by Phil Chard
Juliet stood aside. “Come on in.”
He obeyed, walking past her into the flat as his inquisitive eyes roamed around his surroundings critically.
“Take a seat.”
He did, his eyes still wandering and appraising. He would be making her an offer, and he was taking in as much information as he could to understand where he should pitch it. She instantly didn’t like him, and decided that his demeanour had already pushed the price up.
She wandered into the kitchen, which, in her small flat was still just a couple of yards away from him. Both could still see the other.
“I must say,” Charles began, “you came highly recommended.”
Juliet was filling a bowl with breakfast flakes. His eyes studied her now. She was pretty diminutive: five-foot-three, young... 18-25 he’d guess. Not what he was expecting at all. This was the Necromancer?
Juliet returned to the living room and sat on the arm of a chair, chomping on her breakfast, happy to sully his impression of her further.
“How did you hear about me?” she asked between mouthfuls.
“Word of mouth... grapevine... the usual sources.”
“A-ha.” Another mouthful. “Tell me about your spook.”
Charles held up the brown envelope, strutted his way over to Juliet and passed it to her. She put the bowl aside and opened up the brown envelope. It contained pictures: the first a grandiose looking manor house.
“That’s the house.” Charles commented. “My house.” he added, as if she were a simpleton who would not be able to deduce this.
Juliet nodded, put the photo to the back and stared at the next one on top of the pile. A woman with honey blonde hair was flashing a high wattage smile for the camera. She had her arm around Charles.
“My wife.” Charles declared. “We’ve barely been married two months.”
Juliet nodded, went to the next photograph. The same woman was in a hospital bed; both eyes were puffed up, the left side of her face nearly black with bruises. Juliet retrieved the previous photograph from the back. The should-be photograph of the man’s wife. She then looked at the is-now version. She looked like a pretty doll that’d been held too long over a flame. The rest of the photographs showed the beaten-up doll from various angles. Juliet put the photographs back in the brown package. She felt pretty angry at what she had seen, but kept her emotions in check and handed the brown package to Charles without saying a word.
“I don’t know what...” Charles began, “...what it is that’s at the house.”
Juliet remained silent. It was strategic, a lesson learnt from Joe. She was gaining a psychological advantage and needed to keep it. It would need to be him that moved the conversation forward.
“Have you ever seen... anything like this?”
Silence.
Her behaviour was irritating him. His cool demeanour was evaporating; he shook his head in her direction, held up his hands in exasperation.
“Hello?!”
Juliet stared at him for a time, then broke her silence. “How much are you going to offer me to get rid of it?”
Her directness struck him like an arrow. He sat back, becoming enveloped in comfort by the padded armchair which engulfed him. His eyes couldn’t help but wander around the room in a second wave of appraisal.
“I was thinking...”
Juliet nodded.
“A thousand.” He nodded his head. “I think that’s a good price.”
Juliet laughed. “How much is your very nice home worth?”
Charles was taken aback by the intrusive question.
“One million? One and a half? More?”
A reply never came. Indignant facial expressions were his only riposte.
Juliet continued. “No, your house is worth nothing like that, because it’s infected. Let’s say you wanted to sell it; it may as well have a collapsing roof. These things get out. Urban legend and all that. You need this resolving quickly Charles. Benedictions and holy water won’t work.”
She noted a faint nod of his head. Evidently he had tried this option and it had failed.
“Take it your wife won’t be going back to the property until you can assure her that it’s gone? That’s going to put an awful strain on the marriage Charles.”
“Alright, alright...” Charles held up his hands in surrender. “You win! Why don’t we just turn this around? Tell me what your price is.”
Juliet sucked her gums, pretending to muse on a figure that she’d already decided on. She sat back and stared directly into his eyes. “Ten thousand.”
It was enough to pay back Joe everything she owed him with plenty left over. She’d bought and sold souls for so long, now she wanted to buy back her own.
Charles took a moment to digest her valuation. He then laughed so hard his diaphragm shook. Juliet remained stony faced. He stared at her, waiting for her to paw the air and tell him it was a joke. The gesture never came.
Charles stopped laughing. “You’ve got to be kidding me?”
Juliet threw in another moody silence, before sighing with gusto. She sprang up, walked to the front door, opened it and gestured at Charles to walk through it.
Charles didn’t take her up on the offer. “Hey, come on, ten thousand?”
“I’m not haggling with you Mr Houghton. Take a look at your wife’s face.” Juliet pulled the door back further, symbolically widening the gap.
“How do I even know you’d get rid of it? I mean what proof do I have? No one I talked to could tell me how you do it.”
“Some money up front. Give me a time period, one you’re happy with... a month? If there’s no activity in that time―and there won’t be because it will be gone for good―then you pay the balance.”
It was Charles’s turn to be silent. His mind churned over her words. “Please, Miss Spiers, shut the door. Let’s discuss this further.”
Juliet shut the door. “You need to tell me everything.”
