‘Chang Wu?’ Lechasseur asked. ‘Chinese? This is his place?’
‘Who else would run a place like this?’ the girl answered sharply. She eyed Lechasseur suspiciously. ‘Don’t you have Chinee where you come from?’ she asked.
‘Sure,’ Lechasseur shrugged. ‘We’ve got pretty much everybody you can imagine back home.’
‘So where are you from?’ the girl asked. ‘I met some darkies before, but none of them was like you.’
Under normal circumstances, Lechasseur would have reacted to her use of the word ‘darkie,’ but he let it slide. There had been no malice in her voice. Only curiosity.
‘None of your sort around here dress as well as you. Don’t talk like you, neither,’ she added. ‘You ain’t from round here, are you?’
‘No,’ Lechasseur confirmed. ‘New Orleans, Louisiana.’ The girl shook her head, clearly none the wiser. ‘America,’ Lechasseur added.
‘Really?’ The girl took a nervous step forward through the archway. ‘I always wanted to go to America.’
‘Yeah?’
The girl nodded vigorously. ‘I’ve heard about it. The papers are full of stories about it.’
‘You like reading the newspapers?’
The girl squirmed a little, slightly embarrassed. ‘I can read, but not so good as some of the other girls. The ones who are really good with their reading, they tell the rest of us.’ She leaned forward. ‘With an ’at like that one, are you one of them cowboys?’
‘No,’ Lechasseur shook his head. ‘Closest I’ve been to the Wild West is watching the latest John Wayne at the Roxy.’
‘I got no idea what that means,’ the girl answered testily. ‘So what are you doing here?’ she asked suspiciously.
Lechasseur looked around the basement ruefully. ‘I’m not totally sure …’
‘Yeah,’ the girl laughed wryly. ‘I was forgetting you’re stuck here.’ She squinted slightly, as a thought occurred to her. ‘Never seen a bloke here before.’
‘What about Chang Wu?’
‘No,’ the girl said quickly. ‘Not here …’ She wafted her hands around. ‘Here.’
‘And where is here?’
‘Dunno.’ She eyed him suspiciously. ‘Never seen no-one before. This place is always empty when I come back, apart from some food and …’ she trailed off sheepishly.
‘And?’ Lechasseur prompted.
‘And the poppy.’ The girl indicated the bongs. ‘There’s always some of that waiting for me.’
‘Ah,’ Lechasseur nodded.
‘Nothing wrong with it, now and again,’ the girl said defensively. She turned her body slightly, aiming a bony shoulder at Lechasseur. ‘No matter what Joan says.’ She glared defiantly at Lechasseur, waiting for him to argue. He just shrugged. ‘It makes things easier, that’s all,’ the girl said. ‘Makes you forget the bad things.’
‘And you’ve seen some bad things?’
‘Bad?’ the girl snorted. ‘You could say.’ She fell quiet for a moment before continuing, ‘I seen things that’d make your hair stand on end.’ She stared for a moment at the smoke seeping from the mouth-piece of the nearest pipe, watching it spiral off towards the roof. ‘I done some as well,’ she added softly. ‘That’s why I come here.’
The girl was telling the truth, Lechasseur was certain of that. She had done some terrible things, and she chased the dragon to forget. Living in London for a few years, he couldn’t help but have heard stories of young girls in Victorian times. These stories, added to her manner, gave Lechasseur a fair idea of what the girl had been forced to do. There were still girls in the city doing exactly the same. He ran into them with depressing regularity. ‘I’m sure you had your reasons for doing whatever you did.’
The girl’s shoulders slouched and she reached for the smoking pipe. ‘Everybody’s got to get by somehow.’ She looked at Lechasseur, suddenly suspicious again. ‘How do I know you won’t try nothing if I have a puff?’
‘Because I won’t.’
‘And I’m supposed to believe that, am I?’
Lechasseur’s face quirked into a slight grimace. ‘I hope so.’
‘Here,’ the girl said sharply. ‘You’re not funny, are you? You know. Prefer blokes.’
‘No,’ Lechasseur assured her. ‘But I’m old enough to be your father. Probably. So, I don’t think I’ll be troubling you.’
