by Jon Jacks
Chris decorates our dumpster homes with these butterflies, ones he’s created from old boxes, newspapers, magazines. They’re every colour and pattern you can think of.
‘It’s a metaphor,’ he says to me, ‘the way you can transform things people throw away into something beautiful.’
Like giving the trash life, a soul. Like we came together too, as soul mates. Our souls, combined, transform everything around us for the better.
When Franky finally gets around to heading off home for an afternoon of deep sleep (‘NightDoctor – perfectly legal, but packs the punch of a syringe-full of God knows what!’), she carefully packs the butterfly away into her handbag like it’s one of the most precious, delicate things she’s ever owned. She slips it into a small cardboard box she especially went down to the post room for.
Come the afternoon, I’m left on my own, sink or swim time.
And still no sign of Mary, cross my heart and touch wood.
*
I breathe a sigh of relief as I see the wall clock drawing closer to that magical five thirty.
It hasn’t been a particularly hard afternoon.
But I’ve been dreading something going wrong, something unforeseen happening.
But nope – just thirty minutes to go, and my first day has been a perfect success!
The telephone rings, but it’s always ringing.
I pick it up.
‘Zoofelt, Dunnstedt and Ernst Advertising. How can I help you please?’
‘Hi, Twice? Look, sorry, this is Franky. Sorry, Twice, but I’m going to have to ask you to just hang on a little bit longer, if that’s okay, please. See, it’s Granny Gordon – she’s at the door, and she’s insisting she has something important to tell me! Sorry, sorry – got to go!’
She hangs up before I have time to tell her not to worry, that will be fine.
Wait a minute though: hadn’t she said it was her gran’s funeral on Friday?
*
Chapter 7
Thing is, fact that Franky’s going to be a bit late isn’t much of a problem for me.
When I check on the room booking and meeting schedule on the computer screen, it’s all completely blank.
So, there goes that myth I’d heard that ad agencies are a hive of activity, working late into the evening to service their clients.
Nobody’s turning up in reception, apart from a few arty types I see passing through as they make their way home.
Come six o’clock, even that movement has come to a halt.
The computer screen suddenly changes.
Different imagery; different colours.
Different scheduling.
There’s a meeting in quarter of an hour. In the boardroom.
I’m wondering if I should be arranging coffee and biscuits and what have you for the meeting when an expensively dressed, middle-aged guy grumpily walks through the main doors into reception.
I recognise him immediately from pictures I’ve seen of him in the papers, though I can’t recall his name. He’s in the government; some sort of lower-ranking minister, in the department of blah-di-blah.
Soon as he spots me sitting behind the desk, he frowns.
‘Good evening sir, are you–’
‘What’re you doing here?’
He says it gruffly, rudely, like I’m about as important as one of the room’s chairs.
‘Where’s Franky?’
He looks about him like she’s suddenly going to appear from behind one of the potted plants.
(‘Here I am Minister! Only hiding!’)
‘I’m afraid Franky’s been delayed sir. Can I–’
‘We can’t have this!’ he storms. ‘Doesn’t Matthew realise the urgency of–’
Whaddya know, he’s so rude he even interrupts himself.
He’s reaches for his mobile, flicking it open like he’s Captain Kirk wanting to be immediately beamed up before a laser beam cuts him in half.
‘Matthew! This girl on reception – we need Franky! Franky, it has to be Franky!’
Wow, now he’s broken into singing Pointer Sister hits!
He looks me up and down with undisguised disgust as this Matthew he’s phoned burbles something back at him.
A door opens.
Jake steps through.
He looks at me.
‘Where’s Franky?’
‘She’s been held up–’
‘Okay, don’t worry about it.’
Almost as brusquely and as rudely as the Minster for Surliness, he moves round behind my desk and begins to place my bag and coat on its top.
‘Get your things together; I’ll take you home.’
‘But I don’t mind covering for Fran–’
He glares at me.
‘We can handle it until Franky gets in.’
The minister’s half looking at his watch, half glaring up at Jake, a grimace on his face somehow managing to say, Get her out of here in the next few seconds or…
Jake looks at me, my face managing to say, Here’s me just trying to help out and I get you two complete jerks who…
His face softens, like he realises he’s being unfair.
‘Look, sorry Twice – I know you meant well. But we really do need to get you out of here, for your own good, honestly. I’ll try and explain in the car.’
The minister scowls at Jake like he’s already explained way too much.
Jake turns to him, says, ‘Minister, please – you can come straight through.’
The minster at last manages something that could be said to be the beginnings of a smile as Jake leads him off towards the boardroom.
As they disappear through the door, the main doors open once more.
Mary enters, her face beaming as if she’s been awarded all the smiles the minister’s never bothered using.
‘Twice, you’re still here! I hoped Franky would be here – oh no, sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded! Of course I’m glad you’re here after all; I thought I’d miss you. What with all this panic that’s going on, I couldn’t pop in earlier as I’d hoped!’
She reaches forward, kisses me warmly on both cheeks – Muuhhhaaw, muuuhhhaw!
So that’s what the kiss of death is like, eh?
