Enter the Dead: A Supernatural Thriller (14 page)

Sam winced at the relentless
pounding in his skull, the pain compounded by his confused state. He’d come to
the police station to confront the boy who’d put him in hospital and to force
the little shit to apologise to him in person, but an apology was now the last
thing on his mind. He needed to know more about the man on the bridge.

‘Stephen,’ he said, his
tone now deadly serious. ‘Look at me, Stephen. I need you to look at me.’

‘No,’ replied the boy,
shaking his head. ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t look at you. She told me not to…she warned
me I’d be in serious danger if I did.’

Sam felt the colour
drain from his cheeks. ‘She?’ he said, dreading the answer but needing to know.
‘Who’s
She
?’

Slowly, the boy raised
his head, his eyes as black as death. ‘The girl,’ he said, tears streaming down
his cheeks. ‘The girl in the white dress. She was on the bridge too. She told
me he
would get me if I looked at you.’

Their eyes met, and
Sam’s initial reaction was to projectile vomit onto the cell floor in front of
him, causing both Calloway and Smethwick to simultaneously cry out and jump
back in disgust. As he did so, he felt an intense release of pent-up pressure pouring
out of every orifice, making him moan out loud with unbridled relief. It was as
if somebody had drilled holes into his skull: the pain in his head that had
plagued him constantly during the previous two days flowed out of him, until eventually
his headache disappeared completely. He wanted to cry, such was the sense of
relief, but he didn’t have the energy. Instead, he flopped down onto the bench
like a deflated balloon and slumped against the wall, unable to move.

‘Mr. Railton!’ Calloway
shouted, hurrying across the room. ‘Mr Railton, are you alright? You look like
you’ve seen a ghost. Can I ge-’

‘Help me,’ whispered
the boy, interrupting the sergeant. ‘Somebody help me.’

All eyes went
immediately to the boy, who sat crumpled on the floor like a discarded ragdoll,
knees clutched to his chest and eyes rolling in their sockets like marbles in a
tin.

‘For Christ’s sake,
Calloway,’ Smethwick shouted, dropping to his knees beside the boy and placing a
hand on his brow. ‘Do something, will you? He’s having some kind of seizure. Call
an ambulance. Now!’

Smethwick had to repeat
himself before Calloway finally realised what was going on and reached for the
receiver attached to his belt. ‘This is Sergeant Calloway,’ he said, forcing
himself to focus on procedure. ‘We have a collapsed adolescent in
J2
in
need of urgent medical assistance. I repeat, we have a collapsed adolescent in
J2
in need of urgent medical assistance. Requesting an ambulance be sent to the
station. I repeat, we need an ambulance here immediately.’

Calloway turned to
check on Sam, who appeared to be returning to his senses. ‘Stay here,’ he said,
addressing both Smethwick and Sam, ‘I need to run for backup. Stay with the
boy. I’ll be as quick as I can.’

Smethwick was too
focused on the boy to reply. Sam nodded weakly and watched as Calloway bounded
from the cell, almost ripping the door from its reinforced hinges as he slammed
it into the wall on the way out. When he was gone, Sam struggled to his feet and
made his way tentatively across the floor to the boy, who by now was foaming at
the mouth like a rabid dog; his eyes having rolled completely back up into
their sockets, reminding Sam of the possessed girl from
The Exorcist
.

Eventually, after what
seemed like an eternity but was probably only three or four minutes, the wailing
cry of an ambulance siren could be heard approaching in the distance. Sam knelt
down and gently placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. There was no response.

‘What’s wrong with
him?’ he asked.

‘I don’t know,’
Smethwick replied. ‘I’m guessing it’s some kind of epileptic fit.’

‘Do you think he’ll be
okay?’

‘How the hell would I
know? I’m a lawyer not a doctor. At least he’s breathing. Anyway, what happened
to you back there?’

‘I don’t know. As soon
as he looked up at me I came over all strange. It felt like I was being turned
inside out. Perhaps it was the trauma of seeing him.’

‘Perhaps,’ replied
Smethwick, unconvinced. ‘You know, Stephen is convinced there was a man and a woman
up on that bridge with him. Are you absolutely sure you didn’t see anyone?’

‘A girl.’

‘Huh?’

‘He said he saw a girl,
not a woman.’

‘You saw her too,
didn’t you? You and Stephen weren’t
alone up there, were you?’

