart.

"On Wednesday twenty-fifth of October, whilst at the University of Leeds, I was informed by the police that my father had died. I was told that he had been murdered. And now, my life will never be the same. My father, Robert, was killed on Tuesday the twenty-forth, which was his forty-fifth birthday. I had spoken to dad earlier in the day to wish him happy birthday. I told him I would see him at the weekend for his birthday. But the next time I saw him wasn't to celebrate his birthday, it was to make a formal identification of his body."

Fay paused to wipe a tear from her eye. Her voice was shaky and she took a second to compose herself. Subconsciously, she turned to Ellen, as if to check that she was happy for her to continue.

"My mother and father were very much in love. Despite what the police have told me, I do not believe that my mum killed my dad. They were the most close and loving couple you could imagine. Unless she is also dead, it's my belief that mum is being held against her will. I believe she is being held by whoever murdered my father. I beg anyone who knows anything, no matter how seemingly insignificant to please come forward. Thank you."

Matthews was about to step forward but remained where he was when he realised that Fay had not quite finished.

"I would also like to add a few words of my own," said Fay. Her voice even shakier than before.

"I have known Ellen's mother for over thirty years. She is my best and closest friend. I would like to reiterate Ellen's words that I do not believe that Kathy murdered her husband. I really do not believe its possible."

Matthews was becoming agitated. He didn't want the biased opinions of Ellen and Fay to affect the judgement of the viewers. As far as he was concerned Kathy Vice was the prime suspect. He bit his lip as Fay continued.

"I beg that if anyone knows anything...,"

Fay could no longer speak. Her emotions took over. She mumbled 'sorry' and stepped to one side allowing Matthews to finish the appeal.

Off camera Matthews thanked both Fay and Ellen, who were guided to a waiting police car to be driven home to where Fay lived in Coronation Road in Southville. Her house overlooked the River Avon. Gregg Short had agreed to drive, but Matthews thought it wise for him not to. He was worried about his state of mind and didn't want the prospect of a car accident.

Strawbridge, who had been watching from the side, strolled over to Matthews, slapped him on the back and thanked him for making the appeal. Strawbridge hated speaking publicly and was grateful that Matthews had volunteered.

Matthews was deep in thought as he watched Fay and Ellen disappear from view in the police car.

"What's on your mind?" asked Strawbridge.

"They're convinced Kathy didn't murder her husband. But I don't agree."

"It makes sense doesn't it. One's the daughter, and the other is Kathy's best friend. They're bound to think she's innocent."

"I would like to believe them..., but the small amount of evidence we do have sadly doesn't stack up that way."

Matthews sighed and thrust his hands in his pockets. It was a cold afternoon.

"Come on," said Strawbridge, "we're done for the day. It's the weekend. Let me buy you a beer."

## 33

### The Terminal

Robert headed to his quarters. He had just completed a marathon nine counselling sessions. He wasn't tired or weary. He no longer experienced those feelings. Right now, he wanted to be on his own and hoped the quarters would be empty. He especially hoped that Taylor wouldn't be there. His naisa buzzed as he approached the door. He ran his finger over the strange device and the door slid open.

"Thank God, it's empty," he murmured, before stepping in.

He lay on his bunk and thought about the sessions. He thought about one of the female spirits he had counselled who was an attractive brunette called Lisa. She wore tight fitting jeans and a sweater which highlighted her curves. She hadn't been at The Terminal long and had spent one of her privileges on a full head of hair. It wasn't prosthetic, it was real and it made her look beautiful. He wasn't sure whether the woman was flirting with him. She had hardly taken her eyes away from his during the counselling session. Despite her beauty, Robert didn't find himself attracted to her. There was only one woman for whom he had eyes and that was Kathy. Although, he did have a strange attraction to Jay. It was the weirdest sensation. Being drawn to such a strange being as Jay didn't make sense. The androgyny was over seven feet tall, completely hairless and seemingly of both genders. But something about Jay stirred Robert's sexual appetite. But right now he didn't want to think of Jay, nor did he want to think of attractive and flirty Lisa. He wanted to think of Kathy. He wanted nice thoughts.

He lay on the bunk, but the only memories which entered his head were the last ones he recalled before he died. The memory of Kathy's reflection in the mirror which hung on the lounge wall. The reflection which revealed the knife in her hand. The memory of her distinct red dress and long black hair were clear in his mind, as was the memory of the knife plunging into his back.

He turned on the bunk and buried his face into the mattress. He tried to force the memory away but it stayed with him. The more he tried to think of something else, the stronger it became. He desperately needed to forget, not forever, but at least for now.

He wanted to know how many privileges he had earnt. Robert recalled what Alex had told him. The naisa on his wrist would show how many privileges he had earned once he had started to spend them. He had no idea how to work the naisa. He ran his fingers over it and wondered what he should do to see the list of privileges available. As soon as the thought entered his head he saw a list appear before his eyes. It looked like a spreadsheet. White text hung over a blue background telling him what he could afford to buy. The list was quite impressive. The first on the list was clothes, followed by hunger and then a choice of food. He scrolled through the list which became more impressive. The most expensive privilege available to him was the recreation of a Broadway show of his choice. This was all very good, but it didn't reveal how many privileges he had available to spend. Against each privilege was a tariff. Clothes cost one privilege, as did the sensation of hunger and a choice of different meals. Sleep (basic) also was valued at one privilege. He scrolled to the costlier choices and saw that the Broadway show was valued at ten. He was intrigued by the option of sleep. He used his mind's eye to scroll back to the privilege. The option expanded and revealed variants including the basic, which was sleep with no dreams. There were other options within the sleep category. Sleep with random dreams, sleep with nightmares, sleep with pleasant dreams..., the list went on. He spotted an option which appealed to him which was sleep with dreams based upon specific memories. This was valued at a mere two privileges. He rolled over on the bunk and contemplated what to do. He needed to spend at least one to know his available balance of privileges. Sleep would allow him brief respite from The Terminal. He thought that the option of sleep without dreaming was pointless. Robert hovered between the choices of sleep with pleasant dreams and sleep with dreams based upon specific memories. He blinked an eye and made his selection. The list expanded, allowing him to enter details of the memory which he wished to dream. Robert cast his mind back to what had been a wonderful day. It was the day he had first met Kathy. He blinked at the box which proceeded to populate with text and dates. The box closed and immediately he felt tired. It was the most wonderful feeling. His body ached in the same way it did after a hard days' work. He stretched his arms and legs and felt his whole body relax. He hadn't realised how much he had missed the basic things about being alive. He missed his family and friends. Ellen and Kathy were hardly ever away from his thoughts. But simple things, like being able to relax had almost been forgotten. For the first time since arriving at The Terminal he felt stress-free. He rolled over on the bunk, closed his eyes and recalled the first time he had set eyes upon Kathy. As he thought about the wonderful day which had forged the next twenty-eight years of his life, he fell into a deep and wonderful sleep.

