December 10 1888.
I’ve just
finished reading all the pages of this journal, all the things I wrote when I
was still innocent and every day seemed to bring momentous, or at least
noteworthy, events and impressions to record. I wrote in it daily before I
eloped, but irregularly afterwards as my life was too full to spend time
writing, and then not at all when my life became so circumspect that there was
nothing I cared to record. But now the story is ending and I must explain how it
came to be so.
My parents named me Louise after Queen Victoria’s daughter, Princess Louise
Caroline Alberta, who married the Duke of Argyll in 1871, the year I was born.
They must have had great hopes for me; perhaps they dreamt that I might marry a
man of rank and wealth. Yet they did not approve of the man I fell in love with.
I grew up in a respectable, middle-class house in Burslem
in the region called The Potteries. Buyers came from all over the world to the
Potteries to inspect the factories and the wares they produced, fine chinas and high-quality stoneware. My father, a factory
manager, sometimes entertained them, so by the time I was seventeen, I’d met
many foreigners.
But none of them had been like my Richard. He was an American, tall,
broad-shouldered and slim-waisted, with red-brown hair and
moustachios, and a full beard carefully trimmed in the height of fashion.
He was much older than I, in his early 30’s, not much younger than Father, I
suppose. But my Richard was so handsome and charming that any maiden would have
swooned. I fell in love with him, and he with me.
How my heart sang when Richard asked me to go to London with him! But, oh, how
Father raged at me! When I told him I loved Richard and would stay with him,
with or without his and Mother’s blessing, Father called me a stupid, straying,
ungrateful girl, and such hurtful names, I don’t try to recall them. Mother
crumpled into a chair and wept as if she’d never stop. She asked the Lord God
what she had done to deserve such an ungrateful and defiant daughter. They would
not listen to me when I tried to tell them how happy I was, and how much I
wanted to be Richard’s wife. I told Richard that I would elope with him, and if
my parents would not give their consent to our marriage, then I would lie about
my age, rather than wait the three years and more until I was twenty-one. I
would show my parents how wrong they were to doubt my wisdom in my choice of a
husband.
Father must have guessed what I planned to do. He locked me in my room at night
and would not allow me to go out in the day unless the maid went with me. She
tattled on me to Father every night, telling him where I had gone that day and
who had spoken to me. Fortunately for me, the maid was also a silly, biddable
creature. She believed me when I said I was meeting a friend at the train
station. I wonder how long the little fool sat on that bench in the waiting room
for me to return, while I found Richard and boarded the train to London with him?
I could not pack many of my belongings in my reticule, only some jewellery that
Grandmamma left me. My Mother kept them in her wardrobe, and had often said she
would give them to me when I was twenty-one or on my wedding day. But because I
intended to marry Richard, she would not give them to me at all, I was certain.
I could not go to my husband undowered, so I had to
stoop to theft and steal what was rightfully mine out of Mother’s room. I could
not take any clothes except those I was wearing that day. But Richard had
ordered clothing for me from my dressmaker and others, and packed it in a new
trunk, so I did not leave Burslem without a trousseau.
When we emerged from the rail station at St Pancras, Richard pointed to the
Royal Victoria Hotel and announced we would be staying there. It took my breath
away. Surely this was a palace and the royal family lived here!
It was made of beautiful red brick with Gothic towers and cathedral windows. The
gothic-style Great Hall (so I called it) gleamed with marble — red, green,
white, black, and more, shot through with contrasting colours. The columns and
friezes were heavily gilded. Where the floors were not covered with Turkey
carpets, they showed elaborate patterns in colourful Italian tiles. We walked
along the curved path from the entrance hall to the base of the Grand Staircase,
which divided into two, then spiralled upward story after story. The walls were
covered in deep red paper with golden fleur-de-lis. The ceiling above had been
painted a beautiful celestial blue and gilt, complete with stars so that I felt
as if I was ascending to heaven. Indeed, with Richard by my side, I imagined
that it was so.
