by Tim McGregor
A rusty creak sounded. The vent in the grate slid back. The lever handle tumbled and the door swung open slowly.
Billie gripped the broom like a baseball bat, ready to swing at anything that moved. Nothing did. A sour smell drifted from the open door in the boiler, that was all.
Another step closer, craning her neck to see into the belly of the boiler. Darkness.
Something whispered in her ear. Close enough for her to feel its breath.
It’s cold in there.
She jerked back. The thing, whatever it was, stood right beside her. Its flesh charred to a blackened crust, flaking away in pieces as it moved.
“Get out!” she screamed at it.
Its hand shot out quick, latching onto her wrist. The thing’s flesh was hot and it burned and she could not yank her arm free.
“Get out,” she said but the conviction was lacking. “You have to leave!”
It leaned forward, like it wanted to whisper something intimate. In the dark hollows of its eye sockets, there was a tiny spark of red.
Come see, it hissed. Let me show you.
And then it dragged Billie toward the boiler. In the open door of the iron hulk, fire roared up. Hot and angry.
The pain in her wrist was unbearable as the thing’s grip burned through to the bone. She could smell her own flesh sizzling and she dug in her heels but the charred figure kept dragging her to the raging fire inside the boiler.
She screamed at it to stop, to go away.
It’s cold in there, it replied. Stay with me.
“Billie?”
The pain eased up as her wrist was released. The burned up thing was gone. Billie fell to her knees.
Jen was crouched at the top of the stairs, bending low to see into the basement without going down all the way. “Billie, what’s all the screaming about?”
Billie was speechless, gasping for breath. Her wrist stung like hell, the flesh red and blistering from a bad burn.
“Oh my God,” Jen stammered, hammering down the steps. “Is that fire?”
Billie turned to see the flames riffling up from the door in the boiler. Low hanging cobwebs melted where they hung from the floor joists.
Jen hurried down and rushed to her friend. “What happened?”
“Jen, get out of here.”
The bulb overhead exploded, raining brittle shards and filament onto them. Sparks sprinkled from the outlet. Jen covered her head to protect herself.
Billie swung back to see the burnt figure leaning over her friend. It snatched Jen by the hair and the stench of burning follicles came on strong and sour. The thing hurled Jen at the boiler and the cast iron rung dully as her head smacked off the metal.
Jen slunk to the floor like a broken puppet. The thing in the carbonized flesh turned its hot eyes to Billie and leered with an obscene grin.
Something snapped at the sight of Jen going down for the count. She ran at it, shoving the thing into the boiler door. It shrieked and Billie’s palms burned but she kept shoving, pushing it into the boiler. Screaming at it to go away and no one wants it and ordering it to go to Hell where it belonged and a hundred other things besides.
A new sound echoed around her, the thud of feet pounding down the rickety stairs but Billie never got the chance to see who it was before everything went dark.
15
RED LIGHTS STROBED against the picture window of the the Doll House. Two police cruisers, one pumper truck and an ambulance lit up the street. People gathered on the sidewalks to watch.
Billie sat on the bumper of the ambulance, watching the paramedic treat the burn on her wrist. A uniformed officer stood on the curb while two firemen clomped out of the shop in their bulky gear. Her memory was scrambled, like it had been after the incident on the harbour. She had no recollection of how she had gotten out of there or what had happened to Jen.
“Where’s Jen?” she turned to the paramedic, a young man with a shaved head. “Did you get her out?”
“She’s right over there.” The paramedic nodded to where Jen sat on the curb, another paramedic bent over her.
“Is she all right?”
“Yeah. Nasty bump to the head but she’ll be fine. Hold still.”
Billie raised her free hand and gave a little wave but Jen wasn’t looking. Jen’s boyfriend, Adam was seated on the curb next to Jen. He wiped away a tear on her cheek and she leaned into him. Her head rested against his shoulder and something twinged inside of Billie, witnessing it.
