Ghost Electricity

by Sean Cunningham

  “Good evening, Miss Jessica,” he said “How was the movie?”

  “Great fun.” She sat down on the couch. “There were more explosions than ever. Jessie Infinity took out five guys with a single jumping spinning kick!” She wrinkled her nose. “There was another stupid subplot about a stupid guy though. I don’t know why they think they need to put that in her movies.”

  “I am sure in that in two or three years you will think differently, Miss Jessica,” Mr Shell said, perambulating towards her.

  “Yes yes, the whole boys thing.” Jessica dismissed the whole boys thing with a wave of her hand. “Where’s Mr Beak?”

  “He is out.” Mr Shell’s voice took on a sniffy tone. “He says he may have tracked down a clairaudient pearl for you, but of course he has said that before.”

  Jessica grinned. “We’ll see.” She glanced at her work bench and the mess of half-finished devices and tools she had built. Rising in the middle was a device that looked like it had been cobbled together from several microscopes. “What are the latest measurements of the house?”

  “I am afraid the doorways are still impassable to a human being,” Mr Shell said. “Growth continues in line with my calculations, but it will still be some time before you can enter the more remote areas of the house.”

  Jessica sighed. “I’m really looking forward to seeing the laboratory where you were built.”

  “I look forward to giving you the tour,” Mr Shell said.

  She had found him limping along the hallway one night almost two years previously. One of his legs couldn’t move and two more were barely functional. His voice was a metallic burr and one of his eyes was cracked and dead.

  Jessica had been delighted. She had thrown together a sled made out of cardboard boxes, tied the bronze tortoise to it and improvised a pulley system to get him up the stairs and into the loft.

  There was an old set of tools in the loft left by some previous tenant, or much less probably her absent father, which she carefully used to open the ailing tortoise up. She pored through online junk seller sites looking for spare parts and within three weeks had repaired Mr Shell’s voice and one of his legs.

  He had come through a doorway, he told her, that had only just come into existence – and barely existed at that. He was one of several machines in a laboratory, built long ago and much loved by their creator. But their creator had died and the machines had slowly worn down.

  Mr Shell had set out through strange doorways and twisting passages that his creator had once shown him, to look for someone who could effect repairs. He had searched for a very long time until finally, desperate in his measured way, he had tried a door so tenuous in its existence that he couldn’t be sure it wouldn’t close behind him forever.

  The door took him into Flat 2, Hawthorn House. There he found Jessica, then eight years old.

  Once Jessica had repaired his voice, Mr Shell started to teach her things about physics and engineering that didn’t sound like anything she had heard of before, until she was finally able to fully repair him, including regenerating the dead crystal in his left eye.

  Mr Shell went away for a while through the door she couldn’t see and when he came back he had a raven fastened to his shell, a raven with feathers of black glass. Jessica repaired him too and Mr Beak had sworn his eternal loyalty to her though he did not, as he often reminded her, swear to be polite.

  “There is another matter, Miss Jessica,” Mr Shell said. “One of security.”

  “Did someone break in?” Jessica asked. “Did you zap them with your taser coil? I’d like to have seen that.”

  “No, Miss Jessica,” Mr Shell said. “Your sister was followed home. A boy clambered around the house looking in all the windows. His body temperature was very low and his ability to climb was quite considerable. I can only conclude he was a vampire.”

  Jessica sucked in a breath, more excited than ever. “Is he still here?”

  “No, Miss Jessica.”

  Jessica rubbed her hands together as plans unfolded in her mind. “Mr Shell, it sounds like my sister needs more protection than whatever that thing in her shadow can give.” She stood up and planted her fists on her hips. “It’s time to go to war.”

  “Oh dear,” said Mr Shell.

  Chapter 4 – Rob and Julian, Tuesday

  Rob scooted over to the edge of the bed when his captor came into the room. His bandaged shoulder twinged in protest as he pushed himself to his feet. He kept as far as he could from the bars of his cage.