Our rooms, number five, were glorious! The sitting room was papered in the most
fantastic Jacobean stencils in soft reds and blues on a cream background,
touched with gilding to bring out the details. From the huge bow window, we had
a splendid view. The bedroom was a fantasy in red-and-gold-striped wallpaper and
heavy gold velvet draperies over the cathedral windows. The fireplaces in the
sitting room and in the bedroom were Gothic marvels of sculpted stone and
marble. The furniture was formal, yet lavish and comfortable. Our rooms were
also very expensive: a guinea plus five shillings per day! And all our meals
were to be sent up, with waiters to attend us, and a maid would come in every
morning to tidy up the suite and help me dress, like a grand lady of quality.
The porters carried our luggage up, and my Richard carried me over the threshold
of the bedroom like a giddy bride! For such, I believed, I would soon be.
Richard convinced me that there was no reason to postpone our wedding night,
because God knew that, in our hearts and in His sight, we were man and wife,
even if a clergyman had not yet officially sanctioned our union. And if I were
not his wife, he could not stay with me, for it would be unlawful, and he would
return me to my parents. He wanted me and I could not let him go. So I yielded
to Richard and gave myself to him. In a night I became his wife in all but name.
We’d had only a few weeks of joy together, hardly enough time to call a
honeymoon, when Richard had to travel for his business. I missed him with all my
heart when he was away. We had still not decided on a date for our wedding or
looked for a suitable house. It was all so complicated! Because Richard was an
American, he told me, he had to dwell in England for a certain length of time
and then obtain a special license to marry me. I thought that our rooms at the
Royal Victoria served to give him a reasonably permanent address, but Richard
assured me it was not sufficient in the eyes of the law, and I believed him.
There was also the problem of my youth. My parents would not give their consent,
and I was too young to give myself in marriage for three more years. We would
have to find witnesses who would swear that I was twenty-one. Richard assured me
that, for enough money, he would be able to find such false witnesses. I worried
about the effect of perjury on the validity of our marriage, even though I had
said I would lie about my age myself, but I loved and trusted Richard so much,
and, like a good wife, left everything I could not hope to understand in his
hands. And because he wanted to take me to America after our marriage, he had to
get permission at the American Embassy, and try to arrange for a home for me in
Detroit, and, oh, so many complications! My head whirled, and I didn’t
understand it all anyhow. I trusted Richard to make all the arrangements. In the
meantime, I did my best to behave as I believed a good wife should, waiting
patiently, loving him dearly, submitting to him body
and soul.
Richard told me never to leave the hotel when he was not there. London is such a
large, confusing city, and respectable women do not usually walk out alone. An
obedient wife, I promised I would not wander, that I would always be there
waiting for him. The hotel has its own library for the entertainment of guests,
and I passed much of my time reading in our rooms. There was little else I could
do, really.
My clothes, the clothes Richard bought for me, are good, but not quite good
enough to mingle with the ladies in the Ladies’ Lounge on the first floor. They
lack the elegance of London fashions. In that lovely room, with its turquoise
walls, heavy gold velvet drapes, lemon-and-cream striped satin davenports and
chairs, and Turkey carpets, I felt drab. I have no jewels that could compare
with — never mind out-shine! — the crystal gas lamps,
as those of other lady guests do. My auburn hair lacks the gloss of the polished
cherry wood; I wonder how other women manage the trick? Even though I did my
best to sit ramrod straight and appear to be a lady when I was in public, I
longed for conversation, but I was too timid to speak to anyone and constantly
afraid that someone might speak to me. I know that compared to London Burslem is almost a village, and I feared my manners
wouldn’t pass in London’s refined atmosphere. So I spent little time in the
Ladies’ Lounge, rarely sat there to read or to take tea. To be seen so much in
that public place, sooner or later the other guests would have realized that I
am a long-term resident, one with no ring on her hand and no male escort. “A
kept woman!” they would have thought, and scorned my presence.
For the same reasons, I did not often visit the hotel library, not in the
daytime at least. But in the evenings, I often went down and borrowed some books
to take back to my rooms. I favour popular authors like Dickens, Collins, and
Bulwer-Lytton, and poets like Donne and Keats. The library attendant knows me
well enough by now, and makes no comment on my habitual late visits or their
frequency. He is always polite, but distant. All the hotel staff
have
become accustomed to me. I’m sure they are aware of my status, that I was
Richard’s fiancée, but not yet his wife. Although they treat me coolly, they are
not uncivil. And they have been discreet, at least when above stairs. If they
say anything about me, they never say it where I might hear.
