Enter the Dead: A Supernatural Thriller

by Mark White

  ‘Nothing ventured, and all that.’

  ‘So they say.’ He had to admire her confidence. It was hard not to like Gabrielle Williams. So what if she was one of Tom’s girls? She was hardly the first good-looking woman to have succumbed to his relentless charm offensive. She worked hard too, and she had plenty of talent. Because of the firm’s financial position, it was unlikely that the powers-that-be would agree to offer her a permanent position, but there was no harm in asking. He was used to working on his own, but maybe an assistant wouldn’t be such a bad idea if it made his life easier. Although business was quiet at the moment, there were often times when he was rushed off his feet. He could certainly teach her an awful lot about copywriting. Maybe he’d enjoy having an eager apprentice to pass on his knowledge to.

  ‘I tell you what. If you prove to me over the next few days that you’re keen to learn, then I’ll see what I can do, okay? I can’t promise you anything, because ultimately I’m not in charge of the money, but I might be able to convince the right people that you’re worth a chance.’

  ‘Really?’ Gabby said, beaming from ear to ear. ‘You’d do that for me?’

  ‘We’ll see. Just so long as you don’t ask me how I’m feeling.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Sam smiled and shook his head. ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘Private joke.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘Now,’ Sam said, switching on his computer and retrieving his empty cup from the desk, ‘I’m off to make some coffee. When I return, how about we begin by going over the work schedule and deciding what needs doing?’

  ‘Sounds good. I’ll have the schedule ready for you by the time you get back.’

  ‘Great. Oh, there was one more thing I wanted to mention.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I know that Tom and you were close, but I wanted t-’

  ‘What do you mean…close?’

  ‘Well, just that you were…fond…of each other.’

  ‘He might have been fond of me, but I was never fond of him. Not in that way, if that’s what you’re implying.’

  ‘But I thought…it’s just that he told that me you and he were…were…’

  ‘Lovers?’

  ‘Well…yes…I suppose you could call it that. Anyway, all I wanted to say was that I would prefer it if you didn’t talk about him when you’re around me, okay?’

  ‘Tom and I were never lovers!’ Gabby said, her face bright red with a combination of anger and embarrassment. ‘He made it pretty clear that he wanted to be, but I wasn’t interested. He’s married for a start, and besides, he’s too old.’

  ‘He’s the same age as me!’

  ‘Exactly. Honestly, Sam, is that what he told you? And you believed him?’

  ‘I guess I did,’ Sam replied, wishing the ground would open up and swallow him whole. ‘He’s got a track record for chasing other women.’

  ‘Well, I can assure you that I’m not on any damn record, okay?’

  ‘Okay. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Apology accepted. It’s typical though, isn’t it? I’ve studied bloody hard to get this far. I’m trying my best to do a good job and make a decent impression, and all everyone thinks is that I’m the easy blonde who slept with Tom Jackson. What fucking century are we meant to be living in?’

  Sam stood up and pushed back his chair, waving his cup in the air in a conciliatory gesture. ‘Nobody thinks that about you, okay? Anyway, I don’t think he told anyone else. Look, how about I make it up to you by getting the coffee? What do you say?’

  Gabby looked at him red-faced as she considered his peace offering. ‘On one condition,’ she said, handing him her cup. ‘Neither of us mentions that liar’s name ever again.’

  Sam took the cup from her hand and nodded. ‘It’s a deal.’

  He headed off towards the kitchen, deep in thought. How many other lives has Tom Jackson ruined, he thought, acknowledging the welcoming smiles from his co-workers as he walked past them. Oh what a tangled web we weave, when first we practice to deceive. He arrived at the kitchen and closed the door behind him. Why did Tom lie to me about Gabby? Was he so insecure that he felt the need to manufacture his conquests? Was his brain so warped for him to think that I’d actually be impressed by him screwing someone half his age while his poor wife waited for him at home?

  I hope he suffers for this, Sam thought, pacing the kitchen floor as he tried to compose himself. I hope the bastard rots in hell for what he’s done.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘Well? How was your first day back?’

  ‘Could’ve been worse. Strangely enough, most people seemed genuinely pleased to see me.’

