Wyrd Girl

by Jon Jacks

  Jake’s taking a quick scan of the place, looking for clues.

  ‘Don’t touch anything,’ he says, as he moves aside cushions, pictures and vases.

  ‘If it was her gran, she’s prob–’

  ‘Don’t try and figure it out,’ he says, raising a hand towards me like he’s calling a halt. ‘We’ve got people trained to sort things like this out.’

  He gets on his mobile, turns away so I can’t hear him properly as he whispers something into it.

  I glance about me, wondering if it’s like one of those movie scenes where you think the place is empty but someone’s been surprised and is still hiding behind the curt–

  There’s someone by the curtains!

  No.

  Idiot!

  For a moment there, I’d thought I’d spotted someone by the large window; but it’s just a trick of the light, the way the light reflects off the glass and the shadows fall along the curtain folds, making it look like a figure.

  The figure steps away from the window and into the room

  ‘Jake,’ it says, with vocal chords made of curtain cords.

   

   

  *

   

   

  Chapter 9

   

  ‘Andrew?’ Jake says doubtfully, turning towards the figure made of what looks like curtains, shadows and reflected light.

  Andrew? These things have names like Andrew?

  The figure turns to me, talks in a voice rolling over broken glass.

  ‘And I must thank your new courier liaison for granting me permission to come here.’

  Did I?

  I nod, smile. I wonder if I should say something like, ‘Thank you, your grace.’

  He turns back to Jake.

  ‘I assumed you would want me here Jake?’

  Jake’s face is that of a little kid caught knocking on doors and running away.

  ‘We need to work out what went on here quickly, before…’

  His voice trails off, like it doesn’t need to be said.

  Andrew nods in agreement.

  ‘It’s understandable,’ he growls, ‘with all these other unfortunate things suddenly happening between us.’

  Jake sniffs the air.

  ‘I can smell it Andrew; the smell of the dead.’

  Andrew sighs sadly.

  ‘We didn’t do this Jake; we wouldn’t hurt Franky, you know that.’

  ‘I didn’t think anyone would hurt Mary either. Now she’s working for you.’

  ‘Franky’s not dead; there’s no sign of her on our side.’

  Ah, so these dead can’t be everywhere, otherwise they’d know where Franky is.

  ‘It’s got to be one of the factions, we know that Andrew. But if this goes on, none of us will be able to prevent a war. There’ll be cries for revenge, that no one can be trusted; that we’d be fools to just let ourselves be picked off one by one.’

  Andrew suddenly shudders. He raises his head like he’s the one now sniffing the air.

  His nose somehow leads him to me.

  Standing so close, I can see what could possibly be taken to be a ridiculously sharp, gaunt face amongst the shifting light and shadows.

  He eyes me warily, his own eyes glints and sheer darkness amongst the play of light.

  ‘And what of your side Jake? Are you dealing with things beyond your own control, perhaps?’

  Jake glances back at me.

  ‘Twice? Yes, she’s new, untried. But we have no choice but to quickly introduce her to our goings on, under the circumstances.’

  ‘New?’

  He says it like he’s taken it to be an outrageous lie.

  The glare from his eyes seems to be moving towards me, feels like it’s wanting to slip inside me.

  Then the movement, the feeling, disappears.

  He whirls on Jake.

  ‘I hope it’s only the factions playing games here Jake,’ he snarls. ‘Otherwise, there will be no alternative but war!’

   

   

  *

   

   

  ‘Wow, what was all that about?’ I ask Jake once we’re safely back in his car.

  ‘Well, chances are, she’ll turn up safe. With any luck, it will be her gran who’s come back to give her a warning, and we might even learn something from it. But what with everything that’s going on, we’ve got to treat everything odd like it’s a potential catastrophe. Otherwise, that’s what it will definitely end up as.’

  I presume Jake’s idea of ‘everything odd’ is different to anyone else’s idea of ‘everything odd’.

  Actually, though, I’m disappointed by Jake’s answer.

