Chapter 3

 

“Hello!” said Mike. “I think one of your neighbors is checking you out.”

 

Paul thought of Liz, and almost dropped the boxes he was carrying. It was not the pale girl, but an actual child Mike was talking about. The girl had ginger hair, huge blue eyes, and was wearing a dark school uniform. Paul realized she was the child who had been peeping at him earlier.

 

“I’m Mike, what’s your name?”

 

The girl looked up at Mike with a disapproving expression.

 

“Children are not supposed to talk to strange men,” she said. “You know that.”

 

Mike looked abashed, but only for a moment.

 

“I’m not strange,” he protested. “Just a bit peculiar at times. And my transatlantic friend here is as respectable as they come.”

 

Mike indicated Paul, who smiled at the girl. Now that he could see her more clearly, the child he had caught watching him when he had been viewing the apartment before looked a little skinny, undersized, her expression wary. The school uniform seemed slightly shabby, with traces of what might have been oatmeal on the black-and-green plaid skirt. The girl was standing on the landing peering at them, and behind her the door to an apartment was open. A woman’s voice called out.

 

“Ella? Who are you talking to?”

 

“Just some men,” Ella replied. “They’re moving boxes. One says he’s peculiar.”

 

“Just moving in, upstairs,” Mike called. “Nothing strange about us, honest.”

 

The woman who emerged from the flat was plump, with flaming red hair braided into what looked like a copper cable hanging down her dark jacket. Her manner was harassed, her expression slightly hostile.

 

But Brits often look like that when you first meet ’em, Paul thought.

 

Mike, always garrulous, introduced them both. The woman still looked sour, but had no option but to reciprocate. She was Neve Cotter, her daughter was Ella, and they were running late. There was a meaningful pause as Neve waited for the men to get out of her way. Then mother and child were gone, with just a perfunctory ‘Good Morning’ from Neve. Ella gave Paul a long, appraising look just before she turned the corner of the stairwell.

 

“You could be in there,” Mike said. “Overworked single mothers, they can’t afford to be picky when it comes to dating.”

 

Paul shook his head in mock despair. Since Paul had split with Mari, Mike had spent almost every waking hour telling his friend to get back into the dating scene. Paul had repeatedly pointed out that he had no intention of doing anything of the kind. Mike ignored him.

 

“Seriously, mate,” Mike said, as he dumped his boxes in the middle of Paul’s new living room. “You need to get back on the pony.”

 

“Don’t you mean the horse?” Paul asked.

 

“Baby steps,” Mike shot back. “Start small. Get to know the redhead on the first floor, try out a few lines, maybe invite her round for dinner.”

 

“I need to actually move in first,” Paul pointed out. “And since there’s no working elevator, that might be difficult. What with me needing a bed, and so forth. In the meantime, let’s at least get the rest of the stuff out of your car.”

 

The ambulance arrived just as they reached the bottom of the stairs, its piercing siren rendering all talk impossible. Declan was standing in the foyer, hands covered in blood, standing by a flustered-looking Kate Bewick. The siren cut out, paramedics rushed in, and the manager proceeded to lead them towards the East Wing.

 

“Has there been an accident?” Mike asked.

 

Declan looked at the Englishman, pale-faced, clearly confused.

 

“I went after him,” he stammered. “I thought the lad was looking upset, a bit out of it, so I went after him. If I’d been a bit quicker—”

 

Declan looked at his hands.

 

“We should get you cleaned up,” Paul said, speaking gently. “Is there a washroom?”

 

As Declan washed the blood off, he tried to describe what he had seen. Paul gathered that a building worker had seriously injured, or maybe killed, a colleague. Paul, standing in the doorway of the washroom, peered out as the paramedics carried out a stretcher. The figure on it had its head covered.

 

“Guess he’s dead,” Paul said quietly. “Jesus, that’s awful.”

 

“Too right,” Mike replied, craning to see. “But look who’s coming now.”

 

Chapter 5

 

“Impressive!” said Mia. “Well done, Laura. And you, too, Paul.”

 

Paul looked around at the team, trying to find the right words. Lucas was mildly interested in his self-absorbed way. Joe seemed slightly annoyed at having to shoot yet another scene with Paul, who had not impressed him earlier. Laura and Mia were, as usual, full of enthusiasm.

