The Case of the Haunted Cot, Page 2

  ‘Science doesn’t explain everything,’ Miller said, ignoring his own advice.

  ‘Science is everything. It’s an effective way of looking at how the world works. One person’s limited knowledge and interpretation of science can’t explain everything. Don’t confuse your ignorance for science’s.’

  As Miller formulated his reply, he heard the host approaching from behind.

  ***

  ***

  Sophie Fullwood sat on the sofa, in the dark, the TV lighting up her face as she stared at it with cold contemplation. She’d only been half watching the programme, hoping for some mention of spirits talking through radios or other electronic devices. There were a couple of things that piqued her interest, but they never went anywhere. Sophie had all but given up when she glanced up and noticed the man being interviewed.

  Joseph Miller.

  She’d heard the name several times throughout the interview, but she had not recognised it. When she finally paid full attention to the screen, however, she realised she knew the face. It had been a month, maybe two, since she last went to church, but Sophie was certain she’d seen him there. She’d never spoken to him, barely even noticed him, but Sophie was sure that was him, having paid attention to him only because he was young and attractive, certainly more physically masculine than just about anyone else at the church.

  She leaned forward, closer to the TV. Behind her, Sophie could hear her husband shuffling about. She almost asked him if he recognised Miller too, but decided against it. If he realised what she was thinking, he would try and talk her out of it. Better to keep some peace while she could.

  But it couldn’t be a coincidence that he was on TV, on a channel she happened to be watching. It was a sign, and it was clearer than any other she’d ever experienced.

  ***

  ***

  Keith Fullwood had also been watching the show in bits and pieces, but more in the hope of hearing a different explanation than a supernatural one. Something that could put them at ease. He had noticed the attention Sophie suddenly started paying the man being interviewed, but he had no idea why he was more interesting than any of the others. There was something vaguely familiar about him, but Keith couldn’t place him any more than that.

  Five minutes later, Keith’s own attention was caught by somebody else. A man that seemed to understand all about the paranormal, but didn’t blindly believe it. A man that specialised in disproving paranormal phenomena. A man that might be able to provide some answers beyond those that filled Keith with terror.

  On the TV, the host had now come between the two men, a forced smile on her face.

  ‘As you can see, things are really heating up here,’ the host said. ‘So stay with us and tell us all about your own experiences — ’

  My own experiences?

  He wouldn’t tell her about his experiences; he didn’t want to tell anybody about them. Unless it was somebody that might be able to help. Somebody that could provide answers. Somebody that could provide closure.

  Chapter Three

  Price charged down the hallway, the skinny, short, flustered secretary chasing after him.

  ‘I’m not afraid to call security,’ she called, putting on her best stern voice.

  ‘Good … I’d be worried about your job if you were afraid to make a phone call.’

  Price wasn’t sure what the theory here was. She’d already told him every excuse possible, and he’d ignored them. Did she really think some weak threat was going to make a difference?

  Bursting into the office like a whale coming up for air, Price was a little disappointed to see Diane not look in the least bit surprised.

  ‘I’m in the middle of a meeting.’

  Looking down at the diminutive man sitting in the chair opposite Diane, Price immediately started to list in his mind the best ways to get him out. He was overweight, sweaty, with thick glasses, and wouldn’t meet Price’s eyes. Did he write fantasy? Oh please let him write fantasy. Nothing amused Price quite as much as a ridiculous stereotype.

  ‘I’m sorry, Diane,’ said the secretary, almost stumbling into the back of Price as she threw herself into the room. ‘I told him he couldn’t see you. I’ll call security now.’

  ‘You still haven’t? How long ago did you threaten that?’

  The secretary refused to acknowledge Price at this point. If Price didn’t have more pressing matters to attend to, he might have had a great deal of fun winding this woman up.

  ‘It’s fine,’ said Diane, ‘I was expecting him.’

  ‘But …’ the secretary was utterly confused, staring between the three other people in the room, although her gaze didn’t remain on Price long. ‘He wasn’t booked in.’

