Текст книги "The Haunted Pub"

Автор книги: Melanie Tushmore

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frame as he looked down the hall. “Ash?” he called out. “You found it yet?”

“Yeah,” Ash called back. “Got it.” In another moment, Ash reappeared, carrying the box with First

Aid written across it.

“Thanks.” Ginger took the box, placed it on the closed toilet seat, and opened it up. Ryan watched

him absently, his mind churning away. What the hell was going on? He’d just seen a man in the

mirror, a man he hadn’t recognised. No one else had seen him, and he’d vanished into thin air. Who

the hell was he?

Ginger tilted Ryan’s face up, gently dabbing at his cheek with cold, wet cotton wool. It stung, and

Ryan flinched from the pain.

“Sorry. It’s just TCP.”

Ryan tried to focus his thoughts. “Daniel, remember when I first moved in here, and we had that

party?”

Ginger’s hazel eyes locked with his. “Mm.”

“What was it Sheila’s friend said, about the ghosts?”

“Who, Beth?” Ginger snorted. “Beth is a hippy who smokes too much weed, Ryan. I told you to

ignore her.”

“But she said something about there being ghosts here, right?” Ryan insisted. “She told me every

time I walked into a room, I should say hello to them, to get them on side. Don’t you remember?”

“I try not to listen to Beth if I can help it.” Ginger stepped away, throwing the cotton wool into the

bin. Ryan’s cheek burned from the healing lotion, its tingle seemed to travel along his neck and down

his spine. Thinking of Beth made him remember something else.

“Daniel,” he said quietly. “Sheila’s downstairs.”

Ginger’s face snapped up. “Is she?”

“Do you think...maybe we could ask her to come up here?”

Sheila, Ginger’s friend, was a nurse. When she was on shift, she worked at Brighton General

Hospital. Ryan could have kicked himself for not realising earlier, when he’d seen her in the bar.

“Right. I’ll go find her.” Ginger shot out of the room. “You two stay there!” His footsteps

thundered down the stairs, and the staff door banged open.

“Huh? Sheila?” Ash asked.

“Sheila, with red hair,” Ryan explained. “She’s a nurse.”

“Oh. Right, right.” Ash moved into the bathroom. “Hey, your scratch doesn’t look all that bad

actually.”

Ryan opened his mouth to speak, but words failed him. ‘Yes’ seemed somewhat banal at this point.

He and Ash moved back into the hall. After a few awkward moments of silence, Ash gazed towards

the pigeon loft, shifting on the spot. “I, um, I might just go check on him.”

Ryan gripped Ash’s arm. “Sheila’s a nurse, okay? Let’s wait for her.”

“Yeah, sure, but I should go check Fizz is all right.”

“Ash, let’s just wait. We can –”

Their discussion ended when the staff door opened again. Ginger’s voice drifted up, hurriedly

explaining what had happened.

“Hang on, hang on,” a woman’s voice, Sheila, said. “What did you say he’s taken?”

“His prescription pills,” Ginger said, as they climbed the stairs. “I called a helpline, but they kept

saying just take him to A&E.”

“But he’s conscious?” Sheila asked.

“Yes,” Ginger said.

“Well, that’s a relief!” They reached the top of the stairs, and Sheila briefly glanced at Ryan and

Ash. “Hey, guys. Now, where is he?”

Ginger led the way into the pigeon loft. Ryan allowed Sheila to go in before him, then Ash, who

was clearly worried. Just as Ryan was about to follow them, he caught movement from the corner of

his eye. Someone on the edge of his vision. He turned to look, assuming it would be one of the other

staff...

But no one was there.

The floorboards creaked softly, like someone trod on them. There was still no one in sight. Ryan

remembered that image of the strange man in the mirror, and it spurred him to hurry after the others.

When he got to Fizz’s room, Sheila was already crouched near Fizz. He wanted to say, be careful, but

Fizz seemed...different. He sat there quietly, gazing at Sheila with what could only be described as an

amused smile on his face.

“Can I check your pulse, love?” Sheila asked, holding out her hand.

“Of course,” Fizz replied, voice calm and silky smooth.

Ryan thought yet again how different from Fizz’s normal tone it was. He wondered if Ginger had

had the time to explain to Sheila about his eyes, too.

