Disclaimer: All characters are entirely fictional and do not belong to me, they are the property of the creators of 'Swamp Thing'. Sadly I am making no money out of this.

Ghosts

Part 1

by Jacqui

Graham looked round the lab and what he saw gave him very little comfort. The three lowly technicians were pressed up against the wall, pretending that cowering was part of their job description. He couldn't find it in him to blame them; he wanted to do some cowering of his own. It was all very well the Doctor saying that this experiment was perfectly safe but he wasn't sticking around to test that out was he? Graham finished the complex job of linking together the fresh brains that had been delivered to the complex earlier in the day. *Brains,* he shuddered, no good had ever come of messing with brains, the Doctor's idea was brilliant of course but it was typically unpredictable in its outcomes. Harness the electrical energy of the human brain and create the first truly organic computer, maybe, but releasing the psychic energy of five brains sounded pretty dangerous to Graham. Taking a cautious step back he switched on the slight electrical current that started the process, then he just had to observe.

At first all seemed to be going well, the misty presence of [almost] living thought curled round the hardware to which the electrical current led it and the transfer of energy seemed to be controlled. Graham began to relax, allowing himself to study the readings with a little more curiosity, and missed the first, slight change in colour of the psychic field. By the time he looked up it was glowing a pure, vivid blue. He didn't know what it meant but he knew he didn't like it. Graham lunged for the cable, trying to break the circuit, when he was frozen in place. He felt pierced in a thousand places by the coldest of tendrils and his mouth fell open in a silent scream. The world around him stood still while Graham fell through an aching vacuum of pain.

When he regained consciousness he was completely alone, slumped in the corner of the lab. None of those three idiot hirelings even had the wits to come and help him, they were just huddled round over by the equipment gazing down at *something* on the floor. He tried to croak out a cry for help but couldn't make a sound; all he could do was watch. The arrival of Dr Arcane was an enormous relief, the Doctor would probably bawl him out with every kind of insult but at least he'd get things moving. When Arcane walked straight past him without even looking Graham crumpled, *Sir*, he tried to get out, *Sir* but he was still silent. Despairing he found that he could drag himself up, in fact he was so light headed that he actually felt he was floating.

He floated over to the little crowd, now spread apart to give Arcane room to kneel by the *something* on the floor.

"Didn't anyone try CPR?" Arcane snapped, "you imbeciles!" Graham floated up close to his employer and gazed down.

*Its ME,* he screamed wordlessly, "ME, Graham, ME. I'm on the floor, I'm, I'm DEAD.* He tried to grasp Arcane's shoulder, *Sir, I'm not dead, NO!* For a moment Arcane looked round and seemed puzzled, then he just shook himself and stood up.

"He's dead."

*NNNNOOOOOO.*

Dr Arcane's face tightened into a hard mask that was the denial of all expression. He looked down at the corpse and then some fleeting touch of emotion crossed his features. "Take him," he hesitated, "take this ...to a cryo-pod. Freeze it immediately." He looked round at the underlings, "Waste nothing, want for nothing," he said with a strained attempt at cheerfulness. Arcane turned away, speaking so quietly that only the invisible presence beside him could hear, "I can put this right, the bio-restorative formula, I'm so close."

Desperate to make the Doctor know that he was still around Graham concentrated hard on the hand and arm that seemed solid enough to him and felt a slight tingling there. Tentatively he reached out and touched Arcane, for a matter of seconds his fingers found a real purchase on the silk of his shirt and Graham knew, by the slight tremor that went through his employer that some contact had been made.

For the next two days Graham followed close by Arcane, trying every attempt to get his attention. He had tried to make himself known to other people around the complex but hadn't had even the slight signs of awareness that he'd seen in the Doctor, he was also doubtful that anyone would dare approach their employer with ghost stories or get a receptive hearing. At intervals Graham exerted all his spectral strength to force some solidity into his hands and he did occasionally manage to provoke a shiver, but not enough to make Arcane curious. On the evening of the second day Graham hovered in Dr Arcane's bedroom, watching him sort through a heap of clothes and preen himself in front of the mirror. He resolutely turned away while the Doctor dressed; refusing to acknowledge to himself that he was strongly tempted to take what advantage he could of his invisible form and just take a little look. He was well aware why Arcane was going to so much trouble. A woman.

