“Don’t worry about it just yet,” I said, pressing forward. “What about your legs?”
“I …” His expression twisted once more. “I think there was a bad blast? I … I don’t know. Something went wrong … a whole shaft plumb caved in on ... us? Me?” He shook his head. “I think the others got out okay, but me …” His voice trailed off into silence.
“Your legs,” I prompted. I wasn’t entirely surprised by the difficulty Jim was having. It was common to some of the weaker ghosts I’d encountered before. Thinking for them was like moving through a thick haze, or a fog. Aside from a few bright beacons shining out in Jim’s mind through the dark, moments or thoughts that had been very important to him, everything else was wrapped in shadow, hard for him to focus on. My job was to figure out what his beacons were, and then get him to blow away the rest of that fog, to clear his mind and see what had happened.
“Yes,” he said, nodding. “My legs. They were broken, so the boys were bringing me to Doc’s. We sent a runner to get Isabella so she could come be by my side. They brought me here, but …” He looked around the room, his eyes widening. “Doc’s really made a lot of changes to this place. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“We’ll get to that in a minute,” I said. “So your legs were hurt?”
Jim nodded. “Bad. I must’ve passed out or something, because my memory gets kind of hazy. Maybe one of the boys slipped me some moonshine for the pain. Doc must’ve worked on my legs while I was out, ‘cause they didn’t hurt no more when I came to, but he never came back to talk about it.”
“So you’ve been waiting?”
He nodded again. “For the Doc to let me know if I can go. And for Isabella. But no one …” He shook his head. “No one here wants to talk to me. Not any of the servants, or the other people who seem to be in charge. No one.” His face fell. “I want to talk to Doc, but none of them will talk to me about it. No one will tell me where Isabella is either.” His voice cracked a little at that, and he let out a little laugh.
“None of ‘em want to talk to me,” he said. “None of ‘em will tell me where Isabella is, or why she hasn’t come seen me yet, or if I can go, or—”
“Why don’t you just go?” I asked. “You look like you can walk easily enough.”
Jim’s face twisted. “I don’t ... No, I can’t,” he said. “I can’t. I have to wait for Doc talk to me. Or Isabella to come get me.”
Uh-huh. At least I was starting to see what his pillars were. He’d died waiting for his wife and the town doctor. And he’d been waiting. For a long time.
Now I just needed to help him see it; realize what he’d done to himself.
“Jim,” I said. “How long have you been waiting?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. A while?”
“Do you remember what year it is?” I asked.
“I … I …” He frowned as he looked down at the ground. “It’s hard to remember. My head’s all foggy. Nineteen-twelve, I think.”
“No,” I said, and Jim looked up at me in surprise. “It isn’t.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not nineteen-twelve anymore,” I said. “Jim, you’ve been here a while.”
“But …”
“Jim, there’s no easy way to break this to you,” I said, spreading my hands. “So I’m just going to have to make it as straightforward as I can. Doc isn’t going to be coming. He can’t.”
“Why not?”
I took a deep breath. “Because he’s probably dead.”
“What?” Jim’s eyes went wide at my news. “But how? When?”
“I don’t actually know,” I admitted. “But the tall, thin man you’ve been following around? He’s the new doctor.”
Jim frowned. “But he won’t speak to me. I’ve tried.”
“He can’t,” I said. “That’s the other hard part, Jim. He, and everyone else here, can’t speak with you because you’re also dead.”
My words seemed to hit him like a physical blow, pushing him back. “No,” he said. “I’m waiting for Doc. For Isabella.”
“Isabella isn’t going to come either,” I said. “She’s probably dead too. It’s not nineteen-twelve anymore, Jim. It’s two-thousand and fourteen. Over a hundred years later.”
“No …”
“That’s why Doc’s house looks so different,” I said. “They built a hospital where it was. You probably saw the construction, though you don’t remember it.”
“No …”
“That’s why you don’t know anyone,” I said. “Anyone at all. You’re a ghost, Jim. A ghost from a long time ago who held on, probably because he wanted to see his wife again so badly.”
“No.” There was a bit more force behind his words now, like he was trying to push my claims away. “No.”
“That’s why your legs are working now, but you don’t remember getting them fixed,” I said. “You died. Your legs now aren’t the ones you had when you had a body. They’re a shadow of you, a part of your spirit.”
“No.” His denial was almost a shout, now. “No!”
“You held on,” I said. “You held on because you wanted to hold on. But it’s been a hundred years.”
“No!” He was backing away now, his eyes wide and an expression somewhere between terror and anger on his face. I was half-expecting him to rush at me.
“That’s why everything’s different. Why no one acknowledges you. Why you can’t leave,” I said. “You’re a ghost. A specter. You’re trapped here, and unless—”
“No!” He bolted from the room, vanishing into the rest of the hospital with an anguished laugh. I watched the doorway as he left, listening to his denial as it echoed in my ears.
Only in my ears.
“Sorry, Jim,” I muttered as pulled my eyes away from the door. “It had to be said.”
He just needed some time to think about it. What I’d told him had hurt, I knew that from prior experience. But it had needed to be done. I couldn’t just let the poor guy wander until he ran out of energy, even if that was just a few decades off the way he was going.
