The Weight of Souls

11 NO SIGN OF JUSTIN

My burger was growing cold and I was half listening to Hannah and Dad talking about school, half watching out of the pub window. There had been no sign of Justin. Dad grunted irritably and placed his pint meaningfully on the table.

“Are we keeping you from something, Taylor?” he snapped.

Hannah laughed uncomfortably. “She’s always like this, Mr Oh, I think it’s her eczema. It’s distracting when it’s bad.”

“How many times have I asked you to call me Gabriel?” Dad reached for her hand, squeezed it and withdrew. “Oh was Emma’s name, she wanted me to take it when we got married, a family tradition. Now when people say it, well… it reminds me what I’ve lost.”

“Sorry.” Hannah looked mortified. “I can call you Gabriel. It’s a nice name.”

“I didn’t mean to upset you.” Dad took a drink of his beer. “If we can just stick with Gabriel, or even Gabe, from here on out…”

“Of course.” Hannah looked at me, panic stricken.

“You’re right, Dad, it is a nice day.” I tried to focus on his face as I changed the subject, but my eyes kept slipping to the walkway outside. Was that man in jeans and a jumper really dressed for the weather? Was that woman casting a shadow?

Dad sighed and rolled his eyes at Hannah. “It’s just like being with her mum, she never gave me her full attention either. I started to feel like the most boring man alive. And now she’s older, with the glove and that hair, it’s easy to think I’m out with Emma.”

“The glove? Did Taylor’s mum have eczema too?” Hannah frowned at my hand.

“I’m sure she’s told you.” Dad smiled at my friend. “Emma shared Taylor’s condition.”

“No.” Hannah twisted her drink so that it made wet circles on the wooden table top. “She never said.”

“Oh.” Dad cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well, that’s her glove Taylor wears.” It was his turn to change the subject. “Is that a rowing team at the bar?”

Hannah gave me a final glower, before leaning to look. “Oh yes. Tay, check out the muscles.”

“Muscles?” I grabbed gladly at the change in direction. “Where?”

But my gaze never reached the bar. There was an old man in one corner. He had been slumped over an empty pint glass since we came in. As I watched, a waitress emerged from the kitchen area and started clearing away empties. She had a smile and a word for every customer, but not this guy. He nodded at her when she picked up his drink, but she didn’t even acknowledge him.

My heart started to sink. The corner in which he sat was shadowy and I hadn’t seen him looking at us, but still…

“Hannah, do you see that old guy over there?”

Hannah squinted. “Which one?”

“Under the picture.”

“I can’t see who you mean. Anyway, I’d much rather be checking out biceps than some old bloke. What are you thinking?”

She leaned back towards the bar with an exaggerated sigh that made Dad laugh. Then he touched my hand. “Taylor?”

Hannah couldn't see the old man. We had to leave. “I’ve finished, have you?” I said brightly, pushing my burger away.

“Well, yes. But I thought you might want pudding.”

“No thanks.” I twisted to grab my coat from the back of my chair. “Let’s walk back while it’s still nice. Hannah wants to dye her hair anyway.”

“Hannah?” Dad looked at her. “Do you want anything else?”

I widened my eyes in silent warning and she sighed. “No thanks, Mr… Gabriel… I’m OK. We can head back.”

Dad snorted. “I’ve got to get the bill, Taylor. We can’t just run from the restaurant, sit back down.”

“We’ll meet you outside.” I grabbed Hannah and backed towards the door. The old man had raised his head, but made no move to follow.

As I reached the exit I stopped. Why hadn’t he come after me?

“You still can’t see the old guy with the red scarf?” I asked.

Hannah peered around the pub. “I must be blinded by the lovely rowers, who I would’ve been happy to watch for longer,” she grumped.

“Huh.” I tilted my head at the dead guy. With a wry smile he raised one hand, but made no other move. Maybe he was newly deceased. I waggled my fingers in tentative response and he returned to regarding the beer mat that had sat under the empty glass. I exhaled, relief lightening my shoulders.

I’d never had a ghost just let me go before.

“Taylor, that was rude.”

Dad was so annoyed with me that he hadn’t even let me push his chair on the way home. Hannah had done a stint then he’d rolled himself the rest of the way. Now she was in the bathroom getting the dye out of her bag and his arms were shaking.

