‘I warned you about making light of this.’
The stereo suddenly lightened, and before Miller realised what was happening, it slid out of his hands. Price had decided to let go, and, without warning, Miller had no chance of holding it up. There was a tremendous thud and crack, and tiny bits of black plastic skidded across the pavement.
‘I’m not the one making light of this. You’re playing to her delusions.’
‘You broke it,’ Miller said, pointing to the stereo’s remains. ‘Why’d you do that?’
‘Forget the damn stereo; I would’ve left it in their flat if you hadn’t been here. I wanted to see how much I could get you to do for me through some misguided idea of decency.’
Miller looked down at some of the larger broken-off chunks.
‘You really are going to do it, aren’t you?’ Price said. ‘You’re going to try and communicate with the dead baby?’
‘I was hoping you’d have something for me today, some kind of proof,’ Miller said. ‘But you don’t. And I cannot sit back and let them suffer while you continue your little experiments to prove … well, so far, nothing.’
Price’s indignant stare was aimed directly into Miller’s eyes. Miller might have said aimed at his soul, but he doubted Price would, or could, aim there.
‘There’s a logical explanation here, I know there is,’ Price practically shouted at him. ‘You follow through with this, and you will make her worse, you will push her into becoming truly delusional, maybe even a danger to herself and others.’
‘Then find me another explanation,’ Miller replied, trying to keep his voice level. ‘Give me another option. Then I’ll find the best — most considerate — way of approaching Sophie with it.’
‘I will. But unless I have access to their lives and home, it’ll take time. You have to buy me time.’
‘You have until eight tonight.’
‘Of course,’ Price said, more to himself; Miller could barely hear him. ‘The hour of the dead.’
Chapter Thirteen
Keith Fullwood watched as his wife waited the entire day. He never really thought of waiting as something that could actually be done, at least not for more than a few minutes. More often than not, it was an emotional state as somebody busied their minds with other things. But Sophie literally spent the entire day waiting. She sat at the dining table in the living room, listening to the radio static and watching the clock. But as far as he could tell, none of her other senses were in use.
Occasionally Keith tried to take food to her, or attempted to start a simple conversation. She was unresponsive the majority of the time. Whether because she was so tuned out she didn’t notice him, or because she reviled him so much he didn’t exist to her, he wasn’t always sure. On the rare occasion she did speak, it was to talk about tonight.
‘He should get here about seven,’ she said several times throughout the day.
The first time she’d said it, Keith had taken it as an opportunity to have a conversation, to try and learn what was going on in her mind.
‘OK. What’s he going to do?’
‘He’s going to talk to our daughter.’
‘Yes I know that, but what is he actually going to do?’
‘How the hell should I know?’ There was that hate again. The sign that kept telling Keith his marriage was over. ‘I’ve not spoken to the dead before. Just listened.’
On that last sentence her voice dropped and her attention returned to the clock and radio.
Keith couldn’t just wait. He wasn’t even sure he wanted Joseph Miller to come at all. What if he somehow made it worse? He still held out hope that none of this was real, just a figment of their imaginations. But he couldn’t deny the constant feeling of dread rising in him over the last week. And he couldn’t ignore the constant feeling of being watched, and the occasional flickering of movement in the corner of his eyes. And every day these headaches worsened, now accompanied by nausea.
There were still three hours to go. Keith sat down at the dining table, facing Sophie, instantly forgetting everything he’d planned to say.
‘Sophie.’ He paused, giving himself time to think. ‘Do you really think this is such a good idea? We don’t really know what’s going on here.’
‘And how else will we find out?’ Her eyes would not leave the radio, as if she could see the horrendous sounds to come from it.
It’s not real, he wanted to shout at her, but it would do no good; she would never believe it and he didn’t know whether he fully believed it. Just let it go. Let Tia go. He certainly couldn’t say that. He was lucky she came back after their last argument, next time she’d probably just throw him out.
When Keith returned from his mental wanderings, he realised Sophie was staring at him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
‘Do you believe this is real?’ Sophie asked.
No. I don’t want it to be real, and I’ve seen nothing to make me a hundred per cent sure it’s real. I’d rather we both just moved out and never came back here again.
‘Of course I do,’ he said. ‘Something is happening here, we can’t deny that.’
‘I never denied it. So what else can we do about it, if not this?’
Keith couldn’t think of an answer to that — at least not one he could say to her. He did, however, wonder if Price ever got any further developing a new theory. If there was a logical explanation to all this, then maybe their relationship stood a chance. But then, he thought as he stared into Sophie’s distant eyes, maybe she would hate him all the more for not believing her, and for lying to her. Not that it mattered; if Price had anything, he’d have soon appeared to prove how stupid they all were.
‘Keith,’ Sophie said, demanding his full attention with the one softly-spoken word.
This was by far the longest she’d looked at him in days, and the most she’d said to him since their argument. And there was hope in that expression; for a moment he saw a glimpse of the same woman he’d married. The happy, optimistic, smiling person.
