Voices From Beyond (A Ghost Finders Novel) (19 page)

“Believe in them?” said JC. “Hell, I’m sleeping with one!”

“It’s true,” said Melody. “He is. And if that freaks you out, think how we feel. We have to work with them.”

“It’ll all end in tears,” said Happy.

“And, how is she?” said Felicity. “This . . . ghostly girl-friend of yours?”

“Very spirited,” said JC.

Felicity grimaced, suspecting, quite rightly, that she was being set up for any number of ghost jokes and paranormal puns. She pressed gamely on.

“Let’s talk about the voices, JC.”

“Of course, Felicity. How long have you been hearing them? Do they tell you to do things? Naughty things?”

“I mean the voices all the staff here have been hearing! And the listeners! The voices that have been breaking in on our programmes!”

“Fine,” said JC. “Let’s talk about those voices. They are why we’re here, after all.”

“I don’t suppose there’s anyone left in our audience who doesn’t know that Radio Free Albion has been plagued with . . . disturbing interruptions,” said Felicity. “Unidentified voices, supposedly trying to warn us about some forthcoming catastrophe. Some of our listeners claim to have recognised some of these voices . . . as deceased and departed members of their families. Voices of the dead, in fact. What would you say to that, JC?”

“It’s nothing to worry about,” JC said smoothly. “In cases like this, it usually turns out to be something we call Electronic Voice Phenomena. Nothing more than auditory illusions. It’ll all be over soon.”

“What will all be over soon?” said Felicity.

“Everything,” said Happy.

There was something in his voice . . . Felicity looked at him sharply; but one look into his eyes was enough to convince her she wasn’t going to get anything useful out of him. She turned her attention back to JC, shuffling quickly through the papers set out before her. Like a gambler checking her hand to make sure the aces were still there.

“Now, JC, I am given to understand that you and your fellow team members work for that renowned, powerful, and yet very secretive organisation, the Carnacki Institute. Is that correct?”

JC leaned forward, for the first time. “What makes you think that, Felicity?”

She smiled triumphantly. “I did my homework on you, and your people, the moment the station manager told me you were on your way. I like to be prepared . . .”

“Interesting,” said JC. “Given that Jonathan didn’t know who they’d be sending. We didn’t even know we were coming here until early this morning.”

Felicity’s smile wavered, and she looked uncertain for the first time. “Let’s not evade the question, JC. Do you work for the Carnacki Institute?”

“Yes,” said JC. “It is an honour and a privilege to serve, and we were not in any way blackmailed into joining up. Not at all.”

“What can you tell our curious listeners about this very private and clandestine organisation?”

“Not a lot,” said JC.

“We could tell you,” said Happy. “But then we’d have to haunt you.”

Melody rocked with silent laughter, and she and Happy shared a high five behind JC’s back.

“Ghost Finder humour,” said JC. “The Carnacki Institute is basically a clearing-house for gathering and investigating information on all things supernatural, paranormal, and downright disturbing. It’s a Ghost Finder’s job to investigate the situation, interview everyone concerned, and do our best to figure out what’s going on. Most of these situations turn out to have perfectly ordinary and reasonable explanations and outcomes.”

“And the ones that don’t?” said Felicity.

“Then I hit them really hard with the science stick until they stop bothering people,” said Melody.

“What about those people who say the Carnacki Institute is nothing but a front for a far more insidious organisation?” said Felicity. “One that is answerable to no-one and follows its own rules and its own agenda?”

“What about them?” said JC. “Who are these people, exactly? And why are they saying these things?”

Felicity started to press the question, then stopped as Happy suddenly leaned forward across the table to interrupt her, staring unblinkingly into her eyes. He suddenly looked very focused and very dangerous.

“She doesn’t know, JC,” he said. “She doesn’t know who these people are or where her information comes from.”

“What . . . ?” said Felicity. She tried to carry on, but couldn’t, her gaze held helplessly by his.