“Dad–”

“Even on the way home you were hardly paying attention to your friend. Let alone to me.” The bags under his eyes had grown, tiredness made him look older. “I just wanted a nice meal out, to spend some time together and you couldn’t even do that. I know why you made us leave early.”

“There was a–”

“This is getting out of hand.” He rubbed his trembling fingers through his hair. “Do you treat Hannah like this all the time? She didn’t even know about your mum having the same skin condition.”

“It’s not something I talk about,” I snapped.

“Not even with your best friend?” Dad glided forward. “I know what women are like and I know how important friends are. Your mum had her sister. She didn’t share her illness, but she knew about it. You don’t have a sister. As far as I can tell, you only have Hannah.”

I hung my head. “What am I meant to say? By the way, I see ghosts.”

“Of course not.” Dad sighed. “There’s no such thing and don’t be clever. Maybe I can speak to her. I can tell what we know: that it’s genetic, that you have hallucinations. You don’t want to lose her.”

“Right, and telling her I have hallucinations, that won’t freak her out.”

“It’s Hannah.” Dad’s chair hissed across the carpet. “She truly believes ‘the truth is out there’.”

“Dad!”

“You aren’t giving her enough credit.”

“Leave it.” I glanced towards the upstairs bathroom. “I’m handling this.”

He shook his head. “I’m worried about you. You’re going to end up alone.”

“I mean it. If I want Hannah to know, I’ll tell her. But right now I’m not taking the risk.”

“I’m ready.” Hannah’s voice called out from the bathroom. “Check it – neon pink and we’re going to try frosted tips this time.”

“Coming.” I glanced at Dad and sighed. “I really didn’t mean to ignore you.”

Dad looked at his dead feet. “Like I said, Taylor, I’m used to it.”

That night I fell asleep to the memory of words from Oh-Fa’s journal. I clenched my fists as I curled up in bed. If only I had enough of me left to keep my dad from feeling so alone.

As the day teetered on late afternoon our employer called us back. Our excited mutters were silenced when he stood with his arms spread; a showman with an elixir to peddle.

“I have it.” His round glasses glinted in the blazing sun. “Nefertiti’s tomb is…” He paused, enjoying his moment. “Right here.”

“Where?” Sunbird’s head bobbed and the Professor grinned at the man’s confusion and then tucked his notebook into the satchel he habitually carried over one shoulder.

“Anubis is pointing with his flail. The tomb is right beneath our feet.”

Sunbird roared at us to gather our tools and sledgehammers, but his instructions were unnecessary, activity had transformed the camp.

Yet as the Professor directed the first hammer blow into Anubis’ jackal snout I became apprehensive. Desecration of the image of a god, even that of a foreign deity, did not seem providential.

As the ancient stone boomed and shards of rock shattered on stone far below, a hole opened up beneath the carving and I, temporarily surplus to requirements, made my retreat.

“This is your early warning.” I looked sideways at Hannah. The candyfloss of her hair finished with platinum ends that caught the sun like puffs of cloud. “You look great, by the way.”

“I know.” She fluffed it with her fingers. “Mum hated it.”

“Excellent,” I grinned.

“So – early warning?” She swung her bag higher on her shoulder.

I cleared my throat. “I’m skipping out at lunch.”

“What?” Hannah stopped in front of me. “Why?”

“It’s an eczema thing.” I flashed my gloved hand briefly in front of her. “Doctor’s appointment.”

“You have a letter?”

I blinked. “I don’t have to show you a letter, do I?”

She sighed. “I guess not. Mrs Pickard will want one though.”

“I’ve got a letter.” I’d been forging Dad’s signature for three years. Mum always took me out of school when the Marks made it necessary, but Dad, not so much.

“You didn’t mention it last night.”

“It’s boring. I’ll be back in tomorrow, probably.”

“Probably? They’re not going to keep you in, are they?”

“No, nothing like that. I’ll let you know as soon as I do, promise.”

“Fine.” Hannah stepped to one side so we could walk to class. Her feet dragged all the way.

Getting hold of Justin’s address had been a matter of getting hold of Tamsin’s phone. I’d simply waited until she was showering after second period gym and snagged it from her bag. As I suspected, her contacts were up to date with email addresses, phone numbers, Twitter and all sorts, including physical addresses. Quickly I memorised Justin’s postcode and house number, and stuck the phone back in her bag when her hags weren’t looking.

