The Medium

by David Hatton

  ‘I remember him being less than understanding but I figured that was just a generational thing. You need to go to the police and tell them this.’

  ‘I can’t, not until we’ve got evidence. I have nowhere to go.’

  ‘You can stay here. At least until he’s put away.’

  ‘I can’t. I’m sorry, Michael. I trust this will stay with you.’

  Michael considered her request. If she was telling the truth, Ted would be a threat to them all. But justice needed to be served.

  ‘I just don’t think I can, sorry, Pamela. I need to know who murdered my wife and this could be a vital piece of evidence. Besides I can’t let you go home, knowing this. Whatever happened between Suzanne and me, you’re my sister-in-law. I care about you.’

  Pamela peered up towards the ceiling and rubbed her moist eyes. She took a deep breath and exhaled, before shooting a resigned look towards Michael.

  They made their way down to the Bootle Street Police Station. Michael hovered outside, nervous of entering having been laughed off by the officer during his previous visit. His hesitation was noticed by Pamela, who stroked his arm.

  ‘I can go inside myself. It’ll be easier anyway, I’m sure they’ll ask for all the gory details and I’d prefer you not be around for that.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Positive. There’s a pub just there. Why don’t you grab yourself a drink? I’ll meet you in there when I’m done.’

  He gave her a hug, wished her luck and made his way next door. The nineteenth century pub was the only architectural survivor of the Peterloo Massacre; a mural dedicated to the event clung to the rustic walls. A horseshoe formed the central wooden bar surrounded by punters, who spied the lone drinker and whispered. They’d all read the news. He hid away in a booth and read a dusty old book hovering on a windowsill.

  He was three pints deep when he became aware that Pamela had been away for some time. If he had any more he’d be hobbling down those tunnels with Jackie. He stepped out of the pub, took a deep breath and made his way into the station. To his delight, the officer who’d greeted him the previous day was on his lunch break.

  ‘Excuse me.’ Michael approached the reception desk. ‘A woman came in earlier to report a crime, it was rather personal. Her name is Pamela Buchanan.’

  ‘We’ve not had anyone in this afternoon who wasn’t brought in the back of a police car, mate.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Michael asked, his eyes squinting with confusion.

  ‘Yup, it’s been a quiet afternoon. Wednesdays always are.’

  ‘The thing is she was reporting a very serious incident. She’s been molested by a family member and she believes this person may have murdered my wife. I think she got scared and ran off. I’m wondering if it’s something you could look into?’

  ‘I see.’ The officer took him aside. ‘Listen, I’d love to help you more but without her putting in a formal statement herself...’

  ‘But I’m worried she’s in danger.’

  ‘I’d encourage you to get her to come in herself then. There’s nothing I can do unless she’s a minor.’

  Michael thanked the police officer and left the station. He looked up and down the street to see if he could see her but Pamela was nowhere to be seen. Taking out his mobile phone, he scrolled through his list of contacts but failed to find Pamela’s number.

  Why would I have it? I’ve never called her before.

  As he scrolled, Jane’s name appeared and pressed the call button.

  ‘Michael, have you heard anything? We’ve seen the television and saw you’d reached out to a medium.’

  ‘She reached out to me actually. But I wasn’t calling about that, I’ve just had Pamela knock on my door.’

  ‘Pamela?’

  He gently filled her in on the conversation they’d had. Silence met him when he’d updated her on all of her daughter’s revelations. ‘That girl...’ Jane said coldly.

  ‘You don’t believe her?’

  ‘No she’s a liability. She’s always been like this. She had an argument with Ted last night and this is her way of punishing him. She was like this as a child with Suzanne. Every time Suzie dared borrow her toys, Pamela would break them and blame her sister.’

  ‘But this is crazy. She couldn’t have made this up, this isn’t some toy, Jane. This is an accusation of rape.’

  ‘That girl is endless trouble. We’ve done everything for her. I’m not having this conversation, Michael. I urge you to avoid pursuing this. Ted has been through enough losing his daughter and grandson without this on top. His health hasn’t been the best in recent years and I’m worried this will be the end of him.’