Sam looked away. ‘I
didn’t
see
anyone.’

‘But you
heard
someone,
didn’t you?’ Smethwick stared directly at him. ‘This is important, Mr Railton.
If there was somebody up else there, if there-’

‘There wasn’t, okay? You
saw the footage. I didn’t see anyone. I thought for a second that I may have
heard some voices, but obviously I was mistaken. It was probably the wind or
something. I appreciate you’re only doing your job, Mr Smethwick, but you’re
barking up the wrong tree.’

Smethwick sighed. ‘You ought
to get yourself back to hospital for a check-up, Mr. Railton. Just to be on the
safe side.’

‘I will,’ Sam lied, his
brain recalling what the Gilchrist boy had said:
The little girl in the
white dress.
She told me he would get me if I looked at you
. What on
earth was going on? What had Stephen Gilchrist seen on that bridge?

Maybe I do need a
check-up
, Sam thought, turning towards the sound of
ambulance personnel running down the corridor towards the cell.

One thing was certain:
hearing things was bad enough, but not nearly as bad as seeing them...

Charles
Holdsworth was the kind of man who drew attention to himself wherever he went.
Despite being three months shy of his sixtieth birthday, he had an aura that drew
people to him like moths to a flame. At six foot four and with a back as
straight as an iron rod, he had a powerful physical presence that was
impossible to ignore. He knew as much, of course, and revelled in his innate
ability to control people like pawns on a chessboard. Master of all he
surveyed, when Charles Holdsworth wanted something, or someone, he was seldom
disappointed; which probably explained why he’d steered Chapman’s Design Agency
to
Design Agency of the Year
for five out of nine of his years as its
Chief Executive Officer. Not bad going for a man born into squalor in London’s
East End; a man who’d had to fight for everything he’d ever earned. He may not
have had the easiest start in life, but he was certainly making up for it now.

And so, given Holdsworth’s
reputation, it was with a certain degree of trepidation that Tom Jackson found
himself knocking on his door at three-thirty that afternoon. Holdsworth had
requested they meet for an informal catch-up, but Jackson was nervous.
Informal
was not a word one associated with Charles Holdsworth.

‘Come in,’ said a deep
voice from behind the door. ‘Tom! How lovely to see you. Take a seat, why don’t
you.’

‘Good afternoon, Charles,’
Jackson replied.

‘How’s Jane?’ asked Holdsworth,
who was fully aware of Jackson’s penchant for any woman except his own. ‘Is she
well?’

‘Very.’

‘Glad to hear it.
Coffee?’

‘No thanks.’

‘Good,’ Holdsworth
said, signalling the end of the formalities. ‘In that case, let’s get down to
business.’ His eyes narrowed, and in an instant his demeanour changed from
convivial to business-like.

‘I’m guessing there’s something
you want to tell me…something you want me to do?’ Tom asked.

‘Well, I haven’t
invited you in here to talk about the weather.’

‘No, I-’

‘Forgive me for
interrupting, Tom, but I have to be on the other side of town in an hour so I’m
going to come straight to the point. I want to know what’s going on with Sam
Railton. Specifically, I want to know why you fired him without first
consulting the Board.’

Because his bitch of a
wife decided to call time on our affair. Because his bitch of a wife chose HIM
over ME!

‘Economics,’ Jackson
said, knowing full well that he needed to maintain his composure if he was to
convince Holdsworth that he’d done the right thing. ‘I felt it was in line with
the Board’s strategy of focusing on generating new business while
subcontracting some of the more creative functions. I thought that’s what was
agreed?’

‘It was, but that
doesn’t give you carte blanche to wield the axe on our best people. Sam Railton
is one of the best copywriters in the whole of London. For Christ’s sake man,
he practically won the Pilko account single-handedly.’

‘I wouldn’t go that
far. After all,
I
gave the presentation.’

‘You did, and by all
accounts you did a very good job, but Sam was responsible for the work behind
it.’

‘It wasn’t only Sam. He
was given a great deal of support from Gabrielle Williams, the intern. Actually,
I heard that she wrote most of the copy for the website. Sam only needed to make
a few minor changes before signing it off.’

‘Don’t bullshit me,
Tom. I’ve been in this game long enough to know it takes years to become a good
writer. What do you take me for?’

‘I know that, Charles.
But Gabby – Gabrielle – did play her part, and I honestly believe she has a
natural flair for writing. Not to mention she’s a heck of a lot cheaper than
Sam. It’s not like we’re snowed under with work at the moment.’