‘Age don’t usually stop most blokes.’ The girl sounded surprised. ‘In fact, the older ones are some of the dirtiest of the lot. Quick, though. They can’t last long.’ She stopped, embarrassed by having said so much. She studied Lechasseur’s face for any sign of condemnation. His face stayed impassive. ‘I’m not ashamed of what I do,’ she said defiantly.
‘But you’re not proud of it either,’ Lechasseur countered softly. ‘Otherwise, you wouldn’t come here to get high on opium and forget.’
‘What do you know about anything?’
Lechasseur shrugged. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Tess,’ she answered, whipping the pipe from his grasp like a nervous animal taking food from an unfamiliar hand. ‘Everyone calls me Tess.’
‘Well, Tess,’ Lechasseur tipped his hat to her. ‘A pleasure to meet you. I’m Honoré Lechasseur.’
‘Funny name,’ Tess answered. She held the pipe a few inches from her mouth, close enough to smell the opium. To Lechasseur, she seemed uncertain about the drug, as if she wanted it there for comfort but didn’t want to actually use it.
‘Guess it is,’ he answered. ‘It’s French. There’s a lot of French influence in New Orleans.’ He chuckled to himself. ‘There’s a lot of places had a lot of influence in New Orleans. It’s a big melting pot of all different people and cultures. Music, food, language … from all over the world, all mixed together in one place.’
‘Sounds exciting.’ Tess dropped the pipe away from her mouth. ‘Would I like it?’
‘Probably,’ Lechasseur nodded. ‘Most people do.’ He sat up straighter on the sofa. ‘What would you bring to the mix?’ he asked. ‘You’re from round here, right? London?’
‘Can’t hide me accent,’ Tess confirmed. ‘Never been out of London in all my days.’
‘Which aren’t all that many.’
‘Long enough to know there’s got to be better than this.’
The strength of the bitterness in Tess’s voice surprised Lechasseur. Maybe he just hadn’t expected it from someone so young and frail-looking. ‘When were you born, Tess?’
Some of the wariness returned to Tess’ face. ‘You first.’
‘Okay,’ Lechasseur agreed easily. ‘I was born in nineteen …’ He trailed off. ‘You weren’t surprised when I said I was born in nineteen something.’
‘’Course not,’ Tess answered. ‘I know it’s the 20th Century now. Or later, maybe. We lose track.’
‘We? Who’s we?’
Tess shook her head at Lechasseur’s ignorance. ‘You don’t know a thing about this place, do you? It’s …’ She stopped, tilting her head to one side. ‘It’s coming back.’
‘What is?’ Honoré listened intently. Nothing.
Tess smiled. ‘It’s coming back. I’m going back.’
Lechasseur looked around the basement. For a moment, he was sure the girl was mistaken. Nothing was happening. Nothing was changing. Then he saw the walls. The brickwork was becoming duller, a sheen of dust forming on it. The tapestries were fading. Even the sofa he was sitting on had started to become transparent. He leaped to his feet. ‘What’s happening?’
Tess just smiled back at him. ‘Dunno,’ she beamed happily. ‘But I don’t mind it. It ain’t that bad, really.’ She spun her head towards the archway and, for the first time, Lechasseur heard the sound that had alerted Tess. Something between the wind and the howl of a dog.
‘Wind?’ he asked.
‘No,’
Tess shook her head. ‘We dunno what it is, but it means we’re going back.’ She look uncertainly at Lechasseur. ‘Well, I’m going back,’ she corrected. ‘Dunno ’bout you.’ She shrugged. ‘But you can look after yourself well enough, I should reckon.’
‘Thanks for the concern,’ Lechasseur said sourly. He turned towards the arch, searching for the source of the sound. It didn’t seem to have any single point of origin. Instead, it was simply all around them, growing louder and more prominent. As the sound grew more intense, the trappings of the opium den faded, leaving walls and floors bare.
‘Oh!’ Tess was startled, and rifled in her pockets. She produced bread and cheese, and began stuffing the food into her mouth. ‘I almost forgot,’ she mumbled, spitting crumbs as she spoke. ‘Got to eat while I’ve got the chance.’