I wrote to my parents sometimes. I wrote about how happy I was with Richard, how
I hoped that someday they would forgive me for eloping, accept that I did the
right thing, take me back as their daughter, and welcome Richard as their
son-in-law. I even addressed and sealed the envelopes. But I never sent them. A
few months after I ran away, my father placed a notice in the London newspapers
and declared that he was disowning me. I saw it while I
was in the Ladies’ Lounge one afternoon, reading the newspapers to fill my time
while Richard was away. I must have attracted attention when I gasped in horror
and fled the lounge, stifling my sobs until I was back in my rooms but I did not
look around me. Nor did I return to the lounge for several days, lest someone
had looked at what I had been reading and exposed me to ridicule. I did not tell
Richard about the notice because I was afraid he would think I regretted my
decision and was not happy with him after all.
Richard wrote to me frequently when he was travelling. I looked forward to his
letters almost as much as I looked forward to seeing him again. For any letter
might tell me when he was coming back again, or when we would be able to marry.
Richard’s last letter said he would be with me again today. I ordered my maid
about imperiously, and made her do and re-do my hair in the most formal style. I
donned my best gown and used some of my precious lavender perfume that Richard
said had come all the way from Paris. And I waited.
This afternoon, there was a knock at the door. It was a page delivering a letter
and a small velvet bag. They were from Richard.
In his letter, he said he was returning to America, to a wife he never mentioned
to me. His wealth, his fortune, actually belongs to his wife, he explained, who
has sent him money for his support during his travels in England but now refuses
to send anymore. He said that he would someday, perhaps, return, though he hoped
I would forget him and make a good marriage with someone else. He said that he
had paid for room 5 through the end of the week. He said that I should return
home.
I was in shock after reading his letter for the first time. I tried to tell
myself that I had misinterpreted it somehow. But as I read it again and write
down the gist of it now, his message is so plain. I will never see or hear from
Richard ever again.
Where can I go now?
I cannot return to Burslem. Unlike London, it is not so large that I could hide
upon my return, and my elopement will have been gossiped about in all the
pottery factories. My parents will not take me back; once my father makes a
decision, he never changes his mind. The bag Richard sent contained a double
handful of gold sovereigns, not enough to provide me with independent support in
London. I have few skills and no one to recommend me to
a respectable employer, nor can I explain why I have come alone to London in
search of genteel employment.
I am ruined, a fallen woman. I have no prospects. No hope. No future. I threw it
all away on a feckless adulterer who has blithely deserted me. Where, then, can
I go but the streets? I shudder. I have read in the newspapers of a murderer who
stalks the streets of London. Few people cared at first because the victims are
all fallen women like me. The murderer has not been caught. Will he be waiting
for me, a foolish girl, blinded by notions of romance, brought down to the
gutter because she broke God’s laws? I cannot surrender to such a fate. I
cannot! I will not!
“The next day, in the morning, the poor lady
was discovered dead in room 5,” intoned the hotel-tour guide, dropping his
voice. “Some say she died of a broken heart. Actually, she took poison, an
overdose of laudanum, although since she never left the hotel, it’s uncertain
how or where she got it from. They found the journal and letters she had
written, but never sent, to her parents, so they were notified of her death. But
her family didn’t claim her body. Richard, her lover, was never heard from
again. Louise was buried in a pauper’s grave, unmarked and
unmourned.” He paused for effect. “Sometimes, her ghost was seen in
public places like the lounge, the lobby, and here in the library, usually in
the evenings and at night. Why she chose to haunt these places more than the
rooms she died in, no one knows.”
One of the older tourists raised a hand. “Was anyone ever put in room 5 after
Louise died?”
“Oh, undoubtedly. Louise’s body was removed discreetly during the night,
concealed in a cart covered with a cloth, and taken down the back stairs so the
other guests wouldn’t be aware of her death. And so new guests wouldn’t be aware
they were being assigned to a room containing a deathbed.”
A teenager gasped. “They left all the furniture and stuff after she died?”
“Her personal things were removed, of course. The linens were changed and the
room was cleaned, but, yes, they left the furniture, including the mattresses on
the bed. The Victorians were more practical and less squeamish about such things
than we are. Besides, they wouldn’t have seen the point in dashing out to Harrod’s to replace a perfectly sound bed, just because its
last occupant had died!”