  Like him, I’m hoping Franky will turn up.

  I mean, as it’s her gran – even if it’s her dead gran – who’s turned up for a tea and a biscuit, where’s the harm in that?

  No, what I was hoping Jake would answer for me was why Andrew had looked at me like he was probing for something deeper within me that even I wasn’t aware was there.

  Like he’d sensed something in me.

  Course, I could be flattering myself that he’d seen something about me that made me special.

  We’d all like to think there’s something deep inside us that makes us special, wouldn’t we?

  ‘Thing is Twice,’ Jake says, slowing down the car like this is something he needs to concentrate on and pick the right words, ‘I need to warn you; this thing with Andrew saying you’d invited him, right?’

  ‘I didn’t, honestly. I don’t know how he got there.’

  ‘Well, although you might not be aware of if it, you did invite him. You’ve seen the picture in reception of the swans?’

  ‘The elephants you mean?’

  ‘Elephants, swans – that’s the whole point of the picture. It’s a reminder to us all that we have to be able to control what we’re really seeing and what we’re fooled – or more usually frightened – into thinking we’re seeing. See, fortunately the Nyxt can’t just go turning up in our world whenever and wherever they want; they need a form they can slip into. And if we’re not careful, our overactive imaginations unwittingly conjure up a figure out of nothing that they can move into.’

  ‘Ah, like the shadows in the curtains. Or the coat stand at my interview.’

   Or, I held myself back from saying, guys made from garbage.

  Jake nods in agreement.

  ‘Sooo…’ I say, ‘how come you said “with any luck” it will be Franky’s gran who came back to warn her? Who or what else could it be?’

  ‘Once a body’s soul has moved on, the Nyxt can take it over – another way of achieving form, of course. Fortunately, it’s apparently a pretty awful experience for them; once a spirit’s achieved freedom, it rarely wants to move back into its own body, let alone someone else’s that’s decaying, diseased or been mutilated in an accident. It takes a great deal of effort – or yes, as in Franky’s gran’s case, desperation – to hold it all together.’

  ‘But if it had been some other spirit, rather than her gran’s, wouldn’t Franky spot that something was wrong?’

  Jake pulls one of those faces that means ‘Ah, well, see, it’s not that simple is it?’

  ‘How’re we supposed to know,’ he says, ‘how someone we knew when they were alive behaves when they’re dead?’

  ‘But Franky’s not dead yet; that’s good, yeah.’

  ‘That’s good, but she could be being held somewhere. Thing is, until she turns up, Twice, you’re now our courier – so you’re going to have to learn the ropes pretty damn quickly. Fortunately, I sensed at your interview that you’ve got the right qualities and abilities.’

  Wow, I’ve got abilities?

  ‘Such as?’ I ask.

  ‘Hmn, nothing specific I can put my finger on just yet. Just a mix of gut feeling and the answers you gave to the questions pointing to an average level of abil–’

  ‘Average?’

  Wow, that
hurts, know what I’m saying?

  He gives me a glance that says he recognises my annoyance.

  ‘Look, that still means a vastly superior ability than most people possess, okay? But you’ve got to realise that, when it comes to dealing with the Nyxt, there are some real stars, right?’

  ‘Like you, you mean?’

  He shrugs.

  ‘Well, I’m just slightly better than average, if you must know. And yes, I admit that does smart a bit, knowing you’re not up there with the best!’

  ‘Better than me though, eh?’

  He sighs.

  ‘With a bit of training – who knows? And all this being thrown in the deep end, at a time of panic; end of the day, it’s up to you whether you sink or swim.’

  Suddenly, I feel incredibly doubtful about my own abilities.

  ‘I lied,’ I admit. ‘I lied when answering some of your questions.’

  He chuckles.

  ‘You don’t say? Fortunately, when it came to the ones that counted, I reckon you told the truth.’

   

   

  *

   

   

  Chapter 10

   

  I have to direct him to the home.

  So, unlike Mary, he didn’t know where I lived.