Robert was seventeen years old again. It was nineteen-eighty-nine and he was at the bar of the Fleece and Firkin, a music venue in Bristol. The Fleece was a real spit and sawdust venue at that time. The grade two listed building, which was once a Victorian sheep trading market, made a great venue for local bands and also up and coming national bands. It was also a good place for those bands who had surpassed their peak years' and were now playing smaller and more intimate venues. Robert had come to see a local band. It was the first time he had seen live music. The band included his friend Jasper on drums, which is why Robert was there. When he was seventeen he wasn't particularly into music, but after that night things changed. The band was called The Dukes. Not a particularly original name, but then again, neither was the music they played. The Dukes were a covers band who played anything and everything. The band came onstage to a small round of applause and a few whistles and whoops from their followers, which amounted to a couple of dozen spotty kids and a few family members. Robert thought the band were pretty good. They tore through a few Roxy Music numbers, a couple of David Bowie's, some Smiths and half a dozen punk covers.

Robert found it hard to concentrate on the music because something else had got his attention. On stage were two female backing singers. They chipped in here and there with the odd 'whoos, ahhs and doo waps'. One of the girls was a pretty petite young thing and Robert couldn't take his eyes off her. Her moment of glory came when the band played a song from nineteen-eighty-five by the 'one hit wonders' Latin Quarter. The song, called Radio Africa, featured a lot of female vocal and the pretty petite girl took to the front of the stage alongside Karl the lead singer.

Robert was captivated. He couldn't take his eyes away from her. The soft reggae beat hypnotised him, along with the beautiful girl on the edge of the stage. He pushed his way towards the front of the small crowd. She fascinated him. At one point during the song their eyes met and she smiled. He smiled back.

That was it. He was in love.

The show ended and The Dukes cleared their equipment from the stage. Jasper bounded up to Robert. He was keen to hear what Robert thought about the band and in particular his drumming. Jasper saw that Robert was lost in a world of his own.

"What d'ya reckon, were we good?" asked Jasper.

"Yeah, yeah, you were great," replied Robert. His eyes scoured the room, searching for the girl.

Robert wasn't a shy lad, but he hadn't an awful lot of gall when talking to girls, especially the pretty ones.

Jasper expected a better response from his mate, but Robert didn't seem to want to engage in conversation.

"Who's the girl, the backing singer?"

"Which one? The blonde one, or the one with dark hair?"

"Dark hair. She's nice. Who is she?"

"That's Kathy. Do you want to say hello?"

"Does she have a boyfriend?"

"No, she's single right now."

Jasper noticed a look in his best friend's eyes.

Kathy stepped out of a small room behind the stage with the blonde girl. Jasper called her over.

"Hey, Kath, this is my mate Bob. I think he wants to buy you a drink."

Kathy strolled over. Jasper winked at Robert and walked away with the blonde.

"What can I get you?" asked Robert.

Kathy giggled. Instantly, there was a spark between them.

"Rum and coke,... please."

Robert smiled, bought her what she asked for and ordered half a lager from himself.

The two of them talked and talked. Until the next band came on, who were so loud it was hard to hear each other speak. This meant that Kathy had to move closer for Robert to be able to hear her. He could smell her perfume over the stale cigarette smoke which hung in the air. She smelt wonderful.

They retreated to the Seven Stars, a tiny pub next door to the Fleece. An hour and two rum and coke's later the two of them were snuggled hand in hand on a bench seat. Robert hated the saying 'love at first sight'. He thought it was for wimps. But now he had changed his mind. The moment he saw her on the stage he knew he had to meet her. The moment he met her, he knew he wanted to be with her for the rest of his life.

The detail of his dream was incredible. It was like a video had been made of that night. In his dream she wore the makeup that she had worn on stage. It was a little over the top, but the red lipstick accentuated her looks. She was stunning. The conversation in his dream ran as if it was happening there and then. He felt as if he was back in the moment with her.

By eleven-thirty it was time for her to go. The Seven Stars had closed and the couple were in an embrace outside the Fleece. Muffled music boomed through the walls, but they didn't hear it. They kissed and Robert didn't want it to end. Even the taste of her lipstick was in his dream. No detail had been left overlooked.

Eventually it was time to go. They exchanged phone numbers and she wrote her parents' number on the back of an envelope. In his dream, the number she had scribbled was as clear as day. In waking life, he had forgotten her parents' number many years ago, but in the dream he recognised it immediately as the memory came back.

The dream faded and Robert stirred. He slept for a little longer before slowly waking up.

Waking up felt wonderful. He experienced the same sensation when he was allowed an extra half an hour in bed. The half an hour between stirring and being fully awake.

Robert was pulled from slumber by Harvey who had entered the quarters and plopped himself down on his bunk.

"I see you've spent a privilege, good for you," said Harvey as Robert stretched and yawned.

Robert looked around and instantly fell into a lull. The dream had been so realistic that it had been too realistic. It was the worst thing he could have done. It made him miss his wife even more. He wanted to slip back to sleep and carry on from where he left off and then continue the rest of his life with the woman he loved.

Robert sat up and rested his chin in the palms of his hands.

"Nice dreams?" asked Harvey.

"Too nice."

Harvey decided not to enquire any further. Then Robert remembered his privileges. Now that he had spent two of them he should be able to see the remaining balance. He ran his fingers over the naisa and the spreadsheet appeared before him. A new column had appeared which told him he had thirty-seven privileges to spend. Thirty-seven did not seem very many considering that counsellor of counsellors was paid triple time. This meant he had only earned thirty-nine. He was sure he had been involved in more than thirteen sessions. He called up a page on the naisa which confirmed who he had counselled. The naisa was right as Robert saw the list of those who had turned to him for help.

He had no idea how many privileges he would need if he would be granted the opportunity to return amongst mortals, but he was sure he had earned nowhere near enough.

Jamie entered the room with a broad smile.

"What's going on?" he asked, before sitting down next to Harvey.