She had gotten her friend hurt. In her ignorance and haste, Billie had rushed in without a clue as to what she had hoped to do and when everything went haywire, Jen had taken the punishment. It could have been much worse and the thought made Billie shudder. She didn’t know the dead could lash out like that. Looking down at the blistered red mark on her wrist, she had no idea that they could hurt you.
And what of the thing in the basement? Was it still down there?
“Can I talk to her?”
“Sure.” The paramedic looked over the dry wrap around her wrist one last time. “This is loose, so keep it from snagging on anything. Okay?”
Billie promised she would and the paramedic walked her to the curb where Jen sat nestled into her boyfriend.
“Hey,” she said to Jen. “You okay?”
“Yeah. But I’ll have a goose egg in the morning.” Jen nodded slowly. “What happened?”
“I was about to ask you that.”
The young man comforting Jen looked up. Adam had been Jen’s beau for longer than Billie could remember. “The cops said it was an electrical fire,” he said. “Bad wiring in the basement. Did you try to fix something down there?”
“Guess I screwed up.” Billie studied Jen’s face, looking for any hint of what she had witnessed. Hadn’t she seen what was haunting the basement of her shop? “How did you get hurt?”
Jen shrugged. “I don’t remember. I came down to check on you. Then I saw sparks. The rest is a blur.”
Jen hadn’t seen the scorched ghost, only Billie had. There was a sting of disappointment to that. If her friend had seen the thing, then Billie could actually talk to someone about the disruption to her life. Someone who was normal, at least. A friend.
“I’m gonna take Jen home,” Adam said to Billie. “Do you want me call someone to come help you? Maybe Tammy’s free.”
“Aren’t they gonna take you to the hospital?” Billie asked.
Jen shook her head. “They don’t need to. They told Adam to wake me up throughout the night, just to make sure I don’t have a concussion.”
“I’m glad you’re all right.” Billie watched another fireman exit the shop and return to the pumper truck. “How bad is the damage?”
Jen rose gingerly to her feet. “They won’t say until they know more.”
“Can’t be that bad,” Adam said, looking back at the shop.
He was right. From the curb, the shop appeared undamaged. Looking through the plate glass, the interior looked exactly the same, save for the two members of the fire department chatting inside.
“Let’s get you home,” Adam said as he led Jen to his car. Turning back to Billie, he said “You sure I can’t call someone for you, B?”
“I’m fine. Just take care of Jen, kay?”
“I always do.”
Jen gave a limp wave goodbye and Billie watched them walk away. Adam eased her along like she was made of glass, opening the passenger door and helping Jen settle in. It was tender and sweet but difficult to watch as Billie stood alone on the street surrounded by strangers in uniforms. She hated pity and despised self-pity most of all but she let herself indulge in a moment of it now, wondering if there would ever be someone who would take care of her when she needed it the way Adam cared for Jen. It seemed unlikely.
Shaking it off, she turned to go back to the ambulance and almost collided into someone headed her way.
“Billie. Are you all right?”
She looked up from the tie she had almost barrelled int
o. Detective Mockler smiled at her.
“Hi,” she said.
His eyes fell to her gauze-wrapped wrist. “What happened?”
“Just a burn,” she dismissed. “What are you doing here?”
“I heard your name on the squawk box. I came to see if you were okay.”
“You did?”
“How bad is this?” He took her hand and raised it gently, scrutinizing the gauze. “The call over the radio said it was a fire. What happened?”
“A fire broke out in the basement. I got singed on something.”
“Jesus, this isn’t your month, is it?”
Billie shrugged. “Just unlucky, I guess.”
“I didn’t have anything to do with this one, I swear. Did the ambulance boys let you go?”
Everything keeled left as a sudden dizzy spell knocked her off balance. She braced herself against the side of the ambulance. “I need to sit down.”