Still, until he came back, there wasn’t much I could do about it. I settled back into my bed with a grunt, content to wait.
He’d come back. I was sure of it.
When he was ready.
* * *
I awoke with a start, my hand clutching for my gun.
But it wasn’t there. My fingers met cool sheets instead, clenching around cloth as they hunted. It took me a moment to stay my hand and remember where I was.
Hospital. Silver Dreams. Recovering from a concussion. The nurse had finally pronounced me good to sleep, and I’d gone right to it.
But what had—Oh. Of course. James McLellan was standing at the foot of my bed, his transparent form almost invisible in the dim light. He nodded as he saw that I was awake.
“A little creepy,” I said, keeping my voice low. The door to my room was shut, but I didn’t want a nurse overhearing the noise. “You should warn people when you’re going to do that.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. His voice sounded hoarse. “I didn’t know how—”
“No, it’s fine,” I said, sitting up. The movement sent a spasm of pain through my head. Apparently my painkillers had worn off at last. “It’s not like you knew. And it worked. So why’d you come back?”
“Because …” He shook his head. “Because I don’t know what to do.”
I nodded, pleased. It was, believe it or not, a good sign.
“I mean … Isabella … I never … she never … Good Lord, I lost her!” He sank back in the air, his face wracked with grief. “I don’t know—”
“You didn’t lose her,” I said.
That got Jim’s attention. His face snapped back up at me. “What?”
“You didn’t lose her,” I said. “You just … waited in the wrong place.”
“What do you mean?” Jim asked, stepping closer. “What are you talking about.”
“You can feel it, can’t you?” I asked. “The pull?”
“The pull?”
“Or maybe it’s a push,” I said. “But it’s there. You can feel it, can’t you? Something tugging at you, something you’ve been ignoring now for more than a hundred years.”
Jim’s face darkened, becoming more solid as he focused. “Why are you talking about that?” he asked.
“So you do feel it,” I said.
“It’s trying to take me away,” he said, shaking his head. “Calling to me.”
“Yes,” I said. “It does that. And Jim?” His eyes locked with mine. “You need to let it.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “First you tell me that I’m dead, then you want me to give up, to let myself fade away—!”
“You won’t fade, Jim,” I said, shaking my head. “I promise.”
“Yes I will,” he said. “I’ll fade, and I’ll be gone. It’s always there, like a pressure in the back of my mind.”
“And you need to give into it,” I said.
“Why?”
“To move on.” It was the best answer I could give.
“But Isabella—”
“Is already there,” I said, my voice soft. “You’re not fading away. What’ll fade is the force that’s kept you here, kept you from moving on to the next stage.”
“I don’t …” He let out a short laugh. “I don’t understand.”
I shrugged. “I don’t get it all, myself. But I do get this much: That is where you’re supposed to be. That pulling that you feel? That’s where you belong now.”
“Is it the afterlife?” Jim asked. “Heaven?”
“You can call it that,” I said. “Though I’ve personally felt the term isn’t quite descriptive enough.”
“You’ve seen it?” he asked. “What’s on the other side?”
I shook my head. “No. Glimpsed. Spoken with those that have been there.”
“So I don’t lose myself?”
I shook my head again. “No, Jim. You don’t. And …” I paused. “And neither did Isabella.”
“Isabella?”
“Whoever she is, she’s already moved on,” I said. It was a bit of a gamble, I couldn’t know it for certain, but I figured the odds were in my favor. “That same pull you’re feeling? That wonderful sensation? She felt it too.”
“But she could still—”
“Not unless she’s one of the oldest women alive,” I said. “By a good margin. How old was she when you died, Jim?”
“Thirty-three,” he said, letting out a sigh. “Beautiful and strong.”
“Well, she’s probably all those things still,” I said. “Even if she lived a long a full life. But if you ever want to know …” I gestured towards behind him with my free hand. “You’ll have to let go. Stop waiting for the doctor. Stop waiting for Isabella. She’s waiting for you now.”
“I …” His voice was shaky. “You’re certain?”
I nodded. “Pretty certain, yeah.”
He took a deep breath, though he didn’t have lungs. A lot of ghosts did that. Our spirits don’t forget.
“Well then,” he said. “And all I need to do is … let go?”
“Of whatever it is that’s been keeping you here,” I said. “If it helps, think if Isabella. Not coming to you … but you going to her.”
“That I can do,” he said, his voice growing quiet. “That … I can do …” His voice faded somewhat as he took a step back. “Just … let go.” He let out a sigh. “Let … go … Isabella.”
For a moment the room seemed to brighten, a faint golden light coming over everything. There was a warm feeling to the air, a warmth unlike anything I could describe with any degree of sense. It was almost like … liquid gold moving through me.
I knew the feeling. I’d felt it before. Rarely, but I had.
“That’s it,” I said as James McLellan began to fade. Then he opened his eyes with a gasp.
