13 – WRONG MESSAGE

Outside, it's raining. Thunder crashes and the darkened day flashbulbs as lightning tears the sky. I close the front door behind me, not a little relieved, I must admit, and look up and down the street.

'Which way did he go?'

Max points in the direction of Crazy 8s' route. 'That way, but –'

I set off at a jog into the downpour, Spock running happily at my heels. Max is less forgiving.

'Noa, what in heaven's name are you doing?'

'He is going to lead us to Holly.'

'But Holly is dead!' cries Max. 'And we've got nothing on Jonathan.'

'Who says he was working alone?' I say. 'Don't you find it odd that his girlfriend has been missing less than a month and he's already seeing her best friend?'

'She might have just been stopping by. It doesn't mean they're dating.'

I slow to a walk as we approach the end of the road. 'Then why is her make-up bag and perfume in his bathroom?'

Max falters then has to hurry to catch up. 'How do you know it was hers?'

'The perfume is the same.'

'But…' Max tries to argue, but I can see he doesn't have anything to counter with.

'Max!' I say, exasperated. 'Don't you see? It all adds up. Eyra's always had the hots for Jonathan, but couldn't do anything about it because her best friend was dating him. Easiest solution? Eliminate Holly, get her out of the picture. Jonathan knows he's going to be the prime suspect so he keeps himself busy the night of her death. Eyra has no proper alibi. All we have on her is that she was at home in her bedroom. Well, she might've sneaked out, mightn't she? So, she kills Holly. Holly doesn't go down without a fight though; remember that bruise on Eyra's shoulder? Then, hey presto, problem solved and Eyra and Jonathan are free to do as they please.'

Max looks torn. 'Wouldn't it just be easier for Jonathan to break up with her? I can appreciate if this was all done in my era, when one would be sworn to his suitor, but it's not. We're in the twenty-first century, where, God forbid, it's not uncommon for people to have lots of girlfriends or boyfriends. You don't need to kill them in order to see someone else.'

'Well, then maybe Jonathan didn't have anything to do with it. Maybe it was all Eyra.' I glare at him. I'm getting drenched to the skin trying to solve Holly's murder and Max is not only putting thorns in every theory I come up with, but he doesn't appear to feel the rain either. 'Don't you get wet?' I ask.

Max looks up at the leaden sky. 'I'm not really here, Noa. You know that.'

I throw him a last dark look and step around the corner. To my surprise, Jonathan is barely ten metres ahead, standing under the shelter of a bus stop. I whip back out of sight, plastering myself to the wall and nearly strangle Spock, pulling him back.

'You keep a good hold on him now,' Max warns. 'We don't want a repeat of last time.'

The leash is slippery through my palm so I wind it around my hand for a better grip. 'I've got him.'

'Shouldn't we carry on following Eyra instead if she's the one who killed Holly?'

I can see the sense in what he's saying, but my instinct is telling me that Jonathan is involved, how I don't know, to what extent I haven't a clue. 'I – I don't know. I just think Jonathan might…' I sigh.

A number 32 bus trundles past us and heads for the bus stop. It stops with a whoosh of its air brakes.

'He's getting on,' says Max from his vantage spot. I peak around the corner and watch a half dozen people alight from the bus before Jonathan and a couple others are able to board.

'Where's it going?' I ask.

'Can't tell from here,' says Max with a frown. 'It's a 32. Hang on…'

Max disappears then reappears next to the bus and gets on as the doors are closing.

For a second I'm too taken aback to do anything. 'Max! Wait!' I'm finally able to exclaim. 'What –' But it's too late to ask any questions. The bus lurches back into life and drives off down the road.

I hurry over to the bus stop but Max has definitely gone. With a sigh, I take shelter and look for a timetable that would tell me where the bus is heading, but there's nothing but an empty frame and a vandalised board.

From the corner of my eye I spot a woman still at the bus stop and she is looking straight at me. I ignore her. I know I must look like a drowned rat and goodness knows what my hair looks like now.

'Excuse me,' the woman says, 'aren't you that girl who…'

I look up and recognise Genie Ackroyd, daughter of my spirit visitor Freda Ackroyd.

'Oh!' I say in surprise. I've never bumped into a recipient after I delivered their message, so I've no idea how they might react to me after the event. 'Hello – um – how are you?'

By the looks of things, not well. Genie purses her lips and scowls at me. 'I'm fine, no thanks to you though, I might add.'

I look sideways awkwardly. I really don't want to have a showdown right here in the middle of the street. Thankfully, the rain seems to have washed the streets of people too.

'That "message" you delivered,' says Genie with a sneer, 'you must be pretty pleased with yourself, aren't you? Well, I can tell you it was a mean trick to play!'

'Sorry?'

Her face reddens with anger as she really gets into her stride. 'You're a nasty girl getting your kicks from playing on people's emotions when they're especially vulnerable!'

'But – but –' I stammer. 'What happened?'

'That so-called message from my mother was a load of rubbish, as you well know!'

With a last scowl, Genie gathers her things as another bus trundles towards us. I'm a little gobsmacked, I must admit. Delivering those messages is meant to be a good thing. The recipients might be a little traumatised by the whole thing at the beginning but once they do or find whatever it is their dearly departed wants of them, I would imagine they'd be happy… At least, that's what I've always believed, what I've always told myself.

'Wait! What do you mean?' I ask, reaching out to stall her.

Genie glares at me and pulls her sleeve free. 'I hope you had a good laugh sending me on such a fools' errand, you nasty girl!'

I'm suddenly filled with anger. I feel equally cheated. 'I'm not nasty! I didn't lie. She came to me, I swear.'

Genie looks me up and down and sniffs.

The bus pulls up and the doors open. A couple of passengers disembark.

'Then perhaps your parents should look into getting you some psychiatric help.'

This time I'm so taken aback that I don't even try to stop Genie from boarding the bus. The doors fold shut and the bus moves away.

I watch it disappear into the grey rain, her words rattling in my ears. I think of the psychiatric report in Dad's filing cabinet. No. I push it away. They're the ones who are mad, not me.

'What was all that about?' I ask Max.

When he doesn't answer, I remember he got on the 32 bus. I frown to myself. I do sound a bit mad, I suppose. But Max does exist, doesn't he? Freda did visit me, didn't she? I remember vividly her long grey hair, her shy smile and husky voice. Am I going mad, or worse still, gone mad already? Is all this a figment of a very deluded imagination? The psychiatrist had advised that further help be sought if I continued to have 'hallucinations' but Dad had never bothered. Had he decided to keep quiet about it all? He'd lost his wife, maybe he was afraid that if he spoke up his daughter would be taken away from him too? Has he just been humouring me all these years? He certainly didn't want to tell Holly's parents about her visit to me and I'd just accepted his reasons for not doing so – that it wasn't hard proof. What if Dad has known all along that my 'visits' are, in fact, hallucinations, just like the psychiatrist said?

I walk home in the rain with Spock, questions and theories spinning in my brain. Could I really be insane?

Copyright © H.R. Aidan, 2016