  His captor was a middle-aged man, big and powerful. He was someone Rob never wanted to see on the other side of a bar fight. He smelled of dust blown on dry winds and his skin was bronzed by the fierce Australian sun. He carried a tray with a bottle of water and a steakburger on it.

  The steakburger emitted the clearest, sharpest and most delicious smell ever to grace Rob’s nostrils. He couldn’t stop staring at it. His mouth watered and his stomach rumbled.

  His captor stopped on the other side of the heavy iron bars that surrounded Rob. He spoke with a slow, Australian drawl. “How you feeling, Rob?”

  Rob dragged his gaze up from the steakburger. “How do you know my name?”

  “From your passport,” the man said. “I’m Grant. This is for you, by the way.” He crouched down and slid the tray through a gap in the bottom of Rob’s cage. Rob bent down with it, as if a string ran from the steakburger to his nose. He scooped the burger up and set to devouring it.

  Grant folded his arms across his muscled chest and waited.

  After the first swallow, Rob said, “What do you want from me? Why am I in this cage?” He took another bite.

  “Do you remember the attack last night?”

  Flashes of memory – animal snarls, big teeth, yellow eyes – drove the appetite out of Rob. “Uh, not really.”

  “It’s often that way. I’m sorry, Rob. I’m sorry we weren’t there sooner. We were on his trail, but the son of a bitch was big and fast. Never seen one of us like him.”

  “Who? What’s going on? You arsehole, this is kidnapping. Let me out of here.”

  “Tomorrow,” Grant said, “depending on what happens tonight.”

  “What’s so special about tonight?”

  Grant smiled but it was a sad smile. “Tonight there’s a full moon.”

  “You’re taking the Bainbridge account away from me?” Rob said.

  The last few words came out heavier, coarser, as a flash of anger clouded his thoughts. His leg muscles bunched as though preparing to spring him forward. His lips peeled back from his teeth.

  With his left hand, Rob grabbed hold of the little iron chain around his right wrist. He tried to curl his toes into the floor through the soles of his shoes.

  His manager, Vincent Argyle, sat across the desk from him. Vincent had half-moon glasses he liked to peer over when you said something he thought peculiar. The glasses were on the desk now next to his laptop, both pushed aside to indicate this was a friendly chat, man to man. Vincent’s hands were folded together. He smelled of black shoe polish, aftershave and the occasional cigar.

  The windows of Vincent’s corner office afforded a view of the grey building opposite and of the street below, which was busy with red buses and black-clothed pedestrians. A bookcase of dark wood supported a collection of leather-bound books. A clock with an old-fashioned face took note of the duration of the meeting.

  Analogue time. Vincent Argyle was as analogue as you could still be in modern business.

  “This is not a reflection on your service with us, Robert,” Vincent said. “Your last performance review was most acceptable and we continue to expect good things from you. We have, however, been in discussion with Gordon Bainbridge recently.”

  Vincent leaned back in his chair. Whatever he was about to say had been agreed upon and signed. Rob would not have the option of arguing about it.

  “Gordon is preparing to expand his enterprise,” Vincent said. “He has several significant pro
jects coming through. They are of a scale you are not yet ready to handle.”

  Rob knew that Gordon Bainbridge wanted to expand his business, because he’d said so to Rob, who had dutifully reported it to Vincent in the hope that they could capitalise on what Gordon had in mind. Rob did not think that detail would come up in this conversation.

  Rob decided to find out if his voice sounded human again. “Who’s getting it, sir?”

  “Dean will take it from here,” Vincent said. “He’s had experience with several similar projects. I’m sure you’ll help him as the account transitions.”

  He gripped the iron chain harder. “Has Gordon met Dean yet?”

  “I don’t believe so. Is that relevant?”

  “Gordon will take one look at Dean and decide he’s a ponce, sir. Gordon started out as an apprentice carpenter when he was fifteen. He still has callouses on his hands. If you’re not from some grim factory city up north, or a part of London with a high crime statistic, he can’t stand you. Dean gets manicures and goes to a stylist instead of a barber, sir.”

