Echoes (Whisper Trilogy Book 2) (22 page)

In the lobby by the front desk stood six men in their elaborate Gogoku outfits. They were drinking coffee from Styrofoam cups and reading scripts from clipboards.

“How are the rehearsals coming along?” Dane asked, approaching the group.

“Not bad apart from us freezing our balls off. Who came up with this stuff?” one of the actors said, giving a disgusted glance towards the script in his hand.

“It’s all part of the show, just go with it.”

“Do we really have to dress like this?”

Dane looked at the outfit, faux animal skin shoulder pads, leather-look tattered loin cloth a la Tarzan, cheap costume jewels. The guy had a point.

“You’ll barely see the details when we shoot this live, as it’ll be after dark.”

“Nobody actually dresses like this though, you know that don’t you?”

“We took an educated guess on the clothing. Relax, everything will be fine.”

“Would a few more layers have hurt? It’s November in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“Come on, Howard, you’re a tough guy, I’m sure you’ll be fine. Besides if you think this is cold, wait until later when you’re out there for real.”

“I’m starting to wonder if I should have turned this job down.”

“Who else would have paid you so well for just a day’s work?” Dane said with a grin. “Come on, think about it. This will look great on your IMDb profile. This show is going to go down in history.”

“If you say so. Either way, we’re ready now.”

“Okay, get some clothes on then head out to the location. There’s a crew already out there setting up the lighting. Make sure they go through positioning with you. I don’t want this to be in the face when we see you, it needs to be subtle, I want the viewer to barely be able to see you between the trees.”

“Whatever you say, Dane. Just remind me to say no next time you have one of your bright ideas. Is there somewhere we can change?”

Dane handed the men two keys. “First floor, rooms 2A and 2B.”

“Thanks,” the man said before leading the group up the stairs.

Dane checked his clipboard while he walked through to the kitchen, reminding the chef to make sure hot soup and coffee were in good supply for those working outdoors later, then from there pushed through into the dining room. An L-shaped table stood in the center of the room, and was covered with all manner of camera equipment. Dane shook his head as he moved them off the table and onto the floor, making a mental note to remind the crew how expensive the equipment was and that it shouldn’t be left lying around. He sensed movement behind him, and went into full dressing down mode.

“You guys need to be careful not to leave this stuff lying around, if you—”

He turned around and stopped mid-sentence.

“Sorry, I thought you were one of the crew,” he muttered, looking at the Gogoku man standing by the dining room doors. “The rest of the guys have gone upstairs to change, rooms 2A and 2B. You might want to catch up.”

The Gogoku man merely stared, glaring at Dane hard enough to make him uncomfortable.

“The makeup looks great,” Dane said, “I wasn’t sure what they were going to go with but they did an incredible job.”

“What did you say?” said the chef as he poked his head around the kitchen door.

“Nothing,” Dane said, turning towards him.

“Who were you talking to?” the chef asked, frowning at him.

“I was just—”

Dane stopped mid-sentence as he turned back towards the Gogoku man, or rather where the Gogoku man had been, as there was now no sign of him. The room was empty. Dane hurried to the double doors leading to the lobby and pushed them open, looking out at the empty hall. He turned back to the chef.

“Did you see where the other guy went?”

“What guy?”

“The one in the tribal outfit. The one who was here a second ago?”

“I didn’t see anyone else buddy. Just you.”

Dane nodded and looked around the room, trying to find a rational explanation.

“Heh, maybe this place really is haunted. Wouldn’t that be a turn up for the books?” the chef said as he ducked back into the kitchen and left Dane alone.

“Yes, wouldn’t it just.” He muttered to himself, grabbing his clipboard from the desk and going back to completing his checks.

II

Henry was standing in the circle.

He was supposed to have been checking ease of access for the lighting crews later that day. Instead he’d been standing there motionless for the last forty minutes, a slick line of drool hanging from his chin. He was basking in the absolute dead silence, and almost felt as if he were part of the circle, as if somehow his very being was fused with the ground, making it one single entity.

The sound of approaching footsteps snapped him out of the beautiful tranquility, an act which filled him with an irrational rage.

“We’ve been looking for you,” Rollins said, striding into the circle, Celia and Dennis in tow.

Henry wiped the drool from his chin and focused on them, wondering why his fellow council members were tramping through the mud in their best business attire.

“I’m busy, you better make this quick.”

Rollins strutted over to Henry, and handed him a brown envelope. “We’re shutting you down. All of us are in agreement.”

Henry took the envelope and looked at the document inside.

“You can’t do this.”

“It’s already done. You can forget all about opening this monstrosity. I only wish we’d been able to push this through before you finished construction.”

Henry looked past Rollins, who was obviously acting as the mouthpiece for the group to Celia and Dennis behind.

“What grounds for the closure?”

“We have information leading us to believe you not only dealt in underhanded business practices, you also dealt in covering up the initial investigation of the Hope House fire. For starters, I think that’s more than enough.”

“And how did you come by this information?”

“It doesn’t concern you. All you need to know is it’s there.”

Goodson.

“I see,” Henry said, allowing the rage to flow through him at the betrayal by his sniveling employee. “And you’re all in agreement?”

“Yes we are,” Rollins said, basking in the power.

“Are you sure you don’t want to change your mind? Especially taking our recent conversation into account.”

“Don’t even bother,” Rollins said. “I came clean. They know what happened. For too long we’ve sat back and let you manipulate this council into doing whatever you want to do. Well it’s going to stop, and this is the first step.”

