If you like it, please leave a review. I'm loving the favourite story/story alert notices I'm getting, but reviews are even nicer! :)
Mitchell settled at a table in the cafe. He gulped down a can of Red Bull and chased it with a black coffee – normally he'd just have one or the other but he'd worked a double shift to cover for sickness and he needed the caffeine. Norovirus was working its way round again, so even more vomit for him to mop up than usual. Thank goodness vampires weren't susceptible to human viruses. The extra shifts brought more money in his pay packet, and that was always welcome, now that he'd cut himself off from Herrick. No chance of an extravagant lifestyle on minimum wage – his days of partying in Paris, Berlin and Vienna were long gone.
Vicky brushed past his chair, a can of diet Coke in her hand; her stimulant of choice – the whole damn place ran on caffeine and chocolate. She looked at the paper cup and the can in front of him. "You'll not sleep tonight." A slight smile and she met his eyes briefly. Was she flirting with him?
"Yeah, I don't get a lot of sleep." Let her make of that what she would. "Did you find the kid?"
A quick shake of the head. "No, she wasn't there. Maybe her mum found her. It's easy to get lost in here if you wander off – all the corridors look the same." She fiddled with her ID badge – a nervous gesture that he didn't miss – then tucked a stray tendril of hair behind her ear and smoothed out the creases in her scrubs. "You doing anything tonight?" A shy flick of her eyes across his face showed him what that had cost her.
"I... ah..." Let her down gently, Mitchell. He wasn't about to risk another nurse going missing – not without Herrick around to quietly brush over the tracks that would lead the police to his door.
"My house mate and I are staying in tonight. We're...um...watching the football over a few beers." Yes, football and beer – that should be laddish enough to put her off. "And then an early night. I've pulled a double shift today and I'm shattered."
The corners of her eyes creased as she looked at him, wondering if he was feeding her a line. "Who's playing?"
"Huh?"
"The football. Who's playing?"
"Liverpool and...um..." Oh hell, how had he got into this? "Barcelona." Did that sound convincing enough? Barcelona had a football team, didn't they? Please God, don't let her be a football fan. He was turning into as bad a liar as George, and heaven knew George was bad enough.
"OK, maybe another time. Funny, didn't have you down as a football fan."
"No? Love it. Can't get enough. Another time, maybe?"
"Yeah, another time."
He had a feeling he hadn't fooled her. Not one little bit.
ooooooooo
Rosie finally decided that people in hospitals weren't nice.
She had sat on her chair crying for ever such a long time and no-one had even stopped to see if she was alright. Lots of people had walked past. Surely they couldn't all be too busy to help her?
Oh well, if no-one would help her then she'd have to find her mum by herself, wouldn't she? If she had to look in all the wards, one at a time, till she found her, she would find her eventually. She was a stubborn little thing. Rosie slid to the floor, drew shaky fingers through bedraggled bunches, and set off at random down the nearest corridor. Wherever you are, mum, I'm coming to find you.
ooooooooo
In the office, the computer had come up with the name Kieran McNally as next of kin listed against the records of both Christina and Rosie, and a check of Christina's phone had found "Kieran Mobile" in its phone book.
The admissions secretary had the all clear to make the call. Although she had made this type of phone call more often than she cared to recall, she still hated it. Her fingers trembled and her stomach churned as she punched in the number and waited for the ringing tone. Times like these she hated her job – giving bad news to unsuspecting people.
The phone rang, and rang, and rang...
ooooooooo
Mitchell felt obliged to go back and check for himself. No, she had gone all right, and he resumed his cleaning, zipping the polisher over the floor and thinking of anything but what he was doing.
A couple of corridors later, as he passed the door to ward 7, he could hear that plaintive little voice calling for her mum again. Peeping round the corner he could see her, trying to attract the attention of the ward sister and getting more and more distraught with each attempt. Just as he was about to call to her to ask why she was ignoring the kid, the sister turned and walked straight through the crying child.