‘Chapman’s reputation
is built on quality,’ Holdsworth said, growing visibly irritated. ‘Quality, quality,
quality: if you get that right, the money will follow. We aren’t an agency that
specialises in delivering cut-price crap. God knows there are enough of those
out there. A company like ours depends entirely on the ability of its people, and
in your questionable wisdom, you’ve only gone and decided to get rid of one of
our best men. What possessed you to do such a thing without discussing it with me
first? What are you trying to do…run us into the ground?’

‘It’s not like that,
Charles. I-’

‘Don’t you realise
he’ll be snapped up by another agency as soon as they hear he’s on the market?
They’ll circle him like sharks, for Christ’s sake. He’s probably got something lined
up already.’

‘I’m sorry, Charles,
but personally I don’t think he’ll be too much of a loss to Chapman’s. I really
don’t.’

‘That’s right,’ replied
Holdsworth. ‘He won’t. He won’t, because we’re not going to lose him.’

Jackson sat bolt
upright in his chair.

‘I want you to get him
back,’ Holdsworth said. ‘Whatever it takes, I want Sam Railton back at his desk
come Monday morning. Is that clear?’

‘But…but Charles,’
Jackson said. ‘What if I can’t get him back? What if he doesn’t want to return,
or what if he’s already found another job? What if it’s too late?’

‘Let’s put it this
way,’ Holdsworth said. ‘The way I see it, we have a straightforward, black and
white situation on our hands. Either you persuade Sam Railton to come back to
Chapman’s, or you join him in looking for another job. I’ve got to be honest
with you, Tom: if I was running another agency out there and it came down to a straight
choice between hiring you or him, I bloody well know who I’d go for. Now,’ he
said, standing up to signal the end of the conversation, ‘if you don’t mind,
I’ve somewhere else to be. And if I’m not mistaken, you have an urgent deadline
to meet.’

Jackson rose shakily to
his feet and collected his notepad from the table. For a moment he considered
saying something, perhaps even trying to change Holdsworth’s mind, but he knew
that would be futile. Not that Holdsworth would have replied; he’d already
buttoned his overcoat and was striding purposefully towards the door. Instead,
all Jackson could manage was to half-heartedly follow after his boss, scared
that Holdsworth might decide to turn round and fire him anyway. He couldn’t
afford to lose his job; he had a wife, a house, a debt-driven lifestyle that
he’d grown accustomed to. The credit card bills were only getting bigger.
Having a string of mistresses didn’t come cheap, and for how long could he
expect them to hang around if he was no longer able to wine and dine them and
fund those sordid afternoon sex sessions in overpriced hotels?

He had no choice. He
had
to get Sam back or his life wouldn’t be worth living. In a simple twist of fate
– a perverted reversal of fortunes – he would have to go crawling cap in hand
to the man who’s life he had taken such pleasure in trying to destroy. He would
need every ounce of his skills as a salesman to turn this around. And if he
wasn’t able to? If Sam didn’t play ball? He couldn’t think like that. Couldn’t
allow any negative thoughts to enter his head. He had to convince Sam.

His life depended on
it.

‘Do
you think he’ll be alright?’

‘Yes, at least I think
so. He seemed to be improving slightly by the time the ambulance showed up.
Must have had some sort of fit or seizure.’

‘How do you feel?’

‘That’s the strange
thing; I feel great. As a matter of fact, I can’t remember the last time I felt
this well. It’s weird…my headache disappeared the second I saw the Gilchrist kid.
It’s as if someone suddenly flipped a switch in there.’

‘Maybe seeing him in
person helped relieve some of the pent-up stress inside you.’

‘Maybe. Either way, I’m
not about to start complaining.’

“We will shortly be
arriving at London King’s Cross. Please can passengers ensure they have all
their belongings with them before leaving the train. Have a good day, and thank
you for travelling with East Coast Mainline. We hope to see you again in the
near future.”