Graham couldn't help being hurt, he hadn't really expected a period of mourning but it still made his ectoplasm shiver to see the Doctor creeping all over some big-bosomed, squeaky voiced airhead when his devoted assistant and truest friend was only just cold in his cryo-tube. Arcane ate with the woman alone in his private dining room and despite his wounded feelings Graham couldn't help staying around. He winced at the same old awful lines Arcane was using to seduce the woman, as if she needed any seducing, and he felt real pain as the Doctor began to fondle the woman, hands roaming over her surgically assisted curves.

Graham did want to leave, really, but he felt almost magnetically attracted to the couple as they moved on into the bedroom. *I do NOT want to see this,* he told himself, firmly. But he still drifted in through the bedroom wall. He watched, bitterly, as the greatest scientist of his generation demeaned himself, giggling like an imbecile with some clothes horse who had the intelligence of a water snail. Graham still couldn't turn away, his eyes were locked on Arcane as his employer stripped off and that slender, elegant body was revealed. His ghostly hands twitched to touch the expanse of silky, hairless skin and he felt a great sickening wave of rage as he watched the Doctor run his hands over a pair of silicon breasts. The anger filled him, he felt his insubstantial body grow colder and colour and form begin to develop. He was floating up against the wall behind Arcane's bed, looking down on the Doctor and overlooking the unwanted presence of the woman. He could sense, in some way, that he was becoming visible and he managed to let out a faintly audible 'whoosh' of air. The slight noise made Arcane look up.

"Aaaagh." Not the most articulate comment that great genius had ever made, but then he was in shock. Arcane leapt back, almost falling off the bed. "Graham," he yelped. The woman sat up, blessedly covering herself with a sheet. She looked round, and looked right through Graham. "Well, can't you see him, woman?" Arcane snapped.

"See who?" She clutched the sheet around her and slithered off the bed. "Look, I said no weird stuff, and no drugs. Whatever you're into I just don't want it."

Arcane had stopped listening to her, his eyes fixed on the glowing apparition over his bed. The woman saw that she had lost his interest.

"Well, I'd better go then, OK?" Silence was the only response and she grabbed, bad tempered, at her pile of clothes.

Arcane didn't even look at her as she left, he gazed in fascination at Graham's ghostly form.

"Well, Old chap, this really is remarkable - now just you stay there while I go get the necessary equipment to check you out thoroughly. But the glowing form was already fading, it had started to dim when the interloping female prepared herself to leave, and now that she was safely out of Arcane's way Graham lost his visible form completely.

Over the next few days Arcane was quite cheerfully absorbed in his research into the spectral visit. He did find the attitude of the lab technicians he'd drafted in to assist him to be annoying, they hardly seemed overawed by the potential of this discovery and there was even a faint air of downright skepticism. It made the Doctor aware that, for all his limitations, Graham did at least know how to appreciate genius. He was even rather discomforted to find that he missed that supportive presence at his side. Still at least he could get Graham back in supernatural form, if only he could re-establish contact. Unfortunately that was proving to be difficult, however much he tried to entice Graham's shade to show itself he remained stubbornly invisible.

At one stage Arcane even called the deeply disgruntled underwear model who had been present at the manifestation, only to receive some very inventive abuse and a flat denial that she had seen anything - except *a weirded out limey talking to the wall!*

Arcane had to admit to himself that her denial, coupled with the barely concealed doubts of his staff did give him just the slightest pause. Surely this couldn't have been some strange delusion brought on by, of all things, emotional stress? He gave that idea very little consideration, especially when he overheard a couple of guards apparently discussing him - speculating that he was unhinged by grief. He even felt that he heard a suggestion of pity in their tones. Pity! Arcane had once allowed grief into his life, grief so intense it had almost killed him, that would never happen again. And even to suggest that he might grieve for Graham, how absurd. Two guards quickly found themselves on permanent night duty, patrolling the acid pit. He simply had no time for doubts about his own sanity, Anton Arcane did not hallucinate, thus the manifestation of Graham's ghost was a fact. It was just a fact that was proving devilishly hard to verify.