Then at lunch I headed over there.

He lived in Brook Green, or he had, and his house was not actually that far from mine, which explained why I’d seen him down at the river a few times.

It was a smart Georgian townhouse. Justin had only been in the country five years, so his parents must have bought at the height of the market. They were well off. Not a huge surprise.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the kind of area that was good for loitering; no benches or bus shelters anywhere nearby and a police car was parked at the end of the road. I walked up and down the street half a dozen times, keeping my eyes on the blue front door. There was no sign of Justin.

Movement in the living room caught my attention and I increased my speed. A tall woman was standing at the window, one hand on the curtain, slow and elegant in grief. With the other she clutched a phone to her chest. Even from a distance I could see that she hadn’t slept in days. It had to be Justin’s mother, waiting for a call that would never come.

Was he in there, watching her?

I considered going up to the front door and knocking. I could offer my sympathies and try to get inside.

But I couldn’t face her. Not knowing what I knew.

I tugged at my glove, pulling it free. The black Mark staining my hand seemed to mock me. I had to ask Justin who killed him and put that look on his mother’s face. Still, I had time left; time to stake out the house and local area. And there was another obvious place for me to look.

Bothering his mother would be a last resort.

I texted Hannah swiftly. “Do you know where Tamsin lives?”

It turned out that Tamsin lived in a portered apartment on the other side of the borough, an easy walk from High Street Ken tube. I curled my lip. She’d have parquet flooring and downstairs a gym, maybe even a swimming pool. I leaned in the shadows of the building opposite and my eyes darted. The day was getting busy and any one of the people milling past me could be dead. Every minute I spent out here I was opening myself to the possibility of gaining another Mark and hastening the arrival of the Darkness.

The porter buzzed in a woman with an armful of shopping bags, calling her by name. It wouldn’t be easy breaking in and Tamsin certainly wasn’t going to be inviting me over any time soon. Again, my best bet would be to hang around outside until Justin turned up.

I closed my fist. The black Mark seemed to throb and the shadows around me grew darker. Breath held I stepped carefully out into the light, where I exhaled. Suddenly I was no longer comfortable with my hiding place.

A wave of anger lifted me onto my toes. “Justin, where the hell are you?”

It was almost 4 o’clock when Tamsin came home and my feet were itching with the need to run. I’d never stayed in one place for so long, so exposed. I felt as though ghosts were converging from all around the city, surrounding me with hands outstretched, ready to cover me with Marks, enough to blacken my whole body.

I was shaking like a junkie by the time she turned up.

Finally I saw her turn the corner with a couple of hags. At the end of the road she waved them off and as soon as they had given her cloyingly sympathetic hugs and turned away, her shoulders sagged and her whole body seemed to gain weight. She almost heaved herself along the street, bag dangling from her fingertips, barely skimming the filthy pavement.

I felt an unfamiliar twist of sympathy. Now would be the time for Justin to show up. I scanned every face, jerked when I saw a dark haired young man approach her. But he wasn’t in school uniform and he walked on without saying a word.

“Cheer up, love, it might never ’appen.” A grinning builder gave her a nudge as she passed and Tamsin glared poison.

“Piss off.”

With a low whistle he backed away and I shook my head with a half smile. Tamsin could look after herself. But where was her boyfriend? The shadows teemed at my feet. Suddenly it seemed like there wasn’t so much time after all.

By the time I got home it was dark. After I’d seen Tamsin enter her building I’d taken the risk and walked back via Justin’s house. He remained conspicuously absent. The frustrating thing was, I could be just missing him. He may well have been at school today while I was at his house, or at home while I was at Tamsin’s. There was only one of me and a whole city to search.

I had less than three weeks. He had to turn up some time. Didn’t he?

I decided that the best thing to do was choose one place. Given that he hadn’t gone to school, I thought Justin’s most likely hangout would be his own house. I wasn’t keen on staking out his street so obviously, exposing myself to local police as well as ghosts and nutters, but I took a sketch pad and pretended I was drawing. It was at least an excuse to be loitering.

It was a total waste of time.

By Thursday night I’d stopped wearing my glove inside. Looking at my hand had become an addiction. It didn’t hurt, but the numbness throbbed and I checked it obsessively every few minutes. Had it grown darker?

