Haunt Dead Wrong (17 page)

The Major was moving now, his hand hitting the box from below and launching the packet of playing cards into the air. The sudden, violent action took us by surprise, Dougie almost dropping the
box (and his guts) with fright. The cards erupted from the tattered cardboard, exploding into the room and showering us like confetti. We looked about, watching them flutter to the floor like
sycamore pods flying on the breeze. The empty playing card box landed on the bed beside Ruby. The Major reached forward and flicked its base with a forefinger. Out rolled the ring.

As teenage boys, Dougie and I had never been one for showing our emotions. First rule of the jungle: when faced with acts of great, heart-breaking love, keep it zipped. There were certain films
we knew to stay away from, certainly when in the company of mates.
The Shawshank Redemption
is a fine example, a great buddy-buddy film which will have grown men weeping at the end when
these two former prison inmates are reunited. Don’t even go there with
Toy Story 3 –
that was a cartoon and it had me reaching for the hankies. Best to claim there’s
something in your eye if you’re ever moved to tears. Never let your pals know you’re in any way empathic or have an ounce of humanity in your cold teenage heart. Never.

That said, Dougie and I now wept freely. I’m not kidding; we were a pair of babies who’d just had their teddies swiped. The ring may have appeared old and tarnished, the gold
discoloured having been tucked in the bottom of a playing card box for decades, but the diamond set within it still sparkled like a star. The Major had manoeuvred around the bed and was now knelt
beside it, his blue glow reflected in the gem, his face in line with Ruby’s, his heartfelt words flowing fast as a waterfall.

‘I’m here, my darling. I’ve always been here. I never left. How could I leave without saying goodbye? I swore to you that once the war was through with us, that’d be our
time. When all that craziness was over, and all the dying was done, you and I would get to know one another. Turned out, all the dying wasn’t done after all; I had my part to play. But I
never
stopped loving you, Ruby. In all those years, alone here with my thoughts, with other folk passing through, I never stopped thinking about you. They all went on, loved ones waiting for
them in the light, but I was going nowhere without you.’

Could she hear what he was saying? I wondered. She was looking at the ring on the bed, this ring that had somehow jumped to life, out of the packet of cards, which had previously leapt from the
box. I could certainly see her smiling, could see tears trickling down her wrinkled cheeks.

‘Last time we spoke you called me a heel ’cause I winked at a waitress. I was keepin’ you on your toes, tryin’ to get a rise out of you, and it worked. You didn’t
know I planned to propose to you, did you? That this ring, my mother’s ring, was destined for your finger that coming weekend? It was all just me playin’ games, messing with you like a
darn fool. I’d never have winked if I’d known that was my last deed on this earth. Heck, I’m too charming for my own good sometimes.’

He glanced up and winked at Dougie and I. My pal was sniffing back the tears, unable to make eye contact. He wasn’t alone.

‘A heel, you called me! Well I’ll be damned if those are the last words you ever got to say to me. We’ve more talkin’ to do, my love, and when you’re ready to chat,
chinwag, bump your gums, or whatever dumb thing it is you Brits do, know this: I’ll be waiting for you. I’ll be here. By your side.’

Bony fingers emerged from the confines of her bedsheet and blanket, trying in vain to reach the ring. A long fingernail caught the gold band, threatening to send it off the bed and skittering
into the shadows. Dougie jumped in to help, picking up the jewellery and holding it between thumb and forefinger. Ruby extended the ring finger of her left hand.

‘Oh, Chip,’ she whispered, her eyes fluttering again, threatening to close at any moment.

My mate looked to the Major who nodded reassuringly. Dougie held his breath and reached forward, sliding the ring over a bony knuckle until it sat snugly on Ruby’s twig-like finger. If
only she knew the Major was there, by her side. Could she sense him? Feel him there? Was she even truly conscious? They’d doped the poor girl up with so many drugs she probably thought it was
all a dream.

‘Chip.’ She smiled, staring off into space. Space, it so happened, that was occupied by our American friend. It was the weirdest thing to witness: a frail old lady and a handsome
young man, freeze-framed in the prime of his life.

‘Dougie,’ I whispered, but he needed no coaxing. He was already backing up. We turned and departed the hospital bedroom, leaving the two time-torn lovers, so close but still worlds
apart.

‘How’re you feeling, cocker?’ I asked as Dougie clambered off the bus at the top of his street. He winced, wobbled and wailed a bit as he landed unsteadily on
the pavement.