“Don’t make any rash decisions. Think very carefully about this course of action.” Henry said, his voice a near whisper.

“Save the intimidation, it won’t work anymore. The three of us are united,” Rollins said with a cocky grin. “It was only a matter of time before your arrogance became your undoing. I’ve been waiting for this moment for a long, long time.”

“A fool and the fool who follows him,” Henry muttered.

“There’s nothing you alone can do to stop this from happening. It’s over, Henry. In this business, it’s all about survival of the fittest. You might see yourself as the wily old lion looking after its pride, and that’s fine. The rest of us don’t want to live under your rule anymore. Furthermore, we intend to open up a full investigation into your previous business dealings. I expect we might yet find a few skeletons you wished had remained buried. It’s better for you if you just face up to this. Even as powerful as you are alone, you can’t hope to go against our united front on this.”

“Let me ask you a question, Edgar.”

“Go on.”

Marshall flashed a sick, sadistic grin at Rollins and took a step towards him.

“Whatever in the world made you think I was alone?” he said, flicking a quick glance to the trees. “There’s a philosophy I tend to live by which I find appropriate here. It’s a simple idea, yet one which is very effective.”

He grinned, and in that one instant he’d perfected the Donovan smile.

“No loose ends,” he whispered as he strode towards them.

III

At fifty three years of age, Felix Hassender had given up on the idea of ever getting another job. The town he’d lived in his entire life had gone from a self-contained thriving community to a noisy, modern mini city. It was incredibly sad to have seen those old businesses close, and he’d known it was only ever going to be a matter of time until they shut down Randell’s toy factory where, up until the previous summer, he’d worked as caretaker for nigh on seventeen years. He’d been devastated to see the old place close down but, even though it was still there, a hollow shell on the outskirts of town losing the fight against the elements on an almost daily basis, everything that had made it good had gone.

Following the layoffs, he’d expected to struggle along on welfare until his retirement. With an arthritic knee and eyesight which was nowhere near as sharp as it had once been, he harbored no expectations of trying to compete against the younger generation for what few jobs there were, those who’d been brought up to be able to use computers and all the other smart shit kids seemed to be into. Not Felix. He did his arithmetic with pen and paper, and if he wanted to make a call he used the home phone with the old rotary dialer on the front.

The skinny African American paused and adjusted his flat cap, pushing wispy tendrils of white hair back into place behind his ears.

Even so, as grateful as he was for getting the caretaking job at the hotel, he didn’t at all like having to deal with the dead things. He picked up the bag, which was already half-filled with dead birds. He could see another just ahead, wings out at its side, beak slightly ajar. It was awful to see. Felix had always liked nature, and hated the way man seemed determined to screw the planet up beyond repair.

He grabbed the bird gently with his litter pickers and dropped it into the bag. Not for the first time, he wondered what was causing them to die. It was as if anything which came within twenty feet of the hotel just dropped dead. So far that morning alone, he collected not only the bag of birds, but also a couple of rabbits and a fox, all lying dead when he found them, eyes open and stiff as a board.

The wind caught the trees and he paused, staring out into the spaces between them. Something about this place gave him the creeps. He supposed it was just the history, the stories about its past playing on his mind. Combined with the dead animals, it was no wonder he was a little jumpy. He dropped the bag and litter pickers, and headed towards the footbridge leading across the river. Part of his mind screamed at him that he had no business there, yet there was another voice alongside his inner monologue, this one telling him to come closer, to fix the problem across the bridge.

Invasive, probing tendrils of cold grasped his limbs, forcing him on.

There is nothing to fear. We need you to help us. We have a problem that needs to be fixed.

Felix gritted his teeth, doing his best to fight against whatever it was compelling him to abandon his duties. He felt totally helpless and completely unable to control his actions. The nearest memory he could liken it to was his countless failed attempts to stop smoking, every time having the best of intentions, yet knowing it was only a matter of time until that particular demon possessed him again, and whatever kind of mental strength he’d convinced himself would help him stop would soon break.

The trees moved, and Felix walked on.

Bring the tools. Fix the problem.

His hand went to his tattered tool-belt and brushed across the head of the lump hammer which hung at his side.

The trees groaned. They were pleased.

Leaving the hotel grounds behind, Felix crossed the bridge and entered the maw of the forest, making towards the source of the voices invading his mind.

CHAPTER 15

For most of the long drive to Oakwell, it almost felt like the days before the fire; fragments of memories lost in an ocean of terror. Melody was driving, Steve in the passenger seat. Although he could still drive, the way his fingers had fused together due to the burns made changing gears difficult, plus sitting too long in control of the car made him uncomfortable. Neither of them made a fuss of it. She simply assumed the role of designated driver. Passing mile after mile of rolling road while moving away from the city and into the lush greens of the rural areas, she had expected it to be difficult, which made her surprise even more pleasant at how well they were getting on.

She half-suspected actually getting Steve out of the house played a big part in it. Ever since the fire and the numerous operations, he’d been a ghost, wandering around the apartment refusing to go outside, racked with depression and severe confidence issues brought on by his physical appearance. For a while, she had tried to talk to him about it, yet every attempt to converse either ended in argument or a frustrating lack of resolution. As with a lot of things in their life, they went down the easy route and ignored the problem.

She glanced at him, baseball hat pulled low over his eyes, hiding the worst of the burns on his face and skull. He was looking out of the window, watching fields of lush farmland roll past the car. He wasn’t quite smiling – his face bore the same neutral stare it always did – and yet she half-imagined there was a sparkle in his eye, a childlike wonder at seeing the outside world for the first time in recent memory.