"Robert's been sleeping. Don't ask what his dreams were about," replied Harvey with a wink of his eye.

"Thank goodness for that. You deserve a break."

Robert stretched again. The sensation of waking after a lovely sleep was almost gone. Things were back to normal.

"What about you two, what have you been up to?"

"Not a lot," replied Harvey, "just been hanging out with a few friends I've made."

Robert nodded and then turned to Jamie.

"I've been to church," said Jamie.

Robert and Harvey looked at each other and in unison said 'CHURCH!'

"What kind of church."

"When I was alive I attended a Methodist church."

"You don't seem the churchy kind," said Robert.

"What is the 'churchy kind'?"

"I don't know, not you. You seem quite a cool dude."

Jamie took offence by what Robert said. Harvey butted in and took Jamie's side.

"I'm Catholic. I think it's great if Jamie's decided to attend church."

"I'm sorry," said Robert, retreating to the bunk with his back against the wall.

"I saw church listed as a privilege and decided to try it out."

"Were there many there?" asked Harvey.

"Yeah, packed congregation. It was great."

"Don't you believe in anything Robert?"

Robert thought about Harvey's question. Jay had asked him the same thing when he arrived at The Terminal.

"I guess I believe that God exists, but I don't really think much about it."

He paused before turning to Jamie.

"So you still believe in God, even though you've died and this is what you're greeted with?" he asked whilst waving his hand around his head.

"I have to say that it's not what I had expected. But as Jay's told us, this is just part of the cycle of our existence. I have faith that after I leave this place I'll be in Heaven."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I have faith. It's as simple as that."

"How about you Harvey, do you feel the same as Jamie?"

"As a matter of fact I do. Listen, we should all have faith. It's what we need right now."

Robert wished he had faith, but he didn't. He'd spent his life being agnostic and in death he was the same.

"So what if you were of a different faith. Let's say Hindu. How would that pan out?" asked Robert.

Harvey stood up and raised his hands.

"In my opinion all religions are equally true. But let's not get into a debate about this right now. Let's just let it lie okay."

Robert was about to say something, but was interrupted. The door slid open and in walked Jay.

"Robert, can I have a word with you please?"

Robert nodded. Jay's tone made him nervous.

"Follow me please."

Robert followed Jay into one of the four small rooms which were along a corridor behind the bunks. It was the same room in which Craig had taken Robert and the others when he had recreated Poole in Dorset. There was no beach scene here now. It was just a dull beige room which was empty and bare. Jay waited for the door to close.

"What's the problem?" asked Robert.

"The last counselling session, the one with Lisa. Did you not find her attractive?"

"Yeah, I thought she was pretty. Why?"

"Was there not a spark between you?"

"A spark?"

"You know what I mean. Were you not attracted to her?"

"I guess so, but to be honest...,"

"Lisa's used up three of her privileges to be with you, over and above the three she'd spent on the counselling session."

"I'm not sure I understand. What do you mean, she's used up three to be with me?"

"Here in The Terminal spirits have the choice to be with one another. It can either be a free choice, when two spirits are attracted to one another, or they can use their privileges and choose someone of their choice."

"That's prostitution," snapped Robert.

"One of the oldest trades," said Jay with a rare smile.

"Anyway, I wasn't interested. I had no idea she'd paid for such a privilege. No one consulted me,"

"This is what's strange," said Jay, "you shouldn't have had a choice. The privilege she chose should have overridden your moral compass. You should have gone with her."

"Gone with her?"

"Robert, don't be so naïve. You know what I mean."

"I'm sorry to let everyone down. I just didn't have the urge. I wasn't interested in Lisa. I love my wife."

"You mean the wife who murdered you?"

Robert didn't answer.

"All I can say is that you must be a strong spirit. I've not met anyone who has had the ability to override a privilege request before."

"My God, you make this place sound debauched, like Sodom and Gomorrah."

"I think you're overacting Robert."

"I don't think I am. Are there any other privileges which I should know about that I could be lured into?"

Jay smirked. Robert found his attraction towards the androgyny waning.

"I must say Robert; you appear to be cast in a different mould. I've not met a spirit like you before. Numen won't be pleased though. I wouldn't be surprised if you lose another privilege or two."

"Why?"

"Because you make things difficult."

Robert huffed and his shoulders dropped.

"Whilst we're talking about privileges, I've used a couple and now I can see how many I've earned. I've got thirty-seven remaining. Is that anywhere near enough for what I need?"

"What you need?"

"Don't act dumb. You know what I'm talking about."

Jay nodded.

"You're going to need an awful lot more than thirty-seven. And as I've said before, even if you were to earn enough, I don't think there's much chance that you will be granted what you desire."

"Because Numen, you and the others would deny it?"

"It's not that simple."

"Who makes up the rules here? Who decides how many privileges need to be earnt?"

Jay's face dropped. Robert wondered whether he was getting somewhere. Then he remembered what Alex had said.

"Jay, who is Nofret?"

Robert watched as the expression on Jay's face changed.

## 34

### Saturday 28th October

### 12.25 pm

### Lucy Hart's House

### Wick

Martin wiped Lucy's brow with a damp flannel. Her pulse was strong and her breathing was regular. He hadn't called for an ambulance. He was hopeful that she would be okay when she came around.

Lucy had fainted after seeing the scars on Martin's wrists and ankles disappear in front of her eyes. Martin was as confused as Lucy. He had no idea what was happening. He sat alongside Lucy as she lay slumped on the settee and thought about what had happened.

The vision in his mind of being held captive was still clear. The grubby, smelly and cramped room haunted him. It was so realistic. In fact it was too realistic. He had never experienced anything like it before. If he was to be honest to himself, he would have to admit that he was terrified. He knew that when Lucy woke up she would want answers. Answers to questions he couldn't give.

Her head lolled as she began to wake up. Martin braced himself for what was to happen next.

He tiptoed to the kitchen and returned with a glass of water for her. Lucy groaned. She lifted her hand and pushed her palm against her forehead. She groaned again.

Martin was nervous. The last few days had been the worst of his life and showed no sign of abating. Not only had Lucy found out he was a liar, a cheat and a thief. She had now discovered he was some kind of freak.

What the hell is happening to me? he thought to himself, as Lucy continued to wake up.

She opened her eyes to find Martin standing over her with a glass of water and a tense expression. It took a few seconds for Lucy to recall what had happened. Her head thumped and her throat was dry. She saw the glass of water in Martin's hand. She didn't want to take it from him. She wanted nothing from him. Slowly, she sat up and backed away from him on the settee.