‘Yeah?’
‘Keith, please give this a chance. Just one chance, that’s all I ask.’
It was impossible to refuse. Especially when Sophie looked at him in that way.
‘OK,’ he said, ‘I will.’
And with that, her expression changed again, as though her emotions were instantly drained. Her attention was back with the clock or radio, now that she’d gotten Keith to agree with her.
Keith leaned back in his chair, wondering what to do until tonight.
I need a drink.
Chapter Fourteen
Miller actually arrived a little after six-thirty, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave the car. He stared at the block of flats looming over him, covered in colourful graffiti at the bottom, then turning to its natural cracked grey walls where it proved too tall for the artists to reach. He was trying to work out from memory which windows belonged to the Fullwoods. He had a rough idea, but he couldn’t be certain.
He’d spent the entire day thinking all this over, planning everything he could plan. He’d only contacted the dead himself on a few occasions. The first when he was a teenager looking to scare his friends, and it had indeed been the most active and frightening of all the times he tried. And while it was different each time, one thing remained the same: it was unclear. It was unclear what the dead wanted, sometimes unclear what they said. Most of the time this didn’t really matter, there were no lasting consequences. But here…
She needs to come to terms with her baby’s death.
As much as it angered him, Miller couldn’t help but dwell on Price’s words. Which was all very well him saying that, but how did anybody come to terms with such things? Besides, Miller failed to see how he could possibly make things any worse for Sophie. The only reason he was here was because she had nothing to lose.
Yet that failed to make him feel better. Miller couldn’t get over this ominous feeling; the large dark clouds hovering above and the fading light
probably didn’t help. He wondered what Price would make of that feeling. Did he acknowledge forebodings when he felt them? Did he ever experience any signs?
You know what you’re doing is wrong.
He actually heard Price’s voice say that. He’d only known him a few days and already he knew him well enough to guess his words. And they would be Price’s, not his, because Miller didn’t know what was going to happen here, he didn’t know how much he would actually be able to help, but he did know that this was the right thing to do. Because whether it was Sophie or Tia, one or both needed his help here, and he was ready to provide it. Which was more than could be said of Price.
With a little more resolve, although no more confidence, Miller exited his car and made his way to the Fullwoods’ home. Whatever faced that family tonight, they would not face it alone.
***
***
Price continually watched the clock out of the corner of his eyes. He knew he shouldn’t let panic set in, because once it did it would make him blind to any potential answers. And there were answers here, there had to be.
The notes on the people living in the four flats surrounding the Fullwoods’ home were laid out on his living room floor. Miller had been methodical in his note-taking, Price had to give him that. He’d made sure to give each resident of the Fullwoods’ tower block their own separate page or pages, with their names and/or physical descriptions at the top of the page. And one of those people had to have a baby.
But how to find them. He knew from experience the answer was staring him straight in the face. He could feel it in the back of his mind, his subconscious poking him to the tune of I know something you don’t know.
Getting down on his hands and knees, Price started the search for the umpteenth time, but not before glancing up at the clock again.
Seven o’clock.
He was running out of time.
And so was Sophie.
***
***
Miller followed Sophie straight into the living room. He could sense her trepidation, just as she could sense his, or so he imagined. The dining table had been cleared of the clutter that previously occupied it, and in its place stood a solitary large candle. While most movie séances tended to be dimly-lit candlelight affairs, Miller found it more of a mood setter for humans rather than ghosts. If the dead wanted to make contact, Miller doubted a bulb would stand in their way. But Sophie had already lit it, and Miller couldn’t see any harm either, except perhaps the danger of stubbing his toe in the dark.
‘I wasn’t sure what was needed,’ Sophie said, as if apologising. ‘Didn’t you bring anything? A Ouija board or something?’
‘Let’s just try communicating ourselves first. We’ve got the radio after all.’
Sophie nodded, but Miller could see the disappointment there. Less than five minutes in and already he was losing her confidence. Maybe he should have brought some equipment to look the role a little better. But then he would feel less honest in his efforts. He’d never claimed to be a medium.
‘And just what do you expect a new-born baby to say?’
The voice took Miller by surprise. He recognised it as Keith’s, but only just. It was slurred and full of bitterness. Miller turned to where it came from. Keith was nothing more than a slouched, barely-lit mess in the corner of the room. Glancing to the side of the chair, Miller could also see the vague outlines of what was most likely a collection of beer cans. While Miller couldn’t really blame Keith for giving into temptation, he did feel angry at him for mentally leaving his wife to deal with this alone.
‘If she’s able to make contact, she will; a Ouija board is far from the only way to communicate. And if she’s unable to communicate, another spirit might help.’
Keith’s only immediate answer was to lift a can up to his lips and take another gulp.
‘And if you don’t help her?’ he asked. ‘What if all we hear is that crying, over and over again, nothing but that crying?’
Miller could hear the cracking in Keith’s voice as he spoke. When he was finished, Keith stood up, leaving the beer can — now presumably empty — behind. Sophie was standing near enough the candle that Miller could make out the disappointment and anger on her face.