Sheila checked Fizz over, explaining what she was doing as she did it. Her voice was soothing, the

care in her manner instantly recognisable. She checked Fizz’s pulse, the glands at his throat, looked

into his eyes, all the while asking him basic questions. And all of which he answered in a strange,

aloof manner.

Ginger stood over them, frowning. “Jamie, tell her what you took.”

“When?” Fizz smiled.

“Today, or whenever you’ve taken what it is you’ve taken. Just tell her.”

Fizz glanced over at the pill packets, the same ones Ginger had been looking at. He turned back to

Sheila with a smirk. “Nothing worth sharing, I’m afraid.”

Ryan was confused. Why the sudden change in Fizz’s manner? It didn’t make sense.

“Okay,” Sheila said. “Your heart rate is a little fast. You feel all right, though? Any different?”

“Oh, very different.” Fizz took hold of Sheila’s hand and squeezed it. He looked directly into her

eyes. “Thank you for your help. You may leave now.”

Sheila visibly stiffened. She jerked back, and nodded her head. “Okay. I-I’m going.”

“What?” Ginger said in surprise. “Sheila, so what should I do? Do I take him to –”

“Dan.” Sheila stood quickly, grabbing Ginger’s arm. “I need to talk to you.”

“Why?” Ginger’s voice rose. “What’s wrong with him? Tell me!”

“Not here,” she hissed, pulling him away. “Come on.”

Ryan saw they were coming out of the room, so he stood aside. Sheila stopped, gesturing for Ryan

and Ash to precede them. “You guys, too. Everyone out, now.”

“What the fuck’s going on?” Ginger demanded. He let Sheila usher them out into the hall before

turning on her. “Sheila, tell me what’s happening!”

“Dan, shush.” Sheila ducked past him, aiming for their kitchen. Near the stairs, she seemed to pause

momentarily, looking at the thin air as if in surprise, then she hurried into the kitchen.

“Sheila!” Ginger stormed after her, and Ryan shared a glance with Ash.

“Tell me what’s wrong!” Ginger’s voice sounded from the kitchen. “For God’s sake, please?”

Ash followed them, and Ryan didn’t want to be left alone. They crowded into the open door of the

kitchen, watching as Sheila poured herself a glass of water from the tap. Ginger stood in the centre of

the room, his fists balled at his sides. “Do I ring an ambulance, or what?”

Sheila gulped the water, then shook her head. “No, his body’s fine.”

Ginger threw his arms up. “His body’s fine. Great! What the fuck does that mean?”

Sheila turned on the counter, looking at him warily. “Dan, something’s happened here. I’m not sure

what it is, but Beth will know. I’ll have to go get her.”

“You what?” Ginger shouted in disbelief. “What for? Beth’s a stoner! I need a bloody doctor or

something, right?”

“No,” Sheila said firmly. “A doctor won’t be able to do anything. There’s something inside him.”

“Inside...?” Ginger went quiet. He stared at Sheila in confusion.

Ash squeezed past Ryan and stepped forward. “Are you saying...this is some kind of mental thing?”

Sheila glanced at him, then cocked her head. “You could put it that way, I suppose.”

“Is it because of the pills?” Ash asked.

“I don’t know,” Sheila said. “But he’s young, he’s vulnerable, and something’s taken hold of him in

that room.”

“Arrgh!” Ginger scrubbed a hand over his face. “And what the bloody hell does that mean? You’re

saying he’s had a funny turn, or what?”

Sheila pulled open the small handbag which hung across her body. It was red, the same shade as her

hair, and lipstick. “Look, Dan, the longer we debate this, the worse it gets. I’ll call Beth.” She pulled

out a mobile phone.

“Hah.” Ginger went to the cupboard above the kettle, yanking open a door. “Like that’ll do any

bloody good,” he muttered into the cupboard.

Ryan watched Ginger pull down a bottle of whiskey, while Sheila dialled her phone. God, what a

mess, he thought. Ash hovered next to him, both of them unsure what to do.

Sheila pressed the phone against her ear. “Beth? Beth, hi, it’s Sheila! No, babe, no, I’m not at the

beach yet. Are you down there?”

Ginger muttered to himself. Opening the whiskey, he took a very long swig.

“Beth, can you come to the Queen Anne?” Sheila asked, then shouted, “The Queen Anne!”

They all winced as Sheila raised her voice.

“Beth! Beth, can you hear me?” Sheila glanced at her phone. “Shit, my phone’s not working.”

