Chapter Nine

Atem wasn't in sight as the two friends met in the second floor hall. "I wonder where he is," Mokuba whispered.

"I think he's trying the bathroom, since the ghost was felt very strongly in there," Marik whispered back.

They slipped down the stairs. The door to the basement was in the kitchen, and they were both surprised to see the light on in there. But they shrugged it off. Lights were on all over the house; everyone had been too upset or too spooked to turn them off.

The kitchen was occupied, however. Yami Bakura was sitting at the table, munching on a chicken leg as they entered. "What are you two doing up?" he grunted.

"Investigating," Marik said flatly. "I see you're helping the case along."

Yami Bakura shrugged. "How do you know I'm not watching to see if someone comes through the secret passage that we can't seem to open from this side?"

". . . You could be, I guess," Mokuba said. "Where's Bakura?"

"He'll be along soon." Yami Bakura quirked an eyebrow. "You realize, by coming down here 'investigating,' you've left your brothers all alone upstairs?"

Mokuba flinched, while Marik looked a bit guilty. But at last he said, "At least the only malevolent ghosts seem to be in the North wing. I don't think either Rishid or Seto would be scared by a ghost that silently watches. Anyway, the Pharaoh is staying up trying to draw it out."

"Then suit yourselves." Yami Bakura leaned back. "Where, exactly, are you planning on investigating?"

"The basement," Marik said.

Yami Bakura grunted. "You know, it's obvious these spirits aren't going to communicate with anyone. Your best bet would probably be a Ouija board."

"No, thank you," Marik retorted. "Who knows what other evil spirits might decide to come play with us if we did that!"

"If something goes wrong and we yell or something, you'll come help us, won't you?" Mokuba asked.

Yami Bakura smirked. "I suppose you'll just have to wait and find out."

Marik rolled his eyes. "If you're not too busy sucking all the blood out of that drumstick, I'm sure you will." He opened the door to the basement and switched on the light for the stairs. "Let's go, Mokuba."

Mokuba waited until they were out of earshot before speaking again. "You guys really don't get along very well."

"We've never liked each other that much," Marik admitted. "But we're allies now. And I know that in spite of his love of teasing, he will indeed come if there's trouble." He lowered his voice. "Don't tell him, but I'm rather relieved he's up and so close to the basement."

Mokuba giggled. "I kind of am too."

They reached the bottom of the stairs and Marik turned on the next lights. The laundry room was to their right. Like the third floor rooms, it was mostly open space, with an archway doorway and two thin, bare pipes that almost looked aesthetically placed as they created a pathway from the laundry room to the wide open space that served as what could be a nice family room. Beyond that was another bathroom and more bedrooms.

Mokuba shivered. "Well . . . what do you think? Do you feel it?"

Marik hesitated. ". . . I think so." He took Mokuba's hand and advanced into the large room. There were couches here and there and a huge television, in between boxes of unknown items and some more messes with old wooden beams scattered on the floor.

"So what do we do?" Mokuba swallowed hard. He knew he wouldn't be brave enough to come down here alone.

Marik kept walking. "Hello?" he called. "We don't mean any harm. We only want to know if you know what happened to our friend Mr. Nesbitt, and how to reverse it."

The feeling of something there persisted and increased as they threaded their way around the furniture and to the strange, half-size door at the back of the room. Marik reached and pushed it open, then ducked down to look inside.

"It's kind of a cool idea, having a kid's room with a door that fits kids," Mokuba said. "Only problem is, they'll grow out of it unless they stay short all their life."

Marik stayed bent over to go through the door with Mokuba, then straightened. The room beyond had a normal ceiling, thank goodness. It was a pleasant place, with stuffed animals everywhere and old and creaking bookcases filled with popular children's book series such as Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys. If not for the bed, it might be mistaken as another general play room.

"I wonder whose room this was," Mokuba mused. "And if they're still alive. . . ." He picked up a plush penguin, then quickly set it down. The presence probably wouldn't like them touching things, and they needed it to stay on their side. Or get it on their side, if it wasn't yet.

"Hopefully," Marik said. "Maybe we should ask Evangeline or Lector for a family tree."

"That might be a good idea." Mokuba walked over to one of the bookcases. "This is neat. I'd totally read some of this stuff." He sighed. "But we're not getting anywhere."

