Worth His Salt Page 2

  “Answer the question.” This time it was the other officer who spoke, the meaner one. Eldred couldn’t get a read on any of them, their energy fields were clouded, and it made the ball of worry spin in his gut.

  “Okay, I was…I was out walking for a while.”

  “In the rain?” The first one scowled as he waited for Eldred to answer.

  “Is-is this an interrogation?”

  “No, not yet, but we can make it one if you’re more comfortable coming down to the station.” The meaner officer shifted his weight, making his handcuffs jingle in his belt.

  “Okay, okay. I was out walking in the rain. I took the bus at eleven fifteen, the green line, jumped off down by the beach, and then I walked along the shore up to the old lighthouse. I was alone, and I didn’t see anything unusual.” What he had sensed was another matter, but he didn’t think the officers would appreciate him talking about ghosts, energy, and being urged to follow a call in the middle of the night.

  The policemen exchanged looks. “I think you’d better come with us to the station, Mr Henstare.”

  “What?” What! “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what this is about.”

  “We need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Are you serious?”

  The mean cop placed his hands on his hips and frowned. His brown eyes were clouded and a chill shot up Eldred’s spine. Could it be hypnosis? Perhaps he was a drug addict or something.

  “You need to come with us to the station, now.”

  Eldred grabbed a hoodie from the coat rack and followed the policemen out of the flat.

  ***

  Mo stared out the window. The waves came crashing towards the shore with tremendous force. He could almost feel the cold water rushing over him, pulling him down, forcing its way down his throat until he was one with the water.

  The whiskey burned his throat, but he kept pouring it anyway.

  He’d been up all night, unable to sleep due to some strange banging in the cottage. Every time he’d started to relax a chill colder than any winter storm swept through the room and then sounds without a source ricocheted through the air. He had no explanation for what was happening, but he could live with the sounds if he had to. What he couldn’t live with was the image of himself drowning a man in the water outside the living room window.

  Mo had never killed anyone, hadn’t hit anyone since he punched Sid Scala in the belly when he was eight, but it was him out there. He was there right now, rising out of the sea. The scene played out again and again.

  A dark-haired man came stumbling along the beach. He was walking as if trying to resist each step and yet he walked into the water. There Mo grabbed him, and despite the man being as large as he was, he didn’t do anything to fight him off.

  Mo gulped down some more whiskey and watched for the thirtieth time as he—it was he—pushed the man’s head down into the water. He could almost feel the body struggling, could practically sense the man’s panic as he ran out of oxygen.

  Then it all stilled.

  If it hadn’t been for the blue lights flashing over the beach around dawn Mo would have been convinced he was hallucinating—he was hallucinating because there the dark-haired man came walking again. But he’d seen the emergency workers put the man in a body bag.

  He put the glass to his lips only to find it empty. Then the doorbell rang.

  Mo put down the glass, almost relieved they’d come for him now. He wasn’t sure he’d killed the man, he couldn’t recall any of it, but everything after having dropped Eldred off was a blur.

  He went to the hall, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

  “Mo Vin?”

  He nodded to the two policemen standing on his doorstep. One was a smallish woman and the other a grey-haired man who gave him an apologetic smile.

  “We’re from the police.” The woman held up a badge. “And we’re wondering if you’d be willing to answer a few questions.”

  “Yes, of course.” Mo searched for his shoes. He’d kicked them off when he’d arrived home in the middle of the night.

  “Could we come inside?”

  “What? You want to talk here?”

  “If you don’t mind.” She smiled, a tress of blond hair blowing in the salty wind.

  “No, of course not. Come in.” He moved to let them inside. Was it a trick to talk inside a suspect’s home before questioning them? He showed them into the kitchen and sat down at the table. There wasn’t much room, but at least he had four chairs.

  “What do you want to know?” He didn’t know how he would answer—had he drowned the man? He wanted to say no, but he’d seen it over and over again, so perhaps it was a memory repeating itself.

  The man gave him a puzzled look. “Well, only two things. We’re wondering if you were at home yesterday evening, and if you were, did you noticed anything out of the ordinary? Perhaps you saw someone?”

  “I-no, I mean, yes I was home, but I didn’t see anyone… Wait, I saw Eldred.” Eldred couldn’t have killed the man, could he? A kid like that? Mo pictured him, his red hair wild, those hazel eyes sparkling—no he wasn’t a murderer. But was Mo?

  “Eldred?” The man’s voice was soft, and he tilted his head to the side as he watched Mo.

  “Yeah, Eldred Henstare. He came by. I don’t know him, but he came walking up the beach, and the weather was terrible, so I drove him back to his place.”

  “Could you tell us what Eldred looks like?” The woman tapped her finger on the table, and it made Mo frown. Was she nervous? Annoyed? Impatient? He wanted a refill on the whiskey.

  “Sure. He’s young, twenty-five-ish, 5’9…ish, red hair, hazel eyes, on the thin side.” Mo hoped he was twenty-five. If he wasn’t Mo should be regretting the kiss—he wasn’t.

  “Right. Where did you drive Mr Henstare?”

  Mo told them, he didn’t know what the street was called but he explained the way and in what building Eldred was living.