  ‘But, Jane, you didn’t see her! I’m sorry to say this but I believed her.’

  ‘She’s a manipulative little brat. If you believe her then there’s nothing left to say. Believe me, Michael, you carry on with this and there’s no going back.’

  Before he could say anything further, she hung up. Concerned for his sister-in-law, he walked across the city, hoping to catch a glimpse of the damaged girl. Using Suzanne’s FaceHub profile, he approached strangers and asked if they’d seen her but nobody recognised the vulnerable victim who had escaped the security which he’d promised.

  After several hours of searching, he admitted defeat. He strolled back home, lingering by the canal as he contemplated everything he’d learned in the past couple of days. Rubbish piled up beside a lock; he hadn’t really cared before except for the aesthetics of it, but today he was saddened to see that someone could tarnish his wife’s resting place. He considered the outrage the public would have had this been a war memorial, but few believed that his wife was anywhere near the canal never mind buried beneath it.

  Outside of his apartment, Jackie was waiting for him in her yellow Mini and called him to get in. Even with his average height of five foot eight, Michael struggled to get comfortable in the tiny vehicle.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘I told you, my little surprise! We agreed I’d pick you up.’

  ‘Oh, I’d completely forgotten, I’ve had quite the afternoon.’ He filled her in on the day. Jackie nearly slammed on her brakes as he broke the revelations which Pamela had brought his way.

  ‘Wow, that’s quite something. I’ll be honest, I had felt some emotional pain which felt unsettled, even with Jason’s death. I wonder whether Suzanne was trying to share something else with us. We’ll only know when we find her.’

  ‘What will her body offer? She’s hardly going to have a diary of secrets on her.’

  ‘She’s screaming to be released at the moment, who knows what she’ll share once she’s free from those waters.’

  ‘Surely she’d have told me about Pamela…’ Michael stroked his chin. ‘That’s a huge secret to hold on to.’

  ‘From what you’ve told me you didn’t speak much in those last few months, why would she bother opening up when you had little else to say to one another? And if she feared for their lives, telling anyone else was hardly going to help.’

  ‘Either way, something just doesn’t feel right about all of this. Ted’s a great guy. He did so much for us. Coming over and doing odds and sods for us as I was useless at anything technical. He rewired the house, took us on holiday. If you knew him, you’d never think of him as a rapist or a murderer.’

  ‘The devil takes many forms, Michael. It’s like when you see those families on the news and they never had any idea that their husbands had the ability to kill after thirty years of marriage. And you think how did they not know? Some people are blind to what’s going on around them, especially when people like Ted are so charming.’

  Jackie parked up in a multi-storey car park and together they walked over to the Great Northern. The former railway goods warehouse had been transformed into a leisure centre fixed with a cinema, gym and retail stores. While modernized into a contemporary complex, the red-brick fortress maintained the ambiance of Manchester’s indust
rial past.

  They glided down the escalator and met the fierce face of a steel door. To their right, sweaty sport fanatics huffed and puffed in the window of a gym, wiping their perspiration away with towels as they climbed the treadmill. A security guard approached the medium and her friend. His pearly white teeth shone beside his mahogany skin. A trilby, stamped with the word security, rested on his head, and a black buffer jacket protected him from the overpowering air-conditioning.

  ‘Ms Wallace!’ the security guard called with a gentle foreign brogue. ‘How can I help you today?’

  ‘Moses! How wonderful it is to see you.’ Jackie stamped a kiss on his puffy cheeks. Nodding at the steel door, she had one request. ‘Are you alright to let me in?’

  ‘Of course, my dear. Anything for a pretty lady.’ They both giggled, before he turned to Michael. ‘She’s a wonderful woman, you take good care of her.’

  ‘I think I’m the one who needs looking after!’ Michael said, before turning towards an eye-rolling Jackie, who bounced impatiently for the door to open.

  Three jiggles of Moses’s keys and a grunting of effort forced the door open for the excited psychic, who stepped past the exhausted security guard to enter the dark room. A cold breeze whistled out into the grand hall and the pounding of drips, falling from the ceiling, echoed across the stone enclosure. Michael followed his ecstatic saviour into the room and trampled down several stone steps into complete darkness.

