Stations of the Soul

by Chris Lewando

  ‘Yes. I guess it’s that reporter, Freman. He has wind of a story. He knows there’s some connection between you and Helen and me.’

  ‘There is?’

  ‘Helen told him she saw you steal Rachel’s soul.’

  She flinched. ‘He didn’t print that.’

  ‘No. He was protecting his reputation by suggesting Helen was off her rocker. It was more believable, if less sensational.’

  ‘Poor Helen. I wish I could have done something to make it easier for her.’

  ‘Could you have saved Rachel?’

  ‘She was dying. She had massive brain trauma. She was already on her way when I came on shift. I think Helen knew that, but she was beyond reason. It’s not only Freman following us.’

  ‘Who else? Cops?’

  ‘I don’t know. Maybe.’

  Robin said, ‘They think I had something to do with the crash, but I was never anything but a victim. Here we are. Shall I drop you at the door while I park?’

  ‘No, It’s only a short walk. I’ve never minded getting wet. I like rain. The air smells cleaner, afterwards.’

  ‘I’ve noticed that, recently. Ah, there’s a space.’

  He pulled into the kerb abruptly, beneath a dripping Lime tree, causing the small car behind to swerve past with a squeal of tyres.

  ‘That made Freman shit himself,’ Sarah said with satisfaction.

  Robin grinned faintly as they slid out into the night.

  A dirty orange street lamp cast heavy shadows on the drenched street as he reached out to turn her chin gently towards him. ‘I’m not afraid of you,’ he said, and pecked a kiss gently on her lips, holding her level gaze. ‘I think you’re lovely, inside and out. But I am afraid of what I’m becoming. So, you’d better come clean, soon. And I am afraid of falling in love with you because I’ve never been very good at relationships, either. Let’s go and see the show, shall we?’

  Chapter 28

  It had to be the blasted opera, Freman thought. He’d wasted good money for a narrow, bum-numbing seat, partially shadowed by a pillar, but admitted to himself that there was something old-world going on in the richly-veloured space: the care people had taken with their clothes, the respectful silence, and not a popcorn trough in sight. His eyes strained to where Vanger and Sarah sat in companionable darkness. Maybe the opera wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

  But when it started, he realised it was.

  Everyone else seemed to be enthralled, but trained voices were definitely not his thing, He couldn’t understand what the hell they were caterwauling about, and it took him a while to realise it wasn’t even English. Did everyone in the audience except him speak German? He doubted it. So why would they want to hear it in German? How could they follow the story? He didn’t get it, but consoled himself with the thought that he was warm, and that Vanger hadn’t taken the nurse to a nightclub – now that would have been difficult.

  Sarah seemed to be enthralled by the show, and Vanger was very obviously engrossed in her. Having seen the way her buttocks skated under that dress; he wasn’t surprised. She was as sexy as they came, fairly oozed with it, in fact. It occurred to him, with a flash of intuition, that she was the same slender build as the dead whores. Blonde, too. He knew that Redwall was interested in Vanger, maybe that was it? But the connection was tenuous at best.

  Why was Redwall interested in Vanger, anyway? The secretive bastard was keeping him out of the loop, damn him.

  Later, parked around the corner from Robin’s house, Freman was frustrated as well as cold. It didn’t take a leap of the imagination to know what they were up to, and he was a tad jealous.

  Chapter 29

  Robin woke refreshed, sated, and in love. Last night, he’d been relieved when the opera finished. He wasn’t sure if Sarah enjoyed it. He couldn’t say he had, either. It hadn’t been the best performance. He couldn’t say exactly why, but everything seemed just a little offkey. Afterwards, he’d asked Sarah if she wanted to go home, but she’d said she would like to go home with him.

  He wasn’t sure how that was going to work. But when they got home, she had simply said, ‘Shall we go to bed?’

  There had been no sexual gymnastics, no unseemly haste, and no prolonging the session, but the explosive union had rocked him to the core. Sex had never been like that before. It hadn’t simply been sex, he realised. It had been a bonding of souls.