A kiss friendlier than any I’ve ever had, not counting Chris of course.
‘It’s all a bit bewildering actually,’ she continues breathlessly, ‘especially as you could say I’ve sort of caused it all.’
‘You Mary? Why, what have you done?’
‘Well, I died of course, didn’t I?’
There; she’s admitted it.
She really is dead.
I wasn’t going crazy after all.
So how come I’m just standing here, accepting the fact that I’m casually talking to a girl I saw killed as if she’s just told me she’s been suffering from a particularly bad case of flu?
Well…well because it just sort of proves what I’ve known all along, doesn’t it?
I think that’s the reason I’m not rushing for the doors, anyway.
‘So they know you were murdered by those weird guys, yeah?’
I’m so relieved to be able to say it at last.
Then I bite my lip; I’m not supposed to know how Mary died, am I?
Luckily, either Mary doesn’t fully take in what I’ve just said, or she assumes it’s already all been explained to me.
‘Course they know, silly! I told them, didn’t I? Although I must admit, I was torn about telling everyone.’
‘Torn?’
There I go again; repeating something someone’s just said!
Trust me, I really really didn’t use to be like this!
‘Well of course I’m torn, Twice! I mean, I’m working for the Nyxt now, aren’t I? It’s such a fantastic opportunity, being made their cou
rier liaison. But I have to tell the truth, even so, don’t I?’
Nyxt?
(Damn!)
I suppose I could ask Mary who the heck these Nyxt are, but I don’t want to show my ignorance. Thankfully, Mary seems to have got it into her pretty little head that I’m fully up to speed on everything going on around this weird place, so she’s spilling the beans like she’s the world’s worst airhostess.
‘So – er, what is the truth Mary?’
‘Truth? I thought you’d heard, Twice! It was the Nyxt who killed me!’
For the first time since she’s stepped through the door, the smile fades from her face.
Suddenly she’s all sad and serious.
‘And that can only mean war, Twice! A war between us and the Nyxt. A war no one can win.’
*
Wow, and I thought I’d managed to get through most of today without anything weird happening to me – well, ignoring, of course, the fact that Franky seems to think her dead granny’s come calling.
And hey, what’s so unusual about that, seeing as I’m standing here chatting to someone I saw brutally murdered in an alley only yesterday?
Thing is, after her announcement that World War Three was about to break out between the living and the dead (the Nyxt have got to be the dead, right?), Mary had had a little chuckle.
‘Oh dear, what am I like, Twice, I don’t mean a war between us and the Nyxt, obviously! I mean, I’m in the Nyxt now, aren’t I? So, course, I mean a war between you, the living, and us Nyxt!’
Yeah great, thanks for clearing that up Mary.
That makes it all sound so much more like a fun day out at Disney Land.
Thing is, as she happily babbled away, I was seriously tempted to point out that, Hey, hang on a minute though Mary; it wasn’t the dead who killed you, right? It was guys made of garbage, yeah?
Then again, who am I to say what these Nyxt look like when they decide they’re going to appear amongst us?
The dead aren’t going to be the prettiest people around, are they?
Mary excepted, of course. But I’m getting the impression she’s a special case, the way she’s been allowed to move back into her body.
Thing with the garbage guys, anyway, is that it could just have been my wild imagination playing tricks, yeah?
And bringing it up now, that I was just standing around twiddling my thumbs while poor little Mary here was killed – I think that’s going to have an adverse effect on our burgeoning friendship, right?
I glance over at Jake.
He’s hardly said anything since we got into his car.
Should I tell him about the garbage guys?
‘Oh Jake, I know you’re looking all pensive and worried about this war with the dead, but hey, did I happen to mention that I might have actually been able to prevent it if I’d helped Mary? Because I was there! Isn’t that just a scream?’
Yeah, that’s the way to ensure I’m probably arrested for all sorts of crimes that probably haven’t even gone on the statutes just yet.
Besides, he’s deep in thought, like he doesn’t want to be disturbed.
I disturb him anyway.
‘Sorry you’re having to take me home Jake. Aren’t you needed back there, in that meeting?’
‘Yes,’ he answers sourly. ‘But I felt responsible for you, seeing as how it was me who recommended you.’
‘Oh, yeah thanks for that Jake. So why did you recommend me? If you think I can’t handle covering for Franky for a bit?’
He shrugs.
‘It’s difficult to explain?’
‘Difficult to explain that you’re not an ad agency at all, but some sort of go-between between the living and the dead?’
Jake almost swerves into the side of a bus we’re overtaking.
‘Let me guess,’ he says with narrowed eyes as he regains control, ‘it was Mary, right? Mary who told you.’
‘Huh huh.’ I nod.
‘Jeezus. I mean, Mary was never the brightest button, but – well, you’d think that with everything that’s happened to her, she’d have picked up some sense along the way.’
‘In her defence, I think she just assumed I knew all these things anyway.’
‘Figures, to be honest; normally, we’d only appoint someone to your position who had been recommended to us. Someone who already had an inkling of or had experienced contact with the dead.’
