Echoes (Whisper Trilogy Book 2) Page 13

  “At least we can agree on that. I hate how things are for us right now. I never intended for this to happen, for us to lose everything the way we did. As much as going back there seems like the best answer, I really don’t think anything good can come of it.”

  “I know,” she said with a sigh. “It’s just hard when these people keep dangling the carrot in front of us and we know if we take it we can get back on track.”

  “It’s deliberate,” Steve said, wincing as he shifted position “In fact, I would bet this is exactly what they wanted to happen – for us to argue about what to do. Those pricks are trying to divide us in the hope we give in and go out there. As long as we don’t do what they want, we’ll be fine.”

  “Okay,” she said, turning on her side away from Steve. “As long as we can come up with something to get us out of this.”

  “Don’t worry, we will.” Steve replied as he draped his arm over her waist. “We need to stick together, just like always.”

  “Yeah, I know. I just hope we figure something out soon.”

  “We will. Get some sleep. Isaac will be awake in a few hours.”

  She lay on her side and listened to Steve’s breathing as he fell into a relaxed sleep. As tired as she was, her brain was refusing to stop thinking about their situation and how to get out of it. She also started to think about Hope House, and like a poison, the more she thought about it, the more buried memories were unearthed. It was only as she finally fell asleep she understood she had never really left Oakwell, or Hope House – she’d only really learned how to forget it.

  II

  “Bye, Dad!” Isaac bellowed as he raced towards the kitchen.

  “Isaac, your bag!” Melody called after him.

  The boy ran back into the room and snatched his school bag from the back of the chair, almost tipping it over in the process. She and Steve shared a knowing glance. It was always this way, and their son always did things at a thousand miles per hour. Melody grabbed the car keys from the table and shoved them into her bag.

  “Do you need anything bringing back?” she asked Steve as he finished up his breakfast.

  “No, I’m good. Someone seems eager to get to school today,” he said with a grin.

  “Science project.”

  “Science, eh?”

  “Yeah, they’re making model rockets.”

  “That explains a lot,” he said as he watched Isaac pull on his shoes and tie them, brow furrowed in concentration as he remembered how they had shown him to do them.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, taking her hand in his.

  “I’m fine, just tired,” She replied, pulling away from his grasp.

  “We’ll be okay you know.”

  She nodded and walked towards the door. “I won’t be too long.”

  She ushered Isaac out of the door before Steve could say anything else, and as much as she hated to admit it, she was glad to be away from him.

  III

  The November air was chilly in spite of the sun. At street level, the sound of traffic and chatter was even louder as Melody took Isaac by the hand and led him towards the underground car park attached to their apartment building. Isaac was doing his usual trick of talking a mile a minute, and although Melody nodded and answered in the right places, she was only half-listening.

  Their car was parked on the second level, and although there was more than enough light thanks to the overhead lamps set in the roof, recent events and thoughts of Hope House had made her much more jumpy than she normal was. She turned in the row where their car was parked, and saw the yellow ‘resident’ sticker in the window which ensured she wasn’t charged for parking there. She also saw the man leaning on her car, gloved hands clasped in front of him. His polished shoes shimmered in the gloom as he strode towards her, taking off a glove to extend a pinkish hand.

  “Mrs. Samson, my apologies for startling you like this.”

  She stopped short, putting both hands on Isaac’s shoulders and wondering how quickly she could reach the can of mace in her purse if she should need it. As if reading her thoughts, the man widened his grin and lowered his hand.

  “Forgive me, I shouldn’t be so forgetful. My name is Henry Marshall. I believe you have been in conversation with my colleague, Mr. Goodson.”

  She nodded, happy to finally put a face to the name. She expected him to be some wrinkled, withered old man, and was surprised to see that he was much younger and appeared perfectly respectable. She got no sense of danger from him, although it didn’t mean she was going to go easy on him.

  “I know who you are,” she said, glancing at the green and white exit sign above the door just behind her car. “Why are you here?”