‘I’ve had better days.’

‘I can’t think of many,’ I said as the bus pulled away and into the night. ‘You’ve foiled a bank robbery, set your old man free and reunited two star-struck lovers.
All in all, that’s a pretty flipping mint day’s work.’

He shrugged. ‘Guess you’re right. I am, however, still without my girlfriend, and have the ugliest-looking scar and stitches on my shin.’

‘Your leg’s going to be legendary. Just imagine the tales you can tell with a war wound like that: shark attack, sword fight, mauled by a randy sixth former. Take your
pick!’

Dougie chuckled as he hobbled along. He pulled his phone out, checking it for messages again. He grumbled as he pocketed it. ‘I wouldn’t mind getting mauled by Lucy. I miss
her.’

‘Give it time. She’ll come round.’ I wasn’t sure she would, but what was the point in being maudlin on an evening like this? ‘Cheer up. We can put this one in the
win column.’

We turned into his drive, feeling pretty good with ourselves. The Bentley was parked out front. Maybe Mr Hancock was finally going to get it back on the road. It might have had a knackered wing
– not something I’d ever forget in a hurry – but it didn’t belong hidden in the garage. He’d be able to bang that panel out again, fix the crack in the windscreen no
problem. I reckoned he owed his boy a long drive in the sunshine. He’d been a changed man when we left that morning. I had such hope for the pair of them. It was a new dawn in their
relationship. I hoped to goodness this was the start of something glorious between father and son.

‘It’s a nice feeling, doing the right thing, isn’t it?’ said Dougie as he stepped up to the front door, putting his key in the lock.

‘Doesn’t happen often. We should savour it.’

‘Odd,’ he said, giving the door a gentle nudge. It swung open. ‘Silly old sod’s left it open.’ Dougie stepped into the house, while I paused on the threshold. For a
fleeting moment, I felt a chill descend. I glanced at the car, that crumpled wing beside me. I turned back to the door, still unsettled as I followed him.

‘You there, Dad?’ shouted Dougie.

‘Dougie,’ I said, my sense of unease growing now at a frightening rate. He waved his hand to me, trying to shush me as he continued to call to his dad.

‘Sorry I’m late. Had to go to the hospital. Cut my leg playing football.’ He turned into the lounge, pushing the glass-panelled door open. ‘You won’t believe the
number of stitch—’

His words were cut short by the sight that awaited him.

The lounge had been a pigsty for months now, but it was a mess we’d grown accustomed to. Chaos had since visited the room in terrible fashion. The television set lay on its side, the
picture flickering. The mirror above the fireplace was smashed, the heirloom carriage clock busted on the floor, lying on a bed of shining glass shards. Mr Hancock lay slumped in his armchair. No
change there, one might have thought, but he was in an awful state. His face was battered and bloodied, his right eye puffy and swollen shut. His lips were split, and when he saw his son enter the
room he immediately started moving, raising his hands in warning, burbling through bloodied teeth.

‘Look out!’ I shouted, but too late.

The figure who had been hiding in the shadows behind the door had emerged fast, sucker-punching Dougie from behind, right in the kidneys. He went down like a sack of spuds, hitting the cluttered
carpet with a crunch, his face millimetres away from the daggers of broken mirror. Mr Hancock rose from the chair on unsteady legs, desperate to help his son.

‘Sit down,’ said Bradbury, booting Mr Hancock in the chest. The poor man flew back, sprawling back into the tatty old chair with a wheezing wail. ‘You don’t know when
you’re done, do you, George?’

Bradbury turned his attention to Dougie. ‘You came home at the wrong time, didn’t you, sport? Your dad and I were having a wee chat. He’s been a bad lad, y’see? Been
talking to the rozzers, hasn’t he? I can’t have that. I can’t be having my people being . . .
disloyal.
’

What was I doing? I was frozen, a statue, a spectral spectator in my killer’s company. The last time I’d encountered him I’d been unaware of his horrific crime. There had been
something between us though, for sure. I knew Bradbury had been a bad man as sure as night followed day. He was a wrong’un, as my own dad would say. And he’d reacted to my presence as
well; an imperceptible turn my way, as if catching me fleetingly in the corner of his eye. Once more he glanced across his shoulder in my direction; could he sense me there, so close?

‘Leave him alone.’ Dougie’s words were a mumble, a murmur as he inched along on his belly. With his hands beneath him, he reminded me of a helpless worm, squirming away from
Bradbury, across the broken glass. ‘Murderer.’