  ‘Hardly surprising; a caring, funny, handsome man like you. Why wouldn’t they be pleased?’

  ‘What are you after?’

  ‘Come on then,’ urged Sarah, cuddling into him. ‘Tell me what happened.’

  Sam shrugged. ‘There’s nothing much to say.’ He certainly wasn’t planning on telling her about the assault; it would only upset her. Besides, he had no desire to waste any more of his life on Tom Jackson. ‘Holdsworth was surprisingly supportive; in fact everyone was really welcoming. Even Gabrielle Williams seemed happy to see me.’

  Sarah’s eyes narrowed at the mention of her name. ‘Gabrielle Williams?’ she said, struggling to remain calm. ‘Isn’t she the one you told me about? The one who was sleeping with Tom.’

  ‘Not according to her, she wasn’t.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Sarah, her heart-beat quickening.

  ‘She told me her version of events today.’

  ‘Told you what, exactly?’

  Sam sighed and stared into the fire. He didn’t want to talk about Tom or Gabby, or anyone else for that matter. All he wanted was to lie on the couch with Sarah and relax after a long day at work.

  ‘Look, all I’m saying is that it turns out nothing happened between them. Tom tried his luck a few times, but Gabby wasn’t having any of it.’

  ‘And you believe her?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t I? She seemed genuine enough, and Tom’s hardly renowned for telling the truth. Given everything that’s happened, I’ll take her word over his any day of the week. Anyway, what’s it matter? It’s got nothing to do with us.’

  ‘No,’ Sarah replied, her voice barely audible. ‘I guess not.’ She couldn’t dare tell Sam that she’d confronted Tom about sleeping with Gabby after Sam had expressly asked her not to. But why did Tom lie to me, too? she thought. Why didn’t he deny sleeping with Gabby when I asked him about it?

  ‘Look,’ Sam said, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. ‘None of that matters anymore, okay? It’s time we focused on the present, not the past. We can get through this, I’m sure of it, but only if we don’t look back.’

  ‘What have I done to deserve you?’ she said, resting her head against his chest and placing a hand on his thigh.

  ‘Let’s go to bed,’ he said, stirring as she slowly slid her hand towards his groin. ‘Might as well take advantage of Max being away. Besides, it’s Chapman’s Christmas party tomorrow evening, so I could do with an early night.’

  ‘You didn’t mention any party.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I forgot all about it until someone mentioned it today at work. I’m in two minds whether or not to go.’

  ‘You should,’ she said, rubbing her hand teasingly over his crotch. ‘It’ll do you good to socialise. Take your mind off everything.’

  ‘Socialise? Sam Railton? You don’t know me very well, do you?’

  ‘Well enough.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right. Maybe I should go. It’s always self-affirming seeing other people getting drunk and making complete idiots of themselves. What about you though? I don’t really want to leave you here all alone.’

  ‘Don’t worry about me,’ Sarah replied, taking him by the hand and leading him towards the hallway. ‘No annoying husband or demanding son to bother me, bottle of wine, relaxing candlelit soak in the tu
b…I think I’ll manage just fine, thanks.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ he said, playfully slapping her behind as they ascended the stairs. What with his rapidly improving mental and physical health, his relief at being back at work and the high probability of some imminent fun between the sheets, he could perhaps be forgiven for thinking that he was finally getting his life back on track. He could certainly do with a change of luck; a fresh start was just what the doctor ordered.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  For a business that prided itself on innovation and originality, it was perhaps surprising that for three years in a row the Board had opted to host Chapman’s Christmas party in the same, downtrodden hotel. There were several reasons for this: Lloyd’s Hotel was situated directly across the street from Chapman’s, the food if not great was certainly better than average, and (perhaps most importantly), Charles Holdsworth was a personal friend of Louis Sabatini, the hotel’s owner, so there was a deal to be had. And when times were tight, deals were essential.