  Marshall grinned, and something in his expression took on a sinister familiarity which she couldn’t quite place.

  “And this must be young Isaac,” Marshall said, crouching on his haunches and avoiding Melody’s question with ease. “How are you young man?”

  “I uh, I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” he mumbled and looked up to Melody for reassurance.

  “And rightly so,” Marshall said, pushing himself back to his feet, his knee joints popping in sympathy. “He looks like you Mrs. Samson. He has your eyes.”

  “Why are you here?” she repeated.

  “Just a courtesy call to see if you’d reconsidered my proposal.”

  Melody handed Isaac the car keys. “Go on and get in the car honey,” she said. “I’ll be along in a second.”

  He snatched the keys and hurried to the car, pressed the button to unlock the door and clambered inside.

  “What do you want?” she said as soon as her son was out of earshot.

  “I was in town and thought I’d check in. Nothing sinister.”

  “Isn’t this a little far away from Oakwell?”

  “As I said, I was here on business. I heard about your unfortunate complications with regards to a recent expected income.”

  “Let’s tell it how it is. Somebody started to spread malicious lies to make sure we didn’t get the sale.”

  “I’m sure it’s just a blip. Another opportunity will come along soon I’m sure.”

  “Strange how you know about it though, especially considering nobody else was aware of it.”

  Marshall smiled without offering an explanation.

  “It was you, wasn’t it?” she said, feeling hot anger flush through her.

  “I’m sorry? I’m not sure I understand.”

  “You did it. You made sure we didn’t get the money.”

  “I’m afraid I really don’t know what you’re talking about, Mrs. Samson. I’m here simply to remind you that my offer still stands. We’re due to open in a week or two, and we would really love to have you both there. You will, of course, be compensated for your time, if you should choose to accept.”

  “We’ve already told you our answer. We’re not interested in going back there. You should stay away from it too.”

  “I understand Michael Jones was once advised the same.” Marshall said with a half-smile.

  “It’s obvious you know the history of the place. Why would you build there and put people at risk?”

  “This is all so dramatic, Mrs. Samson. We have built a hotel, just bricks and mortar. No ghosts, no ghouls. No disembodied voices in the trees. Just a hotel.”

  “You know what happened in the past. You’re making the same mistakes!”

  “I have to disagree. We’ve acknowledged the historical significance of the location and intend to try and give those who are interested in it an all-round experience. I don’t see what’s so bad about it.”

  “It’s evil. Surely you felt it.”

  Marshall’s smile faltered for a second, and a flicker of uncertainty appeared in his eyes.

  “There is no such thing as evil. Or curses. Or ghosts. There’s an atmosphere up there, but it’s easily explained.”

  “How?”

  “Natural magnetic hotspots, certain pockets of supercha
rged air which—”

  Melody laughed and shook her head. “Are you really that stupid? The place has a power, some force normal people like us don’t understand and shouldn’t mess around with. If you want to go against it then that’s up to you. As for my family, we almost lost our lives. As it is things have changed for us in ways which we’ll never be able to put right thanks to Hope House. No amount of money could make us go back there. Now please, leave us alone.”

  She forced herself to stride past Marshall without flinching and climbed into her car. She was shaking but didn’t want him to see it. Marshall knocked on the window and waited as Melody rolled it a little way down.

  “If you change your mind, call me direct on this number,” he said, handing her a card.

  “I won’t. Just leave us alone.”

  “Well, just humor me. You might change your mind yet.”

  “Why don’t you just take no for an answer?” she hissed. Marshall smiled.

  “I’m sorry, I’m just used to getting my own way.”

  “Trust me, you need to chalk this one up as a loss.”

  “Perhaps,” Marshall said as he straightened. “Maybe you will realize my offer is in everyone’s best interests.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Not at all, I’m just suggesting that tomorrow could bring all new problems and circumstances which could change things. Maybe it’s a good idea to leave some bridges unburned.”