Ginger put the lid back on the whiskey. “So, that’s the end of that brilliant plan! Look, if I can’t get

that kid to casualty, I’ll call a bloody ambulance.”

“Dan, I’m telling you it won’t do any good,” Sheila said. “You can see for yourself that he’s all

right; he’s sitting up, he’s coherent. He’s just not himself.”

Ginger paused. “Well, yeah, but...okay, so if not casualty, what then? A psychiatrist?”

“Something like that,” Sheila sighed. “We’ll explain more when we get back, okay? I’m going to go

look for Beth.”

“What? Where is she?”

“I arranged to meet her on the beach. I’ll go down there, find her, and bring her back here.”

“The beach?” Ginger scoffed. “Where exactly on the beach? There’s bloody miles of it!”

“We always meet by the pier,” she said. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“And then what?”

Sheila averted her eyes, masking the action by putting her phone away in her bag. “Then she’ll talk

to your cousin, and find out what’s wrong.”

“God.” Ginger grasped towards the whiskey bottle again. “Sheila, I don’t get this. Are you sure? I

mean, are you sure he shouldn’t be in a hospital right now? They have psychiatrists there, don’t they?”

Sheila shook her head. “I’m sorry, Dan. But he won’t get the skills he needs on a hospital ward,

especially an emergency one. Trust me. I know you’re not Beth’s biggest fan, but she knows about this

stuff. Do you want to come help me look? The more people looking, the quicker we’ll be.”

“I’m not running around on the bloody beach on Solstice, when it’s full of hippies,” Ginger said

tersely. “I’m staying here.”

Sheila looked to Ash and Ryan. “Guys?”

“If it helps Fizz, I’ll come,” Ash said.

“I– I’ll stay,” Ryan said.

Sheila nodded. “Okay. Great. We need to go right now. Dan?” She stepped up to him, placing her

hands on his shoulders. “I know you’re worried, but it’s really important you stay right here, and don’t

go back in that room.”

“What? Why not?”

Sheila’s eyes slid over to Ryan and, strangely, Ryan felt the scratches on his face throb.

“It’s important, Dan,” she said. “Think of it this way. Right now, Fizz believes in something, and he

believes it very strongly. You might even say he’s someone else entirely, and that person...isn’t a very

nice person. And the more you go in there, and give him attention, the worse he’ll get.”

“But why?” Ginger demanded. “Why’s he doing this?”

“Trust me,” Sheila said. “I’ll explain when we get back. Stay in here. And Ryan,” she said, eyes

fixing on him. “Make sure you both stay here. Ash, let’s go.” She strode from the kitchen.

As he passed, Ash said quietly to Ryan. “If we’re not back in like, half an hour, why don’t you take

him to hospital anyway? We can always find you there.”

Ryan nodded. “Okay. Good luck.”

Ash left with Sheila. It had all happened so quickly, Ryan wasn’t sure what to make of it. And yet,

Sheila’s words about Fizz thinking he was somebody different rang true. That had to be it, right? Fizz

was having some kind of mental breakdown, brought on by whatever mental illness he suffered from,

and from staying in that creepy room.

But as much as he wanted to believe that, Ryan worried there was something else going on here. He

stood on the spot, biting his fingernail. Shit. In the rush, they’d forgotten to tell Sheila about Fizz’s

eyes changing colour, and the strange scratches on Ryan’s cheeks.

And that man in the mirror. Except only Ryan had seen that. Maybe he was having the mental

breakdown?

Chapter Sixteen

The waiting proved difficult, and Ryan knew Ginger wasn’t the most patient of people.

“Shit,” Ginger muttered. “Bloody hell.” He uncapped the whiskey bottle and took another deep

swig. “How am I going to afford a psychiatrist, Ry?”

“Maybe he can get one on the NHS?” Ryan suggested.

“Hn.” Ginger snorted. “Not if the fucking Tories have anything to do with it, and I can’t afford a

private one. God knows Fizz’s parents won’t shell out. They never did before. You know, they’ve got

plenty of money, but they wouldn’t fork out for a private counsellor for their own son, they just sent

him on the rounds through his GP. Fucking cheapskates. I bet this is all a knock on effect from having

to put up with them for so long.”

“Well...Sheila said Beth would know what to do, right? And she won’t charge us, I’m sure.”