  The woman stood. “That was all.”

  “What? Aren’t you gonna ask me about the drowned man?”

  The officers stared at him, but the woman didn’t sit down again. “What drowned man?”

  “Isn’t that why you’re here? Because of the drowned man you found on the beach?” Mo didn’t get it, why hadn’t they put him in cuffs? Sure they’d come here to arrest him.

  “When did you see a drowned man on the beach?” The man looked as if he was about to reach over the table and touch his hand.

  “This morning. There was emergency personnel on the beach.” He’d seen them; they’d been there.

  “Ah…” The man smiled again, and Mo wanted to punch him. Since when had he become violent? The realisation that he truly did want to smash the officer’s face in made him sit a little straighter. He didn’t normally want to hit people.

  “I’m sorry to inform you the body wasn’t a drowning accident. We’re here because a man was murdered, stabbed. We’re asking everyone in the area if they’ve noticed anything unusual. Not that there are many people living here.” The man slowly got to his feet. “We appreciate you taking the time to answer our questions.”

  “What? Wait, what? He wasn’t drowned?”

  “No.” The man shook his head and bid Mo goodbye. Once their car had rolled away down the small gravel road, Mo went into the living room and gazed out over the murky grey water. He almost breathed a sigh, but then the dark-haired man came walking up the beach again.

  A Fetch

  “Do you know this man?” An investigator with thinning brown hair and thick glasses pushed a picture towards Eldred where he sat on an uncomfortable plastic chair in an interrogation room at the police station.

  The photo was of a dark-haired man who gave the camera a sharp stare.

  “No, I’ve never seen him before.”

  The investigator shuffled some papers around. “Are you sure? Look carefully.”

  “I’m sure.” Eldred crossed his arms over his chest. He was f
ucking hungry. They hadn’t given him anything to eat since they got here hours ago and he was starting to get extremely annoyed. No one had told him what he was doing here. Everyone gave him sideways glances and then looked through their papers.

  “Perhaps the name Ryan Johnson helps you remember?”

  “I don’t know any Ryans, sorry.” A chill had the hairs on his arms stand on end. The spirit kept on calling him. The waves were becoming harder and harder to ignore, and he needed some food to be able to resist it. His shields were growing weaker, and with it the floaty feeling in his head became more insistent.

  “Perhaps if you look at this you’ll remember.” The investigator gave him a photo of a tattoo, one black snake and one white tangled together. “Ringing any bells? Did you design it?”

  Eldred raised an eyebrow as he watched the investigator. “You’re not very good at your job, are you?”

  “Excuse me?” The man dropped his papers and glared at Eldred.

  “I’m not the tattoo artist, Lachtin is. Though I doubt he tattooed this one; doesn’t seem like his style.”

  “You’re not a tattoo artist? What do you do for a living Mr Henstare?” The sneer on the man’s face made Eldred want to zap him. The energy started to build in his hands but right when he was about to send some of it the investigator’s way a new wave of icy chills washed over him.

  He gritted his teeth as he fought the urge to follow in the direction the energy was tugging him.

  “Do you have a job, Mr Henstare?”

  Not a normal one, no. “Yes. I do my brother’s paperwork, and sometimes I pick up the phone in the studio and make reservations if he’s busy tattooing.”

  “So you could’ve seen him there and then…followed him?”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake! I have never seen the guy. I don’t know why I’m here. I don’t know what you think I’ve done—”

  “You’re a suspect in a murder investigation, Mr Henstare.”

  Despite knowing his mouth was hanging open, Eldred couldn’t close it. “I’m a what?”

  “You’re a suspect—”

  “How can I be a suspect? I haven’t done anything. I haven’t seen him.”

  “He was stabbed last night outside the old lighthouse, the same lighthouse you said you walked by.”

  “Oh my god! Is Mo all right?”

  “Who?”

  “Mo Vin, the man living in the lighthouse.”

  The investigator made a note. “You know this Mo?”

  “No, I don’t know him, but he gave me a lift home yesterday.”

  He scribbled some more. “Was there anyone else by the lighthouse?”

  “No, I was out walking, the weather was terrible, and Mo gave me a ride home. There was no one else there. I won’t say anything more until I’ve had some legal advice.” He’d had enough of this nonsense. He had more important things to take care of than hanging around here—spirits to banish, handsome men to check up on.

  “We have a witness putting you at the scene.”

  “At the scene? Are you kidding me?”

  “Of course not! This is a serious matter, Mr Henstare.”

  “I’m well aware. I want to call my lawyer.” Nausea swelled in his gut. If he wasn’t let out of here the spirit could advance on the city as it pleased. With normal spirits not much would happen if they were left lingering for a while, but Eldred had a feeling that wouldn’t be the case here. As much as he hated it, he’d have to call Mother if they weren’t letting him go.

  The investigator looked at him over the rim of his glasses. “You are free to do so.”

  “I’m also leaving this place.” He had no idea if he was allowed to go, but as he got to his feet and the man didn’t do anything to stop him, he guessed he was. “I’m not under arrest, am I?”

  “You wouldn’t be leaving this room if you were.”