  ‘How are we supposed to navigate ourselves through this?’ Michael asked, gripping on to the crisp walls as he descended into the unknown. ‘I can’t see a thing.’

  ‘Good job I brought this then, isn’t it?’ A bright light beamed into his eyes. Behind, two green spheres stared on and Jackie’s black lipstick stretched out, forming a small smile.

  ‘I can trust you will both be good down here?’ Moses called. ‘Do you want me to close the door?’

  ‘Thanks, Mo! We’ll be just fine and no, leave it open. I’m expecting guests.’

  ‘Have a wonderful evening,’ Moses said before disappearing.

  ‘Are we allowed down here?’ Michael quizzed. The yellow hazard signs hanging from the walls were less than inviting.

  ‘Yeah, they have tours down here all the time,’ Jackie explained before collecting a paper advertisement off the floor, littered by previous visitors, and handing it to Michael. The document provided the history of the tunnels, once used as an entry to underground water-transportation. Later, during the Second World War, they formed bunkers for local residents who escaped the frenzied city for safety as the enemy pounded the city with explosives.

  ‘I’m guessing you haven’t brought me down here to find Suzanne?’ Michael peered through the passageways but could see little left of the former canal.

  ‘I’m afraid not, my love. I’m meeting some friends down here for a tour. We’ve been trying to hold this meeting for some time but busy schedules made it difficult. It’s wonderful that you’ve been able to join us tonight too. They’re excited to meet you.’

  ‘Why are you hosting the tour when there are professional groups providing the same thing?’ Michael held up the ruffled advert.

  ‘Because it’s not that type of tour, my dear.’ As Jackie began to explain, a stampede of shoes hammered against the stone. ‘Ah, my friends are here.’

  Fifteen people of varying ages and sizes huddled around them within the large open space. A few grumbles made up their greetings but they soon fell to silence.

  ‘So what are we going to be doing down here?’

  ‘We’re going to hold a séance.’

  A moist palm met Michael’s. Huddling into a circle, the group witnessed a young woman named Christine retrieve an Ouija board from her handbag and lay it out onto the stone floor. Christine’s curly brown locks dangled down to her shoulders and she swept them out of the way of her eyes as she laid out the pieces that made up the spiritual game. As she stood up, her blue jeans were stained from the damp stone beneath her where she’d knelt. Her red woolly jumper had a thick collar, which wrapped tightly around her neck. The wooden board had finely carved letters surrounding the centre where a crystal wine glass rested.

  A bald man with a greying beard lit several candles before returning his zippo to his jeans pocket. The aroma of lighter fluid floated past Michael as the man, known to his friends as Drew, rejoined the circle and grabbed Michael’s other hand. Adjacent to him, Jackie asked the group to close their eyes. She followed and began her spiritual assembly.

  ‘If there’s anybody out there, please give us a sign!’

  The pitter-patter of drips was the only response to Jackie’s call. Michael squinted with one eye establishing the activities of those surrounding him until Jackie met his gaze.

  ‘If there’s anybody out there, please give us a sign!’ Jackie repeated. Once again, silence hovered over them awkwardly like a slow date between an incompatible couple.

  ‘If there’s anybody out there, please give us a…’

  A loud crash roared from the iron door behind, which slammed shut. The group gasped and turned around. A blast of air wafted through the room, blowing out the candles, leaving them in complete darkness. A screech from Christine’s mouth caused Michael to jump and her sweaty palm gripped harder on to his.

  ‘They’re here,’ Jackie whispered.

  Light followed. Drew relit the candles. Patting down his tartan shirt, he put out the light fire which had spread to the cotton garment. Recommencing the séance, they each placed a finger on the wine glass and waited in anticipation. The temperature dropped and condensation floated from Michael’s open lips.

  ‘What is your name?’ Jackie called.

  Gravity pulled at Michael’s finger and the glass towed his digit around the board towards selected letters. The glass picked up pace as it travelled across the set, meeting the letter F as its first port of call, before swinging around in the direction of the letter R. The glass rebounded and met the letters E, D, E, R, I and K before coming to a halt.

