Lady in White

by A. J. Matthews

  Who are you to interfere? The darkness sounded uncertain behind the bravado.

  "Someone who knows the score better than you do." Martin adopted a more conciliatory tone. "There are other places to be, you know; other nicer planes of existence to live on. You could find one if you chose. Leave this poor wretch alone and move on!"

  * * * *

  The guard looked at the slumped form of the guy with the British accent with some disgust. "Well, he wasn't much use, nurse!" he said.

  Caroline was yawning, the tiredness still making her mind feel fuzzy. "He's… he's got the know-how to fix this mess," she mumbled. "Just let him work."

  "Shit, I don't know…" the guard said, and risked a peek in the room.

  To his surprise the patient was upright, rocking and swaying, the whites of his eyes showing as they rolled around in their sockets. "He's mine! I need him! Go away!" he was moaning, over and over.

  It was a clear shot. Drawing the tazer, the guard took careful aim.

  * * * *

  "Argh!"

  Martin jolted with shock as the blast of power surged through the hapless patient and the man's scream filled the air. For a second the darkness stood separate and vulnerable—and that second was all he needed to recover and impose a block between it and its victim.

  Enraged, it turned on him and battered at his wards, weeping and wailing in loss. Gritting his teeth, Martin held on, maintaining his ward until the darkness exhausted itself. "Leave this place!" he urged it. "Go in peace! There are other, better worlds, if you would only see!"

  It gave no answer. Instead it edged away from him and the prostrate figure of the patient, its retreat getting faster and faster until it slid away beyond his view.

  "Damn!" he said harshly as he opened his eyes. Caroline was watching him wide-eyed. "It's let go of Mendoza. You'd better go see to the others."

  "You saw it, didn't you?" she said, not moving.

  "Yeah." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "It was similar to that other time here, but there were subtle differences. I'm not quite sure what they were without analyzing what just happened, but…”

  He broke off as Burwell emerged from the room with the nurse. The doctor looked tired and drawn, but he managed a half-smile for their benefit. "Mr. Mendoza won't give us any more trouble for a while,” he said, sitting down on an adjacent chair and rubbing his back. He held up an empty syringe and looked at the guard. "Call for an ambulance to take him to a secure unit for observation. Tell them he's had a shot of Thorazine." He gave Martin a calculating stare

  "Are you okay, Doctor?" Caroline asked.

  "Hmm?" Glancing at her he nodded, his gaze returning to Martin. "Oh, I'm okay now. But I heard some very strange things back in that room, Mr. Grey. When we get time after this episode, I'll ask you to explain a few things for me."

  * * * *

  Out in the parking lot, Jay hardly noticed the cold biting through his parka as he trudged back to his car, which he'd left at the side of the driveway. His hand rested on the digital camera in his pocket, a camera that contained images he'd just taken of an incident in a room of the hospital wing. He reflected on the pure luck which led him to park where he had and walk the rest of the way; it was pure luck which allowed him to be in the right place to capture the shots of the guard firing a weapon at an unarmed man. As he climbed into his car, a broad smile broke out. Pure luck was the journalist's best friend.

  * * * *

  The master of the darkness watched as the car receded up the drive to merge with traffic on the main road. He felt dissatisfied at the way things had turned out.

  Chapter Ten

  Claudia pulled into the driveway of her family home and switched off the engine. As always, the sight of the ranch-style house raised mixed feelings in her. It was her old childhood home, and she was fond of it, yet memories of old family squabbles soured the mix. She glanced at her watch. The high school would let out in thirty minutes, but her mom would probably stay on for some hours yet. Her dad could be home; it depended on how much work had piled up over the Thanksgiving break at his office at the railroad.

  Even as she thought this, the drapes over the sitting room window moved, and she could see her father looking out at her. Suppressing a grimace, she waved back and got out of the Taurus.

  He opened the door as she walked up. "Hey, baby," he said, and offered his cheek for her to kiss.

  She gave him a perfunctory peck on the cheek and moved into the hall as he stepped back. "I can't stop long, Dad. Just came to pick up my gun."

