by Amy Cross
“That tends to be their attitude when it comes to Marshall Heights,” he replied. “Sometimes I wonder what would happen if there was a fire. Would they send an engine, or would they just let the place burn to the ground?”
“We also checked with the hospitals, but no-one matching her description has been admitted.”
“Huh,” he replied, staring at the bag for a moment. “Well, you're right, it is odd that she'd go out without any of her things, but...” He paused. “You know, it's getting late and all the local hotels are basically flea-pits. If you want to just stay here, that's fine by me.”
She turned to him, surprised by the offer.
“I mean,” he continued, “it is your aunt's flat, so I guess she wouldn't mind. Plus, she happened to list you as her emergency contact, which means that technically, according to the rules, I'm allowed to let you stay in her flat.”
“You are?”
He nodded. “According to rule 19b of the tenancy agreement I'm allowed to let the emergency contact enter a family member's flat and, if necessary, stay there for as long as rental payments are still being made. I could try to force you to leave, but then I'd have to fill in form 1105 and post it, which would take a few days, and you'd probably counter with forms 1108 and 1109, which would mean I'd need to get my boss to co-sign form 3301, but...” Another sigh. “Then under rule 20e and 20f, you could use form 1110 to get an emergency injunction, and then form 1115 to... or is it 1116?”
He paused, clearly a little lost.
“You like forms, do you?” she asked finally.
“I hate them,” he replied. “With a passion.”
“Then I guess I'm staying,” she continued. “I suppose it'd be useful to be on-site, and I could do with saving the money. My aunt and I are very close, or... We used to be, before she moved here. Something seemed to change in her after she got this flat. Everyone noticed, it was as if she was preoccupied by something.” Spotting a key hanging by the door, she slipped it off the hook. “Seems she even went out without her keys. Doesn't that strike you as odd?”
“Do you have trouble sleeping?” he asked.
“Me?” She frowned, surprised by the question. “No, why?”
“No reason.” Clearly a little uncomfortable, he slipped past her and headed back out into the hallway. “I'm not in the business of tossing out concerned family members when they come to stay,” he continued, “but while you're staying here, there are a few things you should know.” He turned to her. “There are three rules that people tend to stick by when they're at Marshall Heights, and they're in place for everyone's benefit. Some of them might seem a little odd, but you just need to respect them and everything should be fine.”
“Go on,” she replied, a little intrigued by the sudden shift in his tone.
“First,” he continued, “don't leave the building at night. It's not safe, people get mugged all the time. The gangs don't come into the building, but any time after about eleven you're taking your life in your hands if you venture out.”
“I've already been warned about that.”
“Second, don't go poking about in other people's business. This isn't one of those buildings where everyone has everyone else's backs, okay? When I told you people keep themselves to themselves, I meant it, there's not a great sense of community spirit at Marshall Heights. Don't go asking to borrow a cup of sugar or trying to start a conversation if you bump into someone. A quick nod of the head is really the most that people can manage around here, and even that can provoke social anxiety in some of the more fragile residents. Just pretend that everyone you bump into has P.T.S.D., and you'll be fine.”
“Got it.” She waited for him to finish. “And the third rule?”
He paused, clearly a little anxious.
“Never be awake at 3am,” he said finally. “Just... take sleeping pills, knock yourself out with wine, whatever, just... don't be awake at 3am. And if for some reason you are, don't leave the flat, not even if you hear...” He paused again. “No matter what you hear or what you think you hear, stay in the flat. Never ever be in the walkways or the elevators or the stairwells at 3am.”
“Why not?”
“Just don't. Please, just take a little advice when it's offered in good faith.”
“You can't say something like that and then not explain,” she continued with a nervous smile. “What's so special about 3am around here? Is it the witching hour or something?”
She waited for a reply.
“What's wrong?” she asked finally.
“Okay, new fourth rule,” he said, interrupting her. “Don't ask questions about the third rule.” He forced a smile. “Seriously, you'll be absolutely fine, just try to remember what I said. At 3am you should be asleep, and if you happen awake, do not go outside the flat, no matter what you hear out there, even if you think you hear...” He paused again. “I'm serious, Megan. Take advice from someone who knows this place. There's nothing to be scared of, it's all just superstitious rubbish, but still, sometimes people play on that and... At 3am, be in bed and be asleep.”
“I'll do my best,” she replied cautiously. “I might need to come and see you in the morning, though. I have to somehow piece together my aunt's last movements and try to work out where she went.”
“I'll help any way I can,” he told her, just as his mobile phone began to ring. Checking the screen, he sighed. “Mrs. Partridge in 113. Why do I have a sinking suspicion that this is going to be about her goddamn cat again? I'm sorry, I have to answer this.”
“It's fine,” she replied. “You've been a big help. Thank you.”
“Mrs. Partridge,” he said as he answered the phone and left the flat, “how's little Barnaby doing on this fine winter night?”
Megan stood and listened to him walking away.