Ginger looked at him. “Ryan, it’s all rubbish. If Beth knows anything about psychiatry, then I’m the

fucking pope.”

Ryan smiled wryly.

“Either way,” Ginger insisted. “It’s all rubbish.”

“So...” Ryan fished for a solution. “I could get my laptop and search for his symptoms online?

Maybe Fizz just needs a specialist, or something like that?”

“Okay.” Ginger nodded. “Yeah, you do that. I’m going to go check on him.”

Ryan tensed. He knew that had been coming. “Sheila said to stay here.”

“I have to, Ryan.”

“But she said...I mean, we’d be feeding this...thing he has, his condition, by pandering to it.”

“I’m not bloody pandering!” Ginger snapped. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Shit. I’m

sorry, Ryan. I don’t want to have a go at you. But I’m not leaving Jamie in there on his own, either.”

“Okay,” Ryan said softly. “I’ll come with you.”

“No.” The word was clad in iron. “You stay out of that room. I don’t want him hurting you again.”

“But – but what about you?”

Ginger glanced at him. “I’ll be fine.” He strode out of the room like a man on a mission. Ryan’s

heart had barely slowed to a normal pace, now it was thudding hard all over again.

Shit.

He’d fucked up. But how was he supposed to stop Ginger from going in there? He didn’t want to

make him mad. And who was to say that it wasn’t the right thing to do anyway? Maybe they needed

another medical opinion before they agreed on a diagnosis?

God, this is all too complicated.

He hurried after Ginger. Ryan didn’t want to set foot in the pigeon loft again, but when he couldn’t

see Ginger in the hall, he had no choice. He took a deep breath, and stepped through the threshold. The

air seemed to close around him, dusty and old, too thick to draw into his lungs. Had it always been like

this? Ryan choked back a cough; he could barely breathe. It was still light outside; the fading daylight

filtered through the grubby windows all along the hallway. Somehow, it didn’t look sunny or warm in

here, it looked grey.

Ryan couldn’t hear anything. Ginger had to be in Fizz’s room, but what was he doing? What if Fizz

started throwing things again? Ryan took cautious steps forward. The floorboards creaked, and the

wood felt soft under his weight.

What the hell?

He glanced down, checking where he walked. The floorboards tilted under his feet, yet stayed still,

creaking ominously. Was he seeing things? It felt like he was walking on a ship. Staring at the moving

floor made him feel dizzy, so he looked up. The other end of the hall seemed to grow distant, far away.

Ryan felt as though he was staring down a long tunnel. He saw a flash of movement at the other end; a

shadow in dark green, the flash of brass buttons.

Oh, God.

He didn’t want to see who was there, didn’t want to know. His only thought now was for Ginger.

Ryan ignored the tilting floorboards, and kept walking. It was no more difficult than trying to walk

after a few drinks, he told himself, and he’d never fallen over drunk. Yet.

I can do this.

Ryan walked carefully to Fizz’s doorway, determined to reach it, tilting floorboards be damned.

When he looked into the room, he saw Ginger, standing in the centre. Ryan looked around in surprise;

the room had changed. It wasn’t the same run down, shabby old room. The walls were plain, clean.

There were beds, lots and lots of single beds, all lined up against the walls, with neatly folded, white

sheets laid on top. Fizz sat on one of those beds, about the same place where his mattress had been.

The boy’s chest heaved in great gulps, and Ryan heard wheezing.

“Shit,” he muttered. “Fizz? Are you –?”

Fizz looked up. Eyes of dark brown fixed on him, and a knowing smile played on his lips.

It’s not Fizz. Ryan didn’t know how to explain it, but he felt certain.

Whoever that was, it wasn’t Fizz. Those dark eyes shifted, resting on Ginger as the boy lifted his

arms, the way a child might do for its parent. Ryan’s gaze snapped back to Ginger. A worm of anxiety

curled in his belly. He opened his mouth to call Ginger, then froze as he saw what looked like blood

seep up from the floor. It collected in a small puddle around Ginger’s feet. Ryan’s heart caught in his

throat.

Was Ginger hurt? But no, he couldn’t be. He was unharmed, as far as Ryan could see. That pool of

blood on the floor wasn’t his. Even so, the blood was rising, like a pot overflowing, and it simmered.