  He hadn’t been fooled by the address I’d given on the questionnaire.

  He’d asked, ‘So, where do you really live, Twice?’

   

   

  *

   

   

  Soon as I’ve made sure the staff on reception have clocked me in as going off to my room like a good little girl, I prise open the back window and sneak out.

  It’s dark. And it’s raining.

  I don’t care; soon I’ll be with Chris, cosy in the new home he’s made for us.

  The rain’s falling hard, glistening like silver strands in the light coming off from lampstands, illuminated signs and windows.

  Most people are indoors, keeping dry, watching TV, or getting ready for bed.

  The falling rain’s making everything around me hazy, indistinct. I can only just make out a small group of people heading towards me, the rain bouncing off their shoulders and heads.

  Otherwise, they’re like wraiths made of the surrounding darkness and the rain itself.

  The group spread out across the road.

  Uh oh; this doesn’t look good.

  I glance behind me, wondering if there’s somewhere I can run to if this is going to turn out badly.

  There are figures behind me, languidly closing in.

  There’s no rush; they know they have me surrounded.

  I back up against a wall.

  I cry out for help, but the heavy rain deadens every sound.

  I feel alone, abandoned.

  Is this how Mary felt, just before she died?

   

   

  *

   

   

  They slowly gather in a semicircle around me. Close, yet strangely keeping their distance.

  The rain falls about them, splatters off them, dark shapes only given form by the way the rain defines them.

  Then I realise; they’re not real.

  Or, rather, they’re not real people.

  They’re Nyxt.

  And I’ve helped them come into existence.

  As Jake had warned, my own fear has conjured up figures in the darkness and the rain, giving them form and allowing them to slip into our world.

  ‘We know what you are.’

  The voice is like violently splashing rain, rain rushing down a gutter.

  ‘I’m a courier; I help the dead.’

  Once again, I wonder if I’m feeling what Mary felt in her last seconds alive.

  ‘No; you’re more than a–’

  ‘Twice?’

  The urgent shout cuts through the heavy rain.

  It’s Chris’s voice.

  It’s Chris, running along the street, almost as insubstantial as the surrounding figures in the falling rain.

  ‘What’s wrong, why are you just standing there?’

  He can’t see the Nyxt

  He just sees rain.

  Perhaps he sees the rain falling oddly here and there, but it’s just so many drops falling amongst so many millions of others.

  ‘Stay away Chris! They’re–’

  Suddenly, I can’t see them either.

  They’ve gone.

  Chris rushes up to me, embraces me warmly. Chuckles with a mix of relief and concern.

  ‘Where have you been? You’re so late! I was on my way to the hom–’

  He notices that I’m trembling.

  ‘Twice? What’s wrong? You looked so scared.’

  He glances about him, trying to see what could have scared me.

  ‘It’s only rain.’

  ‘No no; it wasn’t only rain, Chris! It was the dead; I think the dead were about to kill me!’

  He chuckles again, but uncertainly this time.

  ‘Twice! I always knew you had an overactive imagination, but–’

  He stops, realising that I’m serious.

  ‘No, no Chris, it’s more than that! I’ve got so much to tell you. Things you won’t believe.’

   

   

  *

   

   

  Chris does believe me.

  He sits there quietly, without interrupting, as I go through everything that’s happened to me today.

  He doesn’t even halt me to insist I go over bits I’ve described poorly.

  He waits until I’ve finished, even when he has the answer to one of the many things that have been puzzling me.

  ‘That bit you mentioned where you couldn’t understand how Mary had found you, when you’d put the wrong address down on the form? I think I know how she could have known.’

  ‘How, Chris? How could she possibly know?’

  ‘Well, way I see it, someone, right, thought you were right for this job, yeah? Well they’ll have made sure these couriers knew where you lived, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘They? But who’re these they, Chris? And how would they let the couriers know?’

  He puts his arms around me.

  ‘Well, I phoned them, didn’t I?’