"I don't feel that presence in here, either," Marik realized. "It stays out in the main part."

"Well, I guess that proves we're not imagining things," Mokuba said. "But I don't know whether that's good or bad."

"Me either." Marik sighed too. "We'd better go. There might be some clues in the original parts of the basement, the storage areas."

"Right." Mokuba wasn't thrilled with leaving the cozy room and venturing again into the unknown, but it had to be done. He grabbed Marik's hand again as they stepped out.

The feeling persisted as they walked back the other way and passed the stairs. Beyond them and the laundry room was the original part of the basement, the food and wine cellars. There was no longer wine, but there were some canned and powdered goods on some of the shelves and a hammock randomly stretched from one side of the wall to the other.

"Evangeline said something about the family wanting to turn this place into a bomb shelter, but the place got closed up before they could really do much," Mokuba said.

"Let's just hope our unwanted guest hasn't been using the hammock," Marik said.

Mokuba suddenly stiffened. "Um, Marik?" His gaze was riveted on the object.

Marik gave it a closer look and quickly realized what Mokuba had seen. It was slowly moving back and forth, as if it had either just been abandoned . . . or if something unseen was still using it.

". . . Who are you?" he demanded.

No response, but it kept swinging. Back and forth, back and forth . . . far past the time it would have stopped if someone had recently climbed out of it.

Mokuba finally couldn't take it. He screamed, turning and running back the other direction. Marik chased after him.

They both nearly bumped into Yami Bakura, who had come down the stairs and was standing with his hands on his hips, staring at them. "What on Earth is going on?!" he demanded.

"Hammock malfunction," Marik gasped, trying to catch his breath.

"The kind that's caused by a ghost!" Mokuba squealed.

"Bah!" Yami Bakura strode past them and over to the offending object. "Well, what do you want?" he asked. "To be left alone? We would be perfectly happy to oblige, if you would merely answer some questions for us."

The hammock rocked faster. Finally, annoyed, Yami Bakura reached and grabbed it. "What part of answering questions are you unwilling to understand?"

The hammock flipped over.

"Now you've probably got it mad," Mokuba gulped.

"Well, I'm not feeling so great myself right now!" Yami Bakura snarled. The Infinity Ring started to glow as he addressed the ghost. "You're being completely unreasonable. Ring, shine your light on this spirit and allow us to see it!"

The Ring glowed, picking up the silhouette of a man on his hands and knees.

Mokuba jumped back with a yelp.

"Why didn't you try this before?" Marik asked, stepping in front of Mokuba to shield him.

"Why don't you worry more about talking to the spirit than to me?" Yami Bakura snapped. He actually hadn't even thought of that as a possible power of the Ring before, but he hardly wanted to admit it to Marik.

Marik growled and looked to the silhouette. "Why won't you talk to us?" he demanded.

Instead of standing up or answering at all, it phased through the floor and disappeared.

Mokuba cautiously peered out from around Marik. "None of these ghosts want to talk," he said in bewilderment.

"And I didn't sense any fear," Yami Bakura said. "One could think the spirits in the North wing have the other spectres afraid, but I doubt that now. That spirit just stubbornly refused to talk for no reason!" He swore in Egyptian.

Marik turned away in disgust. "Let's just go back upstairs," he said. "I imagine Yugi and the Pharaoh are having the same non-luck."

"Probably," Yami Bakura growled.

xxxx

Lector hadn't thought he would ever get to sleep. But sleep crept up on him anyway, and he found himself standing in a strange area that was dark purple on every side.

"Hello?" he called, looking around. It wasn't as dark as the Shadow Realm, but it brought that cold place to mind anyway. Lector really wanted to leave.

Nesbitt soon came out of the darkness and stood in front of him. "Lector. . . ."

Lector stared at him. "You remember me?" he cried. "Oh . . . this is a dream. Of course you would remember here. You're not real."

"I am real!" Nesbitt insisted. He grabbed Lector's shoulders. "The real me, my spirit, still remembers you. It's only my body's memory that's been damaged." He looked away. "I'm sorry for that."

Lector stared at him. "You're real? I didn't conjure you up?"

"This is the only way I could communicate with you right now," Nesbitt said. He looked back. "Don't give up on me! I'll make my body remember you too, but I'll need your help."