‘Don’t let me stop you.’ Lechasseur watched as Tess wolfed the last scraps of bread. Wherever she was being taken back to, she obviously had no fear of the place. Her eyes were dancing around the room as the whistling noise became louder. It seemed to be reaching a peak, gathering around them until it swooped closer.
A huge grin spread across Tess’s face. ‘I’m going home.’
Joan caught at Emily’s hand. The whistling sound filled the house, coming from every room, surrounding and engulfing them.
‘What is it?’ Emily called, trying to be heard above the noise.
‘We’re going back,’ Joan answered. ‘It’s nothing to be afraid of.’
Emily’s eyebrow arched sharply. ‘Then why are you so terrified?’
Joan’s grip on Emily’s hand tightened. ‘Because every time I come here, I have some kind of hope that it’ll be over. But it never is, and we always end up back there.’
‘Back where?’
‘Look at the house.’ Joan swept her free hand in a wide arc. The sheen had gone from the kitchen, and dust was settling around them. The mirrors dulled and grime engrained itself over the house. Years of neglect appeared in seconds. A photograph on the wall slipped and tilted to an untidy angle. Even as Joan reached to straighten her husband’s picture, the house was fading into darkness. ‘Don’t worry.’ Her voice sounded hollow and distant. ‘It doesn’t hurt. Not really.’
As the room around them faded completely to black, the tone of Joan’s voice told Emily that the older woman was clearly lying, probably more to herself than to her. She also had an oppressive feeling that she was never going to see Joan’s little house again.
And then the house was gone, and there was nothing.
• Where are we?
• It’s all right, Emily.
• Joan? I can’t see you.
• Don’t panic. You just need some time to get used to things here.
• I’m not panicking. Not yet, anyway, though it might not be far off.
• Listen to me. You’re safe. You’re safe enough.
• I can’t feel anything. My hands. Feet. Nothing. I can’t feel anything.
• You’re safe enough …
• I’m sure I am. This is a fascinating sensation. Well, lack of sensation, to be more precise. There’s absolutely no physical awareness at all, and yet I’m able to communicate with you. Wait, I can even … not see you as such … but I can certainly tell you’re there. Remarkable.
• People don’t usually adapt that quickly.
• Most people haven’t had my experiences, Joan. There are others here. I can sense them. They’re coming closer.
• Dear Joan, you are safe.
• Yes, I’m all right, Patience. Aren’t we always?
• And you also … wait. You are not Tess.
• No. My name’s Emily. Emily Blandish.
• She was in my house when I arrived there.
• This is most unusual. There has never been anyone waiting for us before.
• Joan, hon, we thought something weird had happened when you and the shrimp went at the same time.
• The shrimp?
• She means Tess.
• Yep. That’s her.
• Tess? What happened to Tess?
• She was taken at the same time as you, hon.
• But she has not been returned to us.
• Tess?
‘No!’
Lechasseur took an instinctive step backwards as Tess wailed. ‘What? What’s wrong?’
‘It’s going!’ Tess screamed. She spun around, desperately searching the dark corners of the cellar, trying to find the sound that was fading away from around them. ‘Don’t go! I don’t want to stay here!’ She ran for an archway, her heels making a terrible clattering sound on the stone floor. Even as she reached the arch, brickwork was fading into view, and Lechasseur had to catch Tess’s arm to stop the girl running smack into the brick wall that now filled the space.
‘You won’t do yourself any good if you go running into walls,’ he said sharply.
Tess wasn’t listening. She was running her fingers over the bricks that filled the archway, their faded red colouring contrasting with the dull grey of the rest of the wall.
‘It can’t be,’ Tess muttered to herself. ‘I can’t stay here. I don’t want to stay here.’ She started clawing at the crumbling mortar between the bricks, trying to dig her way through to the next cellar.
‘You’re wasting your time.’ Lechasseur thumped his fist against the bricks. ‘Even if you could dig your way through the wall, what do you think will be there?’