Ryan watched, stunned, as a drop of blood lifted from the floorboards, and shot upwards, like gravity

reversed. His eyes followed the motion, and he gasped when he saw a larger stain of blood on the

ceiling. It was bright red, vivid in colour, growing bigger and faintly pulsing. The stain was darkest

right over Ginger’s head, and Ryan feared it would break at any moment.

“Daniel,” he choked out. “Daniel! Come here...”

Ginger turned slowly, his eyes dull and flat. He didn’t move, only regarded Ryan with a dazed

expression.

“Daniel.” Ryan reached his hand into the room. The air felt thick, as if it was trying to push him

back. “Daniel, please. Come here!”

“Go away,” the boy growled. Ryan glanced at him, fearing what he might do. Those eyes were too

dark. It’s not Fizz. But he’d made the mistake of breaking eye contact with Ginger, and when Ryan

looked back, he saw Ginger was once again facing Fizz. The boy opened his arms wider, and smiled.

“Daniel,” Ryan pleaded, but it didn’t do any good. Ginger went to Fizz, falling on the bed with him

in a tangle of limbs. Fizz chuckled as he closed his arms around him.

“Daniel, no!” Ryan stepped into the room. Blinding pain lashed across his face, and he cried out. He

felt the cuts on his cheek split open as something warm slicked down his face. Ryan stumbled against

the wall. With shaking fingers, he touched his cheek. It was wet, sticky. When he looked at his fingers

they were covered in blood.

How could this be happening? The pain felt real enough; his cheek sang with pain. Ryan’s temples

began to thump to the rhythm of his heartbeat, his blood running down his face. In desperation, Ryan

pleaded with the boy, the boy who wasn’t Fizz. “Why are you doing this?”

A low, dirty chuckle answered him. Fizz had Ginger laid out beneath him, straddling his body. His

hands played through Ginger’s long hair, then tugged at his t-shirt, pulling at the neckline and

exposing skin. The boy lowered his mouth, turning his face to look at Ryan as he darted his tongue

out, licking Ginger’s shoulder. “You want this, Ryan. You should have taken it while you could, but

it’s too late now.”

“Stop it!”

That laugh again. It seemed to swirl around the room, permeate through the walls and rattle the

very pipes in the building. “No one tells me what to do.” The boy turned his face, and ran his tongue

over Ginger’s lips.

Ryan’s eyes widened. “Fizz, stop it! Daniel!”

Ginger closed his eyes. Fizz’s tongue pressed between his cousin’s placid lips, pushing inside his

mouth. Ryan’s body started to tremble, though not with fear, with anger. The pool of blood on the

floor was still dripping up, collecting on the ceiling.

So much red.

All Ryan could focus on was someone else kissing Ginger. Someone else taking what he wanted.

Red heat lined his vision until he saw crimson. The smell of sulphur burned his nose when he drew in

a breath and, with fists clenched, he surged forward.

Ryan had never hit anyone before – had never wanted to – but the cloud of rage propelled him,

guiding his hand as he grabbed a handful of Fizz’s hair, yanking the boy up. His right hand clenched

into a fist, swung round, and punched Fizz so hard Ryan felt the impact shudder all the way to his

shoulder. He gasped from the pain, and the heat of his anger faded with the shock. Fizz fell back,

blood spurting from his nose. He laughed.

Ryan looked down at him as the boy opened his eyes. His tongue snaked out to lick the fresh blood

off his lips. “Ryan,” he purred. “Do that again.”

Ryan backed away. “Stop it! Who the fuck are you?”

Fizz writhed in the face of Ryan’s anger, half closing his eyes. He moaned softly, and the sound

made Ryan pause. What the hell? Was Fizz getting off on this? The boy laughed again, the sound low

and mocking.

Ryan turned to Ginger; still lying on the bed. He looked up at Ryan almost sleepily, his lips parted

and shiny.

“Oh, yes.” Fizz chuckled from behind them, yet his voice seemed to be everywhere at once. “Isn’t

this what you wanted, Ryan? A bed together, just the two of you. Go on, touch him. I won’t tell a

soul.”

Ryan’s resolve wavered. The last of his anger faded as lust swept in, replacing one molten heat with

another. The air around him felt thick and warm. It was like stepping into a dream, a fantasy. This

can’t be happening. Ryan leant forward, his eyes drawn to Ginger’s lips, desperate to taste. His tongue

wet his lips at the thought of claiming that pretty mouth. He so wanted to taste. His fingers reached

down, grasping handfuls of red hair, sifting through the soft tresses.