  Most of Chapman’s female employees, and also a surprisingly high number of the men, had left work earlier that afternoon to rush home and spruce themselves up for the evening’s festivities. Along with a handful of other, less enthusiastic colleagues, Sam had offered to remain at work and help manage any calls that came in; not that there’d been many of those. When six pm finally arrived, he collected a small gym bag from beneath his desk and made his way to the men’s washroom, emerging ten minutes later sporting his favourite red and black checked shirt and dark-brown chinos. Sam Railton was not what you would call a dedicated follower of fashion.

  Scanning his PC screen for any last-minute emails, he proceeded to switch everything off and turn his phone to voicemail mode. You don’t have to do this, he thought, checking his watch and wondering if it would be wiser to forget all about the party and return home instead. Maybe Sarah wouldn’t mind him interrupting her evening; she might even let him share her bath! On second thoughts, there was every possibility that she wouldn’t be in the slightest bit pleased to see him; in fact, he knew fine well she wouldn’t. Get a grip, he thought, checking his appearance in a nearby mirror. It’s just a stupid party, you anti-social prick! Stay for dinner and then disappear, but at least show your face. You need to play the game.

  ‘Alright!’ he said aloud, relieved that there was nobody around to hear him. With a disgruntled sigh, he put on his coat and scarf and headed to the lifts, resigned to an hour or two of forced bonhomie.

  He walked outside and inhaled sharply as an icy gust of wind blasted over him, leaving him shivering despite his warm coat. Crossing the street and zig-zagging through bustling crowds of commuters and party-goers, he arrived at the entrance to Lloyd’s Hotel and hurried inside to escape the cold. Unlike many of the hotels in the King’s Cross area, Lloyd’s had failed to keep pace with the growing trend towards sleek modernity and contemporary décor. A red, floral Axminster carpet spanned the entire ground floor, contrasting sharply against the dark mahogany furniture that made up the reception area. The hotel had been constructed towards the end of the Victorian era, which explained the ornate cornices and high ceilings typifying the period. Judging by the threadbare state of the carpet and the dated, discoloured wallpaper, it was fair to say that Lloyd’s Hotel had seen better days.

  Sam’s eyes were drawn to a black, A-frame pin-board standing at the foot of the grand stairwell, into which were stuck several uneven rows of gold-coloured plastic letters informing visitors as to which room their particular function was being held in. Sam walked across to the board, scanning the company names until he noticed: Chapman’s Design Agency – The Westminster Bar, 1st floor. With all the gusto of a condemned man being marched along death row to the electric chair, he took a deep breath and began climbing the stairs.

  The first thing that struck him as he opened the doors to the Westminster bar was the overwhelming sense of joviality pervading the room. He checked his watch: 6.30pm. The DJ was still setting up his equipment and the evening had barely started, and yet half of his colleagues already appeared to be three sheets to the wind. Sam could only assume that a fair number of them had already consumed a few liveners in one of the nearby bars before arriving. As he watched them, he shivered as he thought back to a time when he would have been the first to arrive and the last to leave; consuming more and more booze until eventually he would either pass out or be thrown into a taxi and sent home. Even now, years later, there was still a part of him that longed to experience again the invigorating high that kicks in around the third or fourth drink; that heady cocktail of confidence and optimism that is so hard for a shy man to achieve when sober. Part of him envied his colleagues as he watched them sipping their bubbly drinks from an assortment of attractively-shaped glasses, but therein lay the problem: sipping was not part of Sam’s vocabulary. He knew only too well that to take even one sip would result in him draining the entire bar dry.

  As he made his way into the room, he noticed Gabby waving at him from one of the stools by the bar. Rather surprisingly for someone so young and attractive, there didn’t appear to be anybody with her, so returning the smile, he walked over to the bar and joined her.

  ‘Why are you sitting here all by yourself?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve just arrived,’ she said, rummaging in her handbag and retrieving her purse.

  ‘Allow me,’ he said, signalling to the barman. ‘What can I get you?’

  ‘Thanks. I’ll have a vodka and tonic, please.’

  ‘No problem. It’s not every day I get to buy an attractive young woman a drink.’ Then, realising what he’d said, he nervously added: ‘Don’t get me wrong; I’m a happily married man…’

  ‘You don’t have to defend yourself,’ Gabby said, laughing at his ineptitude. ‘I know what you meant. It’s pretty obvious you’re not the unfaithful type.’