  What the fuck was going on?

  ***

  Mo was staring at himself as he fastened a noose around the joist in the living room. The dark-haired man materialised next to him and then despite looking terrified he allowed Mo to slip the rope around his neck.

  The whiskey stung on the way down and the next time Mo looked up the man was swinging, violently kicking around in the air. He fought to get out of the noose, but it didn’t work this time either. Soon he grew still, gently swaying where he hung. His face was swollen, his tongue hanging out of his mouth, and his unseeing eyes were bulging. The room filled with a scent of rot and Mo dipped his nose into the glass to escape it.

  He looked at the snake tattoo on the man’s left forearm. He’d seen it many times already, but it fascinated him because it was the last thing to disappear when he faded away.

  For a few seconds, the room was empty, and Mo could breathe. Then he arrived again—the other Mo. The air turned chilly, and his lungs shrank.

  He had gone mad. He couldn’t understand how it had happened but he’d apparently gone insane somewhere between last night and now.

  In a snap, the other Mo evaporated. A shudder shot through his body and then there was a knock on the door. Mo’s gut turned—they’d come to get him now.

  “Hello? Mo, are you there?”

  Mo stared towards the doorway as the sound of approaching footsteps came closer. Eldred stomped inside, a wrinkle between his brows, and his eyes blazing.

  “What the fuck is going on?”

  Mo opened his mouth to answer, but the words got stuck. Eldred’s hair was glowing. If there hadn’t been such dull weather outside, Mo’d have thought the sun was shining on it; it wasn’t. He was surrounded by light, like a halo.

  “Are you an angel?”

  Eldred stopped mid-step and stared at him. “Are you high?”

  “No.” Then he shrugged. “I don’t think so. But you’re all shiny, and warm, and…beautiful.” It wasn’t until then Mo realised how cold he was. He wanted to pull Eldred into his arms and soak up his heat.

  “I am, aren’t I?” Eldred winked, but somehow it was cut off right in the middle. His smile disappeared, and his gaze turned sharp. “What’s been going on here?”

  “Nothing…really.” He couldn’t tell Eldred he was seeing himself kill the same man over and over.

  “Did the police talk to you?” Eldred put his hands on his hip and tilted his head. Mo got the feeling he was trying to see more than just Mo. His heart began to thud in his ears—what if he could?

  “What?”

  “Did the police talk to you?”

  “Erm…yeah.”

  “Oh.” He dropped his arms and smiled. “Good, then that’s taken care of at least.”

  “What’s taken care of?”

  “They think I’ve killed some poor sod. I told them I was with you so I couldn’t have. Now that they know, I’m sure I’m not a suspect anymore.”

  “Did you kill him?” Mo didn’t believe it. Eldred didn’t look like someone who could kill anyone.

  “Are you stupid or drunk?”

  “Erm…drunk?”

  Eldred nodded. “I should hope so; stupidity would be a shame on a good-looking man like you.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Now, care to tell me what’s been going on in here?”

  ***

  The entire cottage stank of stale drunkenness but that wasn’t what bothered Eldred. The oppressing chill was one he couldn’t figure out. This was no ordinary spirit. He wasn’t sure it was a spirit at all, but whatever it was, its call was leading him here.

  He needed Lachtin.

  His hands were burning, his skin tingling, and yet he couldn’t pinpoint where the shadow was lingering. When he’d been out on the doorstep he would’ve bet his balls it was inside the cottage but when he’d entered there was only a residue of energy.

  He needed to smudge this place…thoroughly. Rubbing his arms, he tried to chase away some of the shivers, but it wasn’t helping.

  “What do you mean?” Mo’s eyes were dulled which had Eldred’s pulse raising. Something was wrong.

&nbs
p; “Something has happened in here. Did you see anything? A ghost?”

  Mo tensed and looked around the room. “There’s been some…noises.”

  Noises? Not everyone saw spirits, or rather most people didn’t. If Mo had heard things, the spectre or whatever it was had been here. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “What? Where?” Mo’s eyes were bloodshot, and where Eldred had sensed stability yesterday, he now read fear.

  “I need to pick up a few things…and my brother.”

  Slowly Mo turned and looked out the living room window. His gaze snapped back to Eldred in a heartbeat and if he’d been pale before it was nothing compared to now. On instinct, he flung out his senses and tried to locate whatever it was out there. The chill he found was so cold it burned. Then it was gone. “What is that?”

  “Me…I think.”

  “You? How do you mean you?”

  “I think I’ve lost it. I’m insane.”

  Eldred narrowed his eyes. “What do you see?”

  “I-I…I see myself…do things. Perhaps I’ve had too much to drink.”

  Eldred stood unmoving, the room was quiet, but his heart was racing. “We need to go. Now. I need my things.” A doppelgänger…if it was a Fetch they were running out of time. A Fetch was a doppelgänger who showed itself around the time of death. If Mo was seeing himself it could mean he was about to die. “When did you first see it?”

  Mo blinked, too slow for Eldred’s liking. “Up! Get up! Get moving.” He ran the few steps to the easy chair Mo was sitting in and grabbed his hands.

  “What’s going on?”