  Vincent’s head lowered and he gave Rob the same look he used when looking over his glasses. Rob could practically see them there on his nose, instead of on the desk beside the laptop. “Dean has been an excellent asset to the company, Rob. He knows how to build the kind of partnership we want to have with Gordon. I have no doubts as to his ability to provide Gordon Bainbridge with the quality of service he expects from us.”

  “Yes sir,” Rob said.

  “Thank you, Rob.”

  Fifteen emails were waiting for him when he returned to his cubicle. Most of them were the kind of queries that, with the appropriate reference number and website address, you could answer for yourself. That Rob provided all his clients with those reference numbers and website links did not greatly slow the arrival of such queries.

  One email was from Mrs Prashad, asking if he would need her basement this month. That lightened his mood. It was a business arrangement, true, but he got along well with Mrs Prashad. He let her know he still wanted to play it safe and would lock himself up, as usual.

  His nose twitched with the scent of hair gel just before Dean Mawson swung into his cubicle. “Robbie-boy, how’s things? Hey, no hard feelings on the Bainbridge thing, right? Management decision, what can you do, yeah?”

  The girls in accounting, and quite a few of the older ladies, were entirely smitten with Dean’s high cheekbones and perfect smile. He raised Rob’s hackles and Rob couldn’t figure out why.

  “Yeah, what can you do?” Rob said.

  “I’ll keep you in the loop, man,” Dean said. “Might even be able to turn this into a team operation, yeah? Get you back in on the action.”

  Rob considered a future in which he worked for Dean.

  “Sounds like a plan,” he said.

  “You got it,” Dean said and was gone so fast he could have been on ice skates.

  Rob stood up and leaned over the top of his cubicle. “Asad, you up for the pub after work?”

  “Louisa’s got us going to some art thing,” Asad replied without looking up from his screen.

  “Better you than me. I need a coffee. You?”

  “I’m good,” Asad said.

  Jenny held court in the tea room, describing the intricacies of a black forest cake to two other women, and Rob got to listen to all of it while he stepped around and between them. He thought about abandoning the tea room and heading out to a coffee shop, but it felt like too much planning for his sleep-deprived mind.

  “All right, Rob?” Jenny asked him as she rinsed out her tea cup.

  He didn’t say, I didn’t rip anyone into little pieces in the last hour, which was quite an effort let me tell you. “Fine thanks.”

  “You look tired,” she said. “Big night last night?”

  “Pretty big.”

  “Well, that’s what you get for going out on a school night,” she said with a titter and left.

  The new guy in the department was at the drinks machine. He was in his early twenties, like Rob. Not much shorter, but with a lot less meat on his bones. Rob hadn’t managed to get a read on the guy. He smelled like supermarket deodorant and electricity to Rob’s nose, but mostly he smelled of scents Rob didn’t recognise. He watched as the guy bought a can with a blue lightning bolt on it and cracked it open. “That’s your third one of those today, isn’t it?” Rob asked.

  “Didn’t sleep much last night,” the new guy said.

  “Julian, isn’t it?” The other guy nodded. “Rob.”

  “I remember.”

  “Can’t drink those energy drinks myself. I go completely off my head. I think they grow the secret recipe in the radioactive zone around Chernobyl.”

  The corner of Julian’s mouth twitched. “One can hope.” He appeared to consider whether or not to continue the conversation. “Third coffee for you as well.”

  “Oh yeah. Double helping too. People were out jogging when I got home last night. I choose not to think of it as this morning.” He took a swallow of coffee as black as tar. “That said, up for a pint after work?”

  Julian shrugged. “Sure.”

  The two girls at the bar were laughing at his jokes in an encouraging way, but Rob knew he couldn’t let things get any further. Looking for a way to cut the conversation short, he turned pointedly to Julian. “Table freeing up over there in the corner,” he said, indicating with the rolled up tenner in his hand. One of the girls pouted. Rob ignored her.

  “I’m on it,” Julian said.