  His eyebrows rose. "You expecting trouble, Claudie?" he asked, turning and heading into the sitting room.

  "No, Dad, but it's best to be prepared. Like the guy said, 'I'd rather own a gun and not use it, than need a gun and not own one.'"

  "Yeah, good point."

  He unlocked the bureau and rummaged in a drawer, and eventually produced a revolver. Checking the safety, he flicked open the cylinder and ensured it was empty before handing it to her. "There ya go," he said. "I haven't touched it since you went away, so you'd better check it over."

  She took the gun by the grip and checked for herself that it was safe, whilst her dad retrieved a box of shells for the weapon. "Thanks, Dad. Got to go. Love to Mom."

  Slipping both gun and ammunition into her purse she kissed his cheek again before turning for the door.

  "Claudie? Wait up."

  Suppressing a sigh, she turned to find him looking at her with a thoughtful expression. "What's up, Dad?"

  "That guy of yours."

  "Marty; his name's Marty, Dad," she said, feeling her temper beginning to rise. It looked like she was in for another skirmish with the old man, and after a long day moving real estate, she didn't have patience to spare for it.

  "Marty; okay. Are you sure there's gonna be a market for his spook-hunting work here? It still sounds real kooky to me. I've never believed in ghosts or haunted houses or any of that crap." He gave a wry smile. "I admit I had to bite my tongue a few times when you were a kid and really into all that stuff."

  She ran a hand over her face and gave an exasperated snort. "Dad, whether you believe in ghosts or not, it doesn't matter. I do, and so do plenty of other people. Marty's been over here for almost a month and we've already been through two cases involving ghosts. This looks like a third. I know there'll be other cases out there so, yeah, I think he'll do okay."

  She put a sarcastic spin on her last words and he frowned. "Maybe he ought to move to California; there're plenty of flakes out there, he'd fight right in!" He hesitated, as if about to say something else.

  "Don't you dare make a comment about Tom!"

  He blinked. "Damn! I thought it was only your mom who could read my mind!"

  "It's not funny! Leave Tom out of this. Marty's not a flake, Dad. He helps people out of trouble—serious trouble. He's a regular guy, who had a regular job with the Brit tax office. They're like the IRS here. They're not going to hire anyone who isn't up to the grade!"

  He held up a hand. "Okay, yeah, I'll give on that; he's not a flake, but there's something else. Back when we were having dinner, he and I had a talk about the way things are over in Europe." He rubbed his chin reflectively with a fingertip. "It don't sound good, baby. They're having all kinds of trouble in Britain over it." His eyes narrowed. "Just thought you ought to know; maybe his motives for being with you aren't all they seem to be."

  The outrage that had risen in her faster than mercury in a heat wave found voice. "How dare you!" she hissed. "I love Martin, and he loves me! What the hell are you trying to do, Dad?"

  "What I've always done, sweetheart—protect you!" As she turned back to the door, he stepped past her and pressed his hand to it, forcing her to stop in the act of opening it or face an unseemly struggle. "You're flying off in a temper again, Claudie, but just listen to me; just make sure you take care of your own interests, not those of some guy you met less 'n a month ago, you hear?"

  "I'll take care of my inte
rests, Dad," she said in a low, bitter voice. "Just you mind your own!"

  He nodded and stepped back, releasing his hold on the door. Opening it, she stormed out and got in the car, gunning the engine and roaring out of the drive in a hiss of gravel.

  All the way back to the apartment, the nasty thought turned in her mind. Is Marty really with me for my sake, or as a means of getting over here? She was sure she knew the answer—but the seed of doubt was there.

  * * * *

  Martin greeted her in the hall. "Hi, lover, had a good day?" She automatically offered her lips for him to kiss, but the feeling was lacking. He sensed it. "Is something wrong?" he asked, taking her coat and purse and hanging them on the pegs.

  Shaking her head, she pushed past him and went to the bathroom. As she attended to her needs she leaned forward and cupped her face in her hands. She could hear Martin moving about in the kitchen, which reminded her again of how thin the walls were in the temporary apartments. Mrs. Grundy's continuous monitoring of their nightly activities from the flat above was a case in point, and she looked forward to leaving the place—if it happened.