 

“None of you seem to get it,” he said, wearily. “Here’s an actual dead guy, killed by Palmer, saying we should destroy the place. It’s not just a good soundbite.”

 

Mia shook her head in a rather exaggerated show of patience.

 

“It’s okay, Paul,” she said soothingly. “We’re not staying here long. We only have to spend the night. That’s always vital, people associate night-time with spooks.”

 

Paul tried to explain that most of the incidents at Rookwood had happened by day, so far as he knew. But he could see the team was just going through their usual routine. Despite his best efforts, Mia saw this as another day at the office. Joe seemed a little unhappy but not inclined to protest. Lucas was keen to finish up and get paid. Only Laura showed some doubt.

 

“I’ve never recorded anything like this before,” she said to Mia. “I’m not saying we’re in danger, but it is—well, it’s weird. Kind of eerie.”

 

Mia seemed to muse on that for a moment. Then Lucas emitted a guffaw.

 

“Come on, people,” he said, making full use of his trademark ‘wood alcohol’ voice. “We’ve done dozens of these shows, and the most dangerous thing that ever happened was when Joe fell on his arse in a muddy puddle.”

 

The cameraman did not look pleased to be reminded of the incident, but the other team members smiled at the memory.

 

“And now,” Lucas went on, “we’re worrying about an old building where a few bad accidents have happened?”

 

Seeing Paul’s expression, the actor held up a hand.

 

“I know, Paul, your experiences were traumatic. I don’t doubt that. But we are professionals who have faced many unusual situations. And all it takes is a positive, can-do attitude. Like that exemplified by our estimable leader, Ms. Callan.”

 

Mia gave a little bow to acknowledge the tribute.

 

“I second that, of course,” she said. “But let’s strike a compromise, Paul. If anything, anything at all, that you find remotely threatening takes place, you can leave and still receive your full fee. How about that?”

 

“It’s not about the money—” Paul began, but Mia shook her head decisively.

 

“I know you didn’t want us to do this,” she said, “but here we are, and we’ve got a show to make. So far, it’s gone well. Now we’ve set up the cameras and mics around the place, we don’t have to go wandering up and down the hallways. We can just get a few mood shots outside and then wait.”

 

“Or go to the pub first, and then wait,” put in Lucas.

 

This prompted a discussion, and Paul found himself sidelined as Lucas and Joe argued strongly for ‘having a swift pint’ before nightfall. Mia insisted they remain to do more background shooting, with Lucas walking around the building, talking about its history. The light, she pointed out, was right.

 

Outside, everyone found their phones were not working. Joe suggested they were in a blind spot where the local cell tower was blocked in some way. Laura commented they were on top of a hill, about a hundred yards from a tony residential area. Mia insisted they get on with the job in hand, and shooting began. After Lucas had reeled off a few remarks about Rookwood’s history, Mia asked Paul to record another brief interview.

 

“But we’ll do it outside the East Wing,” she added.

 

Paul’s heart began to pound in his chest as the team moved off, camera and sound tracking Lucas as the actor strolled confidently forward. The East Wing was all too familiar. Paul noted plastic sheeting covered the doors and windows, and some scorch marks were evident on the brickwork.

 

The recording went reasonably well, but as before, Paul felt uncomfortable. His back was to Rookwood and his spine crawled as he wondered what might be observing him and the others. However, he held it together as Lucas recited his scripted questions about the hideous ‘accident’ during the attempted refurbishment.

 

“And I understand there was a message on the wall, in the poor chap’s blood?”

 

Paul nodded, explained as best he could about the clue, his research into Rookwood, the findings about Miles Rugeley Palmer.

 

“And this undead doctor is now haunting the place, commanding some kind of legion of ghosts?”

 

Chapter 8

 

They found Ella curled up on the sofa in her grandmother’s living room, wrapped in a blanket, and clutching a cup of hot milk. The girl was looking at a nature documentary, the soothing voice of David Attenborough turned low. Paul remembered that, in happier times, Ella had loved natural history, and had been a keen observer of birds, insects, flowers, and the like.