  ‘You ever heard the expression “hope for peace, prepare for war”?’

  The secretary nodded slowly. Price assumed that meant she hadn’t understood the relevance, but she still left.

  ‘So, a voice-mail?’ Price asked. ‘Seriously?’

  ‘You didn’t answer your phone. If you had, it would have been a phone call.’

  ‘And now you’re seeing other people already,’ Price said, vaguely moving his hands in the direction of the stereotype.

  ‘Well I wouldn’t make much money with just you as a client, would I?’

  Price put a hand to his heart in an over-the-top hurt gesture.

  ‘Please tell me he at least doesn’t write about elves and dwarfs,’ Price said.

  ‘Actually,’ said the stereotype, his voice even more nasal than Price expected, ‘I’ve given my work a fresh –’

  ‘Yes yes, I’m sure your Tolkien rip-off is very original,’ said Price, not looking at the man.

  ‘Would you please excuse us?’ Diane asked him.

  Sheepishly, the stereotype stood up and shuffled out of the room, closing the door after him.

  ‘He seems nice and … virginal,’ Price said.

  ‘He is nice. And married, actually.’

  Diane glared at him.

  ‘To an electrical appliance? Seriously, though, you’re dropping me because of one TV show?’

  ‘It’s not just the TV show, Trent. That was just the last straw. It’s your entire attitude. In this day and age, people aren’t just buying books, they’re buying people, they’re buying into personalities.’

  ‘Wait, people? You’re a slaver now?’

  ‘I just can’t sell you anymore, I’m sorry. You’re too offensive in your approach. No, it’s not offence. I could sell offensive. You’re just a dick.’

  ‘Some people like that!’ Price said, his voice raised. ‘Isn’t any publicity good publicity?’

  ‘In an ideal world, yes. But your book sales were never great, and now they’re basically non-existent. You want my advice? Start checking McDonalds for jobs.’

  ‘Can’t do that,’ Price said, sitting down where the stereotype had been. ‘The grease would ruin my complexion.’

  ‘Your complexion is the least of your worries. Even the atheists think you’re an arse and as bad as any evangelist.’

  Diane looked at her chair briefly, but didn’t sit down. She wouldn’t want to keep this going any longer than necessary. She wanted to remind Price that he was using up her time. Possibly in a bid to appear nonchalant, Diane turned her back to Price and stared out the window. Ostensibly to teach her a lesson on turning her back to him, Price leaned forward and stole a pen from Diane’s desk.

  ‘Except for the part where I’m right,’ Price said. ‘And I looked online — there are people that admire me for what I was saying.’

  ‘Yeah? And how long did you spend searching for them?’

  Price shrugged. Diane turned around to face him again, but she appeared no happier than before.

  ‘A few hours, admittedly. But that was mainly because I got side-tracked by all the Japanese porn — those girls will do anything.’

  Price noticed the smile Diane repressed. So there was still a part of her that liked him; numerous studies showed th
e more somebody liked you, the easier it was to make that person laugh. Not that knowing that helped; it just meant her decision was purely business, making it even harder to argue against. She wasn’t making enough money off of him, and he had no immediate way of making either of them millionaires.

  ‘Price, what do you want from me?’ she asked, leaning onto her desk and giving her best I-deeply-care-about-you look.

  ‘I want your services.’

  ‘Look, your personality is saleable, in principal, it’s one of the reasons I thought I could sell you to begin with.’

  ‘There you go with the slave stuff again. This is beginning to worry me.’

  ‘But you need to tone it down,’ she continued. ‘Just the more angry, offensive side. Keep the wit, even keep the opinionated mouth to some degree. Just, for the love of God, stop being such an arsehole.’

  ‘I’m just misunderstood.’

  Diane sighed to herself.

  ‘I’m not great with negotiating,’ Price said. ‘And how many other agents will take me on? I need you.’

  Price didn’t expect her to change her mind and take him back. But he did expect her to offer some kind of help, and he intended to at least consider it. After all, he probably would have gotten a crappy normal job by now if it hadn’t been for her.