“She doesn’t know who told her these things,” said Happy. “And it’s never occurred to her till now to question that. And the fact that she now realises she didn’t is scaring the hell out of her. Look at her notes, JC. There’s nothing on those pages about us. They’re everyday stuff: running times and schedules. Everything she’s saying . . . is coming out of her head.”

“Stop it!” said Felicity. “How do you know . . . What are you doing? What are you talking about?”

“Someone is using her,” said Happy. “To take shots at the Institute.”

“Interesting,” said JC. “What are you talking about, Felicity? Who wants you to ask these particular questions?”

“This is a trick!” said Felicity, spitting the words at him. “You’re playing games with me!”

“Someone is,” said JC.

“Has Something got to her?” said Melody, leaning forward across the table to look Felicity over carefully. “She seems normal enough . . . I wish you’d let me bring some of my equipment, JC, so I could run some proper tests on her. See if there’s anyone else inside her head apart from her.”

“Someone knew we were going to be here before we did,” said JC. “Which suggests that Felicity’s information came from inside the Institute. The Boss was right—someone high up is briefing against her. We did wonder whether this case might be some kind of trap, bait to lure us in . . . Now I’m wondering whether this is the trap. This interview. Designed to distract us and make us reveal things the public isn’t supposed to know. Only the situation here turned out to be far stranger, and more dangerous, than anyone suspected.”

“What are you talking about?” whispered Felicity.

“Forget the questions, Felicity,” said JC, not unkindly. “They’re not your questions anyway. You’re being used.”

“No I’m not! This is my show! No-one’s in charge of me but me!”

Her voice rose sharply, almost hysterically.

“Then where did you get your ammunition from, Felicity?” said JC. “Why are your notes not what you thought they were? Who first mentioned the Carnacki Institute to you?”

Felicity swallowed hard, then her head came up as she recovered some of her cold self-control. She met JC’s gaze defiantly. “A journalist never reveals her sources!”

“Especially when you have no idea who they are,” said Happy. “The inside of your head is a mess. Looking at it is giving me a headache.”

Felicity snarled at him, a raw, ugly animal sound. The sound of it, and the realisation that her audience had heard it shocked her, and she pulled her professionalism about her.

“Let’s go to the phones!” she said brightly. “It’s that time in the programme when you the listeners get your chance to ask the questions you want answered! So if any of you good people listening today have a subject you want to raise, or something specific you want to ask today’s guests, now is the time to phone in. You all know the number; but please remember I don’t have an engineer with me today to help field the calls, so if you find you’re having trouble getting through, please be patient. I’m doing this on my own. And already, we have our first caller! Go ahead, you’re on the air, on the
Felicity Legrand Hour
!”

She fumbled with the control panel before her, and the first phone call came in over the studio speakers, loud and clear.

“Hello, Felicity! I wanted to say, we all think you’re great! We love what you’re doing! Don’t you let those spooky bastards get away with anything!”

“Thank you, sir,” said Felicity. “Could you tell us your name, please?”

“Oh, yes! This is Gareth!”

“Do you have a question for the Ghost Finders, Gareth?”

“I wanted to say, I keep hearing noises in my house, at night!”

There was a pause, until they all realised he’d said everything he was going to say. Melody leaned forward to address the mike.

“Have you had your house’s plumbing checked recently?”

“Oh!” said the caller. “I hadn’t thought of that . . .”

“Moving on to the next caller,” Felicity said quickly.

“This is Father Xavier, of Stoneground Church,” said a calm voice. “I have been following the unusual events affecting Radio Free Albion almost from the beginning, and I am very interested in what you’ve been saying on your programme. I do not believe that what we’ve all been hearing are Electronic Voice Phenomena. I also do not believe that the dead rise up from their rest to play games with local radio hosts. No, it is my belief that Radio Free Albion has fallen under demonic influence. If you wish, I can perform an exorcism . . .”