There was a murmur of uncomfortable chuckling from the guide’s audience. “Can
you show us Louise’s rooms?” someone asked.
“Unfortunately, no. Over the years, the room numbers have all been
changed many times. The oldest floor plans showing where room 5 was were
destroyed during the Second World War. But no one ever complained about Louise’s
ghost appearing in their room. She seemed to prefer showing herself in the
public areas.”
“Has she been seen recently?”
“No, she hasn’t. The hotel declined after World War One and closed in the 1930s.
It was briefly reopened in the late 20th century, then
closed again when World War Three broke out. Since restoration began two years
ago, there have been reports of strange women hanging about,” the tour group
tittered at the insinuation in the guide’s tone, “but none in antique clothing.
We think Louise may have moved on, perhaps out of sheer boredom or maybe
displeasure at how dusty and decrepit the place became.”
“Told you we shouldn’t have bothered booking a room for the grand reopening!” a
man muttered under his breath to his companion.
“Oh, be quiet, Peter,” admonished the other. “You wanted to be here and you know
it!”
“Now I can’t show you Louise’s room,” the guide continued, ignoring them, “but I
can show you one of the restored suites. The restorers and decorators went with
a modern neo-Victorian theme . . . .”
Oh, I can’t abide those rude, noisy clusters of ill-bred people!
They never care that I’m sitting here trying to read in peace. How I long for
the quiet times, when the hotel never admitted such people.
Life in the hotel has changed so much since Richard left me. It began the day I
received his letter and final gift.
I must have cried myself to sleep and slept through the rest of the day. It was
dark when I awoke and I felt very strange. I didn’t feel ill, exactly, but
light-headed and confused. Something seemed to be calling me. No, that’s not
right — it was attracting me, enticing me. I got out of bed and looked around
but the only odd thing I could see was a silver cord fastened at my waist. I
don’t know why, but I tied the cord’s loose end to the bedpost before I walked
up to the bedroom door, a gilded door with geometric patterns carved into it.
Without thinking, I opened it and walked through into another dark room, softly
lit and full of shadows. It should have been the sitting room, but it was not —
it was a room strange to me. Behind me, the door swung to but did not close
completely; it rested against the tautened silver cord. There was a door in the
distant wall, a red door carved with roses. It opened at a touch, and
lead
to yet another room. Again, the door tried to shut and was prevented. I
marvelled that the cord did not snap nor did it tauten so much as to impede me;
I did not even feel it. In the soft light of this room, too, I could see a
brilliantly coloured and decorated door in the same wall as the one through
which I passed. I opened it and found beyond that, there was yet more dimness,
another room, another door, and another, and another, beyond count. It was like
walking in a hedge maze, turning about, doubling back, going forward. But
something drew me onward, I know not what it was.
In each room, I stopped to examine my surroundings. Oddly, many rooms had
mirrors but mirrors such as I have only heard of in fairy tales. They reflected
the room until I looked in them; then they did not show my face or the room I
was in, but room 5 and also scenes from my life and of what I left behind when I
went to London. Looking in one mirror, my heart panged as I watched myself and
Richard boarding the train in Burslem, beginning our
runaway marriage. In another room, another mirror, I was shocked and saddened to
see the image of my mother sitting in my old bedroom, hugging a doll I had long
outgrown, and crying.
In the last room I reached, the door before me was the strangest of all. There
was no door like it anywhere in the hotel, I was certain. It was of a plain
wood, but wider and taller than any other I’d seen, and it seemed to glow. There
must have been a very bright light behind it, for I could virtually see it
through the door. Nothing I knew of could make such a bright light. Nothing of
this earth!
I was very, very frightened of this door and tried to back away from it. I was
certain it would lead me into Hell. But something kept drawing me forward, the
thing that had attracted me from the start of my journey through the maze, and I
found myself reaching for the doorknob. I screamed and screamed, then turned and
ran back through the doors, following the silver cord that had held the doors
open behind me, out of my rooms, and down to the library. I must have looked
like a madwoman, with my hair down and my clothes in disarray, my face white
with terror. Fortunately, the library was empty but for the attendant who
diplomatically pretended not to see me. I began to feel foolish, realizing that
I had only had a nightmare, but like a child I had thought it was real and run
away. I straightened my appearance as best I could and slowly made my way back
upstairs, back to room 5, and to bed.
