by Amy Cross
“What about the mother's involvement?” asked a member of the audience.
“It's always the mother,” added someone else.
“How much does she want?” asked another.
“There's no indication that Joyce Stone is seeking to monetize her daughter's experience,” Robert replied. “Well, not to any great extent. She's been talking to a few national newspapers, and I'm sure they'll offer her something, but I think her primary motivation is just to get some help for her daughter.”
“It's a hoax,” said another voice from the back of the room. “They always turn out to be hoaxes in the end.”
“She's cutting deals with Fleet Street,” suggested someone near the front. “This is like all the other cases over the years. It's a stunt to case in on the public's gullibility.”
“The mother has been very active in seeking help since this began,” Robert explained. “Joyce Stone has cooperated fully, and I truly believe she has Emily's best interests at heart. She's desperately worried about her daughter, as any mother would be in this situation. She wants Emily's story to reach the world so that maybe we can help her. I agree that this is the best approach. We have to remember that this isn't just proving beyond doubt that entities such as Drella exist.” He looked back up at the image of Emily's terrified face. “It's also about helping a scared little girl.”
“Lining the pockets of the mother, more like,” muttered a voice from the crowd.
“You're wrong,” Robert replied, turning to him. “You're wrong, and I'm going to prove it.”
Chapter Six
Today
“Shit!”
Tripping over his own feet, he stumbled for a moment and finally slid down into a ditch by the side of the road.
“Damn it,” he muttered, as he started to pull himself out.
Taking a look at his watch, he had to squint for a few seconds before he was able to make out the display.
“Three?” he said to himself. “Only three? Why, the night is still young. We have many hours to go in our... boat of love and peace.”
With that, he leaned over and fell back into the ditch.
Chapter Seven
Twenty-four years ago
“To the great Doctor Robert Slocombe,” Jenna said, raising her glass of wine and clinking the edge against Robert's. “To the man who provided the first proof of these... things, whatever they are. These paranormal creatures.”
Smiling, Robert took a sip of wine as they sat in his dusty, cramped office, surrounded by shelves and piles of books.
“Let's not use words like 'paranormal' here,” he said after a moment. “One of the aims of my work is to show that these phenomena are part of the everyday world. They don't exist in some pocket of reality that's separate from the rest of nature. I don't want to move beyond science, I want to take these events and analyze them in a scientific manner.”
“Can I have your autograph?” she asked, grinning as she handed him a pen and a copy of yet another magazine with him and Emily on the cover. “Please, Doctor Slocombe?”
“You know you could have asked for my autograph in bed last night,” he replied, scribbling his name on the cover. “That wouldn't been even more of a compliment.”
“You can sign me tonight. Anywhere you want.”
“I could get used to this,” he told her. “I should start making groundbreaking discoveries all the time.”
“I knew you'd succeed eventually. I had faith in you, right from the start.”
“Even when I had all those failures?”
“They weren't failures,” she continued, “they were necessary steps on the road to success. I know it was hard sometimes, and I know there were plenty of idiots who told you the whole thing was a waste of time, but you stuck to your guns and you refused to stop. Now people are starting to take you seriously, and pretty soon you'll have a much bigger office, one with actual windows.”
“Let's not get ahead of ourselves,” he replied, taking another sip of wine. “You have to be pretty highly-respected to get an office with windows around this place.”
Leaning closer, she kissed him for a moment.
“I know how much this work means to you,” she whispered finally. “I know how much you were ridiculed in the past for believing in this kind of thing. I can't even begin to tell you how much I admire you for sticking with it, even though so many people told you it was bullshit.”
“I just knew that I'd get the proof I needed one day,” he replied, before hearing a knock at the door. Setting his wine glass down, he made his way across the room. “Truth be told, I also knew, deep down, that Emily Stone would provide that proof. There was just something so genuine about her right from the start. I felt like I really understood her, and that I was able to talk to her on a useful level. The kid has been through so much, she's been forced to grow up extremely quickly.”
“You're good with kids,” she replied, with a glint in her eyes. “That's useful to know. For the future.”
Smiling, he opened the door and found Douglas waiting outside.
“Come to join the party?” Jenna called out.
“Not quite,” Douglas replied awkwardly. “Rob, do you mind if I have a word?”
“Come on in,” Robert replied, stepping aside and gesturing for him to enter. “I know it's only lunchtime, but Jenna insisted on a glass of wine to celebrate the latest developments. Did you hear that a journalist from TIME wants to talk to me about the Emily Stone case? This thing is becoming international, Doug. After so many false starts, we're finally getting somewhere. The mainstream media has noticed the work we're doing.”
“Jenna,” Doug said, turning to her, “do you mind if I speak to Robert alone for a moment?”
“You're kicking me out?”
“It's a sensitive matter.”
“Fine,” she replied, topping up her glass of wine before heading to the door, “but I meant what I said earlier, Rob. We're having a proper party on Friday night, with guests and champagne and everything. For once, I'm going to drag you out to face the public, whether you like it or not.”