  He grinned again and looked past Melody, waving his hand.

  “Nice to meet you Isaac. Have fun making that rocket.”

  “How did you know about his school project?” Melody said, a stab of fear digging into her guts.

  Marshall didn’t reply. He instead nodded to the card still clutched in her hand.

  “Remember, call me if you change your mind.” He walked into the gloom, the sound of his shoes on concrete fading as he was lost amongst the parked cars.

  IV

  Dane Marshall saw his phone pulsing on the desk, and for a second considered not answering it. His brother’s name flashed on the display and despite ringing a dozen times, it seemed Henry had no intention of hanging up. Dane set down his half-eaten bowl of noodles and answered the call.

  “Henry, what can I do for you?”

  “You took your time answering didn’t you?”

  “I was eating. What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong, I just wanted to get a progress update on the investigation.”

  “I’m working on it. Details of what happened are spotty. It really needs to be authentic, which means sifting through all the shit to find the facts.”

  In his home office, Henry grimaced and leaned back in his imitation leather chair.

  “You still there, Henry?”

  “Yeah, I’m here,” Henry said, grabbing his notebook and pen from the desk and balancing it on his knee. “What have you got so far?”

  “Nothing apart from a couple of death certificates for some of the former residents and some sketchy info about the company who built the place. Nothing concrete though and nothing in detail.”

  “Okay here’s what I want you to do, I—”

  “Henry?” came the muted sound of his wife’s voice from downstairs.

  “Hold on a second, Dane,” Henry said, cupping his hand over the receiver.

  “I’m on the phone,” he yelled over his shoulder.

  “Dinner’s ready.”

  “I’ll be down in a second.”

  “Henry, don’t you dare let this go cold. I made meatloaf.”

  “I’m right in the middle of something. I’ll be there in a second.”

  He paused to see if his wife would continue, then lifted the phone back to his ear.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “Hilary I take it?” Dane replied.

  Henry could almost see the smug expression in his brother’s face as he said it, and for no sane reason, it made him angry.

  “Yes.”

  “Still wearing the trousers I see,” Dane said, chuckling down the line.

  “Not really, she didn’t realize I was on the phone. She was calling me for dinner,” Henry snapped.

  “I wasn’t saying anything about it, just take it easy. Jeez, you used to be able to take a joke back in the day. Life as a councilor has really put a stick up your ass.”

  Henry frowned and started to doodle on the notepad. Even if Dane didn’t say it, they both knew Henry’s marriage was a sham. A union of convenience. There was no love between him and Hilary, not as such. Just a means to an end. A man in his position had to be seen to have a stable family life. And as long as that was how the public perceived it, the absolute lack of any love or happiness in their relationship was merely a side effect, one of the many sacrifices he’d made to ensure he possessed all the tools to do his job. So what if they existed in the same space, like two cold strangers who barely knew how to interact with each other? As long as they put on a show of being happy in public, nothing else mattered. He supposed the arrangement suited them both perfectly well. She had a comfortable life without financial worry, and he in return, a trophy wife; someone who knew to link arms with him and smile when they were at their numerous public engagements, and who knew exactly the right things to say to colleagues and friends at said events. An act it most certainly was, one which they were both more than adept at performing. As for the physical aspect of their relationship, both went elsewhere for it, an unspoken, unwritten agreement by which they both lived. It was easier, and much more efficient than having to sneak around and make excuses.

  “Was there something you wanted, Henry? I’m trying to eat here.”

  He snapped his attention back to the present.

  “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

  “Well I hope it’s something good. I’ll be honest, without any concrete information on what happened to the people who have lived at the house over the years, I’m not sure how convincing the hoax investigation will be.”

  “I thought you were the best at this? You do it for a living for Christ’s sake.”

