His face was so close, Ryan could almost pretend he was about to get kissed. His heart thudded as the bandanna was lifted away, inch by inch. Ginger stared at Ryan's cheek, frowning.
"Is it bad?" Ryan asked.
"I don't get it. Take a look for yourself."
Ryan didn't want to move, but if Ginger wanted him to look, he supposed he should. Biting his lip from sudden nerves, Ryan turned and faced the mirror. He prepared himself to see something horrible; deep scratches, bloody gashes, the works. But when he saw none of that, he blinked in surprise, and moved closer to the mirror.
"What the—" Ryan frowned at his reflection, at the cheek which had been scratched. There was no blood. There were barely even any scratches. He could just make out three faint, pink lines across his cheek. That was all.
Ryan leaned into the mirror as he stared. "I don't get it. It stung loads. Where's all the blood gone?" He looked at his hand. That too, was devoid of any bloody evidence.
"I don't know," Ginger said. "There's nothing on here either."
Ryan half turned, glancing at the bandanna Ginger held out for him to see. The clean bandanna with no blood on it. This made no sense, he thought. No sense at all. He turned back to the mirror to examine his face again. Was he going mad? But Ginger had seen the blood too, right?
Ryan's eyes found Ginger's in the mirror. "What does—" The words stuck in his throat as Ryan noticed another figure in the mirror, standing behind Ginger. Ryan's eyes widened in alarm.
It was a man, a stranger.
Had one of the punters wandered in from downstairs? He was clearly older than both of them, with short hair that still managed to look scruffy, wearing a dark-green military jacket. His eyes were fixed on Ryan, his face calm. Ryan saw all this in one panicked moment, before he whirled around to confront him. Staring past Ginger's shoulder, he was confused to see no one there. Ryan looked back at the mirror. He examined that same spot, but whoever had been there was now gone.
What the hell?
"What's up?" Ginger asked. "Is it Ash?" He leaned out of the bathroom, resting a hand on the door frame as he looked down the hall. "Ash?" he called out. "You found it yet?"
"Yeah," Ash called back. "Got it." In another moment, Ash reappeared, carrying the box with First Aid written across it.
"Thanks." Ginger took the box, placed it on the closed toilet seat, and opened it up. Ryan watched him absently, his mind churning away. What the hell was going on? He'd just seen a man in the mirror, a man he hadn't recognised. No one else had seen him, and he'd vanished into thin air. Who the hell was he?
Ginger tilted Ryan's face up, gently dabbing at his cheek with cold, wet cotton wool. It stung, and Ryan flinched from the pain.
"Sorry. It's just TCP."
Ryan tried to focus his thoughts. "Daniel, remember when I first moved in here, and we had that party?"
Ginger's hazel eyes locked with his. "Mm."
"What was it Sheila's friend said, about the ghosts?"
"Who, Beth?" Ginger snorted. "Beth is a hippy who smokes too much weed, Ryan. I told you to ignore her."
"But she said something about there being ghosts here, right?" Ryan insisted. "She told me every time I walked into a room, I should say hello to them, to get them on our side. Don't you remember?"
"I try not to listen to Beth if I can help it." Ginger stepped away, throwing the cotton wool into the bin. Ryan's cheek burned from the healing lotion, its tingle seemed to travel along his neck and down his spine. Thinking of Beth made him remember something else.
"Daniel," he said quietly. "Sheila's downstairs."
Ginger's face snapped up. "Is she?"
"Do you think... maybe we could ask her to come up here?"
Sheila, Ginger's friend, was a nurse. When she was on shift, she worked at Brighton General Hospital. Ryan could have kicked himself for not realising earlier, when he'd seen her in the bar.
"Right. I'll go find her." Ginger shot out of the room. "You two stay there!" His footsteps thundered down the stairs, and the staff door banged open.
"Huh? Sheila?" Ash asked.
"Sheila, with red hair," Ryan explained. "She's a nurse."
"Oh. Right, right." Ash moved into the bathroom. "Hey, your scratch doesn't look all that bad actually."
Ryan opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him. 'Yes' seemed somewhat banal at this point.
He and Ash moved back into the hall. After a few awkward moments of silence, Ash gazed towards the pigeon loft, shifting on the spot. "I, um, I might just go check on him."