"You need to leave my house," she whispered in a grating voice.

Robert said nothing. There was nothing he could say. He offered her the glass, but she didn't accept it.

Lucy felt awful. She felt as if she had the hangover from hell. She was also very frightened.

"Martin, please go."

Martin did not know what to say in his defence. In his mind he wasn't a monster or a freak. But he could not explain or understand what was happening.

"I can't go. I have to stay here."

"No. Please, just go."

"I can't because of bail. I have to remain here."

"Fuck the bail. I'm sure that if I told the police about what you are, they'd be happy for you to bother someone else."

Robert knew he had to tread carefully. He was determined not to lose Lucy. Right now he wasn't bothered about the conditions of bail. It was Lucy he cared about.

"Please, take a sip of this, and when you feel better we'll talk about things," he said, offering the water for a second time.

Lucy eyes bulged as she stared at him. The expression on her face didn't even start to reflect the horror she felt.

"Please," said Martin, in an imploring tone.

"If I was a bad person, surely I would have already harmed you by now."

As soon as the words left his mouth he regretted saying them. He was a bad person. He had done some terrible things, for which he would likely go to prison.

"Stigmatist," whispered Lucy.

"Pardon?"

"It was like stigmata, in front of my very eyes."

"It's not. I don't know what it is, but it has nothing to do with stigmata."

"It's the Devil's work, now get out before I call the police."

"But what are you going to tell them, they would never believe you?"

"I'll tell them that you attacked me. I'm sure they'll believe that."

"No, please. Don't do this. Let's talk about it."

She was too weak to argue, but right now she was too scared to give in to him.

Martin had to give her space. She needed to be on her own. He understood how scared she was. He too was scared. He placed the water on the mantel piece and stepped into the hall. He took his coat from the banister and put it on. He stood in the doorway of the lounge and looked at the woman he loved. He felt overwhelmed by guilt because of something he had no control over.

"Lucy, I'm going now. You need time to be alone."

Lucy didn't answer. She remained still, her eyes staring at the flock wallpaper ahead of her.

The front door closed behind him and Lucy was left alone with her thoughts. Martin cast a shadow as he walked past the lounge window and away from the house.

Lucy was alone. Very, very alone. She stood up and made her way to the kitchen. She needed a drink to refresh her dry mouth, but she was reluctant to drink from the glass which Martin had offered. She saw the fridge which Martin had been slumped against. She looked at the mug of water on the kitchen table that she had offered him when she found him unconscious. She poured herself a glass and slowly sipped it. The water felt good the instant it hit her dry mouth. She questioned whether she really saw what she thought she saw. The rope burns were as clear as day. She had definitely seen them. There was no doubt in her mind. And she had definitely seen them vanish. Nothing could explain what she had seen. It was like magic. Black magic. She finished the glass and poured herself another. Thoughts buzzed around her head like fireflies.

She cast her mind back to when Martin had started to act strangely. It was the day she had insisted that he tell her everything about him. He had spent hours recalling his life. He had opened up and told the whole thing. Absolutely everything about him, ending with his transformation from Martin Cooke to Donald Mortimer and then back to Martin Cooke.

It was at this point when he began to act differently. He had pleaded to her in a feminine voice. She strained to recall exactly what it was he had said. And then she remembered.

'Whoever you are, please get me out of here. Please, please. I can hear you, but I cannot see you. Please get help. Tell them you've found me.'

She recalled how his voice had changed. As if someone or something had taken him over. She had confronted him at the time and in a patronising tone had repeated what he had said. He told her that he had no memory of saying the words. He genuinely had no recollection.

Martin had pleaded. He had pleaded for help. What had it meant when he had said 'please get me out of here, tell them you've found me'?

The feminine voice with which he spoke sounded genuinely scared. The timbre, intonation and pitch when he spoke was as if someone was fearing for their life. A woman who was in fear for her life. Lucy made her way back to the lounge with the words spinning around in her head. She returned to the settee and combined the memory of his words with the image of the fading scars. Scars which seemed to be due to ligature, as if he had been tied.

Lucy sat back and closed her eyes. Her rational side was becoming overshadowed by illogical judgments. Could there be a connection between what he'd said and what she'd seen?

Lucy thought she knew the man she had lived with for almost a year. She had been proven wrong. Very wrong. But despite what she now knew about him, she didn't think he was the sort of person who would make up something like this. How could he? There was no way he could manufacture those rope marks, and absolutely no way he could make them vanish before her eyes. Whatever was happening was way beyond the realms of reality. Now that she had time to think about and consider what had happened, she believed that Martin needed help. Perhaps, if she didn't love the man so much, she may not have been so concerned. But Lucy did love him and she was concerned. Lucy wondered where he was. As scared as she was, he would probably be more frightened than her. After all, the strange marks on his wrists had happened to him and not her. She had an urge to find him. Lucy needed to know that he was safe.

There was only one place he could be.

Lucy jumped up, almost spilling the glass of water and grabbed her coat from under the stairs. She snatched her keys from the hook in the hallway and left her house. She glanced at her car in the driveway, but chose to walk. Lucy was a large lady with a tinge of arthritis, but this didn't top her walking at a hell of a pace. She would have broken into a run had it not been for a stitch developing in her side.

Her arthritis caused her to lollop to one side as she hurried along the pavement. She overtook her neighbours, Mr and Mrs Wood, who were shocked to see her moving so fast. Mr Wood called out as she paced past. Lucy didn't answer. She stopped at the end of the road to briefly catch her breath and let the stitch subside. Less than a minute later she was on the move again. Heading down the hill towards the small rank of shops. A couple of ladies who recognised her stepped out of the village coffee shop. They could tell by Lucy's face that she was distressed. They could still hear her heavy breathing as she disappeared around the corner.

Lucy had left the village of Wick behind her and paced along the narrow pavement on the road between Bristol and Marshfield. St Bartholomew's church came into view. The stitch in her side returned but Lucy ignored it. She wasn't going to stop until she made it to the church. The sound of an organ filled the air as she approached the entrance. It wasn't Sunday, but David Partridge, the church organist, was practicing a few hymns. David thought he was alone.

Lucy crashed through the door and an echo bounded off the walls. David stopped playing partway through 'Old Rugged Cross' and turned around to see her bent double and holding her chest. He called her name but she didn't reply. She scoured the church looking for Martin. Only a few lights were turned on and it was dark inside the old stone building. Her eyes adjusted to the low light and she picked out a lone figure sitting in a pew. The figure hugged a kneeling cushion. Lucy squeezed down the length of the pew and sat alongside. She was unable to speak due to breathlessness.