My life changed dramatically. The management must have known that Richard
abandoned me but, to my surprise, I was not cast out on the street. Nor was I
asked for money or labour to pay for my continued residence. Still, a price was
exacted of me. The servants no longer answered when I called, but that was the
smallest indignity I was made to suffer. From time to time, I was forced to
share my rooms. When couples stayed there, I was undoubtedly expected to serve
as a maid to the wife, if she had not brought her own. But when men stayed there
. . . I will not speak of the sort of services that were expected of me. Suffice
it to say, that I refused to bow my head and become a servant or worse, no
matter how dire my poverty. I could never give myself to any man but Richard. I
would rather have died. None ever made demands upon me, but I stayed away from
my rooms whenever men were there, preferring to stroll the lobby, or visit the
ladies’ lounge or the library, although sometimes I crept back in when the
intruders slept.
I do not sleep much myself. When I do, the nightmare plagues me. I find myself
being drawn through those endless rooms again, back towards the glowing door. So
far, I have always remembered to tie my silver cord to something before I
respond, and I have always managed to resist the glowing door and find my way
out again, but it gets harder and harder.
Although nothing was ever said to me, there must have been complaints lodged
against me and my failures to oblige. As a punishment for my recalcitrance, the
desk clerks stopped sending the most respectable people to share my rooms and
began sending eccentrics, people who wore increasingly outlandish clothes. I was
shocked by the number of women who exposed their ankles then their calves, wore
their hair short like young boys, and smoked like men. Fewer of them brought
their own maids, but those who didn’t often didn’t seem to care.
Eventually, the persecution stopped. I was left to reside alone in my rooms for
a long time. I enjoyed the peace, but I now seemed condemned to solitude. I am
losing hope that I might ever see Richard again. I am no longer angry with him.
I only want to feel his arms around me again, to hear his voice, to love him and
make him desire me again. If he comes to the hotel and asks for me, he might not
be sent up. I wanted to see the manager, and tell him to send Richard to my
rooms if he comes again, but I could never find anyone on the desk. The lobby
was almost always empty when I went down, and when there were people there, they
ignored me. They must have been shown my picture and told of my disgrace. I
cannot think why else they would refuse to look at me.
And the nightmares have gradually become more intense. It becomes harder to
resist the glowing door. I feel I am growing weaker and fear that soon I will
not be able to escape its lure. I am becoming forgetful; the last time the
nightmare came, I forgot to secure my silver cord, my anchor, and only
remembered when the door began to close behind me; I blocked it with my body,
but the strain tired me. If only Richard would come back. I know I could keep
him with me this time.
The reopening of the fully renovated and restored Royal Victoria
Hotel had drawn worldwide attention. Dozens of celebrities had reserved suites
and rooms. And the world government selected the Royal Victoria as the site for
the week-long World Trade Conference, which would be attended by hundreds of
representatives from dozens of nations.
Spectrum was to provide security. Besides controlling an expected crowd of
protesters on the street, agents would have to keep disruptors from getting into
the conference itself, and constantly screen hotel guests and employees for Mysteron infiltrators. Captains Magenta, Grey, and Ochre
were assigned as field commanders, rotating in shifts. Each would be seconded by
one of three junior captains: Celadon, Sienna, and Vermillion. Although the security arrangements were all in place and
satisfactory, there had been communication errors on other matters.
Because the hotel’s gala reopening was heavily booked, a shortage of rooms to
house the Spectrum agents had resulted. They would have to share quarters.
Captains Magenta and Ochre were assigned to suite 180.
I am caught up in the nightmare again, but I know I can still find
my way back; the doors cannot close on my silver cord, although it no longer
glows so bright as it did. I want to get back to my
rooms. But I can hear men’s voices coming from the mirror of this room I am in
now. I am horrified to hear them. Are they in my rooms? Or are they in Burslem? The mirrors show me both. I do not want to look at
them. I will sit and listen until they go away.
On the first evening of the conference, Spectrum’s officers of all grades were
required to attend the formal opening reception. Captain Ochre had groaned at
the orders. He hated wearing his dress uniform.