  “This is different. Usually the places we investigate have a detailed history for us to access and make our additions at least a little bit believable. Because the townsfolk there saw fit to hide everything which happened at Hope House, I’m struggling. It’s like working with a blank canvas. Sure enough I could make up stuff about poltergeists or fake activity easily enough. If it’s authenticity you want, I really need more information. This was all your idea, Henry, so if you have any bright ideas, I’m listening.”

  Henry glanced at the notepad on which he had been absently doodling, and frowned when he saw his handiwork. The yellow pad was covered in single word.

  Donovan.

  The sight of the name brought an image into Marshall’s head, seen in first person through someone else’s eyes. He was sitting in a parked car as snow was falling, and with gloved hands, he turned the pages of an old scrapbook stuffed with reports and hand-written notes on the history of Hope House. Marshall (or the person whose eyes he was seeing through) glanced into the rear view mirror, confirming Henry’s fears.

  He was Donovan. Somehow he was seeing things as Donovan had seen them the night he had murdered Will Jones. Henry knew that what he was experiencing was more than just his imagination. Even though he knew the book existed, there were details present in his vision which convinced him he was experiencing things as Donovan himself. He could feel the bite of the cold while waiting for the car heater to defrost the windscreen. He could taste the bitter aftertaste of alcohol in his throat. It was as real and vivid an experience as any of his own memories, and although he was able to experience it in minutely lavish detail, the entire thing lasted just seconds.

  “I might be able to help you.” he said as he continued to live through the eyes of a dead man.

  “Go on.”

  “Do you remember Will Jones?”

  “I only met him once or twice. Most of what I know comes from the
news reports when he was killed.”

  “Well, there was something which wasn’t reported which will be perfect for this.”

  “Go on.”

  “Jones had this book, a kind of written history of Hope House. It has everything. Names. Dates. Causes of death. If you want authenticity, this is the way to do it.”

  “How do I get my hands on this book?”

  “I have it, or at least, the town has it locked away in the archives. I can get it to you by tomorrow.”

  “Okay, that might just work. We need to do this properly or not at all. They key to it is subtlety and realism. We don’t want flickering lights and screams echoing through the hotel halls, just subtle stuff. Things which will make people question it enough to want to visit for themselves. I don’t need to remind you I’m risking a hell of a lot to do this. I’m putting my career on the line as well as my reputation. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “Relax, if I wasn’t completely confident, I wouldn’t be doing this.”

  “I trust you, it’s just I worry about this all going to shit. If word of this gets out, the two of us will be crucified in the press.”

  “Have I ever let you down before?” Henry said as he continued to doodle Donovan’s name.

  “No, but…”

  “Exactly. I’ll drop the book off for you tomorrow.”

  “Just call ahead first, I have a few things to do in the morning. I don’t want you wasting a trip.”

  “Got it.”

  “Anyway, you’d better go, or Hilary will be giving you hell for missing dinner.”

  Another flash of broiling, black anger bubbled inside.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” Henry replied, hanging up the phone. He sat for a moment, staring at the notepad page filled with Donovan’s name, set it down on the desk and went downstairs to eat dinner.

  CHAPTER 11

  Hope House was draped in shadow, only partially illuminated by the moonlight. Henry stared in awe at the house. It shouldn’t be there, and nor should he. He knew he was somewhere else – another time or place. He was an alien visitor in a different world. He blinked, and was instantly transported inside, impossibly looking out of the window at himself standing and staring. The trees moved as one, an ocean of leaves and creaking branches. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stood there, both inside and outside, looking at the same thing from simultaneous viewpoints, yet the longer he stood, the more the secret, hidden language of the branches had begun to reveal itself. The creaking of tired wood formed vowels, the incessant rustle of dry leaves constructing sentences and statements, ideas and suggestions. Henry didn’t shy away from these; instead he strained his ears, desperate to decipher those secret conversations. Time shifted again, and now Henry was upstairs in the circular bedroom, observing as a woman struggled alone with the pains of childbirth. She wasn’t alone anymore.