Martin turned to Lucy. She looked at his hollow eyes. In the sanctuary of the church she felt his pain. Lucy held his hand and squeezed it.

David continued to play from where he had left off. Music filled the air again.

Whether it was the atmosphere of her beloved church or something else, Lucy felt calm. Something was telling her that the strange things were happening to them for a reason. It wasn't just fate that drew them together. She was sure there was something else. And what was happening to Martin was a sign.

A sign that someone, somewhere needed their help.

## 35

### Saturday 28th October

### 1.38 pm

### Rant&Rave television production offices

### Bristol

Cherry Griffiths sat at her desk and sighed out loud. The memory of Dan, the handsome teenager, remained with her. She had definitely been attracted to the helpful young man who had carried the heavy box of lunches down to the bowels of the ship. He had been reluctant to carry it down the steps down to the cargo hold. Dan had disappeared back to reception and had left Cherry to hand out sandwiches to the workmen.

Cherry had enquired with the lady at the ticket office of the SS Great Britain to be told that there was no one who worked there called Dan. What she learned next had floored her. Two years earlier a teenager who worked there called Dan had died. He had tripped at the base of the steps in the cargo hold. He had cracked his head open and died on the spot. Cherry had recognised him from a picture which hung on the wall in the ticket office.

Cherry pushed back in her chair and fired up Google. She typed 'Dan died SS Great...', but before she finished typing, Google's auto-complete offered suggestions.

Daniel North Death SS Great Britain August 2015.

The search immediately brought up the result she had feared. She clicked the link and her heart beat faster when she saw his face staring back at her from the screen.

It was definitely Dan. The same Dan who had helped her. The picture of a handsome teenager with a lazy eye was unquestionably him. She scrolled past the picture and down to the text. She was on the edge of her seat and couldn't concentrate on the words which seemed to move around the screen. She couldn't focus. She hit the print icon and headed to the printer. She grabbed a cup of water and waited for the printer to churn out what she had asked it to. Slowly, the old Xerox machine chugged out two pages of double sided text. The picture of Daniel North overshadowed the words. Cherry downed the water, grabbed the paper and headed back to her desk. She found it easier to read from the A4 paper. Reading from her computer screen made her feel queasy.

She spoke the words beneath her breath. It was a report from the Bristol Post newspaper which had been written by journalist Ian Lester.

'Investigations into the death of teenager Daniel North aboard the museum ship SS Great Britain have revealed that his death was accidental. The seventeen-year-old died when he tripped whilst descending into the cargo hold. The investigation has confirmed that the owners of the ship were not at fault. Daniel had been reading from his mobile phone and had allegedly misjudged his step, causing him to trip. In a statement read by...'

Cherry put the papers down. She didn't need to read any more. What she had read had confirmed that she had spoken with a ghost. She was overcome by a fuzzy feeling in her head which soon passed. After the feeling of wooziness had subsided she was surprised to find that she was not scared. Being in the presence of a ghost hadn't fazed her in the slightest. Cherry recalled the other strange things she had seen flashing around the ship in her peripheral vision. Did she have an ability like Kelvin and Roger? Was she able to speak with the dead?

Cherry had little time for Rant&Rave's television programme. She worked there because her father had insisted it was time that she found a job. She had never watched an edition of The Ghost Investigators and had not given an awful lot of thought to things such as ghosts or the afterlife. But now all of that had changed. She was intrigued and could not wait to get back to the ship to see him again.

He was such a nice person and so very helpful. There was a definite attraction between them. She was sure he fancied her. The thought made her shudder, and not in a bad way. Then she was struck by a notion. Did Dan know he was dead? If he did, why on earth would he have been so friendly towards her? Cherry was sure that if she had suggested they go out for a drink he would have said yes. Boys were often keen to chase after her. Her good looks and chirpy outgoing attitude made her an attractive proposal to the opposite sex.

My God, even ghosts fancy me, she thought to herself.

The concept made her feel oddly contented.

But who could she tell? She considered mentioning what had happened to her bosses, Roger and Kelvin, but doubted whether they would believe her. She was sure they would think she was making it up in an attempt to steal their thunder. The only other person she thought about telling was her best friend Kiasha. She decided against it. She made the decision to keep Daniel North to herself. It would be her own special secret.

She hoped that her bosses would have a reason for her to return to the ship again before The Ghost Inspectors was broadcast. She wanted to see Daniel North again. There were so many questions she wanted to ask him.

## 36

### Sunday 29th October

### 10.32 am

### Kenneth Steele House

### Bristol

DCI Colin Matthews sat alone in meeting room number four and watched a recording of the previous days' television appeal on his laptop.

He listened to Ellen's words read on her behalf by Fay Short. He had one eye on Fay and the other on himself. Matthews was not a particularly vain man, but he could not resist watching himself whenever he had been on TV. He was intrigued by his mannerisms and nuances. The little things he was unaware of. He didn't realise that he blinked as much as he did. It was down to nerves. When he was making the announcement he hardly blinked, but when Fay spoke he blinked every few seconds. It was if he had a nervous tick and he didn't like it. Nor did he like how overweight he had become.

"I really need to cut down on the crap I eat and get my ass to the gym," he muttered before closing the laptop.

The door opened and Strawbridge stepped into the meeting room. He had been spying on Matthews through a slat in the blind.

"He's so vain, he probably thinks this appeal is about him," sang Strawbridge closing the door behind him.

Matthews blushed. He was a little embarrassed at being caught out.

"I was just checking to see if I could get any clues from....," his voice trailed off, knowing that what he was saying was a lie.

"Well at least I did the appeal Tom. I took a hit for the team so you didn't have to."

"Don't worry, I'm only joshing with you," said Strawbridge, slapping him between the shoulders.

"Sadly, we've had very few responses from the appeal, It's really quite disappointing."

"I know Tom; I've reviewed the stats. We've had the typical crackpot messages from the usual suspects that always respond, but nothing particularly useful. Wilcox and Carter are following up on a couple of leads but I'm not getting my hopes up. There's just so little evidence, there's no way of progressing with this case."

"I know; I'm as frustrated as you are. Vice was killed less than a week ago, so it's still early days."

"It's just that we have so many other cases on the go, I feel that this one is being overshadowed."