“I swear,” Robert said as Jenna shut the door behind her, “she's more excited than I am. She was talking about the Nobel prize earlier.”
Heading over to the desk, Doug set down a tape recorder. He seemed worried, as if something was on his mind.
“It's all so surreal,” Robert continued. “My biggest concern right now is keeping Emily safe. Her mother seems to be keen on getting her story into one of the big national papers. I know they're dangling big financial offers in her face, but she needs to focus less on the bright lights of showbiz and more on the scientific rigor we need in order to -”
“Did you listen to the tapes?”
“The tapes of Emily?” Robert paused. “Only about a thousand times. Why?”
“To the very end?”
“Sure.” He waited for Doug to continue. “What's wrong?”
“What about the off-cuts? The sections of tape that were supposed to be empty?”
Robert stared at him for a moment. “Out with it.”
“At the end of the tape from January 5th,” Doug replied, “after the vomit and after Emily had been calmed down, her mother took her up to her room. That was when you phoned me, remember?”
“I remember.”
“And Mrs. Stone talked to Emily while they were up there.”
“And?”
“And the microphone picked up a faint trace of what they were talking about, once they thought no-one could overhear them.”
Robert set his glass of wine down. He was starting to worry about where the conversation was headed, but at the same time he knew that Douglas tended to be overly cautious. “And?”
“And I had that trace examined by a friend of mine who specializes in forensic acoustic analysis. He was able to enhance the recording so that we can hear exactly what was being said. Every word.”
Robert glanced down at the tape recorder.
“Doug -” Robert began.
“Just listen.”
“If you're -”
“Just listen!”
“Are you sure I did okay?” Emily could be heard saying, her voice barely audible over the hiss from the player. “I said everything right, didn't I?”
“You did really well,” Joyce replied. “When he's gone, we'll take some more photos, and then we need to start running through your story for when the papers come knocking, okay? We've got a hell of a payday coming. You're gonna be the most famous little girl in the whole of England.”
“But...” There was a pause. “Isn't it wrong to lie?” Emily asked finally.
“You weren't lying, you were exaggerating.”
“My throat hurts,” Emily continued. “I don't like having to make that voice. Do I have to practice again?”
“Don't be a baby,” Joyce told her. “I'll get you some ice cream to soothe the soreness.”
“I don't have to do it again, do I?”
“Come on, Emily, we've talked about this.” There was a brief ruffling sound. “The nice man believed you, and that's what's important. Everyone's gonna want a piece of you, sweetheart. We need to be careful, though. Don't want people snooping too much, do we?”
“Okay,” Robert said with a sigh, “sure, but -”
“There's more,” Douglas told him.
The tape continued, with no voices for a moment but still a faint crackling sound.
“The contact lenses hurt,” Emily could be heard saying finally. “They make my eyes sore.”
“Oh, relax,” Joyce replied. “You only have to have 'em in for a few minutes.”
“And the thing in my mouth got loose again. I almost swallowed it, I had to -”
“Enough.” Reaching out, Robert hit a button on the front of the recorder, stopping the tape. He stood in silence for a moment, staring down at the machine, before turning and heading over to his desk. For a moment, he felt strangely numb, as if all the thoughts had been chased out of his mind, but slowly he realized there was anger growing in his chest.
“You should listen to the rest,” Douglas told him. “It's quite an eye-opener, actually. Joyce Stone really knows how to get that little girl to play her part.”
Lost for words, Robert simply nodded.
“I'm so sorry that I had to be the one to break it to you,” Douglas continued. “Like you, I allowed myself to dare to dream that this haunting of Emily Stone might actually be something significant, but once we heard this part of the tape, we realized it's just another hoax. A good hoax, a brilliant one in many ways, but... still a hoax.”
“Clearly.”
Sighing, Douglas tried to think of something else to say, something that might ease his friend's sense of crushing disappointment. “There'll be other cases, Rob,” he said finally. “Come on, we're always so cautious, maybe you rushed into this one a little but it's okay, we all make mistakes, the key is to learn from them. We have to keep the faith. You can't let this one -”
“I spent six months on this case,” Robert replied, turning to him. “My name is out there, supporting the Emily Stone narrative. I put my career on the line to investigate their claims, I stood up in conference after conference and presented this evidence, and now... I'm going to look like an utter fool. What the hell was I thinking? How did I let some stupid woman and her snotty-nosed little kid pull the wool over my eyes like this?”
“There'll be other opportunities,” Douglas said again, although he clearly knew his words weren't helping. “Remember what we agreed, about not allowing ourselves to be disheartened when we faced the inevitable setbacks?” He paused, waiting for a reply. “What are you going to do now?”
“Now?” Staring at the tape recorder, Robert felt the anger starting to crystallize in his chest. “What am I going to do now? Hell, I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to...” He paused, before grabbing a mug from his desk and throwing it across the room, until it banged against the bookcase and then dropped down harmlessly.
Chapter Eight
Today
“Jenna!” he screamed again, just as the upstairs light clicked on. “It's me!”