"I'll never give up on you," Lector vowed. He pulled Nesbitt close. "My dear friend. . . . I miss you so much. . . ."

Nesbitt gruffly returned the gesture. "Please forgive me for forgetting you. . . ." His voice cracked. "I never wanted to. . . ."

"It wasn't your fault," Lector insisted. "Never!"

The dream was all too cruelly short. Lector snapped awake, laying on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. On the other bed, Gansley was deeply asleep and hugging the pillow, while Crump was flopped on the cot and snoring loudly.

Lector sighed and rolled over to face the door. The dream had been so real. Was it really, or had Lector still imagined it? He didn't want to believe that. Why couldn't Nesbitt's spirit reach out to him in a dream? Especially in this place that seemed to be such a threshold of the beyond?

He sat up. Would Nesbitt still remember any of that dream while awake? It was unlikely, he supposed. Whatever spell was making him forget Lector would likely also block his memories of the dream. But regardless, he didn't think he would go back to sleep for a while and he wanted to put Gansley's and Nesbitt's suggestion to work right away. He wasn't sure how long Johnson had been keeping vigil over Nesbitt, but he wanted to take over now.

Moving as quietly as possible, he opened the door and slipped into the hall. It was quiet, save for Atem standing at the other end. Lector ducked into the room next to his.

Johnson was sitting up on the bed, looking tense and worried. He jumped when Lector walked in. "Oh . . . I thought Crump was taking the next shift," he stammered.

"I'm taking it," Lector said firmly. "Go ahead and go in the other room to sleep. I'm kind of hoping Nesbitt will wake up and we can talk."

Johnson slowly nodded. "Alright." He stood. "Good luck."

Lector hesitated. Should he tell Johnson about Nesbitt reaching out to him in his dream? There was a time when Johnson would have scoffed at such a supernatural thing. For that matter, so would Lector. But now he felt that it had really happened and had not been just a product of his imagination. Still, maybe he would rather keep it to himself for now, at least until he talked with Nesbitt in the waking world.

"Thank you," he said instead.

Johnson quickly slipped out.

Lector wasn't sure how long he just sat there, watching Nesbitt sleep. They had known each other for so long . . . so many years . . . and yet, when it felt like he had lost his old friend, it didn't seem very long at all—especially since for some of the time they had known each other, they hadn't really liked each other.

"Wasted years," he said softly. "I wish I had understood you from the start."

Not that he always understood Nesbitt now; far from it. The other man's reckless and impulsive behavior still frustrated him to no end. But he understood that Nesbitt wasn't all tough muscle and love of machines. He was actually a deeply sensitive person who couldn't handle harm coming to his friends and loved far greater than anyone had realized, including Lector or even Nesbitt himself.

Nesbitt stirred, starting to turn over in the bed. His eyes opened halfway. "Oh . . . it's you," he mumbled.

Lector couldn't stop the twinge of hurt. "Do you mind?" he asked.

"No . . . not really. Well, it's awkward when I don't remember you, but when you've been so worried about me, I'm . . . glad for you to be here. I can't explain how I know; it doesn't sound logical at all, but I know you'd do anything to protect me. And I have the odd feeling that I feel the same about you . . . that I've even proved it in the past."

Lector relaxed. "You have," he said. But, not sure that he should tell Nesbitt that he had actually died for him, he said instead, "I couldn't have a more protective friend."

Nesbitt leaned into the pillow, staring up at the ceiling. "I like the sound of that. I know I'd do anything for Gansley, Crump, and Johnson. And you . . . you're just the same as them, eh?"

"That's right," Lector said. His heart ached. Would it have been better, or rather, less painful, if Nesbitt didn't remember anything at all? Forgetting only him while remembering the others seemed especially cruel. But no . . . he couldn't selfishly think things like that. It was better for Nesbitt that he remembered everything else. To remember nothing would leave him so alone and afraid. This way, he didn't really suffer much and most of the burden was on Lector. And even though Lector was hurting so desperately, he had to be grateful for Nesbitt's sake.

". . . The others . . . they said we both have tempers and problems getting along."

"Yes," Lector said slowly.

"Why?" Nesbitt asked. "I mean . . . what is it we see so differently?"