  He turned, leaning on one elbow. Still asleep, she was partially facing him. Her lips slightly parted, her elfin face pillowed in a muddle of mussed-up hair. Her eyes opened. There was no second of disorientation. One moment she was asleep, the next, fully alert.

  He dropped his face, pecked a kiss on her cheek.

  ‘That was nice. Thank you.’

  Her lips curved in a faint smile, she asked, ‘The evening or the sex?’

  ‘Both.’ He lay back down, and she snuggled into his proffered shoulder, her breath warm on his neck, her arm draped across his chest. ‘So, where do we go from here?’

  ‘You said something about me moving in?’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘We could give it a shot.’

  Robin laughed out loud. He realised it was the first time he had been happy since the accident. And he wondered if he’d been happy before that. ‘So, what happened last night?’

  ‘The sex?’

  ‘Yes. The absolutely amazing sex. The almost out-of-body sensation. I could feel what you were feeling. It was bizarre. And beautiful.’

  ‘Yes, it was. It’s never been like that for me, either. It’s because you’re changing, too. I didn’t know what would happen. That’s why I tried to put you off.’

  ‘There won’t be a better time to come clean.’

  ‘You’ll hate me.’

  He pulled her into his arms. ‘I love you.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘I see souls.’

  ‘Seriously?’

  ‘If you laugh, I’ll leave.’

  ‘I’m not laughing.’

  ‘When people die, something wonderful happens. The body is just a shell, and the soul is set free. It’s not a shape, more like a glowing mist that rises. Sometimes it just dissipates. Sometimes it goes through me, sometimes it stays for a while. The first time, I was scared. But I worked out what was happening. The soul wants to go, but the human consciousness is afraid of the unknown. It tries to hold on.’

  ‘You’re talking about ghosts,’ he said.

  ‘Maybe. Aren’t ghosts supposed to be a consciousness so strong it doesn’t want to let go of the mortal world?’

  ‘I can understand that, if you don’t know what you’re going to.’

  ‘That’s the problem. The ones who leave don’t come back and tell us. Not that I know of, anyway.’

  ‘Can you see them?’

  She smiled. ‘I’m not sure. Sometimes I think I see them, like shadows in sunlight, not in the dark, like the movies, lurking in graveyards, or scaring people in old houses. I think they linger where they knew life: houses, meadows, streets, parks…’

  She faded into silence. He stared at the crack in the ceiling that had been there since his mother was alive. Maybe Sarah was as mad as Helen had been, but she wasn’t joking.

  ‘And you think this ability is something to do with your dad’s work?’

  ‘Father was so desperate to not die. I wouldn’t be surprised if he experimented on our mothers. If he did, I suspect even he didn’t know what he’d done. He died before he even knew we were different.’

  ‘Just as well, probably.’

  ‘Yes, if he’d learned what we discovered by accident…’ She shuddered. ‘I didn’t mean to change you, you know. I didn’t know that would happen. I’m sorry.’

  His head slid to the side. His eyes met hers. ‘There are benefits. I’m healing faster than I should, and better. My senses seem to be increasing. The sex was amazing.’

  Her lips twitched. ‘The heightened senses can be a problem. That’s why I work nights. The daytime is
so busy it hurts.’

  ‘But when Rachel died, Helen saw her soul,’

  ‘No, she saw me. It’s as if I’m some kind of… waystation or something. Sometimes souls disappear quickly, sometimes they hang around a while, as if gathering the courage to leave. I think Rachel didn’t want to leave her mother. I’m not sure that she isn’t still with me.’

  ‘I hope not. Jesus, we just made love.’

  ‘You believe me.’

  ‘I believe you believe what you’re saying. How did you survive childhood, with all this?’

  ‘Joel and I didn’t go to school. We were pretty much isolated. Deliberately, I guess, because to Dad we were just experiments. Ones that hadn’t really worked out. The difference didn’t really materialise until we passed puberty.’

  ‘And by then he was dead?’

  There was a slight hesitation. When she said ‘Yes,’ he knew she was lying, or hiding something. Then she distracted him the way a woman can distract a man, leaving no room for thought, only for physical needs.