Ah, crap, that explained a lot. Why Vicky couldn't find her, for starters. Why he could see and hear her and no-one else could.
What the hell was a little ghost doing wandering around the hospital? And why did he bother drinking Red Bull and coffee when he evidently still had the mental capacity of a woodlouse – he should have worked that out sooner. God, he needed sleep. Even the undead got tired on double shifts.
OK. This could be tricky. He needed to attract her attention without it looking like he was going completely insane and talking to himself. He leaned round the door again and tried to catch her eye, "Pssstt!" Several pairs of eyes swivelled towards him and he ducked back round the door frame, peeping back a few seconds later to see a small girl looking curiously towards him. He jerked his head towards the corridor and mouthed, "C'mere!" She glanced around the other adults in the ward, then back to him. He beckoned to her and she joined him in the corridor.
"You need to come with me."
Her nose screwed up as she looked at him suspiciously. "My mum says I mustn't go anywhere with strangers."
"What's your name, kid?"
"My mum says I mustn't tell strangers my name either."
He sighed. This was going to be harder than he had thought. "My name's Mitchell, so I'm not a stranger any more, right? What's your name?"
"My mum says I should scream if anyone tries to talk to me that I don't want talking to me."
Great. Not just a ghost, but an unintentionally smartassed ghost.
He couldn't stand here talking to himself – someone would notice sooner or later. "I'm too tired for this," he muttered, "Scream away, Lisa - see where that gets you. I'll be back when you've worked out that I'm the only person around here who can actually see you." He stalked off down the corridor, only vaguely aware of a small presence tagging along behind him.
ooooooooo
Kieran McNally woke up and felt for his phone by the bedside. It was normally in the same place, right next to the lamp, but it wasn't there. What the heck time was it anyway? God, he felt naked without his phone.
Technically of course, he was naked, as was the blue-eyed brunette in the bed beside him. He watched her sleeping, a smile flickering about the corners of her mouth, but what the hell was she doing in his bed? He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up, groaning as his head swam and a bolt of pain shot across his forehead.
Memory started to return – Alicia from the office, a dinner out at the new fish restaurant in town (oysters of course) and lots and lots of good wine. His head would testify to how much wine he had drunk. Damn, but he needed a coffee – strong and black and sweet would do him a power of good.
His phone was probably discarded somewhere between the front door and the bedroom, depending on which pocket it had been in and in which order his clothes had come off when they got home. How could he have been so stupid? Cheating on his wife and an office romance both came pretty high up on his list of things never to do, especially in the circumstances. He was playing with fire.
Her eyes flickered open. "Good morning, do you fancy a coffee?"
"Hmmmm?" She murmured drowsily, favouring him with a slow contented smile.
"Stay right there, I'll go and put the machine on." He needed to get away from her. The kitchen wasn't far enough, but it was a start.
"What's the hurry?"
"Well, work for one thing. I'm late enough as it is." Several months down the line he was still very much the new boy at the European Court in Brussels and he didn't want to give them any cause for complaint. The person who had recruited him needed him in that post – he had made that perfectly clear.
She reached out and caught his arm, flinging back the duvet and patting the bed beside her invitingly. "You're cold. Come back to bed. It's warm in here."
"I'm always cold. Bad circulation." He rubbed half-heartedly at his arms, trying to chafe some warmth back into them, with little success, then took a robe from the peg on the bathroom door and pulled it on.
Damn. Last night had been a big mistake and it was going to take all of his tact and diplomacy to get himself out of this one. He couldn't get himself involved; it was too risky. He'd taken a big enough chance last night as it was, although he seemed to have got away with it, thank God. A man in his position couldn't take risks like this – he had to be a lot more careful.
He lurched towards the kitchen wondering how quickly he could get her out without her making a scene. The last thing he needed was an hysterical woman in his flat. Once again he wondered how he had been so stupid as to get himself into this situation.