  ‘Really? What makes you say that?’

  ‘Well…no offence…but blokes that are out to get lucky don’t tend to wear checked shirts and granddad trousers.’

  ‘Thanks a bunch!’

  ‘I meant it in a nice way. You look very smart…and very happily married.’

  ‘Is it that obvious?’

  ‘Afraid so.’

  ‘Well, I’ll say one thing…you’re a good judge of character.’

  Gabby smiled at the barman who’d come across to serve them. ‘What can I get you, sir?’

  ‘Eh? Oh…erm…a vodka and tonic, and a Coke for me, please.’

  ‘Coming right up.’

  ‘You’re not drinking?’ Gabby asked.

  ‘Not tonight, no,’ Sam replied. He didn’t want to enter into a conversation about why he didn’t drink; usually whenever he tried to explain, he ended up having to defend himself to someone who didn’t – couldn’t – understand.

  ‘Fair enough. I’m only having a couple, anyway. I’m meeting my boyfriend at eight.’

  ‘Boyfriend? Who’s the lucky man?’

  ‘He’s called John,’ she said. ‘He teaches at a primary school in Battersea. I’ve known him since we were kids.’

  ‘Childhood sweethearts,’ Sam said, winking at her. ‘Young love, eh?’

  ‘Something like that. We’re hoping to move in together once I’ve actually started earning some money.’

  ‘Hence the reason for you begging me to put a good word in for you at work.’

  ‘I didn’t beg,’ she said, punching him playfully on the arm. ‘But yes, I would be grateful if you could help me out.’

  Sam smiled. He always thought he was a decent judge of character, but he’d shot way wide of the mark with Gabby. When he’d first seen her, he’d decided she was nothing more than one of Tom’s underdressed and underqualified challenges - here today, gone tomorrow – but having seen the quality of her work, and listening to her talk about her boyfriend, he realised he’d made a mistake.

  ‘Ah, there you are!’ boomed a voice from behind them. ‘My two favourite copywriters. I hope you two aren’t talking
shop?’

  Sam and Gabby turned to see Charles Holdsworth towering over them. Even on an informal occasion such as this, he remained as intimidating as ever.

  ‘Good evening, Charles,’ Sam said, plucking up the courage to reply first. ‘Lovely party.’ Why did I say that? he thought, cringing at the comment.

  ‘Yes…good old Luigi. He never lets us down. I keep thinking we should change the venue, but every year he agrees to chip a little more off the tab, so here we are again.’ He turned his attention to Gabby. ‘How are you enjoying your time at Chapman’s? I’ve been hearing good things about you.’

  ‘I’m really enjoying it,’ she replied, taking a sip of her drink. ‘Everyone’s so friendly and helpful. Especially Sam…he’s a great mentor.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Sam said, rolling his eyes. ‘Besides, there’s not an awful lot I can teach Gabby. She’s a natural.’

  ‘Careful, Sam,’ Holdsworth said. ‘You don’t want to talk yourself out of a job now, do you?’

  ‘I’m not saying she’s perfect, but she’s certainly got potential. I know it’s only a secondment, but she’d be a real asset to Chapman’s.’

  ‘Would she?’ asked Holdsworth, turning his attention to Gabby. ‘And how would you feel about that, Miss Williams?’

  ‘About what, Mr Holdsworth?’

  ‘About staying on at Chapman’s a little longer.’

  Gabby’s eyes widened. ‘I don’t mean to be direct, Mr Holdsworth, but are you offering me a job?’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with being direct,’ Holdsworth said, enjoying the power that came with his position. ‘There’s nothing more annoying than people who beat about the bush.’ Signalling to the barman, he tapped his empty champagne flute and held up two fingers. The barman nodded and disappeared to the other side of the bar, returning moments later with two freshly filled glasses that he handed to Holdsworth. ‘I have some good news,’ he said, offering Gabby one of the glasses, which she accepted with a charmed smile. ‘I was intending to keep it quiet until tomorrow, but seeing as we’re having a party and everyone seems in such a good mood…well…I might as well tell you now. ‘