A moment later, the window slid open and a familiar, angry face leaned out.
“Hey Jenna,” he said with a smile. “It's four o'clock. Do you want to get a beer? I'm sure your old ball and chain won't even notice.”
“Is it him again?” a male voice called from inside.
“Oh shit,” Robert grinned. “He noticed.”
“Go away!” Jenna hissed. “Jesus Christ, Rob, you're wasted again!”
“I've only had a few ales,” he replied, “as the good gentleman once said in that film I can't remember the name of.”
“I can't cover your classes today,” she continued. “For God's sake, man, pull yourself together! You're embarrassing yourself!”
“No,” he replied, “you're embarrassing myself.” He paused, trying to work out what he meant to say. “Or am I embarrassing yourself? It's so hard to remember. Let's drink and forget all our troubles!”
“Go home,” she told him, “and for God's sake, drink some coffee before you get to bed. Trust me, you'll be glad you did in the morning. Or the afternoon, or whenever the hell you wake up.”
Sliding the window shut, she disappeared from view. A moment later, the light flicked off.
“What?” he said, still staring up at the side of the house. “No party? Suit yourself.”
Turning, he began to stumble along the street, although he soon lost his balance again and fell against the wall. As he tried to steady himself, he heard a door opening nearby.
“Robert!”
He looked over his shoulder and saw Jenna hurrying out to him, with a dressing gown wrapped tight around her body.
“Get inside,” she told him, reaching out and taking his hand. “You can sleep in the spare room this once. I can't let you wander off like this, God knows where you'd end up.”
“I thought I'd go and explore,” he replied. “You know, find somewhere new and take a look around.”
“You're too drunk to do any exploring. Come on, I'll make up the spare bed.”
“I knew it,” he said with a smile, allowing her to lead him into the house. “I knew you cared!”
Chapter Nine
Twenty-four years ago
Rain was pouring down as Joyce Stone opened her front door.
“You're a goddamn liar!” Robert shouted, barely protected from the deluge by the umbrella he was holding.
“Oh, piss off,” she replied, with a cigarette in her hand. She tried to shut the door, but Robert stepped forward and put his foot in the way.
“What was the point?” he asked. “Did you do it just to get a kick out of the attention, or was it for money, or did you just want to humiliate a few people, or -”
“You don't know what you're talking about,” Joyce replied, pulling the door back open and then trying to kick his foot out of the way. “Go on, fuck off. You've already done enough damage, telling the papers we're a bunch of fakes.”
“I've done enough damage?” he asked incredulously. “I've done enough? You're not just fakes, you're charlatans, liars -”
“I'm not listening,” she replied. “Get off my property or I'll call the police.”
“Mum?” a voice called out from inside the house.
“Go upstairs!” Joyce shouted.
Spotting Emily sitting on the stairs, Robert saw the fear in the little girl's eyes. For a moment, he felt sorry for her, before remembering that she'd been just as much part of the lie as her mother.
“I hope you're proud of yourselves,” he continued, turning back to Joyce. “Not only have you wasted six months of everybody's time with this massive hoax, but you've damn near destroyed my career, as well as any chance of having this kind of
research taken seriously. I believed you! I'm always so cautious, but I had this feeling, deep down, that you were telling the truth. What kind of idiot does that make me?”
“Oh, bollocks,” Joyce hissed, “now are you gonna piss off, or do I have to call the police?”
“Was it worth it?” he asked. “Just answer that question for me, and then I'll leave and never come back. Was it all worth it?”
“Was what worth it?” she asked with a sigh.
“All the lies. How did you get Emily to fake that voice? It must have taken some work. You've spent six months living a complete lie, Joyce, and you've turned your daughter into a liar too. I'm not the only one who was fooled by you, either. Did you really think you could keep it going forever?”
He waited for a reply, but Joyce simply took an unimpressed drag on her cigarette, while Emily continued to watch from her position on the stairs. The little girl was shaking with fear, and her eyes were wide and filled with tears.
“For the rest of our lives,” Robert continued, “we'll all be linked to this. Whenever anyone hears my name, they'll remember me as the guy who was fooled into believing all this bullshit. And whenever they hear the names Joyce and Emily Stone, they'll just remember a pair of liars who thought they could cheat the world, and that reputation will follow you all the way to your graves. So was it really worth it, Joyce? Six months of fame, for a lifetime of infamy?”
“I'm sorry,” Emily called out to him.
“Go upstairs!” Joyce shouted at her.
Emily winced a little, but she stayed in her spot on the stairs.
“They were gonna give us two hundred grand,” Joyce told Robert finally, with a hint of spite in her voice. “Two hundred, it was gonna be like winning the bloody lottery. And now look at us, we've got nothing, and we're not gonna get another chance like that, 'cause people like us, we don't get ahead, we don't get big breaks! It was our one chance! For your information, the first couple of times it happened to Emily, it was all real. We just emphasized it a little for you, and you lapped it up. It's showbiz, innit?”