Lack of progress did, however, rather lessen Arcane's enthusiasm for long hours in the lab and he began to feel a certain familiar restlessness. Intriguing though Graham's reappearance in his life had been it had also interrupted his last period of recreation before it had reached the usual, and much anticipated climax (to coin an entirely appropriate phrase). Arcane did need female companionship, and he needed it frequently, it was time to take an evening off.

A much indebted senator with links to the entertainment industry had recently given him the 'phone number of a struggling young actress who was prepared to be grateful for the attentions of wealthy men and he had no problem securing a visit to her at short notice. Their meeting went well, anxious for a change of scenery Arcane took her to dinner in Houma's finest [and only] restaurant, and found his new acquaintance to be charming as well as lovely. For her part the actress was pleased and relieved to actually be enjoying the company of a man who was considerably younger and far more attractive than the usual run of contacts she made through the senator. It was a pleasant evening all round, and Arcane was torn between a desire to linger over this pleasant period of anticipation and the need to satisfy the more basic urges that this delightful feminine presence had aroused. He was quite unaware that the ghost of his late assistant was hovering imperceptibly at his shoulder, as he had been through all those long periods in the lab. The frustration of being unable to get back in touch with the Doctor had been a strain on Graham but it had turned inwards, to self-pity. Now, however, it was building to a rare fury. Another woman, another little trollop crawling all over the Doctor, taking advantage of him. Graham accompanied them back to the complex, seething impotently at his voyeur's role but, again, unable to break away.

Dragged unwillingly behind Arcane, Graham found himself back in that familiar bedroom, shuddering with horror as that shameless female played her role, toying with the Doctor, slowly undressing him. Graham shivered with rage. He grew cold, his body stiffened into a solid, corporeal presence and he began to glow with a shimmering range of colours.

Dr. Arcane saw the emergent form of his assistant behind his companion and, this time, was able to control his reaction. Keeping his eyes on Graham he cast around desperately for some excuse that would allow him to get rid of the charming actress quickly, without so offending her that he might cut off future access to her charms. He could hardly claim a sudden wilting of his desire, given that even the rather disconcerting arrival of a spectator had no such effect. Indeed so persistent was his response to the warm, female body pressed up against him that he was almost tempted to carry on... but in front of Graham? That was going too far even for him. Arcane took a deep breath and began the sort of evasive speech that he had seldom had need of before. The "respect you too much, spoil the start of something good, get to know each other better speech." It was delivered rather abruptly, and it hardly fitted the situation but it was one of those lies women find hard to argue with. Perplexed, the girl tidied herself and took up Arcane's offer of a limousine ride home

Fretting, impatient to get to his research the Doctor could barely wait for the girl to enter the elevator before he seized on Graham. "Not the best of timing, Old Chap, but at least you..." The glowing colours that outlined Graham's form started to fade and his shape become less distinct. "NO," Arcane cried, lunging at the ghostly form as it disappeared. Angered beyond all endurance, he beat his fists against the headboard of his bed until he ran out of breath. Disconsolate, panting heavily, he slumped down heavily on the silk draped bed. No sex, again, and still no ghost. How much frustration was he supposed to take? "Dead or not, Graham, you'll pay for this."

Arcane allowed himself a brief period to dwell on his anger, and to acknowledge the gnawing discomfort of needs unmet. However he had always put work first and this was work of such potential importance. His mind began to clear and he was able to put his intelligence to work on this new piece of evidence, two manifestations, in such similar circumstances was not a coincidence and that gave him the beginning of a theory. Still finding himself distracted the Doctor went through to his bathroom and set his shower to its lowest temperature, an old remedy but still effective.