Chapter VI
Joe watched Juliet with rapt-attention. The girl was tucking heartily into another late night breakfast at the cafe. Where does she put it all? He mused. She always seemed to be eating, but remained at a constantly neutral weight.
Having polished off her food, Juliet pushed the plate away and sat back in satisfaction. The cafe had a reasonable crowd in tonight and Miranda was being put through her paces. Joe caught Juliet’s gaze and then slipped a small wage packet envelope across the table towards her.
“For the other night,” said Joe. “I made an arrest.”
Juliet slid the wage packet back towards him. “Take it off what I owe you Joe.”
He counted, pushed it back towards her. “You can pay me back anytime, you know that.”
“Thanks but my rent is paid.” Juliet continued the money tennis and Joe found it back in his territory. He pocketed it, bringing an end to the game of cat and mouse.
“I could do with a favour.” Juliet said softly.
“Go on.”
Juliet reached down into a holdall which was on the floor and lifted out the brown envelope which contained the photographs Charles Houghton had left for her. She placed them onto the table, near to herself and out of Joe’s reach. She then removed the photograph of Breybury Hall and handed it to Joe. Removing this one photograph had exposed the corner of the one underneath it. The visible portion was slight, revealing no clue to the photographs actual subject matter. Nevertheless, Juliet quickly responded to this by pushing the photographs back under the protective layer of the brown envelope. In his peripheral vision, Joe had noted the mini-drama.
“Nice house.” Joe remarked, now staring at the photograph that had been presented to him.
“It’s called Breybury Hall. I want to find out if anything ever happened there.”
“Like?”
“Any incidents you can find. Former owners... whatever.”
Joe folded the photograph in two and placed it in his pocket. “And what’s your interest in the place?”
Joe nodded his understanding. “Of course I’ll do you a favour Juliet. You got any gum?”
She nodded and bent down out of sight to search in her holdall. While she was occupied, Joe grabbed the brown envelope and pulled out the other pictures housed there.
When Juliet sprang back up, like a jack-in-a-box, she saw what had happened.
“Hey!” she snapped and leaned over to grab the photos.
Joe pulled them out of her reach automatically, not taking his eyes from the bludgeoned photograph of Emily Houghton. He turned the photograph around for Juliet to see. “Who is this?”
“Someone who needs help.”
“I’ll say.”
Joe flicked through the other photographs. He held up another of the damaged Emily photos. “You know, I could get one of the guys at the station to photo-shop your face to look like that. Shall we see how you would look with these kinds of scars?” Joe slammed the photos down and hurled them across the table towards Juliet. “What the Hell are you getting involved in?”
Eyes from other tables were looking towards them, drawn in by the raised voices.
“Nothing!” Juliet snapped back. She then leaned forward and sotto voce said, “It’s a spook, pure and simple. I’ll be in and out.”
“Have you ever seen a spook do this before?” Again the photograph was held up to Juliet’s eye line. She grabbed it, and put the photograph back in the brown envelope with the others, then packed them out of sight into her holdall.
Joe was still glaring at her, waiting for an answer.
“I can handle it. I can handle anything.” Juliet declared.
“Think you’re invincible?”
Juliet paused and then nodded. “I’m the queen of Hades, Joe. And I rule alone.”
Joe adopted a softer tone. “Ludivicio Street was a long time ago. There are a lot of scumbags out there. You can’t get them all.”
Juliet was sick of hearing this line. “This is nothing to do with Ludivicio Street! And don’t dare try to use it! When it’s in your interests, you’re happy to remind me of my experience to nail a suspect, whether they are guilty or not.”
Joe was infuriated. His head spun left and right, daring anyone to have heard that; his cheeks glowed with rage.
A brief silence returned them to an uneasy equilibrium.
“How much you getting paid?” Joe asked.
Juliet paused. “Three grand.”
She didn’t want to tell him the true amount. He’d be angry. He’d know why she’d taken the job. He’d know she wanted to dissolve their macabre partnership. Three grand was less than she owed him. She would still be in his debt – if he believed her lie.
He nodded; it appeared he did.
Chapter VII
Juliet’s alarm clock started chiming at 7 a.m. She battered it into silence and padded groggily into the bathroom, where she splashed cold water into her eyes several times and blinked to reset them. This seemed to work – they were coming to terms with the early start. A teeth brush, mouthwash and a shower followed.
She didn’t have time for breakfast. She strapped her holdall across her shoulder and burst out of the flat into a typical English summer day, where the temperature was breezy cool and dark clouds overhead threatened a gale.
A quick march to Parson’s Green underground station and she was soon jostling with other commuters for possession of small pockets of space on the tube. Having a bag was a pain on the underground, particularly during rush hour. She’d brought a book but had no room to read it. Her head churned through the images of Emily Houghton; she’d never seen a spook do that before. Confused and mischievous? Yes. Violent…? She metaphorically shook her head, removing all notion of the fear she had just experienced. She then started to daydream of the money she was about to earn. This was a golden ticket to a new life and she had to grab it.
