Again, Ryan woke up with a start. His vision blurred, and his mind buzzed. He knew he needed proper sleep, but he couldn't face the dreams. Ginger was still asleep. Did he dream, too? Ryan wondered what it would be about, if he would ever feature in them.
He sighed heavily. "I'm going to get a coffee," he croaked out. When he stood, his back cracked painfully. He swore under his breath, stretching as he walked. He'd expected to see Amy at the front desk, but it was one of the other nurses. She smiled at him as he walked past. Ryan gave her a weak smile in return. His eyes glanced up at the clock on the wall. 07.36 A.M.
God, he'd only been there about an hour, yet it felt like years.
The vending machine hummed quietly in an empty hallway. Ryan fished in his pocket, relieved when he dug out some silver. The machine wasn't expensive, but he guessed he'd be feeding a lot of money into it today. He chose a cappuccino, extra cream, extra sugar. The cup dropped down, and the machine whirred to life, shooting jets of different coloured liquids in the cup. When the green light indicated for Ryan to take it, he picked up the steaming-hot cup and peered inside.
Cappuccino? Ryan wasn't entirely convinced, but it was too hot to taste yet. He took the cup back to the ward. By each bed was a small cabinet, and Ryan placed his cup on the flat surface next to Ginger's bed. He glanced around the ward, looking down the rows of beds. The two people he didn't know, the paramedics who'd first come to help them, and then all the people he knew so well. It was surreal.
Ryan wondered if Mr Singh would blame him for this. It had been Ryan, after all, who'd requested Ash come to the pub. What if something worse had happened to Ash? Ryan figured he probably deserved whatever Mr Singh wanted to dish out to him.
With a sigh, Ryan sank down into his uncomfortable plastic chair. His back started aching in immediate protest, but he wasn't about to leave. Get used to it, he thought. Maybe he could go find a better chair later, or a pillow.
The thought of looking for a comfortable chair while his friends lay comatose was shameful. Ryan pushed the thought away, and reached for his coffee. The beep of the machines altered, as movement caught his eye. Ryan turned his head just in time to see Ginger's eyes blink open. He was so surprised that his body jerked to standing, spilling his coffee over his hand, the cabinet, and the floor. "Ahh!" he cried in alarm, not even looking at his hand. "Daniel?"
His eyelids fluttered, but stayed open. Brown eyes moved about, taking in where he was, then shifted over to Ryan.
"Daniel, y-you're awake!" Ryan was too shocked to say anything else.
"Ryan?" he croaked. His nose twitched, and his eyes dropped down to frown at the tubes in his nose. Ginger's hands came up to his face, then saw all the extra wires. "What the fuck's going on?"
"H-hang on," Ryan breathed, relief flooding his weary body. "Let me get the—"
A nurse appeared at the foot of the bed. A second nurse rushed past her, to another bed. Beeps sounded through the ward.
"What's going on?" Ryan asked.
The nurse blinked at him in surprise, then smiled. "They're waking up."
Chapter 22
Two days later
The newspaper was slapped down on the counter in front of Ryan, front-page headline: Fainting Endemic at Local Pub. Gas Leak To Blame? The accompanying picture was an outside shot of the cordoned-off Queen Anne's Revenge, surrounded by police cars and ambulances. That had been Saturday night. It seemed like a life time ago. Ryan frowned at the picture, then looked up at Matt.
"Reduced to a stupid headline in the crappy Argyll," Matt muttered. "I'd always thought their headlines were..." He shook his head. "Too ridiculous to be true."
Ryan nodded. He knew exactly how Matt felt. "Coffee?" he offered. He'd just brewed some fresh. To hell with nerves, he needed the caffeine.
"Nah, I'm all right," Matt said. He pulled a new pint of milk out of the plastic bag he carried, and placed it on the counter. "Thought I'd get you some, too."
He must have just nipped out to the shops, Ryan realised. It was nine in the morning, and Matt was clearly getting ready to prep his kitchen. No one had broached the subject of the pub opening today, but there wasn't any reason not to. No reason that anyone could come up with, anyway. None that the police, the fire department, the gas board, the hospital doctors, nor even their area manager, Dom, could provide. Dom had said they could take the week off if they wanted, but Ryan got the impression everyone wanted to get back to work.
They were restless, especially Pete and Ginger. Aside from complete memory loss of the whole of Saturday, they were both fine. Everyone was fine, in fact, apart from poor Sammy, with his broken arm and minor case of concussion. He was still in the hospital, awaiting a new cast.