  They eventually rose and showered, and at that point Robin didn’t care about anything except being with Sarah. He didn’t know if she was loopy, or whether he was, but couldn’t imagine a time before, and couldn’t imagine a life without her. He clattered around in the kitchen, feeding bread into the toaster, finding plates and knives and spreads. Her obvious enjoyment of the hot toast made her more human than strange, even when the conversation started up again.

  ‘When Joel came to the hospital, I discovered he was the same. I hadn’t been sure up to that time,’ she said, wiping a dribble of butter from her chin. ‘I don’t think Joel understood, but he did realise he had to keep it secret. He knows he’s different, but it doesn’t bother him.’

  ‘Was it Joel I saw, when I was trapped in my car?’

  ‘No, he told me he wasn’t there.’

  ‘Then who did I see?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Later, Robin showed her the swatches of wallpaper he’d picked for the living room. ‘If you’re going to live here – ‘

  ‘I am. If you still want me.’

  ‘I want you living with me, here, more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. This room has been the same since I was a child. When Mum died it didn’t feel right to change it, but it’s time, I think.’

  She nodded. ‘It’s nice that you didn’t want to shunt her out of your life too soon. I love this one.’

  ‘That’s the one that grabbed me, too. Dark blue with tiny gold stars. If anyone had tried to describe it, I’d have said it was naff, but it’s perfect as a backdrop for some colour, ethnic throws, maybe.’

  ‘Would that be because you think I want them, or because you do?’

  ‘Both. Are you reading my mind?’

  ‘As far as I’m aware, I can’t do that.’

  ‘Good. At least we have that in common. So, do you want me to decorate before you move in? It will be a mess for a while?’

  ‘I can live with mess. It’ll be fun. It’s better than that colourless box I’m in at the moment. We’ll need to go over to the old place and pick some of my things, it’s only –’

  ‘What?’

  She grimaced. ‘I need to talk to Joel. He’s going to throw a wobbly.’

  ‘Should I be there?’

  ‘To protect me?’

  ‘Physically?’

  She grinned. ‘You wouldn’t be much use in that direction. When I said he’s strong, he could pick you up with one hand.’

  ‘Oh,’ he said, inadequately.

  ‘I need to handle this alone. He won’t hurt me, but, well, he’s possessive. I’ll need to handle it carefully. He’ll get used to it. He’ll have to.’

  She grabbed her bead evening bag, ‘I’m a bit overdressed for the day, so drop me off at home. Let’s take things slowly. I’ll stay at the flat until Joel’s had time to get used to the idea. I start my shift tonight, so I’ll give you a call Friday.’

  ‘It’s going to be a long five days.’

  ‘The best things are worth waiting for.’

  ‘And you are the best thing that’s ever happened to me.’

  ‘Say that again, when you’ve discovered the full extent of the gift I inadvertently bestowed.’

  ‘The gift of life and the gift of love. What else could a man desire?’

  Chapter 30

  When Friday came around, Sarah didn’t call, and he left a string of increasingly irritated messages. He wondered about driving over, but if Sarah was having doubts, being hassled wasn’t going to help. And if she was having trouble with Joel, intervention on his part might set back any progress she’d made.

  The following Monday, Robin was woken out of a nightmare by a thunderous knocking on his front door. As the nightmare faded and his pulse slowed, he shook his head, and couldn’t quite recall what had spooked him.

  Wrapping a robe around himself, he opened it warily, to be confronted by two uniformed cops and a request to accompany them to the station. He rubbed the remnants of sleep from his eyes. ‘Am I under arrest, or something?’

  ‘What for?’ he was asked blandly.

  Ultimate politeness on the part of a cop goes a long way to make a person realise he’s in deep shit, and Robin was no exception. Please nicely was simply a polite veneer on what was, essentially, a command.

  He indicated himself. ‘Can I get dressed?’

  ‘Of course, sir.’

  ‘What’s all this about?’

  ‘Just a few questions the DCI would like to ask, Mr Vanger.’

  ‘Down at the station?’

  ‘He’s a busy man, sir.’