The powerful, icy, jets of water invigorated him and blasted away the last of his distraction. Now he could concentrate. It was reasonable to hypothesise that Graham wanted to make contact, and had probably been trying consistently since his 'demise' and yet had only manage to manifest on these two occasions. Too little to work on for a truly scientific speculation, but Arcane did have an advantage in that he knew the spectre in question very well. Just assume that to become visible, even to just one observer, required a great burst of psychic energy - perhaps in the form of strong emotion? Arcane grinned, poor Graham had never been skilled at hiding anything from his employer and his emotions were usually so repressed, damped down into his habitual submissiveness except for certain circumstances that now took on major significance. Arcane had never even pretended to believe that Graham's hostility, even anger, towards certain female visitors was solely concerned with matters of security. Indeed he had rather enjoyed keeping Graham around, letting him help with preparations for the inevitable seduction, making him all too well aware of the pleasures that awaited any attractive woman fortunate enough to encounter Anton Arcane. Yes, the only strong emotion that ever surfaced in Graham was jealousy, that heady mixture of unattainable desire for someone he, quite reasonably, adored and hatred for the women who had the access he was denied. Excellent, now he knew where to go with this, now he could say *first catch your ghost!*

Arcane spent most of the night working up his plans - first scribbling on odd bits of paper and then developing the finer points on his computer. Unfortunately what he required demanded some precision microelectronics and the specialist team he called into work at 6am the next morning claimed it would take them several days - an answer that displeased him, he was eager for progress [and, though loathe to admit it, for a resumption to his usual out of hours activities without Graham's interruptions.] However the electrical engineers could be 'rewarded' for their tardiness once the work was complete. For now the Doctor had no choice but to wait. He tried to return to any of the projects that had been on hold since Graham's unfortunate accident but he somehow couldn't concentrate, he was just too ...restless.

Arcane decided that it was time his more complacent employees got a shake up; he would tour the complex checking on those areas of lesser interest that he had formerly left to Graham's oversight. His progress through each department left no one in danger of complacency, he snapped, snarled, quibbled, criticised, threw each project team into a state of quivering indecision. Before he was two hours into his tour Arcane industries was virtually at a stand still. The Doctor himself, however, had forgotten all of his threats and rebukes almost as soon as he made them. He had become, rather, preoccupied with the uniform worn by all but the most senior staff. It was time it was redesigned, why ever had he thought such a tight fitting jump-suit appropriate? Everywhere he went his eyes were drawn to the bodies of his staff, too obviously displayed by their uniforms. The women, their breasts outlined so clearly straining against the fabric, those long zip fasteners just begging to be undone, to reveal the soft curvaceous bodies crammed inside those constricting outfits...

Arcane swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry, and wiped a fine layer of perspiration off his forehead. It was quite unacceptable, this was a place of work, a man couldn't apply himself to his labours if he was constantly distracted. Why, if that man *really* lost concentration this constant bombardment of the sense could become confusing. Displays of overly prominent bosoms were bad enough but there was too much bending, crouching, squatting down going on. Everywhere you looked were fine, taut, buttocks thrust in your face, demanding to be admired, crying out for some attention. And the worst of it was that it wasn't just the firm swell of female bottoms that was having that effect. The Doctor clutched tightly at the clip board he was carrying, somewhat awkwardly, in front of him and his knuckles whitened with strain. *Overalls* he thought, * loose, baggy, concealing overalls in some dark colour, get all the staff more decently dressed as soon as possible, that way no one would be tormented by...* He shook himself, both literally and figuratively, no more dwelling on that line of thought. He had to find something to think about that was so irretrievably dull it offered no stimulation whatsoever.