Ryan forced a smile at Matt. "Cheers," he said, taking the milk. "Um... I think Pete said Sammy would be released this afternoon. He's going down later to pick him up."
Matt's eyes darted at Ryan, then away. He nodded, but he looked nervous. "Yeah... I know."
Ryan decided to be brave and broach the subject. "Have you talked to him?"
A snort, then Matt fiddled with his plastic bag. "Not really."
"Maybe you should."
"What's the point?" Matt snapped at him, fixing Ryan with a glare. "No one remembers anything, do they? Except you and me. I feel like... I dunno!" He huffed angrily. "Like I'm stuck in some bad dream."
"I know," Ryan said gently. Boy, did he know. "But maybe... even if they, or he doesn't remember, it doesn't have to make a difference to anything we do."
Matt frowned in confusion. "Huh?"
"What I mean is, what's to stop you and Sammy from... you know, starting afresh?"
Matt's glare faded, like he was taking in what Ryan said. Ryan could hope, anyway.
"Hmf," he grumbled. "Maybe."
"Just try talking to him," Ryan suggested.
"Yeah, well." Matt shot him a pointed look. "Maybe you should try taking your own advice, Ry." With that, he turned and stomped toward the door. Ryan stared after him.
Sorry I spoke.
As he reached the kitchen door, Matt startled back in surprise.
"Oh, hey, Matt!" Fizz greeted him brightly.
Matt edged around Fizz, muttering a reply. He looked back at Ryan, another pointed look, then dashed away. Ryan heard his footsteps stomp down the hall.
Fizz blinked at Ryan, confused. "Is he okay?"
Ryan shrugged. "He's a bit stressed."
"Oh." Fizz frowned, seeming concerned. Ryan watched him warily, trying not to be as noticeable in his wariness as Matt. He knew what they'd seen, back in the pigeon loft that day, and he kept having to remember it hadn't been Fizz. Something else had been inside Fizz's body, controlling him. At least, that was how Ryan understood it. Like The Exorcist, or something.
Ryan concealed a shudder. "You... you all right, Fizz?"
Fizz looked at him, offering a bright smile. "Yeah." He strode into the kitchen with purpose. "Can you help me?" In his hand, he held his mobile phone. He gazed up at Ryan imploringly. "I want to get phone credit, but I only have cash. I'm kinda stuck, as I don't know where to go."
Ryan was taken aback. Fizz seemed... different. Mildly so, this time. Instead of shy and timid, now he seemed more...normal. He didn't shuffle about, he walked briskly. He was alert, made eye contact, and spoke clearly, brightly. Still very much Fizz, but like someone had reached inside and turned up his wattage, somehow.
It was a bizarre thought, but Ryan conceded he'd seen a whole lot of bizarre over the last few days.
"Um, sure," he answered, gazing back into Fizz's eyes. They were deep, deep blue. Had they always been that colour? Ryan couldn't remember. At least they were blue, he thought. Blue, as they should be. "The newsagents up the road do phone credit," he said. "Want me to go get you some?"
Fizz looked surprised. "Oh, no! I can get it; I know you're busy."
"It's no trouble," Ryan said. He knew Ginger wouldn't want Fizz going off on his own. "It'll only take me five minutes
."
Fizz smiled at him. "Shall I come with you? I'd like to see where it is."
Ryan didn't think he'd seen Fizz smile before, not like this. Certainly not at him. He'd caught Fizz sharing little smiles with Ash over the last few weeks, and of course, there had been those mean smiles when Fizz wasn't... wasn't himself.
Ryan pushed that thought away. That hadn't been Fizz. Was he going to have to keep reminding himself of that every day?
"Come on, then," he said, giving in. His coffee could wait. Fizz was clearly itching to use his phone to contact someone, and Ryan had a good idea who. He led Fizz downstairs. Aside from Matt, they were the only ones awake, as was often the case mid-morning. Ryan wasn't sure if anyone else would get up to work their shifts. As he'd had trouble sleeping, he thought cleaning the pub and getting it prepped would be better than tossing and turning in bed on his own.
From the bundle of keys in his pocket, Ryan unlocked the side door, opening it to the street. It was a warm, yet slightly overcast day. The sky was bright, but dark clouds in the distance threatened the chance of rain. Typical British summer, so far. Ryan held the door for Fizz, who practically bounded through it into the open street. Ryan shut the door and locked it, whilst watching Fizz take in the bustle of the Old Steine in front of them.