Ryan gripped Ash's arm. "Sheila's a nurse, okay? Let's wait for her."
"Yeah, sure, but I should go check Fizz is all right."
"Ash, let's just wait. We can—"
Their discussion ended when the staff door opened again. Ginger's voice drifted up, hurriedly explaining what had happened.
"Hang on, hang on," a woman's voice, Sheila, said. "What did you say he's taken?"
"His prescription pills," Ginger said, as they climbed the stairs. "I called a helpline, but they kept saying just take him to A&E."
"But he's conscious?" Sheila asked.
"Yes," Ginger said.
"Well, that's a relief!" They reached the top of the stairs, and Sheila briefly glanced at Ryan and Ash. "Hey, guys. Now, where is he?"
Ginger led the way into the pigeon loft. Ryan allowed Sheila to go in before him, then Ash, who was clearly worried. Just as Ryan was about to follow them, he caught movement from the corner of his eye. Someone on the edge of his vision. He turned to look, assuming it would be one of the other staff...
But no one was there.
The floorboards creaked softly, like someone trod on them. There was still no one in sight. Ryan remembered that image of the strange man in the mirror, and it spurred him to hurry after the others. When he got to Fizz's room, Sheila was already crouched near Fizz. He wanted to say, be careful, but Fizz seemed... different. He sat there quietly, gazing at Sheila with what could only be described as an amused smile on his face.
"Can I check your pulse, love?" Sheila asked, holding out her hand.
"Of course," Fizz replied, voice calm and silky smooth.
Ryan thought yet again how different from Fizz's normal tone it was. He wondered if Ginger had had the time to explain to Sheila about his eyes, too.
Sheila checked Fizz over, explaining what she was doing as she did it. Her voice was soothing, the care in her manner instantly recognisable. She checked Fizz's pulse, the glands at his throat, looked into his eyes, all the while asking him basic questions. And all of which he answered in a strange, aloof manner.
Ginger stood over them, frowning. "Jamie, tell her what you took."
"When?" Fizz smiled.
"Today, or whenever you've taken what it is you've taken. Just tell her."
Fizz glanced over at the pill packets: the same ones Ginger had been looking at. He turned back to Sheila with a smirk. "Nothing worth sharing, I'm afraid."
Ryan was confused. Why the sudden change in Fizz's manner? It didn't make sense.
"Okay," Sheila said. "Your heart rate is a little fast. You feel all right, though? Any different?"
"Oh, very different." Fizz took hold of Sheila's hand and squeezed it. He looked directly into her eyes. "Thank you for your help. You may leave now."
Sheila visibly stiffened. She jerked back, and nodded her head. "Okay. I-I'm going."
"What?" Ginger said in surprise. "Sheila, so what should I do? Do I take him to—"
"Dan." Sheila stood quickly, grabbing Ginger's arm. "I need to talk to you."
"Why?" Ginger's voice rose. "What's wrong with him? Tell me!"
"Not here," she hissed, pulling him away. "Come on."
Ryan saw they were coming out of the room, so he stood aside. Sheila stopped, gesturing for Ryan and Ash to precede them. "You guys, too. Everyone out, now."
"What the fuck's going on?" Ginger demanded. He let Sheila usher them out into the hall before turn
ing on her. "Sheila, tell me what's happening!"
"Dan, shush." Sheila ducked past him, aiming for their kitchen. Near the stairs, she seemed to pause momentarily, looking at the thin air as if in surprise, then she hurried into the kitchen.
"Sheila!" Ginger stormed after her, and Ryan shared a glance with Ash.
"Tell me what's wrong!" Ginger's voice sounded from the kitchen. "For God's sake, please?"
Ash followed them, and Ryan didn't want to be left alone. They crowded into the open door of the kitchen, watching as Sheila poured herself a glass of water from the tap. Ginger stood in the centre of the room, his fists balled at his sides. "Do I ring an ambulance, or what?"
Sheila gulped the water, then shook her head. "No, his body's fine."
Ginger threw his arms up. "His body's fine. Great! What the fuck does that mean?"