In his trouser pocket downstairs, Kieran's phone screen flashed the message : "three missed calls".
ooooooooo
"Oh my God, she's a ghost." Nina stared in astonishment at the girl, then back at Mitchell. Mitchell knew that he wasn't Nina's cup of tea, especially since she had been infected – somehow that was his fault, not George's - but he needed someone who could get access to hospital records. And while Nina hadn't really accepted that she was now part of the supernatural world, she could at least see the child who was fidgeting between them.
"Yeah, a freaking gobby one at that. Who won't talk to strangers. Jesus." He rolled his eyes to show what he thought of that.
The child looked sternly up at him. "I'd get told off if I said things like that. My mum says it's not clever to use bad language."
Nina squatted down to talk to the child at eye level. "I'm not a stranger. I'm a nurse here at the hospital, so I help people. I can help you, if you let me."
The child looked at Nina thoughtfully, sizing her up, then glanced sideways at Mitchell. She seemed to decide that Nina was the safer option. "I need to find my mum. They took her away in an ambulance and I've looked everywhere for her. I don't know where she's gone." Slow tears started to trickle down her cheeks once more.
"Ok, I think I can find out for you. What's your name and how old are you?
"I'm Rosie McNally and I'm eight and a quarter."
"And what's your mum's name?"
"Christina."
"Christina McNally?" The child gave a little nod and a sniff then wiped her nose with the back of her hand.
Nina pulled Mitchell aside. "When do you get off shift?"
"I'm pretty much due off – five, ten minutes."
"OK, take her home, have Annie look after her. I'll see if I can find out what's happened to her mother. I'll end up losing my job snooping around people's records like this." She glared at him, "You owe me big time for this, Mitchell."
"Yeah. Thanks, Nina." His thanks were as heartfelt as he could make them in the circumstances, but still sounded insincere to him. He turned to Rosie and took her arm. It felt strangely insubstantial – a bit like Annie did when he hugged her. "Come with me."
Rosie looked him up and down and let out the previously promised scream.
"Will ya shut the heck up, Matilda? There are precisely three people in this hospital who can hear you. One of them's me, one of them's her and the other one isn't here. And none of us are listening." Mitchell dragged his fingers through his hair and turned away in exasperation.
Nina narrowed her eyes. "Have you been drinking Red Bull again? You know it makes you cranky." A satisfied half-smile crossed her face as Mitchell left for the locker room, a small and somewhat bedraggled-looking ghost trailing miserably a few yards after him.
ooooooooo
Annie's rather less oppositional manner won Rosie over where Mitchell had spectacularly failed. He had stalked up the hill, Rosie trotting along behind him trying to keep up with the pace he set on his long legs. He hadn't waited for her to follow her in the door, just left it standing open enough for her to peep around it, finally creeping in after him to be greeted by Annie's warm smile and offer of pride of place on their sofa.
The child was soon established in front of the TV and Mitchell and Annie discussed the situation in low voices in the kitchen, Annie scuttling around making endless cups of tea – a sure sign that she was agitated. Mitchell nursed a mug at the kitchen table, keeping half an eye on the girl in the room beyond.
"She is stuck with a load of strangers and scared – she's obviously not going to react well. And I can't see why you are being so horrible to her – you were really sweet with Bernie." She bit her lip as Mitchell's face darkened at the mention of the boy. She knew Mitchell still blamed himself for Bernie's death; that incident had been mostly to blame for Mitchell going back to the vampires some time before.
"Bernie was a cool kid. She's an annoying, stroppy little brat."
Yes, thought Annie, and Bernie idolised you – put you on a pedestal. Rosie isn't doing that, so she's not as appealing.
"So how come she's looking for her mum? Why wasn't there a door? Shouldn't someone make sure a child gets across safely? Did they forget her?"