*
Juliet changed onto the Piccadilly Line at Earl’s Court and fought for another small piece of land on the tube. Now she was taking anxious looks at her watch; she hadn’t left herself much time to get to the mainstay of her journey when she hit King’s Cross station.
When the train did stop, she bustled as best she could to get through the doors and onto the platform; she rushed to the ticket gate, where she queued impatiently and once through burst into a sprint to the information board. She spotted her train – it was going from platform two and ‘BOARD NOW!’ a tinny voice was saying over a loudspeaker. Her calves were starting to ache as she ran through a gauntlet of yet more commuters, through another ticket gate and down along the platform. A guard was looking left and right and checking his watch. When he spotted her running, he gestured her forward anxiously with another look at his watch. She darted into the first carriage and the doors shut behind her accompanied by electrical buzzing sounds. She was glad she kept in shape.
*
The train took two hours to get to York and, after a short drinks break, Juliet employed a taxi driver to take her the remaining fifteen miles to Breybury Hall. It was a very scenic route, an open array of fields, pastures and rambling walks. Her eyes feasted on these unfamiliar scenes and the journey was completed in a blur.
Turn right and... You have reached your destination... You have reached your destination...
The vinegar-faced taxi driver obeyed the sat nav device robotically, turning right into an off-road track which led to the house. He stopped at the closed, imposing gates to Breybury Hall and glanced at Juliet through the mirror. For a brief moment, there was a battle of eye contact as each thought the other would be opening the gate. Juliet quickly realised he was having none of this and got out of the car. She opened both gates and pushed back to allow the driver access. The taxi driver took his cue, put the car into first gear and crept into the property, picking Juliet back up en route.
The car glided forward on a gravel path, which dictated their journey through the house’s grand estate. To Juliet’s left and right she observed greenery: a small orchard in one corner, a well tendered flower display with red, yellow, orange and purple residents. In the distance ahead she could make out a tennis court. Surrounding the tennis court, a wooden fence finally closed the property from the surrounding countryside around it.
Taking in the surroundings, the driver, quiet throughout the drive, suddenly became very interested in Juliet – what she was doing here and who the owners were. Juliet answered him with frigid monosyllables.
She tipped the driver for the trip and took a card – explaining that she was expecting to make a return journey very soon.
The house itself did not look architecturally grand to her: it was large, no denying it, but from the front it looked like a doll’s house. White in colour, there were five windows in a row on the top and four on the bottom, separated in the middle by an imposingly dark front door, through which a giant could enter without minding his head. The main house was the centrepiece for the rest of the buildings in the complex. To its right, there was another stone building. It was a one story imitation in the style of the house, but it was more modern, built much later. It displayed the architectural trappings of modern regulation. She ambled over to investigate. The front was dominated by a grand semi-circular window, split into three. She cupped her hands over her eyes and stuck them to the glass to get a good view inside. Directly in the middle, beams of light sparkled as they hit the swaying water from a swimming pool. Juliet smiled – this was just her kind of office job. A door to the side gave hope of entering the building, but it was locked; she sighed and made a mental note to look for the key later.
There were other buildings: a stable complex and more housing was located at the back of the main house, within a small courtyard. She cursed herself; Breybury Hall was worth more than she thought, she should have asked for more money.
Before using the key to the house, she scanned the entire panorama of the property, attempting to judge the distance. She reckoned it was a mile and a ha
lf to two miles. Two or three laps would make the ideal running track; when the job was done (couple of hours?) she’d go for a run.
*
Inside, the house reflected the brief occupancy of its new owners. Unpacking and furnishing had been prioritised: one living room, a dining area (with a table enabled for eight people) and the master bedroom had been made liveable; the remaining rooms were either empty or temporary storage areas for boxes as yet unpacked.
After snooping around the property, Juliet settled into the one, decorated living area downstairs and took full advantage of the large plasma visuals and surround sound technology that were not available in her small flat. The thrill of a new toy was irresistible; she tried out as many new channels as she could: football, cricket, the music channels, antiquity bargain hunting and game show gold... everything felt new and exciting when it was experienced in wrap-around stereophonic sound. She amplified the volume still further. And she waited. And she waited...
She had been hoping her presence would draw it out - she’d hear a noise, investigate, find the ghoul and dispatch it; job done. As time ticked by she realised she would need to be the hunter. The television was switched off; she stretched her arms to the point where her back juddered at the climax and then stood up; it was time for work.
She called up the condition. The world seemed the same, as it always did. She could still hear a chorus of birds outside, tweeting their tunes from the trees, calling for companionship. With the condition, she walked. She walked through every room downstairs and found nothing.
In the six bedrooms upstairs, no presence. In the bathroom, not a dickey-bird. Continuing with the condition, she walked around the grounds. The stables, devoid of horses anyway, were silent but for the whistling wind.
She entered the building housing the swimming pool (with the condition, keys were never an issue). There was nothing. There was no presence here at all. In the condition, she toured the entire grounds. The birds, as animals generally did, were alerted to the condition and their tunes switched from mate-calls to warnings. There was no one else to notice her.