"Well, you'd better stop watching your fizzog on the goggle-box and get back out there and do some work. The last thing you want is Munroe on your case. He's not in the best of moods right now."

Matthews scooped the laptop from the desk and stood up to leave.

"Sometimes I hate this job Tom. It's like going round and round in circles. Did I tell you I went back to Hi Dri?"

"Yeah, nothing panned, out did it?"

"Other than I discovered that no one liked Francis Taylor. Only the office manager had good things to say about him, but I guess he would, wouldn't he. I spoke again with a few of the others. None of them had anything nice to say about him."

"I guess he wasn't the sort of person everyone liked. It's probably what helped him do well in business. It comes with the territory. I can't say I particularly like Munroe very much. That's why plebs like you and I will probably stay where we are and never climb the greasy pole."

Detective Superintendent Munroe ruled with an iron fist. Matthews had disliked him from the day he joined the force as a constable.

Matthews gripped the laptop under his arm without speaking and stared vacantly.

"What's on your mind?" asked Strawbridge.

"I dunno, something about this whole case seems familiar."

"Why?"

"I can't tell, it's kind of like déjà vu, but at the same time it isn't. Does that make any sense?"

"Nope!"

"I kind of feel I've been here before, done all this before."

"What, you mean you've investigated this case before?" asked Strawbridge. He had no idea what Matthews was trying to say.

"I don't know what I mean. Like I said, all of this feels very familiar. Like I'm treading old ground."

## 37

### Sunday 29th October

### 11.14 pm

### Grain Barge

### Hotwell Road

### Bristol

Fifty-seven-year-old Margaret Staples, otherwise known as 'Scraggy Maggie' huddled behind two skips in the corner of the Grain Barge carpark. The skips shielded her from the chilly October wind. She pulled her sleeping bag tightly around her to keep warm. She waited for the floating restaurant to close and for the stuffed and drunk patrons to make their way home. Most nights she would hang around hoping to be tossed a few coins, or if she was lucky notes from three or four of the more charitable Grain Barge customers. She would be lucky if she ended up with four or five pounds with which she would buy a sandwich or some fruit. But Maggie had not been lucky in days. She hadn't been thrown a single penny, and other than scraps found in bins, she had not eaten in over forty-eight hours. She felt sick with hunger.

A few years earlier, although still homeless, Maggie had lived a better life and had become something of a celebrity. David Sampson, who owned Bristol Music Exchange in Clifton, allowed Maggie to shelter in his musical instrument shop on cold and rainy days. David was surprised to discover that Maggie was a pretty good classical guitarist. Maggie was often in David's shop playing some amazing stuff on his second-hand guitars. Her playing lured passers-by. He found she was an asset to his business. She had also proved that she was a dab hand at setting up guitars and getting them ready for customers. David's turn over wasn't enough to pay her, but in return he fed her and allowed her to stay in the shop during the evening when it was closed. For the first time in years Maggie had a roof over her head and a full stomach. David became well known for his generosity after The Bristol Post featured him, Maggie and his shop. People would drop in to say hello to Maggie and bring her gifts. She hit the headlines when Bristol rapper, Lano J, invited her to be in his music video. Maggie really had become a celebrity and David's business boomed as a result.

But all things come to an end. Two years later David unexpectedly died of a heart attack. There had been no warning. He became ill in the shop and Maggie had called for an ambulance. David didn't even make it to the hospital. David had a great send off and hundreds attended his funeral. Maggie had spoken a few words. Her frail Bristolian voice captivated the congregation when she spoke of his generosity and how he had turned her life around. During the wake Maggie had been the centre of attention. But she had been heartbroken beyond belief and preferred to keep herself to herself. All she wanted was David back. The kindest man she had ever known.

After the funeral was over she returned to the shop which never opened its doors for business again. A few people dropped by to see how she was and brought her food. But as time went on Maggie received fewer and fewer visitors. Six weeks later, the property company who leased the shop to David came around to take back the keys. Maggie was homeless again.

The Grain Barge disgorged its clientele and Maggie straightened her crumpled body and stood up behind the skips. She carefully rolled up her sleeping bag and wrapped herself in a blanket. The blanket wasn't for effect to make people feel sorrier for her, she did it because she was cold to the marrow of her bones.

The Grain Barge hadn't been very busy. Instead of a hundred or so customers, only forty people had visited the restaurant. Maggie shuffled towards the boat. Her body ached with every step. She was a pitiful sight as she approached. The streetlights illuminated her from behind which gave her the appearance of a walking silhouette. Thirty eight of the forty people leaving the restaurant pretended not to notice her. The two that did acknowledge her were two drunken brothers who took delight in telling her to' piss off and die'. After which they sauntered to Hotwell Road and flagged down a taxi to return them to their parents' six-bedroom home in Sneyd Park.

The carpark emptied and all was quiet again, other than muffled sounds coming from the Grain Barge as staff tidied up and closed the floating restaurant for the night. Dejectedly, Maggie shuffled back to the skips and slipped into her damp sleeping bag. She found a stale crust of baguette which had been hiding in the bottom. She crunched down on the hard-stale bread and broke a tooth in the process. Maggie was too weak and tired to make a fuss. She swallowed the broken tooth, whimpered and assumed the huddled position she had been in for the past twenty-four hours.

## 38

### The Terminal

"Jay, who's Nofret?" asked Robert for a second time.

Robert sensed that he had touched a nerve. It was Alex who suggested that he should mention Nofret.

Jay turned his head and Robert could tell he was upset. Robert had no idea who Nofret was or why the name was significant.

Robert and Jay stood alone in one of the four small rooms which adjoined Robert's shared living quarters.

"Who told you about her?" asked Jay. For the first time the androgyny showed emotion.

"It doesn't matter. Who is she?"

Jay continued to face the other way. The silence in the small room was punctuated by Jay's heavy breathing. It sounded as if he was stifling tears.

"Was Nofret your wife?"

"No, she was my daughter."

"On earth? The place where I lived when I was alive?"

"Yes."

Jay was clearly playing his cards close to his chest. Getting him to talk was like pulling teeth.

"Did Nofret die?"

"She would be dead by now. She lived a very, very long time ago."

"How long?"

"You wouldn't believe me."

"Try me."

Jay sighed and turned around. His beautiful face was marred by sadness.

"One-hundred-and-eighty thousand years ago... give or take."

"Wait, the human race has been around for what... two hundred-thousand-years?"

"Perhaps, I don't know for sure."