“I’m just a middle-class guy. I didn’t even go to college. I’ve never liked
these fancy dos. Damn monkey suit!” he groused as he struggled with the stiff
collar. “Why couldn’t Blue and Scarlet have gotten this assignment? They were
both born to this kind of thing.”
Captain Magenta, immaculately clad in his dress grey uniform with its
colour-coded piping, struck a menacing pose. “Have you no pity, man?” he growled
mockingly, shaking a finger at his fellow officer. “Paul and Adam have had to
endure dressing up in monkey suits, making vapid small talk, and consuming hors
d’oeuvres all their lives. You’ve been lucky, Richard Fraser!”
Richard Fraser? Have I heard truly? Timidly I seat myself by the mirror and look
into it: it shows me my bedroom, hazily, but well enough. I do not know if the
mirror on my bedroom wall shows me, so I peep carefully. The man speaking is
tall and well-built, dark-haired with brown eyes, his features neatly chiselled,
and his voice has a touch of Ireland. He is dressed all in grey but for a thin
stripe of a bright shade of purple the name of which I cannot recall. I do not
know him. The other man has his back to me. I watch as he pulls on a grey
jacket, identical to the other man’s, but on his the thin stripe is a dark
mustard colour. He is as tall as his companion though a little lighter in build.
His hair is brown but I can see glints of red as the light catches it when he
turns his head. It is familiar to me.
“Ready, Pat? Then let’s go and get this over with.”
His voice is American! But they are leaving the room. I did not have a chance to
see the other man’s face. Rising from my chair, I fight the pull of the glowing
door and struggle to make my way back to my rooms. It is always an exhausting
task but I am determined to escape. I must see him. I must know.
The lifts were crowded, and the agents let several cars continue down without
them. Captain Ochre fidgeted. “If not for the 1929 Crash, I’d probably be used
to living like this. I’m told my family had money until then. Not that I’m
sorry. I like being just a regular Joe. It’s just times like this I dread,
trying to remember which fork goes with what.”
“You’ll do fine, as always,” rejoined Captain Magenta. “Just stand perfectly
still and don’t say anything.”
Ochre continued grumbling under his breath as they headed for the grand
staircase down to the lobby.
I am free again!
But I feel so weak now. I am so tired. I do not want to sleep. I cannot. If I
sleep, I will be drawn back into the nightmare and fear I may be lost forever.
The silver cord I have relied on for so long has grown dim as if tarnished but
it resists polishing; the bright glow is gone. As it dims, I fear it might soon
snap and leave me trapped in the maze. Unless my Richard has
returned? Could it be? Please, God, let it be so! I will give myself to
him again freely, if only he will stay with me!
Outside, reporters, paparazzi, and protesters competed for
attention and opportunities to penetrate the cordon Spectrum had placed around
the hotel. Indoors, Spectrum agents circulated among the guests. In their staid
dress uniforms, Captains Sienna and Vermillion felt like mud hens in a flock of
birds of paradise.
“I’d hoped I could finally have an excuse to wear something that would really
impress Captain Grey,” sighed Sienna.
Vermillion sympathized. “I know how you feel. I’ve got a gorgeous little evening
gown collecting dust in my closet. On the other hand, I’d have had to rob a
jewellery store or at least disassemble a crystal chandelier to match some of
the ice in here tonight!”
Captain Sienna noted that one surprisingly young woman, probably a conference
delegate’s daughter, had chosen to wear modest period dress rather than
something glamorous, perhaps in honour of the hotel’s origins. Her pale skin and
glowing makeup made her look ethereal, yet no one but Sienna seemed to pay any
attention to her. The Victorian lady, as Sienna mentally dubbed her, had a hand
to her mouth, as if something had shocked or intrigued her. Sienna tried to
figure out what it might be: there were several ladies wearing scandalously
wispy and expensive shreds of clothing, others with magnificent jewels, quite a
few distinguished looking men, some wearing ribbons with ancient orders
displayed, and two Spectrum captains, Ochre and Grey. She couldn’t decide which
of those people the Victorian lady found so fascinating or revolting.