I heard what he said, but for a moment I thought the Liverpudlian had missed it. His reply told me otherwise.

‘What’ve you been saying, George? You been spreading nasty rumours?’ Mr Hancock sobbed as Bradbury loomed over him. ‘You just can’t keep your mouth shut, can you?
Your lad, the coppers; anybody else you’ve been flapping those fat lips to? You let some good men down last night. Good thing I let Monty take my place on the job or it could’ve been
me
banged up with those poor saps.’

I closed my eyes as Bradbury struck Mr Hancock, a volley of blows clattering the man in the chair. Punches rained down, each one smacking home with a sickening crunch. I was frozen, the most
hideous feeling descending. On previous occasions, when faced with such emotional situations, I’d been spurred into action, able to add my strength to Dougie’s fight. That talent had
escaped me. I was Samson after a trip to the barber. Whatever powers I had were gone, and I could feel the life being choked from me all over again. I was a ghost; I didn’t
need
to
breathe. Yet somehow, the longer I remained in Bradbury’s presence, the more I seemed to fade. Impossibly, I was gasping for air. I looked at my hands, vanishing before my eyes, the essence
dissipating, the blue glow dying.

‘Leave him!’ shouted Dougie, his voice cracking where he lay prone. ‘He never told the police! I did!’

The attack abruptly ceased, Bradbury’s bloodied fists wavering motionless above Mr Hancock. The man turned slowly, looking down at my pal. While I was fading, Bradbury was growing
stronger.

‘You what?’ he whispered, but Dougie didn’t answer. He was looking at me from where he lay on his tummy, face peppered with studs of mirror.

‘Will,’ he gasped.

My connection with the living world was weakening, as was my hold over my phantom form. My hands were losing their integrity, wisps of smoke peeling away as I struggled to keep myself together.
I cast my mind back to our old friend Phyllis, the phantom girl who had befriended me when I’d first become a ghost. In her killer’s presence she’d gone through the same thing,
unable to fight back. History was repeating, only this time it was me having my un-life choked from me.

‘You
told the cops?’ hissed Bradbury. He gave Dougie a prod with the toe of his boot. ‘I’ve got you to thank for this? My world turning to crap?’ He nudged
him again, harder now. ‘What’s up, sport? Cat got your tongue? Not so cocky now, eh?’ He kicked Dougie, my mate doubling up into a foetal position.

‘Fight back, Dougie,’ I said, my voice almost lost on that same strange wind that was causing my fragile body to break apart. I tried to focus my mind, concentrate on keeping my
shape, but it was hopeless. I was going. This was the end.

‘Here’s what’s gonna happen, George,’ said Bradbury as he kicked my friend. ‘You’re gonna watch me beat your boy to a pulp. Then I’m going to beat you
to a pulp. After that, I’ll have your keys, lock the door and take that nice car.’

He wasn’t even looking at Dougie, too busy goading Mr Hancock. I could hardly hear the words, my body barely present, my mind holding on to Dougie’s world by the most slender of
threads.

‘Maybe they’ll find the two of you in a few weeks. Your next-door neighbour will notice the whiff, eh? You ever smelled a dead body, George? They make an awful stink in summer.
Especially two of ’em.’

Dougie rolled over on to his back after the last kick. In one hand he held his mobile phone, but it was his other hand that drew my attention, hauling me back from the brink. It flew through the
air, up and towards Bradbury. The dagger of splintered mirror sank deep into the killer’s right thigh as Dougie dragged it down, separating fancy black suit and the flesh beneath. His own
fingers were bleeding but he paid them no heed, releasing his hold on the blade when it would travel no further. He scrambled clear, screaming into the phone.

‘Are you getting this?’ he shouted between ragged sobs. He was a mess, a beaten-up replica of his poor father. ‘Please, come quick! It’s Bradbury. We’re at 18
Woollacombe Close.’

Bradbury screamed as he collapsed on one leg, hauling himself upright as his hands scrambled across the mantelpiece. Bloodied fingers found Mr Hancock’s keyring, snatching them up and
curling them into a fist. The other hand reached down and tugged the jagged blade out of his thigh. It came away with a wet squelch and a gurgled cry from the killer. He laughed hysterically before
lifting his head up, glancing into the fractured remains of the mirror. The laughter stopped instantly, his face going terribly slack as he caught sight of his reflection.