“Thank you, Father,” said JC. “But should we decide that’s necessary, I think we’ll go with a professional.”

The next caller was an excitable young man with a high-pitched and very intense voice. He refused to give his name. “I want to know if, you are part of the same Carnacki Institute who were involved with cleaning up that nasty business at Chimera House in London, a few years back? And making all the evidence disappear? You know, when they were testing that new drug on human volunteers, and it all went horribly wrong? Was that you? I’ve been following some really fascinating discussions about the Institute, on some very well-informed conspiracy sites . . .”

“If you don’t ring off right now,” said Happy, “the Men In Black will come round and take away your computer and tell the whole world what kind of porn you like to watch.”

The line went dead. The next voice to phone in was that of an old woman, quiet and wavering but very sincere.

“That voice . . . the one who called in, and talked to Captain Sunshine, earlier . . . I don’t know who it was, but I do think it sounded very familiar. That’s all I wanted to say.”

“Thank you, caller,” said Felicity. “Is there anything you wanted to ask . . .”

But the old woman was gone. And although Felicity sat crouched over her control panel, there was only the quiet hiss of an open, empty line. There were no more callers. Felicity couldn’t believe it.

“That’s it?” she said loudly to her audience. “I go to all the trouble of assembling three of the most important people you’re ever likely to encounter, right here in my studio, and you don’t want to talk to them? Come on! Don’t let me down; ask them something! Don’t you have anything to say?”

“Is there anybody out there?” said Melody. “Is anybody still listening?”

The quiet dragged on.

“Apparently not,” said JC.

“Something’s here,” said Happy.

And again, there was something in his voice that brought all their attention back to him. He was sitting very still, looking at nothing, a terrible helpless despair stamped on his face. Melody leaned in close.

“Are you sure, Happy?”

“It’s here . . .” said Happy. “Listening . . . Talk to me, you son of a bitch.”

A voice came through the studio speakers, across the open phone line. Felicity looked sharply at her control panel because she hadn’t touched it. The new voice was smooth and horribly sweet, like an angel who’d learned to take a delight in the slaughter of innocents.

“Hello,” said the voice. “Is there anybody there? It’s time to pay the piper even if you don’t like the tune.”

“Cut the crap,” said JC. “You want to talk to us, this is your chance. Get on with it.”

“Hello, JC. You’re looking good. Love the shades. It is time we talked, isn’t it? We have so much to say to each other.”

“This voice,” Felicity said quietly. “It isn’t coming in over the phone. I’ve shut all the lines down, but it’s still coming through.”

“Told you,” Melody said to JC. “I don’t know what kind of carrier signal the voices are using, but it isn’t radio or phone.”

“Of course not,” said the voice. “I would never stoop to anything so crude.”

“That’s your voice, Mel,” said Happy. “That thing is speaking with your voice!”

“I have no voice of my own, so I must use what I can find,” said the voice.

“And that sounded like you, Happy,” said Melody.

“Shut up!” said Felicity. “All of you, shut up! This is my show, you don’t get to barge in and take over! Doing . . . stupid impressions!”

“Oh my sweet Felicity,” said the voice, sounding like Felicity Legrand. “I’m going to have such fun with you . . .”

“What do you sound like when you’re being yourself?” said JC, careful to keep his voice calm and unmoved. “Let’s hear what you really sound like.”

And then they all flinched back as a terrible blast of sound filled the studio. Animal sounds, mixed together; raw and vicious, harsh and brutal. The sounds of huge beasts and awful creatures, killing and being killed, living and dying, rutting and feasting. The sheer fury and ferocity in the sounds filled the studio, overwhelming everything. All the old animal instincts and impulses that mankind was supposed to have left behind and overcome, let loose, without conscience or restraint. Felicity lifted her control panel and slammed it down on the tabletop, again and again, smashing it to pieces . . . but the sounds went on. Growing slowly, steadily louder, as though the things responsible were drawing nearer.