  ‘Frederik,’ said Charlotte.

  ‘How can we help you, Frederik?’ Jackie asked, staring up towards the rocky ceiling. Michael glanced around the room, hoping to capture the being which Jackie communicated with, but the only company they received was the face of a moist rock.

  ‘Why are you here?’ Jackie asked, but her calls remained unanswered, the silence mirroring an applause for a tedious comedian. Mumblings began to surface, eyes opened and the chain broke. The man to Jackie’s right glanced at his watch and sighed.

  ‘I know you’re trying to contact us, Fred. Can I call you Fred? We’re here to help…’ Jackie paused. Any colour in her pale face disappeared. Her cold rosy cheeks grew white and her shoulders shuddered. Her inviting eyes drooped and drool poured from her lips.

  The medium collapsed onto the floor, smacking her head on the rocky ground, and fell into a seizure. The rubber soles of her black boots bounced off the floor as her body vibrated across the stone path. Panicked friends hurried around her, tapping her hand, but her limbs continued to spasm. Michael pulled out his mobile phone to call the emergency services but there were zero bars on his reception tab. He ran to the stairs hoping for a better connection but was distracted by a bystander who hovered over Jackie’s body.

  ‘Don’t call an ambulance,’ Doctor Stevens shouted. His white shirt had stained from the muddy water. He loosened his tie and pulled up his black trousers to avoid the puddle beside him. ‘Not unless it continues for more than five minutes.’ The medical professional loosened Jackie’s clothing and checked her airways for blockages. Once assured that she was safe, he rubbed her hand and remained by her side. ‘We’re all here for you, Jackie, keep calm.’

  ‘Get off me!’ Jackie protested with an unusually gruff voice. Her accent transformed into a Manchester brogue and the force of her arms grew exceptionally strong as she pushed the doctor and his assistants away from her. The medium hobbled up, brushing off the dust from her jacket and marc
hed with a swagger towards the stone steps. ‘I’m outta here.’

  ‘Are you OK, Jackie?’ Michael enquired. She peered down at her clothing, shaking her head at the garments, before grabbing a squeeze of her hefty bosoms.

  ‘I’m not Jackie, you ignorant twit,’ Jackie snapped, spitting at the floor as she glared up at the widower before her. Her top lip arched, forming a small sneer at the shaken group surrounding her.

  ‘Frederik, is that you?’ asked Terri. She made her approach to the medium and held out her hand. Despite her tiny structure, she did not fear the frightening being before her. Wiping away the brown weave from her face, she stood before Jackie and stared into her eyes.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, what do you want?’ Frederik replied with an impatient tone. ‘How do I get out of here?’

  ‘You can’t go! Where’s Jackie?’ Drew jumped in to tackle the psychic, holding his zippo towards her.

  ‘Well I’m not hanging around ’ere. No bloody way. I’ve been down ’ere for nearly ’undred years and I’m not spending another second ’ere.’

  Storming up the stairs, Frederik began his escape. Michael dived into his path, blocking him from moving up another step towards his freedom.

  ‘You’re not going anywhere, pal.’ Michael broadened his shoulders. The man encased in the psychic’s shell peered down at the skinny widower.

  ‘What are you going to do, puny features?’

  A glum Michael looked down at his physique. His rib cage ripped through his top, which would have made an effective xylophone.

  ‘What happened down here, Frederik?’ Terri asked, softly climbing up the stairs to approach the lost fellow. Her cautious footsteps gently patted the ground as she rose up the stone path. ‘Maybe we can help? We can help you talk it through, help us understand.’

  ‘Understand? Understand?’ Frederik stepped down to confront the group. ‘Try understanding this. Try to imagine falling into the canal and screaming for your colleagues to come and help you but they’re too damn busy chit-chatting to hear your cries. Try to imagine your friends finally hearing you but just as you’ve caught their attention, another canal boat comes crashing through and crushes you to death. Is that something you all understand? Is that something you’ve all dealt with? I doubt it.’