Mockler settled her back onto the bumper then addressed the paramedic with the shaved head. “Hey, you’ve treated her already. Is she okay to go home?”
The paramedic said she was but a uniformed officer stepped in. “I still need to get her details, what she saw,” he said to Mockler.
“It can wait. She needs to get out of here.”
“Sure,” the officer said without a fuss. “Friend of yours?”
“Yeah.”
Billie listened to the exchange as the dizziness ebbed away. That familiar fog settled in, dampening everything around her to a slow hubbub. She felt the detective’s hand on her arm.
“Up we go,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”
~
Billie watched the street pass by the passenger window as Mockler turned onto Wilson. She glanced over the interior of his car but aside from a binder on the backseat, the car was clean and devoid of any mess. The interior of one’s car, she’d found, was always telling of its owner. A mess on the floor or a tchotchke dangling from the rearview mirror but Mockler’s car was completely empty. Not even a stray pen rolling around on the floor mat. The lack of it suggested fastidiousness. Or a pathological austerity.
“Do you always keep your car so clean?” she asked.
“This is a work vehicle. The guys in the motor pool keep ‘em clean. My car’s a mess.”
That was a relief. Overtly clean people made her uncomfortable.
He swung left into an alleyway to cut through to Cannon. “How have you been? Back to normal?”
She looked at him and, for a moment, contemplated telling him the truth. How, since getting out of the hospital, she’s been seeing dead people everywhere and how they’re tormenting her. How they scare the living daylights out of her and, oh yeah, apparently she’s had this ability her whole life but didn’t know it until he knocked her into the cold harbour and she almost drowned.
“Fine,” she said. “Right as rain.”
He grinned. “You’re a lousy liar.”
“I know. I’ll work on that.”
“Have you talked to anyone yet? About what happened?”
“A few people,” she answered, deciding not to mention that one was a wanted criminal and the other a psychic medium. She looked at him again. “Why do you care anyway?”
“You seemed troubled last time we spoke. That’s all.”
“You feel guilty.”
His fingers drummed the steering wheel as he mulled it over. “Not guilty, exactly. Responsible?”
“I absolve you of your guilt,” she said, making a dismissive sign of the cross. “Maybe you have a white knight complex.”
“I gave that up for Lent.”
She laughed, despite herself. Free from the scene of flashing lights and emergency vehicles, detective Mockler seemed like a different man. Relaxed and easy in his own skin. Gone was the flinty edge he maintained on the job. Not for the first time, she caught herself glancing sideways at him and, again, reminded herself that she didn’t like police officers.
Still, she thought as the streetlights rolled by, something was different here. Despite the gnawing ache in her wrist and the frantic terror she’d experienced, she felt calm for the first time in days. Could it be his presence? It made no sense. Maybe the knock to the head had driven her over the edge into complete mental breakdown.
It seemed plausible.
“Which building is yours?” he asked, slowing to a crawl.
“Just up here,” she pointed. “The sleazy tenement.”
Mockler pulled to the curb and leaned over to her side to peer up at the building. Her description wasn’t far off the mark. The brick monolith leaned over the sidewalk like a toothless tombstone. Used up and spent, spared the wrecking ball out of nothing more than apathy.
“Looks homey,” he said.
“No need to be polite,” Billie said. She climbed out of the car. “It’s a rat nest, through and through.”
“I wasn’t being polite. I grew up in a building just like this.”
Her brow arced with suspicion. “Sure you did.”
“Six blocks from here. A redbrick shanty over on Sanford. Just me and mom.”
“No guff? We were practically neighbours,” she said, pushing the door closed with the wrong hand. “Ouch.”
“You should stick that arm in a sling. It’ll keep you from using it.” Stepping around the car, he looked up at the building. “If you have a towel or something, I can rig it up for you.”
Habit prompted her to refuse. She hated asking for help, or admitting to needing it, but she thought ahead to the empty apartment waiting for her. The idea that it might not be as empty as it used to be made her break the habit.