‘Please Keith,’ Sophie said. ‘You said you would help. You promised. Please.’
Keith walked towards the door, and for a second it looked like he wasn’t going to answer Sophie. But he appeared to think better of his silence policy, and once he was next to Sophie, Keith spoke to Miller.
‘I won’t be a part of this. Sorry.’
Then he turned his attention to Sophie, although he couldn’t look her directly in the eyes.
‘I can’t help you.’
***
***
Dammit there has to be something here. A secret baby. A shame baby.
Price was frantic now, speed reading his way through everything. But this tactic was clearly not working. Price picked up one of the bits of papers at random and started to read it out loud, paying careful attention to every word. Maybe hearing them would help him to see these people from a new angle.
‘Middle-aged woman obsessed with cats — ’
Abundance of cats means no sex and, as a result, no babies.
Price crumpled up the paper and threw it away. While there had been more, and his analysis was far from foolproof, he’d been over it so many times now that his instincts told him she was irrelevant. He picked up another.
‘Male, eighties, not present. Asks his neighbours to sign petitions to improve heating —’
If he was getting laid at his age, he wouldn’t be worrying about the cold.
Another one crumpled and thrown away. And onto the next.
‘Single young man, insomniac —’
Good start, people with babies don’t sleep.
‘Listens to the TV far too loudly into the night —’
Drowning out a crying baby, maybe?
Remembering why he previously dismissed it, Price began to crumple up the paper.
‘The only thing insomnia and watching TV too much is a sign of is being single, possibly depressed.’
Depressed?
Depression!
Something clicked, maybe because of the word being spoken aloud, maybe because it was such a leap that his logic had refused it until now. A small but hopeful smile formed.
‘Ah.’
Ah.
***
***
Against his better judgement, as his ears would gladly bear witness to, Miller turned up the volume on the radio. The static blared, and so far it was nothing more than meaningless hissing. Sitting back at the table, Miller gave Sophie a questioning look.
Are you ready?
Sophie nodded.
Miller put his hands across the table, palms up. Sophie placed her hands into his. She closed her eyes. Miller closed his.
‘Spirits, if you are present, please let yourself be known,’ Miller said.
There was no change to the static, no extra sounds. Miller could make out Sophie’s lower lip trembling in the candle-light, and there were tears building in her eyes. He was a little relieved at hearing nothing. But it wasn’t altogether unexpected; the sound usually didn’t start until eight, and it was only twenty to.
A high-pitch ringing burst into the room, making both Sophie and Miller jump. Sophie almost crushed Miller’s hands, but she let go completely once she realised it was Miller’s phone. How in the hell could he forget to switch it to silent?
‘Sorry,’ Miller said. ‘Mind if I get that? We’ve still got time before eight.’
Sophie nodded, clearly a little relieved herself. No doubt she was more terrified of what might happen here than Miller was. Pulling the phone out of his pocket and twisting it so he could see the screen, Miller saw, unsurprisingly, that it was Price. Until that moment, Miller had doubted his decision to give Price his number. But now, Miller repressed a smile as he took the phone into the kitch
en.
‘Hello?’ he whispered.
‘Stop,’ said Price.
He had found something. Barely caring how much more arrogant it made Price, Miller would be glad if he could put an end to all of this without having to continue with the séance.
‘What have you found?’
‘I’m not completely sure, but I need time to check it out.’
Or maybe not. Miller’s first instinct was to give him the time, to put off Sophie for another week. But he could see her through the doorway, too busy with her own thoughts to pay him any attention, and the static drowning out any chance of her overhearing. She was desperate for answers, and Miller couldn’t blame her. And if he didn’t help her tonight, he doubted he’d get another chance, and God only knew who she’d get instead. And on top of all that, there was Tia to consider. If there was even a small chance that this was real — and Miller fully believed in that possibility — then he couldn’t turn his back on her.
‘There’s no time left, Price. Don’t waste my time if you haven’t got anything.’
‘But I do have something. Don’t throw away her sanity just because you don’t want to hear the truth.’
‘This isn’t about the truth,’ Miller said, practically hissing the words as he repressed the urge to shout. ‘It’s about Sophie.’
‘Yes, it is,’ said Price, as if this proved his point. ‘And what do you think is going to happen to her if you hold a séance? If you’re in the middle of contacting the so-called dead and something happens — whether it’s a neighbour banging at the wrong moment, or a new random sound from the radio, it doesn’t matter — whatever it is, she’ll latch onto it as proof and she’ll never be able to let it go. If you do this Miller, there is a very real danger that she’ll lose her mind.’
‘I somehow find it difficult to believe that you care that deeply about her.’
‘That doesn’t make me wrong.’
‘I’m going, Price,’ Miller said, deciding to end this conversation before Price added anger to Miller’s list of emotions to deal with.
‘Miller, don’t do this. For the love of whatever you call God, stop this bullshit before it costs her —’