Something dripped, red on red. Ryan blinked. Another drip of red, barely discernible in Ginger’s

hair. Still Ryan leaned in. This was his dream; he wanted this. Beneath him, eyes of hazel brown

fluttered open, luring him in further. Ryan pressed his lips over Ginger’s, just the softest touch. Did he

dare take more? So many of his dreams started out like this. Ryan whimpered with sheer longing, but

before he closed his eyes completely, he saw a spot of red appear on Ginger’s cheek. Reluctantly,

Ryan lifted his head. His eyes cleared, focussing on the drop of blood that had landed on Ginger’s pale

skin. Another drop spattered next to it.

Looking up, Ryan bit back a cry as he saw the stain of blood on the ceiling had followed them;

bubbling and churning over their heads. If that was a cloud, it was about to start raining blood any

second now. This was no dream, he realised, it was a nightmare.

“Daniel, wake up,” Ryan said firmly. “We need to go.” He grabbed Ginger’s arm, using all his

strength to haul him up. Ginger clung on, staggering against him. “Quick,” Ryan hissed. He didn’t

look behind them, not even when he heard Fizz call out. Droplets fell, spatters of red on the

floorboards. Ryan slid his arm around Ginger’s waist, and pulled him away. The blood started raining

down, bringing with it a rank stench of sulphur. Ryan gasped, then promptly closed his mouth. Blood,

he thought, as his mind panicked. Don’t swallow it. Get out, now.

The blood rained hard, and Ryan slipped on the floor. Ginger was too heavy to hold up. Ryan

couldn’t hold him, not like this. He almost toppled, then a strong arm shot out and steadied them both.

A man had appeared on Ginger’s other side. Ryan blinked through the lashings of red rain, staring.

The man looked back at him – that stranger in the mirror! – and he nodded once. His expression set,

and his lips pressed thin as he heaved his arm back and pushed. A force harder than a freight train

knocked Ryan off his feet. Everything blurred as it rushed past him. He shouted in alarm, desperately

trying to keep hold of Ginger. The hard impact of the floor slammed against his back, making Ryan

gasp. He grunted as Ginger’s added weight came down on top of him.

Ryan blinked his eyes, surprised to see they were out on the stairwell, not in the pigeon loft at all.

That man had given them one hell of a shove.

“Daniel?” Ryan manoeuvred them around so he could check on Ginger. There was no blood,

nothing on him, but Ginger lay on the floor as boneless as a ragdoll. “Daniel? Are you –” Ryan leaned

over him, tears springing to his eyes. “Oh, God.”

Ginger’s eyes opened halfway, fixing on Ryan. His lips moved, and Ryan had to lower his head to

hear.

“Wh-what?” he asked, voice shaking. “Daniel, what –”

“Sleepy,” he whispered. “Just had to say...”

“What?” Ryan blinked, his tears falling onto Ginger’s face.

“You,” he breathed, closing his eyes. “It’s you, Ry. Should’ve said...before.”

“Daniel?” Ryan cupped his face. “Daniel!”

He didn’t respond. Ryan dared to lift an eyelid, but he wasn’t sure what to check for. The hazel

brown pupil stared straight ahead, dull, unresponsive. Ryan let the eyelid close.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

He tapped the side of Ginger’s cheek. “Daniel? Daniel, please, don’t do this to me.”

Still no response.

This couldn’t be happening. Ryan’s tears dried up as panic gripped him. He had to do something.

Ginger wasn’t having a mental breakdown, so this had to be a medical problem. Ambulance. The

thought lit up like a beacon in his mind. He had to call for an ambulance.

Ryan pulled himself up, glancing down at Ginger on the floor. He was torn, unwilling to leave him

there, but he knew he had to. Stupidly, he’d left his mobile phone down in the bar. The nearest

telephone was downstairs. The nearest person, however, was Matt, in the kitchen.

Chapter Seventeen

“Matt!” Ryan burst into the kitchen. “MATT!”

“Hang on.” Matt pulled a cage of sizzling chips from the deep fat fryer. “What?”

“Call an ambulance! Now!”

“Huh? What’s wrong?”

Ryan was already out of the kitchen. Matt left the chips, and followed him. “Ryan? Is it Fizz?”