“That's too bad,” he continued, “I think you're really going to have to reconsider where you keep the litter box. Either that or move your washing line.”
Pushing the door shut, Megan turned to look across the empty flat. The whole place felt so still and dead, as if living things were somehow not welcome. Heading into the front room, she turned the radiator on and then she made her way to the window and looked out at the dark city. Glancing down, she watched as a train made its way along the tracks that ran close to the building, and a moment later she noticed that a pair of binoculars had been left on the windowsill.
“Since when did you take up trainspotting?” she muttered.
Turning to look over at the sofa, she spotted a familiar pair of glasses resting on the arm. Wandering over, she took a look at the glasses, which her aunt had always taken wherever she went. Megan knew full well that the old woman was blind as a bat without them, which meant she'd apparently left her flat with no money, no purse and no means of even seeing where she was going.
“Where are you?” she whispered, as a passing train caused the window to shudder. “Where the hell did you go?”
Six
“So when did you last get a good night's sleep?”
“I...” Pausing, Charmian realized the answer was 'never', although she was reluctant to admit as much. She didn't want to sound pathetic, especially not after the litany of aches and pains she'd already outlined, and she certainly didn't want to attract any more of the doctor's attention. All she wanted was to get her pills and then leave. “I don't really know...”
“There are shadows under your eyes,” Doctor Rogers continued, “and shadows under those shadows. Don't take this the wrong way, but you look like you're not sleeping at all. Aren't the pills helping?”
“Yeah, they're helping.”
“So you're sleeping?”
“I...”
She paused for a moment, and then she shook her head while silently cursing her lifelong inability to lie convincingly.
“It's nice not hearing trains all the time,” she said finally.
“There's a line that passes right past Marshall Heights, isn't there?”
She nodded.
“Is that what keeps you awake?”
“I don't know. Maybe.”
“And the pills don't make a difference?”
“I just need more,” she said quietly, hoping he'd stop asking so many questions.
“They're sleeping pills,” he pointed out. “If they're not helping you sleep, they're not doing their -”
“They are helping me sleep,” she said, interrupting him. “Kind of.”
“I know the feeling sometimes,” Doctor Rogers continued, glancing tiredly at the clock. “These late-night surgeries seemed like such a good idea when they were first proposed. Now I'm stuck on a shift that doesn't finish until midnight and from what I can -”
“I really don't want to trouble you too much,” she said, interrupting him. “If I can just get a refill on my prescription, I can be out of your way. Nothing's changed, I just ran out of pills after I lost some in the sink, but I wasn't taking more than the number you said. I'm not addicted or anything like that. Please, you have to believe me, I just lost them.”
“You lost half the last bottle.”
“I'll be more careful this time, I promise.”
“These are pretty much the strongest sleeping pills on the market,” he explained, writing something in his notebook. “No offense, but with the dose I've been prescribing you lately, there's enough to knock out a horse. Is anything keeping you up? You mentioned your daughter earlier -”
“It's not Beth,” Charmian said firmly, with a hint of panic in her eyes. “I should be sleeping, I know I should. I'm so tired all the time, every night I feel like I'm just going to collapse into bed but then...” She paused again, running through the possibilities in her mind. “Is it possible to be so tired that you can't sleep? I know that doesn't make sense, but... Even when I do manage to get to sleep, I always wake up suddenly, like I'm terrified, and it's always at...”
He waited for her to continue.
“3am?” he asked finally.
“How did you know?”
“It's always 3am,” he continued with a faint smile. “I've been a family G.P. for longer than I care to remember, and I've had thousands of people walk through my door and tell me they can't sleep. When they tell me they wake suddenly, or that they have some other kind of regular disturbance, recurring nightmares and so on, I always know what time it happens. Not to sound superstitious, but there just seems to be something about 3am that affects the human mind. It was the same in my old practice too.”
“Something seems to open,” she whispered. “The world's different.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It's a kind of...” She paused again. “Every night at 3am, something seems to change. 3am is when the nightmares kick in. It's when the shadows get longer, and everything sounds different, and all the little worries you have during the day seem to explode and fill my thoughts.” She paused yet again, and for a moment she considered telling him everything before, finally, she realized that she'd only make herself sound insane. This wasn't the moment to open up; it was the moment to say what she needed to say in order to get the pills and leave. “I'm sure it'll be fine,” she said, forcing a smile. “I just need something to help me sleep while I try to find a job. It's stress, that's all.”
“And how's the search going?”
“It's not easy, with Beth and all...”
“You live in Marshall Heights, don't you?” he asked.
She nodded.
“I've heard a lot of stories about that place,” he continued “There seems to be something unusual about the people who live there.”
“Do you get a lot of patients from Marshall Heights?”
“On the contrary, you're the only one. It's a huge tower block, but no-one ever seems to come to me for anything. Frankly, I'm almost offended. I know it's not as full as it once was, but still...” He paused, eying her with concern. “I've been your doctor for a long time, Charmian, ever since you and Beth moved to this area, and what I'm about to say to you might seem tough but I think I have to be a little blunt. Your physical condition is deteriorating. I can't find anything wrong with you, your blood-work all comes back looking good, but something is dragging you down and these sleep problems are just the latest manifestation. How's Beth doing?”