  ‘You want my advice, Price?’

  ‘I’ve always trusted it.’

  ‘No you haven’t,’ she said.

  ‘I’ve always acknowledged it.’

  ‘You’ve pissed a lot of people off, Price. That’s a large fan base that well and truly hates you. But at least they’re aware of you. If you can give those people a reason to read you, if you can find a way to turn that to your advantage, then you might have a chance.’

  ***

  ***

  Miller approached the church with almost as much trepidation as the first time. The Church of St. Albert was dear to Miller, and so was Father Lenn, the man that had introduced Miller to it. The man that had brought God into his life on a more permanent basis. The man that was standing outside the church now, waiting for Miller, his thick grey hair visible from a distance.

  He didn’t wave as Miller approached, nor did he move to meet him. He just stood there, trusting Miller would go to him. While it was always good to see Father Lenn, Miller found it difficult to look him in the eye today. The church door was at the top of a tiny flight of stairs. And while it was only six steps up, it was enough to make Father Lenn loom over Miller, and for Miller to feel like he was awaiting judgement.

  ‘That was a very interesting show the other night,’ said Father Lenn, his smile unfaltering.

  ‘I’m sorry, Father. I let my passions get the better of me. They’ll call me an evangelist.’

  Father Lenn shrugged. Miller envied his ability to brush off past mistakes so easily.

  ‘For the most part you were reasonable, articulate and intelligent. Besides, they call all passionate religious men evangelical.’

  Miller smiled, relieved. He climbed what few steps there were and embraced Father Lenn. How could he have ever worried that this man would do anything other than offer his full support?

  ‘That being said,’ Father Lenn continued, ‘you did lose your way somewhat when Trenton Price entered into it.’

  Father Lenn’s voice changed drastically when he mentioned Price’s name, becoming more guttural, as if he had many reasons to dislike Price. And Miller knew Father Lenn well enough to know he wouldn’t judge anybody on one brief conversation from a TV programme.

  ‘You know Price?’

  ‘I know of him. Met him a few years ago. A man it is useless to argue with; he listens to nobody’s advice but his own.’

  ‘Shouldn’t that make it all the more important that we reach out to him?’

  Father Lenn grinned at Miller, but it was without humour. If anybody knew the importance of reaching out to the seemingly hopeless, it was Father Lenn. Had Price done something to upset Father Lenn personally?

  ‘I noticed you avoided talking about your own life and experiences,’ Father Lenn said.

  While Miller was intrigued by Father Lenn avoiding talking about Price, he respected the man enough to accept it.

  ‘I’m still not quite ready for that.’

  ‘You have nothing to be ashamed of, Joseph. Only he that embraces his mistakes can learn from them.’

  Miller had to look away from Father Lenn at that point. He stared up at the sky, hoping to find something distracting. A meteor shower perhaps, or even an amusingly shaped cloud would do. He needn’t have worried; Father Lenn respected Miller’s boundaries as Miller respected his.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Miller noticed a change come over Father Lenn, his friendly smile faded and his expression changed to one of melancholy.

  ‘Father, is something wrong?’

  Father Lenn stumbled on the words; whatever it was, it was difficult to speak of. He appeared to be debating whether or not to tell Miller at all. Miller grew as curious as he did concerned.

  ‘I have somebody that wants to speak to you.’

  ‘Me? Why? Is it somebody I know?’

  ‘She saw you on TV, recognised you from church.’

  ‘Oh …’ said Miller, although he understood no more.

  Again, Father Lenn appeared to be deep in thought as to how best to proceed.

  ‘She’s been having … she believes her flat is haunted.’

  ‘OK,’ Miller said. ‘Not sure how much I can do. Surely you’d be more use there. Give the place a quick exorcism.’

  Father Lenn let loose a brief, weak laugh, which Miller felt was more for his benefit. Whatever this was about, it was the kind of thing Miller shouldn’t be flippant about.