The dullest, and most pointless project that Arcane could think of visiting was that on energy conservation which Graham had talked him into. Too close to Alec Holland's mossy heart for the Doctor's tastes and just the sort of thing he saw as frittering away time and intellect. It was not the destiny of the human race to surrender to the petty limitations of nature, conserve and coddle it. Rather human ingenuity should be bent towards transcending such limits - not conserving energy but finding new ways to release it. However Graham had produced convincing evidence that Dr Ingersohn's work would pay its own way just in cost savings on heating the complex, and there was always a use for these time wasting 'energy saving' ideas as a sop to the environmentalists. He remembered Ingersohn as a stubby, ill favoured woman well above the age to attract his interest, as if he could ever find interesting someone who was still working with technology as primitive as the internal combustion engine, and he felt confident that not even the regulation jump-suit could transform her into an object of desire. The woman's enthusiasm for her work, and excitement at his sudden interest did lead to a relaxing, soporific lecture on the virtues of steam power and Arcane began to relax. By concentrating on her less than attractive face he was able to force down the recognition that her body was actually in good shape, at least in its clothed form and to blot out at least some of the gnawing physical discomfort that had been plaguing him. At least until she insisted on showing him her work. Ingersohn had surprisingly elegant, well kept hands and favoured a vivid red polish on the nails. As those hands caressed a large, metal piston and began to explain the basic operations he found his focus drawn to her stroking movements up and down the metallic shaft, he gulped slightly and tried to concentrate on what she was saying, suddenly aware that there was something oddly seductive about her Swedish accent

"And so the piston thrusts into these cylinders, "She explained,

"umm" he replied, weakly.

"Of course, as you can see they are very tight and can get extremely hot, so it is a precision movement thrusting in and out, in and out." She ran both hands up and down the piston, fingers sliding over the smooth surface as she spoke.

Arcane's throat was dry and his voice unusually weak, "hot, tight, " he echoed faintly, "thrusting in and out, umm, thrusting in and out, of a hot, tight..." His voice trailed off and a dreamy expression came over his face. He grasped his clip board so hard he seemed close to breaking it.

Dr. Ingersohn had lost all interest in her audience, aware only that she had someone to explain her precious life's work to. She got even closer to the piston, both hands wrapped around it and her breasts pressed against its tapering tip. "Unfortunately," she said, "the input of steam is hard to regulate."

Arcane tried to tear his gaze away the way she was standing, *science,* he thought, *cold rational mathematics, that's right, just concentrate on that.*

"There can be an enormous build up of pressure, " she said, "I've tried a system of release valves but its finding a flexible material to take the strain." She paused, sighing, "without becoming hard and swollen under the pressure. I really need some form of release."

Arcane closed his eyes, losing his battle against his own imagination. "The pressure is enormous, " he groaned," everything so hard," He looked back to the Swedish scientist still pressed up against smooth metal surface. "yes," he agreed, feverishly, "and swollen, hard and swollen with the pressure. It *has* to have release" he echoed, with rather more intensity than a discussion on recycling energy seemed to require.

"Well, unless it can be channelled so this can thrust in and ..."

"YES, I know," He yelled, "the thrusting, I know already," Arcane bent double as if stricken by a sudden stomach cramp. He knew that just one more word would be too much, and he fled.

Dr Ingersohn looked on in puzzlement as Arcane made his rapid but awkward exit. *How odd,* She thought, *Had he been taken ill? Still,* she concluded more brightly, * He was taking a great interest, and seemed to understand my problem so well - I think I can look forward to an increase in funding.*

Graham hovered around and in front of Dr Arcane trying desperately to make himself visible. He had rather enjoyed their tour of the complex, it was good to hear other people get their share of the Doctor's vitriolic abuse and he was pleased that some of the projects he set up were being noticed at last. Now, however, he was worried. Dr Arcane seemed ill, pale and sweating and slightly bent over as if in pain. Graham fluttered in Arcane's wake as they rushed to the elevator that went up to the Doctor's private quarters and found himself spectrally mingling with the molecules of the lift wall as he struggled to try to make himself solid. He badly wanted some physical form so that he could help the Doctor but *still* he couldn't manifest. Once inside his bedroom Arcane began to strip off, rapidly and without his usual tidiness or regard for his clothes. Graham took it as a sign that his mentor was out of sorts that he threw an expensive designer shirt to the floor and trampled over it, apparently unaware. Clumsily tearing at the button and the zipper of his loose fitting trousers, Arcane seemed in a frantic hurry to undress. He managed to kick off his shoes while simultaneously struggling out of his trousers and underwear and stood naked, breathing heavily. Graham tried to turn away, it seemed that he was always being thrust into the role of Peeping Tom, but he felt compelled to look. He didn't understand it, but the more it seemed he was violating the Doctor's privacy the harder he found it to resist.