  They waited by the front door, not availing themselves of his offer of a seat in the living area. It was all too formal to be good news. When they sat him in the back of the car and ignored him on the drive, he felt like a criminal.

  The Station, its concrete panels leaking grey city dirt, were reminiscent of an abattoir. Robin had seen it on TV, but the reality was as depressing as the prisons it sought to fill. In the large open plan office, the only sensation of space was upwards. Every inch of carpeted floor was compartmentalised with workstation screening, behind which computers and operators blinked. A rank of tiny offices with names on the door marched down one side.

  Robin was led to a sterile, functional room with off-white walls that smacked of intimidation. Here, he was asked to wait. The door was closed quietly but firmly behind him. He had wondered what it was like for prisoners, locked into tiny rooms, allowed out at allocated times for exercise and social interaction. He tried to still a flutter of terror, even though that possibility was far from likely – he’d done nothing wrong, though it didn’t feel like it. He waited on a hard, uncomfortable chair, one of four bolted in neat formation around a metal table. When the door opened to admit DCI Redwall and a female officer, it was probably only fifteen minutes later, but seemed like an hour.

  ‘Robin,’ Redwall greeted. ‘Thanks for coming down.’

  ‘Did I have a choice?’ he asked, rising.

  Redwall flapped his hand in a sit-down motion, saying, ‘Please. I’m sorry about the short notice. We’re overwhelmed and understaffed, as usual.’

  Seating himself, he folded his hands on the table. ‘Are you OK? Not in pain? My officers dragged you out of bed, apparently. Can we get you anything? Tea, biscuits?’

  ‘I’m fine thanks. Just tell me what this is about.’

  ‘Have you any objection to this interview being recorded?’

  The formality scared him. ‘Do I need a lawyer?’

  ‘Should you?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of,’ he replied grimly.

  ‘The matter is fairly, ah, sensitive, but my reasons for recording the interview are as much for your protection as ours.’

  Robin doubted it, but said grudgingly, ‘I suppose it can’t do any harm.’

  ‘Very well. This is WPC Wallens. She’s here to witness.’

  She pressed a button and went throug
h the opening procedures, dictating the date and time and identifying those present.

  Then Redwall said, ‘Mr Vanger. I believe you know a nurse called Sarah Thompson?’

  Robin was startled. He had expected it to be connected with Helen Speakman’s death, or even the Motorway accident. ‘Yes, why?’

  ‘In what capacity do you know her, Mr Vanger?’

  ‘She gave me her own blood on the way to the hospital after the pileup. If it hadn’t been for her, I’d have died. Then, she nursed me for a couple of weeks in intensive care, but I was in an induced coma at the time. I discovered all this later, and asked to see her. To thank her.’

  The DCI’s brows lifted. Maybe he hadn’t known that. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘No, it isn’t all. I met her later, when I was recovering. I asked her out. I love her. She’s going to move in with me. Is that what you wanted to know?’

  He was quite pleased at Redwall’s expression of surprise. ‘I guess it was. Humour me. When was the last time you saw her?’

  ‘We went out Sunday; to the opera.’

  ‘Her idea, or yours?’

  ‘Hers. We’d been seeing each other. She knew I liked classical music, and bought the tickets as a surprise.’ He gave a brief smile. ‘I don’t think she was too enamoured.’

  ‘And after that?’

  ‘She was on shift for the following five days, so we agreed she’d call me Friday.’

  ‘And did she?’

  ‘No, I’ve been worried. I was thinking of heading down to her place today, but your guys collared me. I’ve called a few times, and left text messages, but she hasn’t responded. I guess she’s just tired. Working nights is weird. Must knock you out of sync. I’ve never done it. Don’t want to.’

  ‘No, it’s not great for relationships.’

  Robin leaned back and folded his arms. His tone was light, but his cooperation was at an end. ‘So, what’s she done? Murdered someone?’

  ‘It seems she’s disappeared.’

  His hands dropped to the table with a slap. ‘What?’

  ‘She didn’t turn up at work on Sunday night, no-one’s seen her, but her car is still there. Her colleagues got worried, and we were asked to check it out, in the circumstances, you understand.’