  Wiping herself and washing her hands, she went through to the kitchen to find him waiting for her with a steaming mug of coffee and a rueful smile. "What's that look for?" she asked gruffly, accepting the mug.

  "I'm just thinking this is the first time I've seen you come home without a smile on your face," he said gently. "There is something wrong, isn't there, love?"

  She drew a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah. I stopped by my parents' to pick something up. My dad was there." Her mouth tasted bitter. "We had words."

  His lips twisted. "Ah."

  "Yeah." She set aside her mug and folded her arms. "Martin, I want you to give me a straight answer; are you finding the general situation back in England unpleasant?"

  He nodded. "Yes, you could say that. There're a lot of social and political things going on that I don't like. Why?"

  She held up her hand. "Okay, next question; are you ready to move over here for our sake or for yours?" Much to her annoyance her eyes prickled, but she kept her gaze fixed on his face, ready to detect the slightest hint of equivocation.

  "Ours, of course!" He frowned. "Claudia, I don't know where this is leading, but I'm bloody sure I don't like it!" He reached out and touched her arm. "I'm deep in love with you, and I want us to be together, always. I've told you that before, darling, and I'll say it as often as you can stand. I told your dad as much when he asked about us." He waved his hand. "As for the situation in Britain, that won't matter a jot if you want us to live there instead. Wherever you are, I want to be." He hesitated then reached out for her. "I hope that's set your mind at rest, love?"

  Relief flooded her mind. "Oh, Marty, yes, it has!" She went to him and hugged him hard. "All the way here I was thinking—are you coming here to live for my sake, or are you using me as a means of getting over here? I don't know why I had such suspicions about your motives. Yes, I do, though!" She tilted her head back and looked at him. "My bloody father put them there!"

  His body shook in a wonderfully pleasant way as he laughed. "Bloody? Careful, dear! You're beginning to catch Briticisms!" The smile faded as he held her. "What has he been saying?"

  "He implied you were only with me to get US citizenship so you could escape all that crap back in Britain."

  "And I told him that I would be happy with you anywhere!"

  "He didn't tell me that part," she said.

  His normally mild countenance flushed red. "What the hell is his game?"

  She kissed him and the red faded. "It's one of his mind games, Marty," she said with a sigh. "I've been away from home too long; I actually forgot what the old bastard can be like."

  "I do hate to see families fall out, love," he said, looking mournful.

  "So do I, but it happens. Why do you think I moved to New York in the first place?" She kissed him. "Do you forgive me?" she asked.

  His face softened and he held her close. "Of course I do, love. You've got every right and need to be sure about me. Don't ever be afraid to ask me anything if you're worried."

  "I won't."

  "Good." He released her and leaned back on the worktop. "As for your dad, I had hoped to get to know him better; he seemed to tolerate me at least when we were having dinner. I thought the Scotch would help. What do we do now?"

  "I don't know, love." She looked away, shrugged, and picked up her mug. "We'll have to sleep on it. Let me drink this and shower, then I'll show you what I fetched from my folks' place."

  * * * *

  Caroline lay on her bed with the headphones for her CD player clamped firmly in place. Like most properties built in the 1950's, the ranch-style house was solidly constructed. Even so, the sounds of the argument her parents were having carried clearly through the intervening doors. It made her unhappy to hear it, and unhappier still to know the subject was her sister's relationship with Martin.

  The outside door slammed, which of old she knew to be her dad's departure for his favorite bar. She reached over and pushed the stop button, cutting Garth Brooks off in mid-verse, and slipped off the headphones. The next stage of the row would be when her mom—

  A knock sounded on her bedroom door. "C'mon in, Mom," she called.

  Her mother's wan face appeared around the door, a wry smile on her lips. "Are we so predictable, honey?"

  In spite of her unhappiness, Caroline smiled and nodded. "Well, yeah, it's kind of a well-worn track."

