6

Finding himself alone in an unfamiliar place, Gordon hadn't been able to sleep. Closing his eyes brought a host of unsettling, disjointed images. Not as vivid as before, but still sickening-strong. Then, too, someone was playing a piano, far off in the night. Something terribly sad; just what he needed.

Thinking to himself,

'Place is the ruddy Haunted Mansion!'

...Gordon got up and went to the room's telecom, determined to make a phone call. He had to weave his way through a lot of athletic gear, fancy dive equipment and some kind of step ladder pressed into service as a combination aquarium stand and trophy shelf. Weird. He didn't enjoy drifting past the indecipherable bits of somebody's life, especially when he knew that the unknown life was supposed to be his.

The telecom sat atop a big wooden desk, which seemed to serve more often as a handy spot to pile gear than a work station, judging by all the watermarks and scratches. Regular slob, evidently. Not that he was all that surprised. The dorm room he shared with Royce and Damien in Madrid was a touch untidy, the flat in Drogheda, still more so. At least here, someone appeared to be picking up.

Reaching for the telecom's keypad, Gordon wrung his brain for awhile, then typed in the number... (0114) 272 6442 ... and leaned close to the phone, hands locked on the desk edge, to wait. The screen flashed, cleared, and a young girl's petulant face appeared, haloed in late-summer light. Cinnamon-skinned she was, with big brown eyes and pert features surrounded by a riot of dark corkscrew curls. Rosemary Fellows, Royce's little sister. Eyes widening happily, she shrieked,

"Gordon! Are you at th' airport, then? Shall we come f'r you?"

"Hey, Rosie. No... not just yet, Angel, but I'm workin' on it."

Her face fell, as sudden bright hopes for toys, candy, and lots of tossing into the air faded miserably away.

"Royce about?" Gordon prodded, making a mental note to send a gift by post, if he couldn't get out that way, soon.

The little girl rolled her eyes expressively.

"Aye! Lyin' out in front of the telly like a great, stupid sot!" And then, leaning dramatically closer,

" 'Ee's snorin'!"

Gordon was about to suggest that she run and get him, when a big hand appeared from outside the telecom's view, seized Rosemary by the back of her shirt, and tossed her away.

"Off with you, Rose!" Her brother snapped, as the girl threw a cushion. Batting it away, Royce turned back to the screen. His wide grin showed off a mouthful of gold teeth as the older boy said,

"Gordon, lad! On y'r way, are you?" He tapped a loosely clenched fist to the screen, which gesture Gordon returned from his end. Before they could continue the conversation, Rosemary interjected herself again, poking her head over her brother's muscular shoulder to say,

"You must come, Gordon. I've been dreadfully good!" And then, at her brother's slack-jawed astonishment, "Well, at any rate, I did try, and you would've busted Alfie Perkins bang in th' mouth, too, if ee'd said th' same t' you!" Lowering her voice, the girl added, "I'll not tell you what 'ee said t' me, in front of Royce... Go straight t' mum, 'ee will!" This time, Royce threw her further.

"Sorry about that, mate. She's a bit of a 'andful, sometimes. Dad's still out on the rig, an' I'm brat-sittin' while mum does 'er errands. Go on."

"Nuthin', really..., jus' wanted to say hello."

Royce shook his bald head, laughing a little.

"Never drink alone, mate. S' bad f'r you. At least put on the telly." Then, growing more serious, "Practice starts again, soon. Best show up on time, or McMahon 'll fry you."

"Right. I'll be there." Somehow.

Then the comm cut off, going suddenly dark and silent. Gordon cursed, started to punch the number back in again, was stopped by a brief, implacable message which flashed on the darkened screen.

'Access Denied.'

He collapsed into a chair, head in his hands. Right, then. No outside phone calls. So... what else was there to do in this wretched place besides listen to ghostly music, or stare at the ceiling? Rising, Gordon made his way to the door, half worried that it would be locked against him. The handle turned, though, letting him out into a long, dimly lit hallway. There was always the kitchen, which he was pretty sure he could find again, and maybe someone else was still up, looking for company. Whatever, sleep was entirely out of the question, that night.