“She's fine.”
“I'd like you to bring her in to see me?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she's fine. There's no point scaring her by bringing her to a doctor when nothing's wrong with her.”
He stared at her for a moment, clearly concerned. “I really think you should think about looking for somewhere else to live, if not for your sake then at least for your daughter.”
“I can't.”
“Because?”
“Because this is where they put us,” she told him, with tears in her eyes. “You can't pick and choose where you live when you're on the housing list. The only way to get out of Marshall Heights is to give up the flat, and then I can't get anywhere else! If I had a job it'd be different, but...” Her voice trailed off for a moment. “Something happens at 3am,” she continued finally. “Everyone at Marshall Heights knows it, but no-one ever talks about it. It's like some kind of secret that we're all afraid to talk about, but the first day I arrived there, both my neighbors warned me to never be out at 3am. It's just about the only time they've ever spoken to me, they came as a kind of delegation, and then...”
“And then what?”
She shook her head.
“You know you can tell me anything, Charmian, don't you?”
“There's nothing to tell,” she said quietly.
“You said your neighbors warned you about things,” he continued. “So perhaps they planted a seed of fear in your mind?”
She shook her head again.
“There's one more type of pill we can try,” he continued, grabbing his prescription pad. “If this doesn't work, we'll have to think about other things. I'd still like to reconsider the idea of depression and maybe -”
“I'm not depressed.”
“I'd still like -”
“I'm not depressed,” she said again, getting to her feet. “You're not putting me on those things.”
“Well these are just sleeping pills for now,” he explained as he wrote out the prescription. “This is the nuclear option, Charmian, and you can't use them forever. This particular brand is known to be highly addictive, so they're only a temporary measure, but I'm hoping that we can just use them to steer you back onto a better course and then other methods can be used to keep you going.” He tore the sheet out and handed it to her. “Pills aren't a long-term solution. I'm not in favor of using sticking plasters to deal with gaping wounds. I much prefer to dig down and determine the root problem, no matter how much work that might involve. In my experience, when you get right down to the root, that's when you find out what's really wrong.”
He stared at her for a moment, hoping for some kind of response, but she seemed to be almost zoning out, as if her tiredness was starting to become too much.
“One week,” he said finally. “That's how long your new prescription lasts. After that, you'll have to come back and if there's been no improvement, we'll try something else.”
“Thank you,” she muttered, getting to her feet and hurrying to the door. She added something else, something barely audible, as she slipped out of the room, leaving Doctor Rogers to stare at the door for a moment. He couldn't put his finger on the problem, but he knew something wasn't right. Charmian Bell didn't seem like a drug addict, but she was clearly getting through her prescriptions too fast.
Turning to his computer, he brought up Charmian's file, and then he opened a web browser and searched for a page about Marshall Heights. As soon as he saw a photo of the tower-block, with the train line running so close to its southern corner, he sighed.
“No-one should have to live in such a wretched place,” he muttered to himself. “That place should be left to
the rats.”
Seven
“I don't know,” Megan said a little while later, sitting on the edge of her aunt's bed as she got undressed and spoke to her sister via a hands-free phone kit. “A few days at least, maybe a week. No more than that. You know how I get if I spend too long in the city.”
Unseen by her, a rat briefly poked its nose out through a hole in the wall, sniffed the air, and then scurried back out of sight.
“And they're letting you stay in her flat?” Rose asked.
“Apparently I was on some kind of emergency list. I don't know, really, it didn't make much sense, why didn't she put Mum's name down instead?”
“Maybe 'cause she knew you're the only one who ever actually does anything.”
“It's fine here,” Megan continued, glancing around the room. “The guy who runs the place seems nice enough.”
“Until he creeps through the door at one in the morning.”
“No, he seemed genuinely friendly. He's very friendly and helpful, I almost had to push him out the door. Not everyone in the city is a monster. Just most of them. Anyway, I'm saving money.”
“I don't get why you don't just go to the police,” Rose replied, her voice sounding a little tinny over the weak connection. “Looking for missing people is their job, dumbass!”
“I know, but it's too late tonight. I'll try them tomorrow.” Pulling her tights down, she paused for a moment, trying to find the right words to describe the sense of doom in the pit of her stomach. “She's just wandered off, that's all. I'm sure she'll come back any minute, laughing about this whole misunderstanding. This time tomorrow, we'll probably be sitting here having a cup of tea, talking about whatever crazy stuff she's been up to lately.”
“You don't believe that for a second,” Rose told her, “or you wouldn't be there. What's the place like, anyway? Should I put in for some time off and come visit? If it's haunted, I could totally try to get in touch with the spirits of the dead. You know I've got friends who are into that sort of thing, right? Then again, maybe it's too new to be haunted. I guess a place needs time to gather ghosts, huh?”