“Sure,” Billie said, digging for her keys. “That would be helpful.”
He cracked a joke about the three floor walk-up, one she’d heard plenty of times before. Unlocking the door, she apologized in advance. “Pardon the mess.”
She waved him in and followed him inside. The mess wasn’t as bad as she had feared, even lit bright as it was.
He looked over the living room. “Do you always leave every light on?”
“I do now.” The place wasn’t half so scary with the detective here, she noted. Too bad he couldn’t stay. “Can I get you something? Beer? Cup of tea?”
“Just a length of material. Something light, about yay long.” He measured a distance with his hands.
Rummaging through the hall closet, she came back with a length of gauzy material. God knew where it came from. “How’s this?”
“Perfect.” Folding it, he slipped the material under her arm and fitted the ends around her neck. “Pull your hair out of the way. Is that comfortable?”
“I think so.” She couldn’t quite tell. Too distracted by his proximity, his hands tying the knot at the back of her neck. Tiny crackles of electricity each time his fingers brushed her skin. Crazy notions swam through her head.
“How’s that?”
Billie let her arm go limp. She could see how the sling would keep it still. “Good. Thanks.”
He took a step back. Her free hand fussed with the fabric.
“I’ll get out of your hair,” he said, crossing back to the front door. “Will you be all right?”
“Yeah,” she said. She scrounged for something to say, some reason to stall him but couldn’t find one.
Mockler passed into the corridor and stopped. “You’ll need to give a statement about the fire. I’ll have someone call.”
“Okay.” Billie looked down at the threshold of her front entrance. She thought of the salt Marta had used earlier. “Thanks for the lift home.”
“Give me a call if you need anything.”
She watched him disappear down the stairwell and then closed her door. The apartment seemed desolate now with only herself to keep it occupied.
Until the noise came from the kitchen. The sharp crack of glass breaking on the floor.
Her legs wanted to run after Mockler but she steeled herself to peek around the corner.
Gantry sto
od at the sink, one hand pressed over his bloodied nose.
“Can’t you keep that little fucker caged?” he groused. “Creepy little bastard. He tell you what happened to his legs?”
16
“GET OUT.”
Her heart threw its rhythm at the sight of the stranger in her kitchen. Billie took a step back. Had Mockler already left the building? He may have hit the sidewalk by now. She could holler at him through the window, tell him the suspect he was after was in her apartment.
“Sorry about the towel.” John Gantry dabbed at his bloodied nose with her dishtowel. Three deep drops of blood dotted his shirt. “That little shit packs a punch.”
Billie swept the room, wary of anymore nasty surprises. “How did you get in here?”
“Did I get it all?” Gantry wiped his face one more time and then looking down, saw the bloodstains. “Ah Christ, lookit my shirt.”
Billie slipped her phone from her pocket. “I’m calling the police.”
“Put that away. We need to talk.”
Her thumb lingered over the keys. Gantry opened the fridge and bent over to examine its contents. Reaching inside, he came away with two cans of lager. “You’re outta beer.”
“What do you want, Gantry?”
“Came to check on your progress. See how you’re dealing with your newfound talent.” Flopping into a kitchen chair, he popped the tabs on the cans and pushed one across the table toward her. “Settling in nicely, I see.”
She stayed put. Any move to sit or linger would just prolong this. “You can shove your ‘talent’ nonsense. I want nothing to do with it.”
“Little late in the day for that now, luv. You’re stuck with it. And you have a boatload of catching up to do, yeah?”
“How do I get rid of it?” she said. “How do I turn it off?”
He snorted up beer with his laugh. “It’s not a lightswitch, Billie. You’re stuck with it. Like I said, you gotta learn how to deal with it.”
“You’re bleeding again.” She snatched up the dirty towel and tossed it at him. “What happened to your face.”
“I startled that little legless bastard when I came in. Is he always here?”