Sheila turned on the counter, looking at him warily. "Dan, something's happened here. I'm not sure what it is, but Beth will know. I'll have to go get her."
"You what?" Ginger shouted in disbelief. "What for? Beth's a stoner! I need a bloody doctor or something, right?"
"No," Sheila said firmly. "A doctor won't be able to do anything. There's something inside him."
"Inside...?" Ginger went quiet. He stared at Sheila in confusion.
Ash squeezed past Ryan and stepped forward. "Are you saying... this is some kind of mental thing?"
Sheila glanced at him, then cocked her head. "You could put it that way, I suppose."
"Is it because of the pills?" Ash asked.
"I don't know," Sheila said. "But he's young, he's vulnerable, and something's taken hold of him in that room."
"Arrgh!" Ginger scrubbed a hand over his face. "And what the bloody hell does that mean? You're saying he's had a funny turn, or what?"
Sheila pulled open the small handbag which hung across her body. It was red, the same shade as her hair and lipstick. "Look, Dan, the longer we debate this, the worse it gets. I'll call Beth." She pulled out a mobile phone.
"Hah." Ginger went to the cupboard above the kettle, yanking open a door. "Like that'll do any bloody good," he muttered into the cupboard.
Ryan watched Ginger pull down a bottle of whiskey, while Sheila dialled her phone. God, what a mess, he thought. Ash hovered next to him, both of them unsure what to do.
Sheila pressed the phone against her ear. "Beth? Beth, hi, it's Sheila! No, babe, no, I'm not at the beach yet. Are you down there?"
Ginger muttered to himself. Opening the whiskey, he took a very long swig.
"Beth, can you come to the Queen Anne?" Sheila asked, then shouted, "The Queen Anne!"
They all winced as Sheila raised her voice.
"Beth! Beth, can you hear me?" Sheila glanced at her phone. "Shit, my phone's not working."
Ginger put the lid back on the whiskey. "So, that's the end of that brilliant plan! Look, if I can't get that kid to casualty, I'll call a bloody ambulance."
"Dan, I'm telling you it won't do any good," Sheila said. "You can see for yourself that he's all right; he's sitting up, he's coherent. He's just not himself."
Ginger paused. "Well, yeah, but... okay, so if not casualty, what then? A psychiatrist?"
"Something like that," Sheila sighed. "We'll explain more when we get back, okay? I'm going to go look for Beth."
"What? Where is she?"
"I arranged to meet her on the beach. I'll go down there, find her, and bring her back here."
"The beach?" Ginger scoffed. "Where exactly on the beach? There's bloody miles of it!"
"We always meet by the pier," she said. "I'll be back before you know it."
"And then what?"
Sheila averted her eyes, masking the action by putting her phone away in her bag. "Then she'll talk to your cousin, and find out what's wrong."
"God." Ginger grasped towards the whiskey bottle again. "Sheila, I don't get this. Are you sure? I mean, are you sure he shouldn't be in a hospital right now? They have psychiatrists there, don't they?"
Sheila shook her head. "I'm sorry, Dan. But he won't get the skills he needs on a hospital ward; especially an emergency one. Trust me. I know you're not Beth's biggest fan, but she knows about this stuff. Do you want to come help me look? The more people looking, the quicker we'll be."
"I'm not running around on the bloody beach on Solstice, when it's full of hippies," Ginger said tersely. "I'm staying here."
Sheila looked to Ash and Ryan. "Guys?"
"If it helps Fizz, I'll come," Ash said.
"I—I'll stay," Ryan said.
Sheila nodded. "Okay. Great. We need to go right now. Dan?" She stepped up to him, placing her hands on his shoulders. "I know you're worried, but it's really important you stay right here, and don't go back in that room."
"What? Why not?"
Sheila's eyes slid over to Ryan and, strangely, Ryan felt the scratches on his face throb.
"It's important, Dan," she said. "Think of it this way. Right now, Fizz believes in something, and he believes it very strongly. You might even say he's someone else entirely, and that person... isn't a very nice person. And the more you go in there, and give him attention, the worse he'll get."
"But why?" Ginger demanded. "Why's he doing this?"
"Trust me," Sheila said. "I'll explain when we get back. Stay in here. And Ryan," she said, eyes fixing on him. "Make sure you both stay here. Ash, let's go." She strode from the kitchen.