Sam looked across the
table at Sarah and smiled. Until the incident earlier that morning at the
police station, he’d been in too much pain to be able to fully focus his
attention on her. His brain was still struggling to process all that had
happened over the last few days, but one thing was certain: he wanted to try
and work things out with her. Finding a job and making ends meet would have to
wait; the key priority was saving his marriage. He realised that most men in
his position wouldn’t have given their wives a second chance, but he wasn’t
like other men, and furthermore, he was sufficiently self-aware to realise that
he hadn’t always been the perfect husband either. Okay, so he’d never been
unfaithful to Sarah. He wasn’t the unfaithful type, (if indeed there
was
a type), and he would never have dreamt of leaving her for someone else. But he
had his own issues, his own demons, and occasionally they had a habit of
driving him into his shell. And as Sarah and Max knew only too well, when Sam Railton
was in his shell, he was not a fun guy to be around. He could go for days on
end without engaging in any kind of meaningful conversation with either of
them. Whilst such episodes of introverted behaviour couldn’t in any way justify
his wife’s infidelity, he was acutely aware that he hadn’t always been the
perfect husband, and there’d been plenty of times when he hadn’t been there for
Sarah, or for Max.  If he held up a mirror to himself, he had to admit that at
least some of the problems in their marriage were down to him. What was it that
Reverend Jackson had taught him all those years ago at Sunday School?
He who
is without sin can cast the first stone
…well, perhaps there was some truth
to that.

‘Have you any idea when
Stephen Gilchrist will be in Court?’ asked Sarah, handing her empty coffee cup
to a passing service attendant.

‘No. To be honest, I
haven’t given it any thought.’

‘I wouldn’t have thought
they’d make him wait for too long. I mean, I imagine the authorities won’t want
all this hanging over him, what with school and everything. That’s if he even
goes to school.’

‘He seemed like a
bright enough kid to me,’ Sam said, standing to retrieve his bag from the
overhead luggage rack. ‘Besides, I’m not one hundred per cent sure I want to
press charges.’ He sat back down, waiting for the reaction from Sarah that he
knew would follow.

‘What do you mean? You
have to press charges. The boy put you in hospital, for heaven’s sake.’

‘I know, but it was a
first offence, and it was blindingly obvious that he was high on drink and
drugs. I’m not saying that excuses his behaviour, but…but he’s only a kid,
Sarah. You should have seen him in that cell, terrified and all alone like
that. I couldn’t help feeling just a little sorry for him. Fifteen years
old…Jesus Christ…that’s not much older than Max. Surely everyone deserves a
second chance, don’t you think?’

‘No, I do
not
think,’ replied Sarah. ‘Tell me you aren’t being serious, Sam.’

‘I am, as it happens.’

‘But he needs to learn
a lesson for what he did to you! Why do you always have to be so bloody soft
and understanding?’

Somewhat
uncharacteristically for a man who rarely lost his temper, Sam felt his blood
boil at this last comment. It took every ounce of resolve to refrain from
telling her that the chances of their marriage surviving rested almost entirely
on his ability to remain
so bloody soft and understanding.
Instead, he
shook his head and said: ‘Look…I don’t want to talk about this anymore, okay?
I’ve been through enough these past few days without having to battle it out
with you. Anyway, it doesn’t matter what I decide to do.’

‘Of course it matters,’
she replied, angry for allowing herself to lose her temper in front of a carriage
full of strangers. ‘You’re the victim in all this.’

‘I know, but whatever I
decide to do is unlikely to have any impact on the case. They have it all on
camera, remember? He’s committed a criminal offence,  so it’s out of my hands. But
perhaps what I
can
do is influence the severity of his sentence by
issuing a supporting statement.’

‘Why would you do that?
Why would you want to help him?’

Sam sighed, tired of
the conversation. All he wanted was to go home, see Max, have a bath and go to
bed. After everything he’d gone through: the affair, being beaten to within an
inch of his life, the hallucinations –
especially
the hallucinations –
surely he could be forgiven for wanting his life to regain at least some sense
of normality. Granted, it would take time for the wounds – physical
and
emotional – to heal, but going over the same old ground again and again wouldn’t
benefit anyone.

Choosing his words
carefully, he said: ‘I don’t want to help him, Sarah; the damage has already
been done. However, nor do I want to twist the knife. I’ve seen things these
past few days that I’m struggling to get my head around. And if I don’t start
and try to put all this behind me, then I’m genuinely worried that I might end
up losing my mind.’

‘What things?’ asked
Sarah. ‘Sam, what things have you seen?’

Sam stared out of the
window as the train pulled into King’s Cross Station, relieved that the journey
was coming to an end. He turned to Sarah and said the first thing that came to
mind.

‘Believe me, darling,
you don’t want to know.’