  Her mom came in and sat on the edge of the bed. "I'm sorry you had to overhear it all, darling. Your dad's been goading Claudie again; she called to tell me, and I gave him hell for it." She lifted one shoulder. "Like you say, it's a well-worn track."

  "What did he do this time?"

  "Put doubts into her head over Martin's reason for being here."

  Outrage flooded through her, and she sat up. "Oh, that's just mean! He's a wonderful guy. You should've seen how he handled the situation at the hospital today."

  The words were out before she realized how sensitive the matter was.

  Her mother cocked an eyebrow. "Martin was at the hospital? Why?"

  Caroline drew a deep breath. "Mom, I saw some ghosts—three ghosts, actually."

  The look of surprise was replaced with one of skepticism. "Really, dear?"

  "Mom, I know you're skeptical, but believe me, I know what I saw."

  Her mom patted her hand. "I'm sure you do, darling, but hadn't you better think of how it would look to the hospital authorities? It wouldn't do your career any good to be labeled as a flake, especially when you're doing so well."

  "Doctor Burwell was there; he's starting to believe there's something going on in that place. He and Marty had a long talk about it."

  "Well, if Doctor Burwell's okay about it, I guess it can't hurt." She hugged her. "But take care, darling! If word spreads about this, there'll be nothing Doctor Burwell or you can do to avoid looking silly. Most people out there like ghost stories to be just that—stories. They don't want to know if they're based on fact, and they tend to look askance at those who believe in them."

  "I'm not going to say a word, Mom, I promise. What happens there is between me, Marty, and Claudia."

  "That's a good girl," her mom said, patting her cheek and making her feel all of nine years old again. "I'm going to catch up with some schoolwork, then relax in front of the TV for a while. Will you be okay?"

  "Yeah. I'll do some work online in a while."

  "Don't stay up too late doing that; you're looking tired now."

  She thought of the pleasures awaiting her with just a few clicks of the mouse and shook her head. "I won't, Mom."

  * * * *

  Claudia took the revolver out of her purse and laid it on the table, watching Martin's face as she did so. His look of interest turned to one of surprise, then wariness. "You've got a gun?"

  "Yep." She flicked open the magazine and inspected the chambers. "It's a Smith and Wesson Customs
Special .357 caliber with a short barrel."

  "I love it when you talk dirty!" he replied, looking at the weapon with a dubious expression. "What do you need it for?"

  She looked at him with benevolent exasperation. "Marty, my work takes me into places where ‘redneck’ describes the majority of the male population. To guys like them, any woman is a target, and pepper spray an aphrodisiac. This," she went on, holding up the gun with her finger on the trigger, "will put a man down."

  He sat opposite her and reached out to touch the box of shells. "You're willing to kill a man?"

  "Of course not," she said, "but being prepared to kill is different than being willing to kill. Marty, if I ever get into the situation when it's a case of 'him or me,' I'm going to make damn sure it's him!"

  "Sorry, love; I don't mean to be squeamish. You do whatever you think best, of course. It's just that I don't find it comfortable when I think of you being around guns."

  "So don't think of it, babe."

  He grimaced. "I'll try not to. Right or wrong, the powers that be in Britain don't like civilians owning guns, so we're just not used to them."

  "I understand." She laid the gun down on the cloth and stood up, moving around the table to lean over him and wrap her arms around his neck. He laid his arms on hers and nuzzled close. "Marty, it's part of my heritage, and to my mind the reasons for having a gun outweigh the objections.” She kissed him tenderly. "Don't you want me to be safe?"

  "Oh, sweetheart, what kind of question is that?" he said with a pained expression.

  "A rhetorical one, I hope!" she said, squashing his nose with her fingertip.

  "Of course I want you to be safe." He stroked the hair away from her face and looked at her with an expression that showed he was scarcely mollified. "Do what you think best, by all means."

  "I know you don't have any experience with guns. Am I right in saying it's the norm for everyone over there?"

  "Well, apart from farmers' shotguns, only criminals are allowed to bear arms in Britain."

  "Now that's just stupid!" She looked at him in amazement. "Are you telling me the law permits crooks to carry?"