Alice Isn't Well (Death Herself Book 1) (12 page)

Chapter Eighteen

1941

Stopping at the end of yet another dark street, Hannah looked both ways before turning and waiting for Wendy to catch up.

“Well?”

Wendy stopped and stared at her for a moment. She was exhausted and her legs ached from all the walking, not to mention the sore skin under her many bandages. “Well what?”

“Well are we there yet?”

Wendy frowned. “Where?”

Sighing, Hannah put her hands on her hips. “The pilot, remember? You're leading me to the dead pilot. That's the whole point of this. We're not out for a late-night stroll.”

“I... No,” Wendy replied, “I'm not leading you to anyone. I don't know where he is. I was following you.”

“Nope,” Hannah continued, “you were walking behind, but you were steering the way with your thoughts. You might not even realize it, but you're tuned in to the world of the dead now, and specifically that pilot. That's why I need you, and I guarantee you, he's somewhere around here, so now you just have to zero in on him.”

“But he's
dead
,” Wendy pointed out, starting to feel a little frustrated. “They took his body away after the plane crashed.”

“And his soul is still wandering the streets,” Hannah replied. “Most people can't see him. Me, I'm lucky, I get to see the dead all the time. You, you've only just made that connection, and the pilot's probably the only one you can see right now. You can sense him, too, even if you don't realize it. I reckon he's most likely close by right now, probably within half a mile or so. That might seem like another coincidence given the size of the city, but it's not.” She paused. “Go on, focus, try to work out where he is. Just to within a few meters or so, we can do the rest on foot.”

“I don't know how to find him,” Wendy replied.

“Try.”

Sighing, Wendy looked around, but all she saw was darkness. She was certain that Hannah was wrong, but she had no idea how she could make her see that, so she figured she should just pretend to be listening for some hint of the pilot. After a moment, however, she realized she
could
sense a presence nearby. It seemed impossible at first, like something she was imagining, but after a few seconds it began to crawl through her soul and tug at her conscious mind. Turning, she looked over her shoulder, seeing nothing but a dark street stretching to the distance, but...

Somewhere nearby...

Something was being dragged along the ground.

“I'm going to assume,” Hannah said finally, “that your continued silence, coupled with that gormless look on your face, means you've actually twigged that I'm right.” Stepping toward her, she looked along the street. “Is he along there? Is he coming this way?”

“I don't -” Wendy began to say, before realizing that somehow, deep in her gut, she just
knew
that the dead pilot was in the shadows, heading toward them. She took a step back, filled with a sudden sense of fear, as if she could see a skeletal figure shuffling through the darkness. Waiting, she realized her heart was pounding in her chest, faster than she'd ever known before.

“Be brave,” Hannah whispered to her. “It's not just a case of you knowing where to find
him
, it's also a case of him coming to find
you
. Since you were the last person who saw him as he died, there's a kind of subconscious link between the two of you, and that's only going to get stronger as he trawls the streets. It's only natural, really. He's lost, so he's trying to find something familiar, which for better or worse happens to be you.” She took a step forward, peering into the darkness ahead. “He's not supposed to be here.”

“Then where
is
he supposed to be?” Wendy asked, fighting the urge to turn and run as she heard a shuffling sound getting closer the darkness.

“Well, that depends on whether he was a good boy, doesn't it?”

“But -”

“There!” Hannah shouted suddenly, pointing ahead as the faintest of shapes came into view. Slowly, a huge smile spread across her face. “Wow,” she whispered, taking another step forward as tears filled her eyes, “he's beautiful. He's really,
really
beautiful.”

As the dead pilot emerged from the darkness, Wendy didn't think he looked very beautiful at all. For one thing, there was nothing left of him but his bones, draped in the tattered remains of his RAF uniform, while he was dragging his torn and damaged parachute as he walked, trailing the silk canopy on a series of cords that were attached to his back. The effort seemed to be slowing him and causing him to hunch over as he struggled along, but he seemed determined not to stop. His skeletal face was looking down at the pavement, and he gave no indication that he knew he was being watched as he continued his slow, solitary trek the night.

“Have you ever seen anything like it?” Hannah asked, keeping her eyes fixed on the dead man as he edged closer. “He's stunning.”

Wendy stared in horror, still not quite able to believe that the sight was real.

“Remember what I told you,” Hannah added, reaching out and putting a hand on Wendy's chest, as if she was feeling for her pulse. “Be brave!”

“I'm trying,” Wendy whispered, as the dead man got to within a few feet of them.

“He's magnificent,” Hannah continued, nudging Wendy out of the way for a moment so that the pilot could shuffle past without interruption. “Sometimes I think I'm the luckiest creature in all of existence. The things I get to see...”

Slowly, the pilot stopped, and after a moment his lower jaw moved down a little as he let out a sigh. With a faint creaking sound, he turned his head until his hollow eyes were staring straight down at Wendy.

“Brave heart,” Hannah whispered. “He won't hurt you. He's more afraid of you than you are of him.”

“Like a spider?” Wendy asked.

“Nothing like a spider,” Hannah replied. “Spiders aren't scared of you, don't be silly, spiders are biding their time and spying on humanity until they can take over, but this gentleman...” She paused, before reaching out and putting a hand on the dead pilot's shoulder. “Hello, Squadron Leader Richard Cathcart,” she said with a smile. “Or would you prefer it if I called you Dickie? That's what they called you back in the mess hall, isn't it? Dickie Cathcart? I've done my research, I always like to know who I'm dealing with in this kind situation.”

The dead man turned to her, but he made no attempt to speak.