It is him. I never saw Richard without his beard and
moustachios, never imagined that they hid a firm, square jaw, or how
different he would look without them. But his eyes are the same, that beautiful
gold-touched brown I so often found myself sinking into. He has returned. Soon
he will come looking for me! But I am suddenly so tired. So
tired. I cannot stop my eyes from closing and as they do the nightmare
begins again. I am surrounded by all these people. They bar my way to anything I
can anchor myself to with my silver cord. Richard! My love, please help me!
The Victorian lady had disappeared when Sienna tried to spot her again in the
crowd.
Hours later, the men returned to their suite. Captain Ochre wanted
a sound night’s sleep. Captain Magenta immediately changed into his work uniform
since he’d drawn the night shift. Captain Grey would take over from Magenta in
the morning, then Ochre would relieve Grey.
“Good night, Pat.”
“Good night, Rick. Sleep well.”
It had been a demanding evening by Captain Ochre’s standards; he’d have
preferred to be dealing with crowd control or surveillance. He changed into his
pyjamas and crawled to the middle of the huge four-poster bed. He fell asleep
almost immediately.
He dreamt that he heard a woman calling his name from somewhere far away. She
sounded afraid. He listened then got out of bed and went to the gilded, carven
door into the next room. As he passed through the doorway, he felt a cool breeze
waft over him. He looked around him. The light was dim, like candlelight; he
could see hints of gold as the light flickered and shadows danced.
Richard! the voice cried.
He followed it to another door, painted deep red and also carven. Part of him
knew that this door had to lead into the hallway, that the suite only had two
rooms. Ochre hesitated, wondering if someone was playing a joke on him. The
woman sobbed. Joke or no, it sounded like she was in genuine pain. Ochre seized
the door’s handle and plunged into the darkness beyond. Again he felt a soft
breeze, colder than it had been before. He couldn’t see much in the dim light,
except that he was in another room, and there was another door in the wall to
his right. He could still hear the woman’s voice although it didn’t seem much
closer. He quickly opened the next door, ignoring the cold wind that swept
around him, and continued into the next room and on and on, leaving the doors
open behind him.
Eventually, Ochre came into a room dominated by a huge, glowing door that
dazzled his dark-adapted eyes. As they adjusted, he could just discern a person
trying to shrink into the shadows as far from the door as the room would allow.
The person turned, stifling a cry as she saw him. “Richard!” the woman cried.
“Please, take me away from here! I’m so frightened! The door . . . The door! It
draws me against my will! I have not the strength or will to resist anymore.”
She was very young, Captain Ochre realized, although her antique dress and
hairstyle made her look more mature at first. Probably she had somehow lost her
way in the hotel’s maze of corridors. Captain Ochre took the woman by the arm
and tried to lead her back to the door he had come through. He felt resistance,
but it didn’t seem to be coming from her. The glowing door, he thought, seemed
to be exerting a magnetic pull on the woman. Slowly, they walked side by side
across the room and through the doorway into the next room. Ochre shut the door
behind them, then half-lead, half-carried his companion through the next door,
and the next, murmuring words of comfort as they went. The young woman clung to
him and trotted to keep up with his long strides.
“Will we be out of here soon?” she asked breathlessly.
“Yes. Yes, I’m sure we will,” replied Ochre, although he had no idea how many
rooms he had passed through or how long it had taken. “Just trust me.”
“I do, Richard. You know I do.” She looked up at him beseechingly through eyes
red-rimmed and swollen from crying.
Ochre was about to say something more when the crash of thunder raged around
them. The young woman screamed as she and the room vanished before the
American’s eyes.
He opened them slowly to sunlight as the thunderous knock at the door rolled
again.
“Rise and shine, Rick!” shouted Captain Magenta. “We’ve got a morning briefing
to get to.”
I’m not ashamed to say I screamed. I was holding tight to Richard
as we fled from the glowing door. He was so solid, so real, beneath my hands. I
knew he would take me to safety. Then, suddenly, we were surrounded by thunder,
and he disappeared.
I’m alone now. I can’t find the next door. I don’t want to move for fear I’ll
take the wrong way. I can still feel something pulling me to the glowing door
again, drawing me, trying to take me back again.
If I’m not standing, it can’t make me move, so I collapse in a heap of skirts
and petticoats. And I’m crying because Richard is gone again and I’m more alone
and frightened than ever. Where am I? Please, Richard, come back for me!