Graham took a quick look, then another, he just couldn't keep his incorporeal eyes off Arcane. He was seeing more than he'd ever seen before, despite the fairly close contact he had had with his employer in his living form. Graham gaped, he would have blushed...if he'd had skin, or blood vessels.

*Oh,* he thought,

*Oh, So that's why he seems so uncomfortable.*

A whole set of realisations hit Graham, Including *I am going to get the blame for this.* He didn't intend to interrupt the Doctor's dates - no one would be happier than Graham if he could time his manifestations more conveniently. It wasn't fair. And he felt rather disappointed in the Doctor. He knew that some men were subject to cravings so strong that they had to be satisfied at all cost but he hated to believe such a weakness of Dr Arcane. After all if he, Graham, could manage a celibate lifestyle then surely someone as brilliant as the Doctor could abstain for a few weeks. He *was* disappointed. He was also fascinated.

Graham followed the naked form of his employer into the bathroom and waited while he turned the shower taps on full, the shower was set to its lowest temperature as it had been for weeks and icy water soon jetted out. Graham expected Arcane to step into the shower and, while he didn't *want* to look there was something about the prospect of seeing that sleek body bombarded with a powerful spray of cold water, especially those parts where it was most needed that..., well there was a certain tingling in parts of Graham that didn't even exist.

However, the Doctor wasn't even thinking about the shower, he leant heavily against the cool, tiled surround and let out a faint moan. Dammit, he'd been taking cold showers for weeks and their only benefit was a numbing effect that was rapidly wearing off. He couldn't take any more. If he was to be forced back into that agonising adolescent turmoil of arousal and disappointment then he could at least have recourse to an adolescent remedy.

Graham was puzzled when Arcane came returned to the bedroom, leaving the shower running, disregarded. He watched Arcane lie back on his bed, wriggling slightly against the smooth, silky surface of his bedspread and heard a little sigh of anticipation.

*Oh no,* Graham thought, *no I can't watch this. It's worse than seeing him with a woman.* He tried to close his eyes, but lack of a physical form made that difficult, and he had no way of shutting out the sounds. So he watched, and writhed with embarrassment, and he felt something begin to stir and solidify within him.

Arcane lay with his eyes shut, letting his imagination conjure up soft female hands stroking his overheated skin. It felt so good, he gave a little groan of pleasure as he got into the rhythm of the moment.

Then he became aware of *something*. He didn't want to open his eyes, he certainly didn't want to stop what he was doing. But there was definitely *something* hovering close above him. His eyes snapped open. He was gazing up into Graham's face, a face that was rapidly acquiring a fairly solid body.

"Graham," he yelled, indeed it was a scream of outrage. "You have to make your presence felt *now* you couldn't even give me a few moments to..." Remembering how exposed he was Arcane shifted his hands to cover himself, knowing that it was ridiculous - clearly he had nothing that he could keep private from Graham. Despite his anger and frustration scientific curiosity was, as ever, Arcane's prime motivation and now he had a ghostly manifestation in front of him he had to study it. This was, he realised, different to the other times Graham had materialised. Then his *body* had been far removed from human, a swirl of luminous colour around the edges and a cold, gaseous feel. This was a much more solidly physical form, close to the look of living flesh. Indeed as Graham materialised it was clear, as it hadn't been before, that there was no spectral clothing accompanying him into the after life. This body was very naked and...

*Ah, Graham,* Arcane grinned to himself as full materialisation showed just *how* physical this form was. *Excellent.* So now he knew that it wasn't just jealousy that made Graham show himself. Indeed 'showing himself' was entirely appropriate given Graham's rather excited condition.

This was a much more convenient way to lead Graham into the electronic 'cage' he had designed for him. It was also rather intriguing, perhaps even timely. He could make some interesting use of his assistant's newly reconstituted form, and all in the name of science. Ah, how he loved research! Time for an experiment.

Spreading his arms wide he exposed himself again, this time deliberately. He softened his voice to a seductive purr and smiled up at his erstwhile assistant.

"Graham, come here," he reached out his hands welcomingly, "I need you."