A hand was floating in front of him in the air. A soft, smooth, petite hand, with perfect nails. It faded around the wrist, but I had no doubt that it only faded for me. The look of pure joy on Jim’s face said everything I needed to say. The strange, off-balance look his expression had held since I’d met him vanished, peeled away by whatever heavenly sight he was seeing. He opened his mouth in amazement, his eyes almost glowing as he reached for the hand.
I heard a final word, uttered in pure joy. “Isabella!” Then his hand met hers and he faded from view.
The golden glow vanished, along with the feeling it had brought, the room once more as dim and dark as it had been when I’d awoken. James McLellan was gone.
I rolled over and went to sleep.
* * *
The next morning, the nurse who’d examined me the day before was there to examine me before I checked out.
“I have to say,” she said, checking one of her instruments. “You’ve recovered pretty quickly, so you’re good to go. But you should take it easy if you can.”
I let out a noncommittal grunt as I swung my legs towards the edge of the bed. My body was used to the kind of abuse she was talking about.
“So,” she said, smiling at me as I grabbed my clothes from the side table where she’d put them. “I was talking with your friend the other day,” she said. “And he said we had a ghost here in the hospital?”
She didn’t seem alarmed by it. In fact, she seemed excited by the idea.
“You did,” I said.
“Did?” she asked.
“It’s no longer a problem,” I said. “That’s my job. I took care of it. Free of charge.”
“Oh,” she said, looking slightly disappointed. “If you don’t mind me asking, what’d you do?”
I let out a small chuckle. “Nothing much, really.” I rose and pulled the modesty curtain around the side of the bed so she couldn’t see me naked. She probably already had, but principles are principles.
“Nothing much?” she asked as I began to get dressed. “Nothing … interesting?”
“No,” I said. “He just needed something.”
“What’s that?” She asked as I pulled my shirt over my head.
I tugged the curtain back and gave her a smile. “The same thing everyone needs sometimes,” I said.
“Someone to point the way home.”
I left the room. I’d done what I needed to.
There was work to do.
The World of Indrim
Ripper
Right, first things first, I’m going to warn you about this one. This story is dark. Quite dark, actually. It’s not unreasonable, especially once you’ve read it, but it is dark. So just putting that out there right away: If you don’t like dark stories, this one might not be for you. I won’t be bothered by that. It’s not for everyone.
Now that that’s out of the way, a little bit of a foreword. This isn’t an Unusual story, nor is it a story that ties into anything I’ve written before.
No, Ripper is actually set in a new universe entirely, a fantasy universe I’ve begun calling The World of Indrim, after the capital city of the empire where this story takes place. Where the Unusuals stories have all been a world more reminiscent of our own, Ripper and its associated world is definitely straight fantasy, and you can bet that you’ll be seeing it again, because I’ve spent a lot of time piecing it together and can’t wait to give you more.
Dark subject matter aside, writing in this universe at long last was an absolutely enjoyable experience, and with any luck you’ll be seeing a much more substantial entry into the world of Indrim soon enough.
But enough of that. The short of it is that Ripper is something entirely new: An entirely new world, an entirely new magic system, an entirely new history … It’s all pretty new.
So flip the page and get to the newness already.
ONE
The mist was thick tonight. She could feel it crawling across her body, an almost physical presence weighing down on her. Wet and heavy, like a cloud that had
strayed too far from its proper home.
Which was fine, as far as she was concerned. There was a quiet beauty to it, the way it muffled sight and sound beneath a soft, damp blanket that caressed the streets and alleyways of the city. The way it flowed from place to place, warm and embracing, like the breath of a mother comforting her children—though in this case the city was the mother, and the occupants her children.
It was a warm thought, and she let a soft smile move across her face. A mother. Now that was a proper figure to look up to. Not a man, some disgusting and vile male emperor. She took another look down the street, watching as the mists drifted across the cobbled streets, curling around street lamps and swirling in doorways. Yes, she thought as she let her eyes drift to the distant, golden glow of street lamps too far away to be seen through the endless steam. A mother. That’s what this city needs. What this empire needs. Maybe someday, others would learn to see things as she had. Until then, however …
A loud bit of laughter broke her concentration, and she almost scowled before she caught herself. Control. Purpose. The twin thoughts ran through her head, and she clamped her emotions down as she turned her attention back to the doorway she’d been watching. Any minute now … She resisted the urge to reach up and wipe some of the moisture away from her forehead. She needed to stay as motionless as possible, silent and hidden in the narrow alley she’d ducked into. Motion could draw the eye, stir the mists. Not that there was much traffic this late at night—most were home in their beds, though the occasional individual was still wandering despite the current hour, probably on the way to a late-night or early-morning employment. Undoubtedly a few of them were boilers, the core of the Empire that kept the city functioning.
In the end, however, it didn’t matter who they were. Man or woman, boiler or glimmer, peacekeepers or servants; to be seen at the moment would certainly look suspicious. And so she stayed motionless, her body pressed up as close as she dared to the side of the alley without coming into contact with the walls of the buildings themselves. The mist was thick, so the walls were draped with wetness. Pressing herself against them for even a short time would likely prove more than enough to overwhelm the moisture resistant treatment on her dress and leave an ugly, conspicuous mark that would stand out in people’s memories.
Unusual Events: A Short Story Collection Page 18