"Let me get my head around this. You walked the earth twenty-thousand-years after the human race was supposed to have evolved. That doesn't make sense."

"I lived in a place which is now referred to as Israel. When I was alive things were very different to how they are now."

Robert was both confused and intrigued. He had wanted to know more about Jay and his friends since he had arrived at The Terminal, but now he was experiencing information overload.

"Are you human?"

"Good question, let me answer by saying that the human race derived from my ancestors."

"Ancestors, what ancestors?"

"Those who lived before me."

Robert pushed the thoughts away. He had the bite for more detail, but right now he had to concentrate on finding more out about Nofret.

"So, Nofret, your daughter. What happened to her?"

"I don't know; I didn't find out."

"You don't know how she died?"

"No."

Clearly something had happened to Jay's daughter and Jay wasn't letting on. Robert wondered whether it was something along the lines of what happened between him and Kathy. Did Nofret kill Jay?

"I'm sorry Robert, I don't want to talk about it, not right now."

Jay knew that Robert would not let it lie. Robert would be wanting more answers, but Jay was too upset to talk. Memories from one-hundred-and-eighty-thousand years ago were haunting him as if they had happened yesterday.

"I need to go, I'm needed elsewhere."

Jay stepped out and left Robert alone. Robert gave it a few seconds before following. He caught sight of the door closing as Jay stepped out of the quarters and out to The Terminal.

Harvey, Jamie and Taylor were on their bunks.

"What did you do to upset the big man?" asked Taylor.

Robert didn't answer. He sat on his bunk and tried to figure out what had just happened.

Harvey didn't like the atmosphere in the quarters since Jay had stormed out and Robert had slunk in.

"Jamie, show Robert what you can do," said Harvey in an attempt to lift Robert's mood.

"Nah, it's nothing. I expect we can all do it."

"Go on, show him what you showed us."

Robert looked up at Jamie who was sitting across from him on the edge of his bunk.

"I've just discovered this. Be patient and don't say anything," said Jamie, before taking a huge gasp of air and holding his breath.

Then Jamie did nothing. He just sat on the bunk and held his breath. He went on... and on... and on... and on..., and then Harvey spoke.

"He could probably do that forever. Shame we can't time him, but he must have held his breath for a good ten minutes by now."

"It's because he's dead," said Robert in a flat, matter of fact tone.

"But then why do we bother breathing?" said Harvey, as Jamie exhaled the air he had stored in his lungs. He didn't even pant for breath.

"Home comforts maybe? I don't know. Ask Jay."

"Let me try something," said Harvey.

He closed his mouth and held his breath without taking a lungful of air as Jamie had done. After a little while he opened his mouth and continued to breathe.

"Man, that's crazy, we don't need to breathe. How odd is that?"

"This is a very odd place," remarked Robert, who seemed nonplussed by Jamie's discovery.

"So what's the matter with you, Mister Misery Pants?" asked Taylor. It was the first time he had spoken since Robert had followed Jay from the small room.

"Nothing..., just this place. Apparently I've lost more privileges."

"What have you done this time?"

"It's what I haven't done. Apparently, I was chosen by a women. She spent a few of her privileges. In return she bought the privilege to shag me."

"Who was it?" asked Taylor, his ears pricking up.

"It doesn't matter who. It was one of the counsellors."

Taylor sat with his thoughts and mulled over the people he had met.

"It wasn't Lisa was it? She's a counsellor."

Robert's expression answered Taylor's question for him.

"You lucky bastard. She's a stunner. What the hell's the matter with you?"

"According to Jay, I should have automatically responded without being able to control myself. I could tell she was a bit flirty with me, but I just wasn't interested. And now it seems she's logged a complaint and I've lost privileges."

"Good God man, what's the matter with you? I would have bagged her in a heartbeat."

"Why does that not surprise me?"

"You still pining for your murderous wife?"

"Sorry if I still love her."

"I have to say Robert, I do tip my hat to you. You must have been very devoted to still love her after what she did," said Jamie.

"I just have such great memories of our life together. I hold them close. Memories are all I have now. You guys wouldn't understand. I'm wasting my time with you all."

"No, I get it, I get it man. Love's a powerful thing. I'm jealous of you. Not that she killed you, but I'm jealous of you for the good memories you have. My memories are pretty damn awful, which is why I'm better off here than when I was alive," said Harvey.

"Do you still prefer it here?"

"Yup. I'm happy here. It's like a fresh start."

"Are you still planning on haunting your wife?" asked Taylor.

"I've never planned on haunting her, I just want to speak with her. Find out what was going through her mind. I won't rest until I find out."

"Well if you ask me, returning from the dead to speak with the living, ticks all the ghost boxes for me."

Robert shook his head. He didn't agree with Taylor.

"Anyway, it seems you'll never be granted your wish, so stop brooding and get on with things," snapped Taylor.

"I've discovered something about Jay. I'm not sure what it is, but it's something he isn't happy about."

"Is that why he stormed out earlier?" asked Jamie.

Robert nodded.

"I was speaking with Alex. He told me to mention the name Nofret to Jay."

"Nofret, what sort of name is that?"

"A very old name, or so it would seem. Nofret was Jay's daughter."

"He had a daughter? You're kidding me!"

"Apparently so. But something must have happened. I'm going to find out more."

"But what's the link between Jay, his daughter and you returning to the land of the living?" asked Harvey.

"I don't know, but I'm going to make it my job to find out."

## 39

### Saturday 28th October

### 2.14 pm

### Ten hours earlier

### Lucy Hart's house

### Wick

Lucy and Martin had walked back home from St Bartholomew's church the long way. Neither were in a rush to get home. Little was said during the walk. Lucy had as many questions as Martin but knew it was pointless asking. She was sure that there was no way Martin would know the answers. He wouldn't be able to explain the mysterious ligature scars that had appeared and then vanished on his wrists and ankles. Whilst in the church they had both prayed. Martin prayed for forgiveness for the sins he had committed over the past year. He also prayed for a sign to let him know what was going on. Lucy had just prayed that everything would return to normal. And the sooner the better.

As always, whenever there was an issue of some kind, Martin defaulted to offering Lucy a cup of tea. The offer of a hot drink seemed to add normality to the abnormal situation.

Lucy accepted his offer.

Martin used Lucy's finest bone china. It was a subconscious decision to up the ante with the crockery. Lucy's chunky everyday mugs didn't seem fitting after what they had been through. Lucy took the cup of Earl Grey from Martin and thanked him.