"I don't know all the supernatural rules, Annie. Maybe whoever should've made sure she got through OK was on his tea break, or off having a pee – I dunno. Vampire rules I'm pretty hot on; ghost rules are a bit of a grey area for me."
"Maybe she has unfinished business here?" Annie knew about that; she had had her own issues to work through.
"How much unfinished business can she have, for Christ's sake? She's eight!"
Mitchell's phone rang, its shrill noise cutting through the conversation.
"Phone's ringing!" called Rosie from the front room.
"Yeah, they do that," grumbled Mitchell, snatching up his jacket from the back of the sofa and fumbling his phone from the pocket. "Yeah?"
"Mitchell? It's Nina."
"Hey. Any joy?" He held the receiver so that Annie too could hear what Nina said.
"There was a Christina McNally admitted earlier this afternoon. Accident on the M32. Her daughter Rosie was pronounced dead at the scene."
"Sounds like our girl," Mitchell glanced at Annie, who nodded almost imperceptibly.
"Christina is in intensive care with head injuries - it's all a bit touch and go. They've found her next of kin on her records – Kieran McNally – so they will be trying to get in touch with him. I'm guessing that's our ghost's dad."
"Right. So now we just have to work out what's keeping Hermione here earthbound and hope that we can find a door and bundle her through it at the right moment."
"That's all I've got, Mitchell. Any more than that and people will start asking why I'm poking around somewhere that's none of my business."
"Cheers, Nina. I appreciate it." She rang off without a goodbye, leaving him staring at the phone. "Yeah, love you more. Jeez."
A key turned in the lock and George let himself in, immediately turning on Mitchell. "Where did you get to? I waited in the locker room for you for ages. Did you leave without me? You know if we're on the same shift we always walk home together." George's voice was laced with indignation.
"Something came up."
"And who the hell is that?" George had registered the kid on the sofa and the TV belting out the theme tune to another programme.
"That's kinda what came up."
ooooooooo
Kieran McNally's face was ashen as he hung up. The hospital staff had been as delicate with him as they could, but all the gentleness and sympathetic words couldn't mask the fact that they had just told him that his only child was dead. He closed his eyes and covered his face with his hands, trying to block out the world of pain into which he had suddenly fallen.
Alicia sat cautiously on the bed beside him and held out a glass of whisky. She shouldn't be there, he thought wildly. He barely knew her – she shouldn't be sharing the worst moment of his life.
"She was only a child; she can't be dead. Oh Rosie, baby. My sweet, sweet girl." His shoulders shook as the shock and grief hit him. He took the glass in a shaking hand and guided it to his lips. Barely knowing what he was doing, he threw the amber liquid down his throat with one rasping, burning gulp.
"What happened?" Her voice was cautious, the intimacy they had shared the night before gone – she was an outsider, intruding on his grief, unsure whether to stay or to go.
His finger circled the rim of the glass. "They were in a car accident. Rosie had internal injuries and never made it to the hospital. Christina is critical in intensive care. I'll call work – tell them I won't be in for a few days." His eyes were bleak as he met her gaze. "I'll need to get Alan to take over the case from me, see if he can...if he can..." His voice trailed off – he wasn't thinking straight.
She gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze. "I'll call the airport and check the earliest flight they have available. Bristol, yes?"
He'd meant to go home for Rosie's birthday, but somehow it hadn't happened: the new job and everything, he'd told himself. He had called her on the phone, but that hadn't been the same and he knew he had hurt her. He'd been a crap dad to her, but she'd loved him anyway.
He could hear Alicia talking on the land line downstairs, calling the airport with the briskly efficient manner she used at work. He sat on the side of the bed and held his head in his hands, his shoulders shaking convulsively as he let the tears overwhelm him.
When he'd cried enough to be able to function again, he got his suitcase down from the top of the wardrobe and packed it mechanically: shirts, socks, boxers. Finally he put in his best dark suit and shoes that were usually reserved for weddings, christenings...and funerals.