“No.” Ryan’s voice wavered. “It’s Daniel, he – he’s collapsed.”

“He what?”

“Just go downstairs and call the ambulance!” Ryan shouted, diving back through the staff door. He

charged up the stairs, not wanting to leave Ginger for a second longer. What if Fizz came out of the

pigeon loft? What if he did something more to Ginger? Ryan tripped on the stairs, fell and banged his

knee. He cursed, but he didn’t stop.

When he reached the landing, Ginger was in the same place Ryan had left him. Ryan fell to his

knees next to him, whispering, “Daniel? Daniel, we’re calling the ambulance. We should’ve called it

before, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Low laughter filtered out from the pigeon loft. Ryan looked up, into a darkened hall. The pigeon

loft seemed to absorb all the light, and was growing darker. A figure stepped into its hallway.

Fizz.

“Ryan,” he called. “Come here? I want to say sorry.”

“Go away!” Ryan shouted, leaning over Ginger protectively. “Just...fuck off! Go back inside your

fucking room and stay there!”

Laughter answered him. “I’m not going anywhere...yet.”

“Please.” Ryan choked on a sob. “What have you done?”

Movement flickered in front of him. Ryan blinked in surprise, twice. The first blink, there was no

one there. The second blink, a person stood with their back to him, facing into the pigeon loft. Ryan

recognised the dark green military jacket, the scruff of brown hair.

It’s that man.

A growl came from inside the pigeon loft, sounding almost animalistic. “What do you want?”

“You’re hurting them,” the man said gruffly. “Stop it.”

“No. This is my chance, Martin, don’t you see?”

“You’re not coming out.” The man waved his hand, and Ryan watched the door to the pigeon loft

slam shut.

Relief flooded him. Fizz – or whoever the hell that boy was – had been kept away. Ryan realised

that the man was trying to protect him. Ryan wanted to ask who he was, but the words stuck in his

throat. As the man turned to look down at him, Ryan saw a dark patch of blood stain his chest. It

dripped over the brass buttons, seeping down his clothes. “I can’t hold him for long,” the man said,

then he vanished.

Ryan blinked. The stairwell was empty, just as before. He looked around, but the man really had

vanished into nothing.

“Oh shit.” Ryan grabbed for Ginger’s hand. “Daniel? Shit, Daniel, you got to wake up. I think – I

think I’m going mad.” He tried to feel for a pulse, but his own was beating too loud. Ryan leant down

instead, holding his breath, and placed his ear against Ginger’s chest.

A faint thud was music to his ears. “Thank God,” he breathed. Ginger was breathing, but he was

still unconscious. “Just hold on, Daniel,” he said. “I’m going to sort this all out.”

The door down the stairs opened. “Ryan?” Pete called.

Pete!

“Here!” Ryan called back.

Pete heaved himself up the stairs. When he got to the landing, he glanced down at them before

dropping to his knees. “I just got back. What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Ryan said honestly. “He just – he collapsed. He’s breathing, but he won’t wake up.”

“Okay.” Pete crouched at Ginger’s other side. “Matt’s calling an ambulance. Let’s put him in

recovery. You get his legs.”

Ryan cursed himself for not thinking of that sooner. He moved and, with Pete’s help, they shifted

Ginger onto his side. Pete had done a first aid course, but a long time ago. He’d been happy for Ginger

to take over that duty. Not that it helped them much now, but Ryan hoped Pete remembered enough to

help until the ambulance arrived.

Pete arranged Ginger’s arms, bending one elbow to support his own head. Ryan positioned Ginger’s

legs, the bottom one out straight, the other bent to keep the body from moving back and forth. He kept

his hand on Ginger’s thigh, desperate to stay in physical contact.

“Where’s Fizz?” Pete glanced at the pigeon loft. “And why’s the door shut?”

“He – um, he...”

“Guys?” Matt’s voice called, as his boots stomped up the stairs. “How old is Ginger?”

“Thirty-two,” Ryan and Pete answered together.

Matt came up the stairs, cordless phone in hand. He would’ve had to have gone into the basement’s

office to get the cordless. “Thirty-two,” Matt said into the phone. “Hello? Sorry, you’re breaking up.

Hello?”

“Shit,” Ryan cursed. “Matt, the reception doesn’t work up here! Go back down.”

“What?”

“Go back downstairs!”