"What do you believe in?" asked Martin, after sitting down next to Lucy on the settee in the lounge.

"Are you talking about God? If so, then you know I believe."

"I'm not talking about God. I'm talking about something else. I'm talking about what's happened to me. Those scars. That's what I'm talking about."

"I don't know what to believe."

"That's not what I'm asking."

Lucy did not know what Martin was getting at. He was not explaining himself.

"I'm talking about ESP. Do you believe in things like that?"

"Extrasensory perception? When people can communicate to each other through thought?"

"I think that's what I mean. Do you also believe in ghosts?"

"Very much so. I'm fascinated. Always have been. Why, what are you thinking?"

"Not sure, but..., but..., I'm sure that someone is speaking..., through me."

"You're talking about the woman aren't you?"

Martin nodded. Even though the situation was surreal, Lucy felt a pang of jealousy when Martin made mention of another female.

"The visions I've had and the voice you've heard coming from me. I'm sure that someone's calling for help. A woman's calling. I'm not even sure if she's alive."

Lucy swallowed hard.

"I do believe in that kind of thing. We've got tickets to see that live ghost show. So yes, I do believe."

"That live ghost show? Lucy, I'm not talking about a bunch of theatrical charlatans. I'm talking about something real. You've seen what happened to me and you say you've heard me speak as a woman. I'm certain that someone needs help."

"Okay. I think I'm in a better place now. I think I'm ready for you to tell me what you've seen," said Lucy, after accepting what she saw was real and that Martin wasn't possessed by evil. "What's going on?"

"It's like I said to you before. I get visions. It started when I was in the custody cell and it happened again here."

He sipped the tea, which was beginning to go cold.

"I'm tied up in a room, a horrible dank and dark room. There's barely enough light for me to see, but what I can see is depressing. I'm stripped down to my underwear, I mean lady's underwear."

"As if you're a cross dresser?"

"No, it's not me I can see. I think the body belongs to a woman. It's not some kind of premonition. It's happening now, in real time."

Lucy slowly nodded. She wasn't sure where Martin was heading.

"It's as if I'm looking through the eyes of a woman held captive. She's covered in a splattering of dry blood."

"Her blood?"

"Maybe, I'm not sure. The place is horrible. There're rats running around and the place stinks. I can actually smell the place."

"What does it smell like?"

"You wouldn't want to know. It's like a toilet."

Lucy screwed her face up at the thought of rats running around and a place that smelt the way Martin had described.

"This woman is either going to die, or she's already dead. Perhaps what I'm seeing are her last memories."

"So does this woman need saving or is it too late?"

"I'm not sure whether it's too late. I get the feeling she's lifeless, but perhaps not dead."

"Are there any clues as to where she is?"

Martin closed his eyes and tried to recall what he'd seen.

"Dexion shelving."

"What's Dexion?"

"The angle metal for making shelves. The shelves are full of box files. Box files that have not been opened in years. Also, there are old cardboard boxes strewn around."

"Can you hear anything? Traffic, voices? Anything which may suggest where this room is?"

"No. Nothing at all."

"I think you have two choices. You either tell the police, or you keep it all to yourself. Personally, I think that calling the police won't get you anywhere. Especially after what's just happened. I'm talking about when you were arrested."

Lucy was right. The police would not investigate a thing with the vague details he had. There was no solid evidence and they would surely consider him mad.

"But I have to do something. What if I see her again? I need to find a way to communicate with her."

Lucy shrugged her shoulders.

"I believe you Martin, it's just that I have no advice to offer. Perhaps you should speak with Reverend Danbury. Maybe he can offer advice."

"No, I don't fancy speaking with Marcus. I don't think I'm in his good books after what happened to me this week. God only knows why he thinks you've stuck with me. The whole of Wick must know about me by now. You know what the gossip is like around here."

"Marcus Danbury's a good man. He doesn't judge. I've known him for years. I don't care about what the village are probably saying about us. They can think what they like."

Martin thought about speaking with Marcus, but couldn't bring himself to face the Reverend.

"No, I'll just ride this out on my own. I'll deal with it."

Lucy sighed loudly and put the teacup down.

"Don't make me Earl Grey again. I don't like it very much."

"But you've always liked it."

"I've changed my mind, it's a woman's prerogative."

"So what am I supposed to do, read your mind?"

"Perhaps, it does seem you have the ability."

Immediately, Lucy regretted her words.

"I'm sorry, that was insensitive of me."

Martin said nothing. What followed was a minute of awkward silence. Neither knew what to say. Eventually, Lucy spoke.

"Let's just carry on living our lives together. Take each day one at a time."

Martin nodded.

"Are you coming along with me and Marcia to the show?"

"Show?"

"The ghost show, The Ghost Investigators, or whatever it's called. Kiasha's friend has got us four tickets. You, me Marcia and Kiasha."

Robert thought about when the show was in the press for all the wrong reasons. They had been dragged through the tabloids for fabricating ghosts. He smirked to himself at the thought that the show was attempting to resurrect itself.

"Yeah, I'll come. It'll be a night out I guess. Where is it being broadcast?"

"The SS Great Britain."

"Why on earth there? It's a strange choice of venue."

"According to what Marcia told me, it's one of the most haunted places in Bristol."

Robert snorted as he scoffed at the idea.

"I'll come, it might be a giggle."

## 40

Things were desperate. Not a drop of water had passed her lips in days. She hadn't eaten in almost a week. She felt her life force ebbing. She tried to think what she had done to cause such a U-turn in what she thought was a near perfect life. But after being bound for so long it was impossible to think clearly. She slipped in and out of consciousness with more time spent being unconscious than conscious.

She was brought out of her lifeless lull by the sound of voices and footsteps from above.

She had been told not to call for help. She had no idea how much time had passed since she had been dragged down to this godforsaken hole, but now was the time to make it known she was there.

She mustered as much strength as she could and attempted to shout.

Her throat was so dry and her voice was so weak, she made no noise whatsoever. She was quieter than the rats which brushed against her legs.

She tried again and nothing other than a cracked groan left her mouth.

Unless a miracle happened, she knew that her time would soon be up.

***

THE END OF BOOK ONE

Please note: This is the first book in a two part series. The story begins with The Ultimate Privilege (Book One) – Why...? and carries on seamlessly and concludes with The Ultimate Privilege (Book Two) – Because...

The Ultimate Privilege (Book Two) – Because... can be sourced by searching the Internet