As he passed, Ash said quietly to Ryan. "If we're not back in like, half an hour, why don't you take him to hospital anyway? We can always find you there."
Ryan nodded. "Okay. Good luck."
Ash left with Sheila. It had all happened so quickly, Ryan wasn't sure what to make of it. And yet, Sheila's words about Fizz thinking he was somebody different rang true. That had to be it, right? Fizz was having some kind of mental breakdown, brought on by whatever mental illness he suffered from, and from staying in that creepy room.
But as much as he wanted to believe that, Ryan worried there was something else going on here. He stood on the spot, biting his fingernail. Shit. In the rush, they'd forgotten to tell Sheila about Fizz's eyes changing colour, and the strange scratches on Ryan's cheeks.
And that man in the mirror. Except only Ryan had seen that. Maybe he was having the mental breakdown?
Chapter 16
The waiting proved difficult, and Ryan knew Ginger wasn't the most patient of people.
"Shit," Ginger muttered. "Bloody hell." He uncapped the whiskey bottle and took another deep swig. "How am I going to afford a psychiatrist, Ry?"
"Maybe he can get one on the NHS?" Ryan suggested.
"Hn." Ginger snorted. "Not if the fucking Tories have anything to do with it, and I can't afford a private one. God knows Fizz's parents won't shell out. They never did before. You know, they've got plenty of money, but they wouldn't fork out for a private counsellor for their own son, they just sent him on the rounds through his GP. Fucking cheapskates. I bet this is all a knock-on effect from having to put up with them for so long."
"Well... Sheila said Beth would know what to do, right? And she won't charge us, I'm sure."
Ginger looked at him. "Ryan, it's all rubbish. If Beth knows anything about psychiatry, then I'm the fucking pope."
Ryan smiled wryly.
"Either way," Ginger insisted. "It's all rubbish."
"So..." Ryan fished for a solution. "I could get my laptop and search for his symptoms online? Maybe Fizz just needs a specialist, or something like that?"
"Okay." Ginger nodded. "Yeah, you do that. I'm going to go check on him."
Ryan tensed. He knew that had been coming. "Sheila said to stay here."
"I have to, Ryan."
"But she said... I mean, we'd be feeding this... thing he has, his condition, by pandering to it."
"I'm not bloody pandering!" Ginger snapped. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Shit. I'm sorry, Ryan. I don't want to have a go at you. But I'm not leaving Jamie in there on
his own, either."
"Okay," Ryan said softly. "I'll come with you."
"No." The word was clad in iron. "You stay out of that room. I don't want him hurting you again."
"But—but what about you?"
Ginger glanced at him. "I'll be fine." He strode out of the room like a man on a mission. Ryan's heart had barely slowed to a normal pace; now it was thudding hard all over again.
Shit.
He'd fucked up. But how was he supposed to stop Ginger from going in there? He didn't want to make him mad. And who was to say that it wasn't the right thing to do, anyway? Maybe they needed another medical opinion before they agreed on a diagnosis?
God, this is all too complicated.
He hurried after Ginger. Ryan didn't want to set foot in the pigeon loft again, but when he couldn't see Ginger in the hall, he had no choice. He took a deep breath, and stepped through the threshold. The air seemed to close around him, dusty and old, too thick to draw into his lungs. Had it always been like this? Ryan choked back a cough; he could barely breathe. It was still light outside; the fading daylight filtered through the grubby windows all along the hallway. Somehow, it didn't look sunny or warm in here, it looked grey.
Ryan couldn't hear anything. Ginger had to be in Fizz's room, but what was he doing? What if Fizz started throwing things again? Ryan took cautious steps forward. The floorboards creaked, and the wood felt soft under his weight.
What the hell?
He glanced down, checking where he walked. The floorboards tilted under his feet, yet stayed still, creaking ominously. Was he seeing things? It felt like he was walking on a ship. Staring at the moving floor made him feel dizzy, so he looked up. The other end of the hall seemed to grow distant, far away. Ryan felt as though he was staring down a long tunnel. He saw a flash of movement at the other end; a shadow in dark green, the flash of brass buttons.
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