"Usually it's problems related to your reckless behavior," Lector said. "I don't agree with many of the split-second decisions you make, and you don't like me questioning you. In the past, there were also problems due to your dislike of being a team player . . . but that's not really an issue anymore."

". . . That's good to know." Nesbitt hesitated. "But so we . . . get along otherwise?"

"It depends on the day and what's happening around us," Lector said. "There are extenuating circumstances that can raise other problems between us. And I can't say I fully understand your love of machines. But yes, we do get along. And even when there are problems, we don't let it explode into something serious. Our arguments are really just spats, rarely harmful or hurtful."

Nesbitt paused, staring off into the distance. ". . . I remember hurting you," he said. "The way you looked at me . . . it was horrible. I don't even remember what I said or did; I just remember that look."

Lector sighed, heavily. "Well . . . I suppose that's progress."

"It's the same way you looked when you realized I didn't know you anymore." Nesbitt passed a hand over his face. "I don't want to hurt you like that. You don't deserve that."

"You can't help what you don't remember," Lector said. "I'm grateful that you're not antagonistic towards me." I don't think I could stand that.

"Yeah," Nesbitt said. "Me too." Another awkward hesitation. "How long have we known each other?"

"Quite a long time. Years. I hired you to work at KaibaCorp."

". . . So I knew you before I even met any of the others?!"

"Yes," Lector admitted.

"And I'd forget you. . . ." Nesbitt slowly shook his head.

"It's not your fault," Lector insisted.

"Then whose fault is it?!" Nesbitt suddenly boomed. He grimaced, holding a hand to his head. ". . . That was a mistake."

Lector shook his head. "Yes, it was. And we don't know whose fault it is for sure. There are several possibilities."

"When I find out who did it, they'll pay," Nesbitt vowed.

"Do you remember anything at all about what happened when you tried to save Yugi?" Lector asked.

". . . I felt this horrible, stabbing pain behind my eye," Nesbitt said. "Then I lost my balance and we both fell."

Lector frowned. He had heard of people describing it that way when they supposedly fell victim to corrupted voodoo, but he wasn't convinced.

"How can you feel so generous towards me?!" Nesbitt suddenly blurted. "Don't you feel like I betrayed you?!"

Lector started, looking to him in shock. "Of course not!" he snapped. "It's not as if you did this on purpose!"

Nesbitt looked away. "The doctor wondered if I had some psychological reason for wanting to forget you," he said. "What if I did?"

"You didn't," Lector insisted.

"You think you know me that well?" Nesbitt countered.

Lector wavered, stunned by the question. But then he retorted, "Of course I do! All of us know you that well. You have no desire to forget any of us!"

Nesbitt looked away. "Let's hope you're right."

His doubtfulness hurt even worse, but Lector tried not to think about it. He knew it wasn't true.

xxxx

Yugi was growing even more distressed. He had been alone on the third floor for hours, walking around and desperately trying to draw the mysterious ghost out. He certainly felt it; the feeling that it was there had been steadily growing after he had been there for twenty minutes or so. But no matter how he called out or pleaded, it wouldn't respond. By now he was ready to give up.

"These ghosts don't want anything to do with the living," he realized. "The ones outside of the North wing might not be dangerous, but they're just as unfriendly."

He started to trudge back to the stairs. There was little point in going on with this; Atem was probably about ready to give up too. But after a moment he made one last, desperate plea.

"If you're part of the Leichter family, surely you care about them! They're being so badly hurt by everything that's happening here. Why do you want to let them suffer? And why do you want to drag their friends into it? Nesbitt wasn't trying to do anything wrong!" Tears pricked his eyes. "He was just trying to save me after something in the North wing decided to trip me! Now he doesn't even remember Lector. It's not right! It's just not right!"

Only silence met his ears, but as he walked, he almost stepped on something in his path. He quickly bent to pick it up. "What's this?" A purple business card, with red letters in an eerie font. ". . . 'The Gates of Hades'? 'New Orleans' most devilishly exciting club'?" Well, that certainly didn't sound like a pleasant place to go. But a ghost hadn't dropped this.

A shiver went up Yugi's spine. There really was a living person giving them grief too. But . . . who? Why? And where were they?

He ran down the stairs to find Atem.