Another thing Ryan noticed: Fizz wasn't all swaddled up in clothes. The kid had a habit of hiding in layers of clothes and hooded tops, but now, he only wore a thin T-shirt, same as Ryan. He turned to Ryan, a grin on his face. "Busy, isn't it?"
Ryan's eyes swept over the thoroughfare: cars, buses, and cyclists, all zooming by as fast as they could without having an accident. "Mm-hm," he agreed. "That's Brighton for you."
Fizz grinned like Ryan had made the funniest joke in the world. Ryan was bemused. Someone was in a good mood, he thought.
He led the way, walking down the path that ran alongside the main road, toward the Pavilion. As they reached the end of the path, and the arched side gate of the Pavilion, he noticed Fizz staring up at it in wonder. Had Fizz been 'round Brighton on foot? Ryan didn't think so. In the month or so he'd been living at the pub, he'd only set foot outside to go into the beer garden.
Ryan wasn't sure if that near-death experience had changed Fizz somehow, but he hoped maybe Fizz could start to enjoy life a little more. He tried not to feel resentful for what had happened, for that spirit or whatever he was, leaving Ryan with all those memories.
"Come on, Fizz," Ryan said, nudging the boy. "Newsagent's this way."
They got Fizz's phone credit, and Ryan also picked up cigarettes and a chocolate bar. Nicotine and sugar were definitely the order of the day. Fizz was delighted with his phone credit, and immediately started topping up his phone. Ryan made sure they crossed the road safely, then started back toward the pub.
"Uh, Ryan?"
"Yeah?"
Fizz looked down, shy again.
"What's up?" Ryan asked.
"Do you have Ash's number? I just want to, you know, check he's all right," Fizz said, all in a rush. "His dad seemed pretty mad."
Ryan nodded, and felt his pockets for his phone. Of course Fizz wanted to talk to Ash. Since their discharge from the hospital, Mr Singh had reappeared and, along with a few stern words for Ryan, had taken Ash home. As he'd been dragged away by his father, Ash had thrown them an apologetic look, but there wasn't much he could do. He had texted Ryan since, to ask how everyone was getting on. They'd been texting each other regularly, but Ryan had known who it was that Ash would rather be texting.
Ryan got out his phone. "You'd better give me your number, too, Fizz." He had a feeling Fizz wasn't going to be as pub-bound any more.
"Oh, yeah. No problem." Fizz recited his number, and Ryan copied it in.
"All right, got it. I can send you Ash's number..." One glance at Fizz's eager face had Ryan rethinking his decision. "You coming back to the pub with me now?"
Fizz blinked in surprise.
Busted, Ryan thought. Yeah, he'd have to watch this one. Ginger would hit the roof if Fizz went missing. Not to mention what Mr Singh would say.
"Um, ye-es?" Fizz said, unsure.
Ryan sighed. "Mate, do me a favour? Talk to Ginger before you go anywhere. He'll be mad at me if I let you go off now."
Fizz's expression turned to one of quiet amusement. "Ryan, I'm not a child."
Now it was Ryan's turn to be surprised. That knowing look, and the tone of voice, threw him. For a moment, he panicked that this wasn't Fizz. He could feel the fear, the memory from two nights past, trickle through his veins, grip his chest in panic.
Fizz frowned, concerned. "Ryan? Are you all right?"
He swallowed. "Yeah...yeah, I—I'm fine." Get a grip, Ryan. Calm down. Two can play awkward, after all. "You want Ash's number?" he asked, forcing a smile. "Guess you'll have to come back to the pub with me, then."
Fizz smiled back at him. "All right. You win."
Ryan nodded, and turned back to the pub. He'd won, but only this round. Why did he suddenly feel like the unwitting mother to a sneaky teenager?
* * * *
With his newly topped-up phone and Ash's number, Fizz disappeared out into the beer garden. The smile on his face was sweet and sly all at once. Ryan really wasn't sure if he'd done the right thing, but...
But there it was.
Young love. How nice for some.
Oh, shut up, Ryan. He tried not to let resentment bubble up inside him, and told himself to do some work. It was looking to be a nice day, after all. The black clouds receded in the sky, and the sun blazed down hot. Ryan stayed in the bar, to be near Fizz, and opened all the windows. The back doors to the beer garden were already propped open. Fresh air breezed in. Along with the odd muted chuckle and conversation from Fizz, who was probably talking to Ash right now. Ryan tried not to roll his eyes.
