In which we encounter a couple more old faces, Annie and Mitchell are mistaken for swingers, and George and Nina get some startling information.
I am so, so sorry for the long hiatus. Lost data, medical issues, RL all came crashing down around me and my writing has taken a major hit because of it. However, this fic was only a couple of chapters away from completion, and I was talked into continuing. I apologize if it is not up to the standards (or momentum) of previous chapters, but I'm doing my best to see it through in the manor that was orrigionally intended.
Love to all
There was an old iron staircase leading up the backside of the record shop to a heavy metal door. Mitchell held onto Annie's hand tightly as they walked down the alleyway toward the stairs.
"Mitchell…" She trailed off before she said anything else. She was nervous. Scared, really. More scared than she remembered being in a long time. But she felt that if she said anything out loud it would be like admitting defeat before she'd lost the battle.
"It'll be fine," he said stoically, already feeling her anxiety. She needn't put it into words – he was feeling the same things himself.
As they reached the base of the stairs, the door swung open, Gilbert leaning out on the landing.
"Well," he said in his clipped accent. "Come up then. Let's see these rare bootlegs I hear tell of." He turned around with a flourish and disappeared back through the doorway.
"It's like he can't be asked," Annie whispered as they began climbing the stairs.
"So, that much is the same," he whispered back.
"George, stop pacing," Nina ordered from her seat on the sofa in the bottom flat. "You're making my nausea worse."
"I'm sorry. I just can't sit still. I mean, what if Annie can't come up with anything?" His pacing slowed, but didn't cease completely.
"I don't know, George, but right now it's the best plan we've got. Have you been able to come up with anything better?" she asked, irritable with the fact that she wasn't able to do anything more than sit and be nauseated all morning. Her head was pounding.
"Well, not exactly, no." He sat down reluctantly next to her. "Maybe it is the best plan, but… but, Nina, I just feel so useless."
"I know, my love." She grabbed his hand and placed it over her stomach, leaning her head against his shoulder.
"But what if… what if we do the same as Annie and Mitchell?" He turned his head to look at her. "We should look for somebody we know who's crossed over. Maybe…. the more people we search out, the better chance we have of… of beating this."
"Maybe," Nina nodded her head hesitantly causing George to shoot back to his feet with a new burst of energy. "Maybe, George. But where would we even begin to look? Who would we look for?"
"I'm not sure, but I have to try." He leaned down and kissed her quickly before heading for his coat and the door.
As he passed the bay window, he stopped short and stared through the glass at something in the street.
"George?" Nina asked, concerned, and pushing herself up from the sofa. "What is it?"
"Uh… I think… I think we don't have to look any further." He turned to give Nina a serious look as the doorbell rang.
"Don't tell me these are Joy Division bootlegs. I happen to know I've already got all of those. Live, underground, all of it."
"Um, no," Annie said softly, not knowing where exactly to begin.
"Gilbert…" Mitchell leaned forward in his seat, fixing Gilbert in a hard gaze.
"Yeah?" the man said, seemingly unaware of the tension radiating in waves between his two guests.
"Gilbert, we don't have any music for ya," Mitchell continued, glancing over to Annie for some help.
"What Mitchell is trying to say is…" She trailed off, realizing the point Mitchell had tried to warn her about on their way to the record shop earlier. How did you broach the subject of having been ghosts together on another plane of existence? And that was if this was even the same Gilbert. What if he was just a, a projection or whatever, created by her mind to fill in the gaps of this fantasy world? Okay. She was pretty sure she was about to begin hyperventilating.
"Gilbert," Mitchell could see her internal struggle; he needed to take up the reigns from her. "We know one another, all of us. And… Annie and I need ya to remember." Well, that was a start. He heard Annie's soft sigh in the silence that followed.
"Know you from where? The club?" Gilbert asked, finally.
"Yes!" Annie shouted excitedly.
"Well… you know that place is supposed to be anonymous, don't you? You're not supposed to come looking. That's the point! How did you even find me?"
"What? Anonymous? What's he talking about Mitchell?"
"Uh, Annie… don't worry about it," Mitchell said knowingly, patting her hand to quiet her. "Look," he said, turning back to Gilbert. "That's flattering, but we aren't from that kind of club."
"You and I met at a dance club in Bristol," Annie put in. "Eighties night. I hate eighties music. D you remember? You taught me about doors and Gilbert fun."
"Right…" he said hesitantly. Then, more strongly, "Right. Eighties night in Bristol."
"That's right!" Mitchell smiled, suddenly letting his hopes grow.
"Well, that's lovely. Glad you two had fun taking the piss, but you can both get the fuck out of my office now!"
"What?!" Annie gasped as she and Mitchell were forced to stand and back towards the door.
"Somehow you heard about my NDE, when I hallucinated bein' a ghost in Bristol. Well, I don't bloody appreciate wankers like you two using me for your amusement. So, jog on!" Gilbert yelled as he chased them out the office door onto the metal landing.
"My God!" Annie gasped when the door was finally slammed in their faces. "I don't understand the half of what he was on about, Mitchell! What's going on?"
"Annie, I'm sorry," he said, taking her by the arm and tugging her down the steps after him. "He doesn't remember us."
"But he said 'ghost in Bristol'. Mitchell! Theat means he remembers, yeah! A little bit, at least."
"Annie, he doesn't believe it. He said NDE. Annie, that means 'near death experience'. He t'inks he saw somethin' when he almost died. Remember Saul?" They were shouting at each other now, and she pulled her hand back when he said the other man's name. Saul.
"The men with sticks and rope."
"I saw 'em, too," Mitchell said, nodding solemnly. "When I died. 'Fore I come back."
"This is them. This has got to be them, Mitchell. Trying to keep us here. I don't understand what they get out of it, but… they need us here somehow."
"There's the good place, and there's the bad place after death. And this is neither, agreed?" he asked as they made their way back to the main street.
"Definitely. Neither," Annie agreed.
"Go back to the house and stay close to George and Nina." He grabbed he and pulled her close to him. Burrying his fingers into her hair, he leaned down and kissed the top of her head.
Angling up, Annie forcer her mouth to his lips. She was determined to kiss him just now, though she wasn't sure why it felt so urgent. But Mitchell broke away before it could be anything more than chaste, and kissed her forehead once before turning forcefully to walk away.
"Mitchell!" she called. "Where are you going?"
"I've to talk to someone."
"My God, is that McNair?"
"I… yes. Yes! Nina, what if he's come here to kill Mitchell?" George worried at the front door knob as the bell rang again.
"Well, It's a good job Mitchell isn't here then. But, no. George. I think you were right before. I think this is the first good chance we have to ask somebody about what's going on, don't you?" she asked excitedly. "Open the door."
"I'm sorry. You can't blame me for being a little leary." George took a deep breath and straightened up to his full height before pulling on the latch.
The Older man stood ther on the stoop dressed in casual professional attire – khaki trousers, a button-down, and a pullover jumper. He reached his hand out to George for a shake.
"Hello. George. Nina," he said, nodding to them both. "I'm Thomas -"
"McNair," George cut in.
"Yes, well… Sorry. I'm a little late, obviously."
"I think you'd better come in," Nina said, tugging George aside so that the man could enter the flat unhindered.
"I'm not sure how much you may have already discerned for yourself, but, for the rest of your time here, you can think of me as… your liaison."
"Liaison?"
"What do you mean, the rest of our time here?" George asked excitedly over Nina's more quiet question.