‘The dead; that’s the Nyxt right?’
Jake just about bangs the wheel with his head.
‘Just how much has Mary been telling you?’ he just about yells, shaking his head in bewilderment.
‘How come the Nyxt have appointed her as their courier if she’s about to let on that they were the ones who killed her?’
Jake’s eyes widen, like he really really really really can’t believe just how much Mary’s told me.
‘You’re picking up things way too fast, Twice!’
‘That wasn’t an answer to my question, right?’
‘Look, Twice, we usually let anyone new take it relatively easy while they gradually adjust to what’s expected of them, okay? It can be dangerous otherwise.’
‘Oh, like a war between the living and the dead isn’t dangerous at all, yeah?’
Jake pulls a face that says he could kill Mary if she weren’t already dead.
‘And that’s an excuse for you being especially nosey, eh?’
‘If you want to put it in those actual words, I suppose so. To be a bit more mature about it, I’d say I’m going to have to grow up pretty quickly if I’m liaising between groups who might declare war on each other at any minute.’
He grins. First time I’ve seen him grin since he got in the car.
‘It’s tradition; when one of our couriers dies on the job, as they’ve got a natural understanding of what’s wanted by both sides, they’re helped to quickly regain control of their body so they can serve as a more permanent contact between us.’
He says ‘when one of our couriers dies on the job’ like it’s a bit like getting a yearly good attendance badge.
Great!
‘Permanent contact?’ I say.
‘Well, thankfully, the Nyxt can’t just appear and hang around in our world as easily as some of them would like. But when they do appear, they’re sort of hard to pin down if they want to cause trouble. Someone in Mary’s position, though, that satisfies us both; she can be around at all times, yet she’s restricted by the body she’s been allowed to reanimate.’
‘And it’s tradition, yeah, for the new courier to squeal on their new employers?’
‘How would it look if the Nyxt refused her the job? They’d look guilty, right? Fortunately, Twice, like us the Nyxt don’t want a war.’
‘So, what do you think; that they didn’t kill Mary?’
Like it was really some weird guys made of garbage who have absolutely nothing to do with these Nyxt?
He grimaces, a grimace that says he can’t really figure out who else could have killed her but the Nyxt.
‘There are those amongst them, Twice – and even amongst us too – who are tired of this uneasy – and yeah, pretty troublesome – peace that’s held between us all this time. They think war will be a blessed relief that resolves things once and for all.’
‘An unwinnable war?’
‘Way they see it, we can only find out that if we actually go to war.’
‘Perhaps that’s what Franky’s gran wanted to warn her about.’
‘Franky’s gran? Franky’s dead gran?’
Jake says this like it’s the weirdest thing he’s ever heard, somebody’s dead gran turning up at their door.
Which, of course, it would be, unless you happen to work for the otherworld’s equivalent of UBS parcels.
Still, he looks like every drop of blood he has has drained from his face and gathered in the hands tightly gripping the wheel.
‘Oh
jeezus no!’ he says, throwing the car into a violent U-turn.
*
Chapter 8
Suddenly, Jake’s zipping through the traffic like he’s auditioning for the remake of Ben Hur.
‘Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?’ he snaps.
‘Well I tried–’
He throws the car into a screeching corner.
I get it – we’re rushing to Franky’s place.
Why? What’s going on?
One minute, everyone’s just accepting the dead turning up like it’s as commonplace as popping down the shops. Next thing, when Franky’s gran comes calling, it’s all terrifying Twilight Zone stuff
‘I know, I know –sorry,’ he says, while squeezing the car down a thin lane I felt sure was going to take our sides off. ‘I hope it’s just my imagination in nuclear fission mode, but this might be urgent.’
You don’t say? That’s why you’re driving like neither of our lives matter and we’ll soon be working for the Nyxt ourselves.
He makes it worse too, trying to call Franky on his mobile while he drives.
When there’s no answer, he throws the phone in the back.
He drives the car up onto the kerb, brings it to an abrupt halt.
He’s out the door, rushing towards the entrance of an apartment block as he shouts back, ‘You stay here; it’s too dangerous.’
I follow him anyway.
*
The door’s locked.
Jake bangs on the door, shouts, but there’s no answer.
He takes out a key (he has a key?), unlocks the door, flings it open and rushes inside.
He’s urgently yelling, ‘Franky, Franky!’
‘Franky!’ I cry out, running in behind him.
There’s no answer.
There’s nobody home.
There’s no disturbance; everything’s neat and tidy.
There’s even two half-finished cups of tea, like Franky and her gran decided, half way through a nice chat and a cuppa, that they had a bus to catch.
*
The only thing odd about Franky’s apartment is that it smells real bad in here.
Yeah, come to think of it, those garbage guys who killed Mary could have been reanimated corpses, after all.
Perhaps what I thought had been rotting cabbages and what have you falling away from inside the coat is more or less what a corpse gets to look like after it’s been hanging around for a while.
Is that what poor Mary will end up smelling like as she slowly decays?
That could explain some of the odd smells you get on the tube trains these days if there’s more messengers like Mary and Franky’s gran knocking around.