  ‘Funnily enough, I haven’t carried out many exorcisms. And I don’t know anybody that has. And even so, she doesn’t want to get rid of her spirit. She wants to communicate with it.’

  Miller was confused for a few seconds, but it didn’t take long before an answer presented itself.

  ‘A loved one?’ he asked. ‘A parent?’

  Father Lenn shook his head in a way that suggested Miller never would have been able to guess it.

  ‘Her daughter,’ he said. ‘Her three week-old daughter.’

  Chapter Four

  Price lay on his living room sofa reading when the doorbell went. He stared across the flat to the front door. Price tried to think of anybody that might be, but he came up empty. That almost certainly meant it was somebody annoying. Price took in a deep breath and spent all of two seconds deciding whether he should open the door. He fell on the side of no; after all, he was already lying down, and really enjoying this book.

  Whoever was on the other side of the door, however, appeared to have other plans. Plans that included Price. Not content that the doorbell went unanswered, they’d decided to try their luck thumping on the door itself. Price was curious about the next stage if he still failed to answer.

  Thump thump thump, at first. But, after another minute of Price ignoring it, it became crash crash crash.

  Price was now at the point where if he didn’t answer it, there was a very good chance he would be cleaning up bits of splintered wood. As he stood up, Price wondered less who was at the door, and more about what they might do to him. The impatient thundering meant they were desperate to speak to him, and the only people that were ever desperate to speak to Price were usually not interested in thanking him.

  Opening the door, Price called into the hallway: ‘Can you not take a hint?’

  He was greeted by a man whose deep sadness Price noticed instantly. This was mainly down to how heavy his face seemed, and how gaunt and hopeless its features were. Price had no idea who this was, but the fact that Price wasn’t lying on his back with a bleeding nose was a good start to their relationship.

  ‘Hey,’ the man said, ‘you’re Trenton Price, right? The atheist, debunker, science guy?’

  ‘… Yeah.’

  ‘Thank God.’<
br />
  ‘I’m going to remain quiet for a moment and let the irony of that sink in.’

  The man was clearly uncomfortable, repeatedly turning around to check down the hallway, like a spy in enemy territory. Again Price worried this man intended to do him harm, as everything about him told Price I’m scared of being caught here.

  Price wondered who had given this man his address, but it wasn’t immediately important so he put the question to one side for now.

  ‘I need your help,’ said the man, taking Price completely by surprise. ‘My marriage is in trouble.’

  ‘I don’t think you understand what I do,’ Price said. ‘Have you even read any of my work?’

  Has anybody? Thought Price, feeling almost as sorry for himself as he did the rest of humanity.

  With a wave of his hand, the man asked permission to enter Price’s flat. Still no less confused than when he answered the door, and feeling no less threatened — he’d offended a lot of people in his time, after all — Price could see no reason to let him in.

  ‘I, I can pay you for your time,’ the man said.

  Price fully opened the door and waved him in.

  ***

  ***

  ‘When it started, it felt like I was being watched all of the time.’

  Miller studied Sophie Fullwood as she spoke. They sat in the pews near the front of the church; at least, Miller and Sophie did, with a couple of feet gap between them. Father Lenn stood in the aisle, trying to distance himself from the conversation, but still watching over it. Miller appreciated it must have been hard for him.

  ‘And how soon after …’ Miller started, then thought better of it. ‘When did it start?’

  ‘Less than a week after she died. I just felt — knew — something was in the flat with me.’

  ‘May I ask how she died?’

  From their introduction until that moment, Sophie Fullwood had been staring at either the floor or the back of the pew in front of them. Now she looked up at him. Miller didn’t know what she’d hoped to see in him, and he had no idea what she might see written in his face, but for a brief moment he became convinced that she wouldn’t trust him with any of her secrets and this would be the end of his involvement.

  ‘SIDS. Sudden Infant Death Syndrome,’ she said, turning back to the floor. ‘Which seems to be another way of saying “just one of those things.”’