“You're a long way from home, Dickie,” Hannah continued. “Sorry about that. Your plane got tangled with a demon in the sky above London and that's why you crashed, and I think the demon's presence in the burning wreckage interrupted your journey to the other side. Still, that's what I'm here to fix. There's no going back to how things used to be, but that's okay, there's still somewhere for you to go if you keep moving forward. I've got a very strong feeling that, all things considered, you've been a good man. In fact, I'd go so far as to say that you were a hero.”

“Can he hear you?” Wendy asked, staring at the skull and mesmerized by the detail of its cracks and dents, and by the hair-width fractures running over the crown. She was scared, too, but the sight was too fascinating and she knew she couldn't possibly run.

“Of course he can hear me,” Hannah replied. “He could talk if he wanted, but I think he's tired. Very, very tired, and probably scared too.” Reaching into her pocket, she took out a hunting knife and used it to cut the cords connecting the dead man's shoulders to his parachute. “There. You won't need that where you're going. For you, Squadron Leader Cathcart, the war is over, but you saved a lot of people out there, and...” Pausing, she leaned closer to him, until her lips were almost touching the side of his skull. “I really shouldn't tell you this,” she whispered, “but your side's going to win. 1945. Sorted. You don't have to worry about the people you're leaving behind.”

“What did you say?” Wendy asked.

“Nothing,” Hannah replied hurriedly, stepping back and then standing straight, before offering a salute to the dead man. After a moment, she nudged Wendy. “Show some respect, kid.”

Cautiously, Wendy copied Hannah and gave a salute. She still didn't quite understand what was happening, but saluting a walking skeleton felt no more crazy than anything else at that moment.

The dead man stared at them both for a moment, before raising his right arm and saluting with a skeletal hand.

“Good luck, soldier,” Hannah continued. “Just one more step, and you're there.”

“Where?” Wendy whispered.

“Where do you think good people go when they die? Didn't you ever pay attention in school?”

“But -”

Before she could finish, Wendy saw that the dead man was taking another step forward, then another...

And then suddenly, he was gone. There was no flash of light, no fading away, no sudden burst of shadows. Instead, the ghostly figure just seemed to stop existing right in front of Wendy's eyes, and after a moment she actually reached out and waved her hands through the air to check that he was truly gone. Just as she was about to turn to Hannah and accuse her of playing a trick, she saw that the parachute was still in place, tattered and torn on the ground.

“Strictly speaking,” Hannah muttered, giving the parachute a gentle kick, “I should roll this up and get rid of it. People might get confused if they find it here in the morning, but...” She smiled. “Well, I like confusing people sometimes. Sod it, let them wonder, eh? They'll never guess, but if -”

She stopped suddenly, turning to look at the darkness all around and, after a moment, sniffing the air.

“Do you smell that?” she asked, turning to Wendy.

“Smell what?” Wendy replied, still too shell-shocked by the whole experience to really understand what was happening.

“It's like...” Hannah paused, before sighing. “He's not going to go peacefully, is he?”

“What do you mean?”

“Hang on, kid,” she continued. “I think our Squadron Leader might be trying to claw his way back from the grave. No wonder he slipped away from me before, he's not ready to go. Still, I didn't think he'd put up quite so much of a -”

Suddenly a burst of light flashed between them, as if the air itself was being ripped apart. Before she could react, Wendy felt a hand on her leg, and she looked down to see she was being held by a skeletal arm reaching out from a crack in the air. Panicking, she turned to run, but the arm pulled her back and she fell hard against the cobbles. When she turned to look, her eyes widened with horror as she saw the dead pilot trying to crawl out from the crack of light, his skeletal face screaming as the air all around sparked and roared. Crying out for help, Wendy tried to kick him away, only for him to grab her other leg and start pulling her closer, as if he was trying to climb up over her body and drag her through in the process.

“Help!” Wendy screamed, as the dead pilot pulled her closer. Twisting away, she looked back toward Hannah. “What are you doing? Help me!”

Sitting nearby, cross-legged on the pavement, Hannah was flicking through a small, tattered book, seemingly oblivious to everything else that was happening. Not helping, not doing anything. Just looking at the book.

“Help!” Wendy shouted, reaching toward her but not quite managing to grab her leg. All around her, the air was hissing as energy spat and crackled through the crack.

“Wait,” Hannah replied, turning to another page in the book. She sounded irritated rather than worried.

Feeling sharp, bony fingers digging through her dress and scratching into her flesh, Wendy looked back in horror and saw that the dead pilot was almost completely through the crack of light now. His skull was just a few inches from her face, staring at her with hollow eyes, but he was still pulling on her legs, as if he wanted to push her through.

“Help me!” Wendy screamed again.

“I am,” Hannah said calmly.

Still frantically trying to get free, Wendy turned to her. “You're reading a book!” she shouted, as the dead pilot let out a groan of pain.

“I made some notes earlier,” Hannah replied, turning to another page. “I just need to find them...” Her voice trailed off and she seemed lost in thought for a moment, before turning back to the previous page and muttering something under her breath. “My handwriting,” she added finally, “is goddamn atrocious.”

Turning back to the pilot, Wendy found his skeletal face almost pressed against her own. He tilted his head slightly, as if somehow, despite the lack of eyes, he could see her.

“Millicent!” Hannah shouted suddenly, tossing her book aside and dropping to her hands and knees. Crawling toward them, she grabbed the pilot's skull and forced him to turn and look at her. “Millicent,” she said again. “The name was on the tip of my tongue, but I couldn't quite remember. It's Millicent, isn't it? That's why you're not ready to pass on to the next life yet, you still love Millicent and -”

Before she could finish, the pilot let out a snarl, as if the name angered him.

“She's going to be okay,” Hannah continued. “She'll grieve, but she'll be okay. Don't be one of those sad souls who hand around mourning their old lives. Millicent is going to live a long and happy life, she'll have children with another man, and you'll see her again one day in the next world, where normal earthly concerns don't matter anymore.”