‘I don’t know.’ Tess looked fearfully around the cellar. ‘But it’s got to be better than the life I had here. I can’t come back here.’ Her voice trailed. ‘I can’t. I won’t.’
Lechasseur reached out a hand to pat her shoulder reassuringly, but Tess flinched away. He dropped his hand quickly. He had seen fear like this among soldiers during the War. Men so on edge that they had seen everything as a threat, even their own comrades. He had even seen one pull a gun on his own commanding officer, after the captain had relayed an order taking them into battle. It had taken half a dozen men to bring him under control.
‘There’s nothing on the other side of this wall,’ Lechasseur said, holding a matter-of-fact tone. ‘No empty cellar, no opium den, no nothing.’
‘There might be people there,’ Tess protested. ‘Well, not there so much as …’ She wrung her hands in frustration as she tried to find a way of explaining the void she and the other women lived in. ‘There’s a place, totally black and empty, only, well, it’s not empty. Not really.’
‘Go on.’
‘There’s people there,’ Tess added quickly. ‘Me and Joan and a load of others. Except we’re not really there.’
Lechasseur sighed. ‘I don’t follow.’
‘‘Course you don’t,’ Tess snapped. ‘You never been there, have you?’ She relaxed, thinking of the void. ‘We’re there, even though we can’t see nothing. We know we’re there, though.’
‘Can you see each other when you’re there? You and this Joan?’
‘Nah!’ Tess shook her head. ‘Can’t even see myself. Well, you sort of can. Like it’s a memory, you know? We just sort of know who’s there.’
Lechasseur frowned and pursed his lips, contemplating what Tess had told him. ‘A meeting of the minds?’ he mused softly. ‘No, nothing so mundane. Something different. Something we’ve no experience of.’
‘What are you on about?’ Tess asked. ‘Did you have a puff at the poppy when I wasn’t looking?’
‘Just wondering out loud,’ Lechasseur replied. ‘I think I’m done here.’ He turned sharply and headed for the door and the stairs.
‘Where are you going?’
‘Upstairs,’ Lechasseur answered, without stopping or looking back.
‘What for?’
Lechasseur stopped briefly and waved a hand around the cellar. ‘There’s nothing to see here. I thi
nk I’ve seen whatever show is going to be on here.’ He pointed to the stairs. ‘If I’m going to find any answers, my guess is that I’m better off looking upstairs.’
‘What about me?’ Tess protested. ‘You’re going to leave me here? On me own?’
‘You can stay here if you like,’ Lechasseur said. ‘Or you can come with me.’
‘But …’
‘But you don’t know me from Adam,’ Lechasseur interrupted. ‘I understand that. But if you stick with me, I promise to try and make sure nothing bad happens to you. Or, you can stay here on your own. It’s up to you.’ He turned sharply and strode towards the stairs.
Tess looked around the cellar for a moment, a stubborn, independent streak resenting Lechasseur’s manner. The sudden quiet unnerved her, but she refused to give in. Then she saw the shadows begin to move. She knew it was just her imagination playing tricks, bringing too many bad memories of too many bad experiences in cellars like this one rushing back to her. ‘Wait for me.’
On the stairs, Lechasseur stopped for a moment and allowed himself a brief smirk before relaxing his face back into an impassive mask. He didn’t want the girl to think he was laughing at her. ‘Hurry it up,’ he called. ‘We don’t have all day.’ The black void that had sat at the top of the cellar stairs, blocking Tess’s earlier escape attempt, had gone, and Lechasseur could see that the table he had moved was still in the doorway, stopping the door from closing. ‘Then again,’ he shrugged, ‘maybe we do.’
• How many people are here?
• Around thirty, Emily. Perhaps more.
• I can tell. You’re all from different periods in time.
• How do you know that?
• Joan, I have a certain … affinity with time.
• I don’t understand.
• Neither do I. Not completely, anyway. But I can sense it in a way most people don’t.
• I should say that’s nonsense, shouldn’t I?
• But you won’t, Joan. You know it’s true.
• I know a lot of things are true that I wouldn’t have believed before.
• The people who are here with us. Tell me about them.
Echoes Page 6