  Watching, Rob approved of his timing. The couple leaving the table moved far enough away for the table to be considered free. Julian slid into a chair on one side of the table a heartbeat later. Three middle-aged men in suits had been eyeing the table as well, but they hesitated at the crucial moment.

  The barman was a guy a few years older than Rob with a New Zealand flag tied around his dreadlocks. Rob handed over the ten pound note, shoved the change in a pocket and carried the beers over to Julian. He didn’t as much as nod at the two girls, to discourage them from trying to follow.

  “Cheers,” Rob said. “Job well done on the table. Got to be quick in this place after work.”

  Julian leaned back in his chair. He held his right elbow cupped in his left hand in what Rob thought to be a defensive posture. He looked calm but not at ease and his eyes kept moving around the pub. Rob sprawled carelessly in his own chair, arms and legs akimbo.

  “I’m surprised you blew those two girls at the bar off,” Julian said. “You seemed to be doing well with them.”

  “Feeling a bit burned on that front as of late. You know how it is.”

  “There’s a school of thought that says the best response is to get straight back on the horse.”

  Rob chuckled. “That strategy hasn’t worked so well for me recently. Anyway, they didn’t look to be doing it for you. You weren’t saying much.”

  Julian shrugged.

  “Girls not your thing? No skin off my nose if that’s the case. I’m all for a world of diversity, me. Cultures and orientations and all that, be my guest.”

  Julian looked amused rather than offended. “Nothing like that. I suppose I just wasn’t interested.”

  “Playing the man of mystery angle then.” Rob tapped his temple. “Clever. Some girls like that.”

  Julian laughed and Rob saw his shoulders relax a notch. He hid a grin by taking a swig of his pint.

  “From around here?”

  Julian shook his head. “I got to London about three weeks ago. I’ve been house-sitting while I work out accommodation. You?”

  “Been here almost two years now,” he said. “I moved down from Manchester. Family’s still up there, but I don’t get back there much. Mum’s a bit daft, to be honest, and Dad’s never been much of a presence, you know? Got a little brother but he’s fourteen and he’s turned into the kind of insufferable prick I was at that age.”

  Julian shifted in his chair. “It’s been a while since I�
��ve seen my family too.”

  “What were you up to before London?”

  A hint of a self-mocking smile tugged at the corners of Julian’s mouth. “Would you like to hear the plausible lie I have prepared for when I’m asked that, or would you prefer an attempted subject change?”

  “Has this plausible lie been tried on someone to see if it really is plausible?”

  “Not as such, no.”

  “Better throw it my way then.”

  “I studied history for six months at Oxford after school and then travelled the world for a few years when I got my hands on part of my trust fund. I did a business management course in Toronto and now I’m taking a shot at a career. What do you think?”

  “Reasonable,” Rob said. “Oxford is an eyebrow-raiser, though I have to say you have the accent that goes with trust fund. You know anything about Toronto?”

  “Not really.”

  “Worth getting familiar with it, just in case you meet someone who’s been there,” Rob said. “What about travel stories? It’s a good idea to have one or two little stories about something funny that happened to you. Make someone laugh and they’ll forget about trying to poke holes in your story.”

  Julian made a thoughtful sound. “I’ll do some research. Thank you for the critique.”

  “Sales are part of our job,” Rob said. “I like to consider myself a student of the art of not telling the truth. Oh. Oh damn.”

  At Julian’s look, he nodded his head towards the pub’s tiny stage. Two men in jeans and t-shirts were setting up speakers.

  “These guys are shit,” Rob said. “We either need to get drunk fast or try somewhere else.”

  Julian eyed the remainder of his beer, which he wasn’t hurrying through. “I’m for relocating.”

  The next bar was louder, not because of a weeknight pub band but because people were holding conversations at shouting volume. The girl who served them was new and flustered by the big crowd at the bar, but Rob gave her a grin and a wink to let her know they weren’t going to cause her any fuss.

  “You looking for a place then?” Rob asked after they tilted their glasses back.