 

“Hello,” said Ella, her voice weak, as she tried to smile.

 

Neve took her mother into the kitchen to try and explain the situation while Mike and Paul chatted with the girl. As expected, she explained Liz had been ‘reaching up’ to her from the bad place where the long-dead girl dwelt. Paul asked tentatively if he could see Ella’s arms. The girl reached out one hand, and the sleeve of her pink dressing gown fell away to show a red welt circling her wrist. He looked down and saw a similar red ring around the girl’s ankle. She quickly pulled her bare foot back under the blanket.

 

Restraints, Paul thought, examining the mark. Barbaric, old-school asylum methods. I can even see the mark of the buckle.

 

He let go of Ella’s hand, but the girl suddenly clutched at his fingers. Her strength surprised him. It was, he realized, born of desperation. Her eyes seemed huge, pupils dilated, as she peered up at him.

 

“Help me, Paul,” she said quietly. “She wants to live, escape from the bad place with all the mirrors. Because she saved me once, she thinks I owe her my life. That’s not true, is it?”

 

The girl looked from one man to the other as Paul and Mike struggled to find the right words. Neve reentered the room and Ella let go of Paul’s hand.

 

“I’ve tried to explain to mum,” Neve said. “She knew something was up, but she never expected something like this. That said, all the weird stuff that’s been going on has convinced her that Rookwood—well, let’s just say she’s suspended her disbelief. And she won’t object, she just doesn’t want to get involved.”

 

Paul looked past Neve and saw Ella’s grandmother pouring herself a glass of wine.

 

Wish I could join her, he thought, hunkering down next to the couch. Mike went into the kitchen and started to talk in a low voice to Mrs. Cotter, closing the door behind him.

 

“Okay,” said Paul. “I think we’re connected, Ella, because of Liz. So if we both concentrate hard, like we did last time, I think we can get in touch with her. And then…”

 

He hesitated and looked up to Neve, who was hunched forward in her armchair. Paul chose his words carefully.

 

“If we work together, we can get her out of the bad place, and lift her up, help her move on. I think I’ve come close to helping her escape, lately. We just have to be positive, and brave, and not let anything that happens scare us. Okay?”

 

Ella nodded.

 

“That was quite a good pep talk, Paul,” she said. “You’re doing your best, I know. But I think we’ll both be scared, won’t we? It’s only natural.”

 

He had to smile at her commonsense approach and reminded himself that a bright twelve-year-old sometimes saw things more clearly than a so-called adult. He reached out both hands this time, and she once more clutched at his fingers. Paul closed his eyes, took a breath, and tried to focus. He could not hypnotize himself, but he knew the essence of suggestion was relaxation.

 

“Close your eyes, Ella. We’ll go together.”

 

Without vision, the small sounds around him became louder. He could hear Mike still talking to Ella’s grandmother, his voice reassuring, no doubt stressing how competent Paul was, describing him as a real-life hero. He could also hear Neve Cotter’s breathing, fast and shallow, a mother stressed to an almost unbearable degree by a stranger leading her child into a dangerous place. And he could hear something else, now, a restive whimpering that must be coming from Ella. The sound was faint, and somehow remote, as if coming from a vast distance.

 

An illusion, he thought. Mind playing tricks again.

 

Suddenly there was light, his inner eye opening to a vista of the purgatory Liz had inflicted upon herself. The vast labyrinth of grotesque, funhouse mirrors spread below. As in previous sessions with Doctor Blume, Paul descended toward the maze, and waited for Liz to become visible.

 

At first, he saw nothing but shining corridors, over-bright and crazily chaotic in their layout. Then he glimpsed a small figure, dressed in the familiar stained cotton robe of Rookwood Asylum. He got closer and felt something was wrong. The mirrors around him showed nothing, none of the distorted and vile images of Liz he had seen so often before. He scanned them as he drifted ever nearer, waiting to glimpse the sore-covered plague bearer, the murderous whore, the pious hypocrite. But none of the twisted variants of Liz appeared.

 

“Liz?” he said, turning to the huddled figure in the corner of the cell at the heart of the maze. “Liz, does this mean you’ve stopped condemning yourself? Because that means we can go now, leave this place.”