A little later, as he was cleaning down the bar, someone knocked on the window next to the front door. A face peeped in. Ryan saw a warm smile and a blonde head of hair.
Beth.
He unlocked the door, letting her in. "Hey," he said quietly, locking the door after her. Seeing Beth again, Ryan felt the weariness of all that had happened weigh on him.
Beth held his eyes, squeezing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, Ryan." Her eyes rested on his chest, to where the wooden pendant hung, hidden under his T-shirt. Ryan swallowed, suddenly uneasy.
"Do... do you want it back?"
Beth smiled at him. "No, hon. You keep it for now. I'm going to find you an even better one as soon as I can."
"Um, better?"
"Yes. Think of them like... good-luck charms." Beth patted his arm, then glanced around the pub. "There's still some unrest here. I hope you don't mind, but I wanted to cleanse the air. It's a good thing I caught you alone."
"Um, Fizz is in the garden," Ryan said quickly.
Beth shrugged. "Don't worry." She opened her handbag of brightly-coloured, woven wool, and brought out a small wad of stemmed herbs. "I'm going to burn sage and, when I'm done, it should feel a lot better in here."
"Um..." Ryan wasn't sure what to say. Beth didn't wait for him, however, and moved through the bar. She flipped out a Zippo lighter, and used it to light her herb bundle.
"Um," Ryan said again, glancing up at the smoke alarms and sprinkler system on the ceiling. He hoped nothing would go off.
Beth must have noticed him panicking. "Don't worry," she said. "Not a lot of smoke comes from this, but it's enough. This is blessed white sage."
"Uh, oh-kay." Ryan conceded to let Beth do whatever she needed to do. In a way, her presence calmed him. He tried not to think about the last time he'd seen her, when Beth had burst into the pigeon loft in the midst of that terrible night. The way her blonde hair had lit up all white was burned into his memory. Sheila had explained to him and Matt about spirits and visions. So, was Beth able to cast visions, too?
Ryan wasn't sure he wanted to know, not right now.
He watched Beth move around the bar, waving her b
undle of lightly-smoking sage. She hummed under her breath, a soft tune Ryan didn't recognise. The smell of sage reached his nose. Ryan knew that if any of the others were here, they'd roll their eyes and make snide remarks.
Well, maybe not Matt, not now. As for himself, Ryan wasn't sure what to believe.
Beth came behind the bar, wafting sage around. She approached the cellar door, and Ryan opened his mouth to warn her not to go down there.
Beth smiled at him calmly. "Can you open the door for me?"
"I—I don't think..."
"Ryan. It's fine. Nothing down there will hurt me, or you."
Flushing, his hands almost shaking, Ryan got his keys and unlocked the cellar door. Beth went in, wisps of sage smoke trailing behind her. Ryan flipped on the light switch, and the lights blinked on, illuminating the stairwell. Beth descended the stairs, rounded the corner, and disappeared out of sight.
Ryan hated that cellar. Should he go in? He didn't want to leave Beth on her own. After a brief hesitation, Ryan followed. Strange, but it didn't feel as cold as it usually did. He looked around the vast cellar, spotting Beth at the other end of the room, opposite the air vent. As Ryan crept up to her, he caught the tail end of a few whispered words. Beth's eyes were closed, and she held the sage out in front of her.
"Um, are you okay?" Ryan whispered.
Beth looked at him, nodding. "She was more than willing to leave. It was only a little girl, poor thing."
"H-Huh?"
"The spirit that lived in here," Beth explained. "She's gone now." Her eyes flicked to the small window by the drop hatch. From the garden outside, Fizz's voice filtered through to them. "Garden next," she said.
* * * *
Ryan wasn't quite sure what to make of all this. When he'd thought of spirits and exorcisms before, he'd always thought it would be more... dramatic. The way Beth breezed through the pub, apparently sending spirits along their way, all seemed very... relaxed.
Although Ryan supposed this was a vast improvement on the dramas of last Saturday night. He'd rather never have to go through that again. He let Beth wander through the rest of the bar on her own, and she was outside in the garden. Strange, but he felt oddly calm. Instead of continuing his cleaning, Ryan poured himself a soda, and spent a few minutes staring into nothing. Traffic whizzed by outside, and a few pedestrians were about. The pub's doors were still locked, and would remain so, until Ryan knew what his colleagues wanted to do. He'd wait until Pete or Ginger were awake, anyway. A glance at the clock, reading quarter to eleven, suggested that wouldn't be happening just yet.
The Haunted Pub Page 25