   

   

  *

   

   

  ‘You know, I gotta say you’re taking all this pretty well,’ I say to Chris, surprised that he hasn’t once asked if I might be mistaken about everything that’s happened to me.

  You know, the bit where someone says, ‘Of course I believe you; but there has to be a rational explanation for all this.’

  Instead, Chris says, ‘Yeah, but isn’t it amazing Twice? It means we don’t die. We just move on to the next level – hah!’

  He laughs.

  ‘Nyxt level – you reckon that’s why they’ve got that name?’

  ‘Could be,’ I agree.

  ‘Thing is, what I don’t get is all this about this war being unwinnable by either side.’

  ‘Yeah, me too; surely when we die, we just end up fighting for them.’

  ‘Never ending reinforcements – well, up until we’re all dead I suppose.’

   ‘Hmn, I suppose then they couldn’t get back into this world.’

  ‘They could keep a few of us alive; breed us just as a form of access into this world.’

  I shudder,

  ‘Jeez! That would be terrible, wouldn’t it?’

  At the end of the alley, cutting through both the heavy rain and even the thick sides of our dumpster home, there’s a shriek of car tyres trying to get a grip on wet tarmac.

  There’s a sickening bump, the squeal of tyres at last coming to an end.

  Then silence, bar the peaceful patter of rain against the dumpster’s sides.

  ‘An accident!’ we both say at once.

  We’re both out of the dumpster in an instant, rushing towards the end of the
alley.

  The light of the beams of a stationary car cut across the road at an odd angle.

  There’s the sound now of people, people like us, running through the rain to see how they can help.

  Or just to see. Like it’s an extra special show, just put on for them.

  ‘I didn’t see her! She just ran out! She’s so small – anyone could’ve missed her!’

  The driver, standing by his car, protesting his innocence to no one but himself.

  We’re surrounded by people. The same people I’d called on to help me, but who hadn’t heard, hadn’t responded.

  Where were they for me?

  Why are they all out for this girl but not – but as soon as I look down on the girl, ungainly sprawled out in front of the car, I know I’m being selfish, foolish.

  She’s young, so incredibly young.

  The unopened, still pristine packet of cigarettes some unthinking parent has sent her out to buy lies just out of her reach.

  And just as these people didn’t come when I needed them, they’ve come too late for her too.

  Even as Chris bends down beside her, I know she’s dead.

  She’s too still.

  Unnaturally, painfully positioned.

  And…there’s a darkness around her.

  A darkness that doesn’t surround anyone else around me.

  Chris is crying. Tenderly stroking her head, her hair.

  ‘My beautiful, beautiful butterfly. A crushed butterfly.’

  His eyes fall on the packet of cigarettes.

  I can see him fighting to control his anger.

  Other people around me are less successful at fighting their anger.

  They’re arguing with the driver, calling him a murderer, ‘A murderer of little children!’

  ‘It was dark…’

  ‘There are lights!’

  ‘How could you miss her?’

  ‘You must have been speeding!’

  ‘…wet conditions…’

  Chris ignores them all.

  He breathes in deeply.

  He caresses the girl’s head, ignoring those telling him he shouldn’t be touching her, she might still be alive, you can paralyse them if you’re not careful.

  ‘You don’t have to go, not just yet,’ Chris whispers to the little girl. ‘Not just yet, my beautiful little butterfly!’

  She coughs.

  She coughs again.

  Stirs.

  That strange darkness no longer surrounds her.

  ‘She’s alive!’ someone cries in relief.

  The girl turns around, so she’s looking up into Chris’s face.

  ‘Where am I? Have I been asleep?’

  ‘Look, look – the girl’s all right!’ the driver shouts out defensively.

  The girl blinks, looks about her curiously.

  She sees the packet of cigarettes.

  She picks it up, runs off home.

  ‘I thought she was dead!’ someone gasps.

  ‘I could’ve sworn she was dead,’ says another.

  She was; she was dead.

  But, somehow, Chris has brought her back to life.