If I didn’t find Justin I was going to be the one stuck wearing the Mark when the Darkness came. There was no way I’d be able to identify his killer without him, I was no Sherlock Holmes. And without knowing who his killer was, I couldn’t pass the Mark on.

I’d been fortunate as far as other ghosts had been concerned. Somehow I’d successfully avoided the dead since Justin had Marked me, but I couldn’t be lucky forever. When another ghost touched me, I would be carrying double the stain. That would summon the Darkness faster and shorten the time I had to find him.

I shivered, tore my eyes from the invisibly throbbing black Mark and tucked my hand under my arm. I needed more information. I had to speak to someone who knew Justin better than I did.

My hand hovered over the phone, tendons standing proud. I had to call Pete.

Viciously I punched in his number from memory, hurting my fingertip as I jammed the digits.

“Hello.”

“It’s Taylor.”

There was silence for a moment and I wondered if Pete had put the phone down. Finally he spoke. “Right. Why are you calling me?”

I exhaled. “I know they haven’t found Justin yet–”

“What do you care?” His anger shivered down the line.

“I was just going to ask if you could tell me some of his hang outs. I-I thought I could help, maybe spend some time at one or two this weekend in case he turns up.”

“You want to help.” His scorn burned, but then I had no cause to complain. He was right; there was no way I’d be making this call if Justin hadn’t Marked me.

I swallowed. “I guess there’re a lot of people out there looking for him, but a fresh set of eyes can’t hurt, can it?”

The phone sat silent in my hand. I closed my eyes, wondering if my one-time friend would believe me.

“You haven’t been at school much this week.” Pete’s tone was accusatory. “Hannah’s been on her own.”

“I know.” Guilt hoarsened my voice. “I’ve been ill.”

“Yeah, like always. Her mum’s been a bitch. Have you even called her?”

“I… Not yet.” I looked at the Mark on my hand again. It was all I could think about. Hannah hadn’t even crossed my mind.

“But suddenly you’re worried about Justin,” Pete sneered. “Hannah deserves better.”

“I know.” I closed my eyes.

“And I’ve been telling her so.”

“You’ve no right.” My eyes snapped open.

“I’ve every right. I have no idea what’s going on with you, but then I never did. Neither does she.”

“I’ll be back at school soon and back to normal.”

“This is normal for you.”

“Pete…” My eyes were caught by my own hand. As if it were under a spotlight that suddenly dimmed, the stain darkened right in front of me. I almost gagged. “I was calling to find out about Justin, I’ll sort things out with Hannah, but–” I remembered what Dad had said when he asked if I felt guilty. “I fought with him just before he went missing, I feel really bad. I just want to know that he’s alright. That it isn’t my fault.” The lie felt like ashes in my mouth, but it was enough to give Pete pause.

“If you’re trying to pull something–” he said finally.

“I honestly want to find Justin.” Every atom of my body trembled with sincerity. He’d hear it. He knew me.

Eventually he sighed. “Fine, whatever. We went to the Empire quite a bit and we hung out at the Walkabout a few times, but I can’t see him in there without Harley. He and Tamsin loved Camden and…” He paused. “I guess it doesn’t matter if I tell you. He spent a lot of time at the Science Museum.”

“The Science Museum.” Something about that made me sit up.

“Yeah. Don’t laugh.”

“I’m not. I might check out the Museum then.”

“Fine.” Pete didn’t hang up. The sound of his breathing reminded me of all the time I’d spent on the phone with him over the years. I was tempted to ask what he thought of last night’s telly or what I'd missed at school. The words quivered on my lips, but never surfaced.

Then the dial tone hummed in my ear.

And in my mind the fourth entry of Oh-Fa’s journal:

Less than an hour later the hole is wide enough to admit two men and of the original icon, only the feet remain.

Now stairs descend from the sand but, despite the blazing sunlight, I can see no further than five treads; the sixth is covered in darkness as impenetrable as treacle.

I have returned to the tent to collect my tools and admit that I am reluctant to go back to the crypt. Pimples speckle my arms in defiance of the heat. It seems strange that we have been camped above the dark-tombed dead this whole week.

I cannot shift the words of the I-Ching from my head, they circle like hawks: The way that can be described is not the true way.

Something about this feels wrong and I would give a lot not to have to descend that staircase.

I think of my son, perhaps newborn. Not that. Never that.

It is time to go.