The dream resumed the next night.
Captain Ochre had little time to realize where he was before he had to lunge to
catch the young woman as she crumpled to the floor. She reached up to touch his
face as he knelt beside her. “Richard,” she gasped. “It is you!” Her voice was
rich with emotion and with promise. Ochre embraced her and was soon drawn into a
rapturous kiss. “I knew you’d come back to me. I knew you love me. I’ve waited
for you.”
“I . . . I didn’t mean to leave you here before,” Ochre said slowly. “I’ll get
you out of here. Let’s go.”
His words sounded brave, even in his own ears, but Ochre was unsure of himself.
That magnetic force was still affecting his companion, forcing him to
practically drag her along. But finally they stepped through the last doorway,
into the sitting room of the suite he shared with Captain Magenta.
“Richard, my darling! I knew you’d rescue me! How shall I thank you?” She
drew near to him, so near he could detect her lavender perfume. And her green
eyes glittered with something Ochre didn’t want to respond to.
Yet . . .
He felt as if he was under a spell. And slowly the spell broke as he came fully
awake.
Ochre’s shift had been uneventful. Unless there were cameras about,
the demonstrators did little more than chant, wave their signs, and occasionally
block the main doors or the road. Inside, the conference delegates who were not
friendly were at least civil to one another. The biggest incident he’d had to
deal with was assigning an escort to a Hollywood movie star who had had too much
to drink before going out to party. All in all, a dull
evening.
But Ochre felt tired. He hadn’t had a refreshing sleep in the last two days and
his shift had hardly been stimulating. He glanced at the late news reports, and
decided to go to bed. He began to dream.
Richard.
Getting up, he walked into the bedroom and looked around the sun-filled room.
Ah, there she was, at the window, her back to him, pretending not to notice his
arrival. He could tell she was playing — he’d noticed that she began to turn
when he entered the room, then quickly away again. Observing that she was
wearing her hair up, Ochre approached the woman stealthily, wrapped his arms
around her, and began to kiss her alabaster neck.
“Richard,” she purred. “Promise you’ll never leave me again.”
He merely murmured her name. “My silly little Louise.”
How did I know her name? I must be dreaming.
She laughed as she turned to embrace him. “Do you remember the first time we
met, in Burslem?”
“Remind me,” he said, gently brushing a few stray hairs from her forehead, and
continued to plant fluttering kisses on her cheeks and throat, listening with
only half an ear as she spoke of a past he had not lived through.
“I defied my parents for you,” Louise said, the catch in her voice bringing
Ochre’s attention back to her words. “I couldn’t wait three more years to be
twenty-one and free to marry you without their blessing.”
Three years? She’s what, seventeen? eighteen? What am I
doing?
The rational part of Ochre’s mind recoiled even as he continued seducing the
girl.
Louise continued speaking, telling him of their life together,
her
shock when she believed he had abandoned her, her joy at his return, how she had
stayed faithful to him despite pressure. “Promise you’ll never leave me again,”
she repeated, her eyes glistening with tears. “Stay with me, Richard. I will
give you what you want, everything you want. Take what I give you. Please don’t
leave me again.”
He could feel the girl’s passion rising, matching his own. The still-rational
part of Ochre’s mind asserted itself briefly. She’s too young, only a
teenager. The fancy dress and hairstyle only make her seem older. This isn’t
right! Ochre knew he would never be attracted to such a young woman in his
waking life. But this is only a dream and dreams are irrational. Whatever I
do in a dream means nothing; no one gets hurt.
Ochre began to undress Louise. The fastenings of her antique clothing were alien
to the 21st-century man, but dress, corset, petticoats, melted away under his
touch, until she stood naked before him. Somehow, his own clothing had
disappeared, as happens in dreams. He proceeded to make love to the young woman
who was amazingly responsive. The experience was strangely real and intense,
unlike any dream he’d had before, yet there was a surreal quality as well, a
feeling that the girl was taking something from him, something vital.
When he woke up in his bed, nude and drenched in sweat, he was momentarily
surprised to find himself alone. As he came fully awake, he wondered how he had
managed to remove his pyjamas in his sleep. He lay exhausted, wondering at the
dream’s intensity, the sensation of being drained, and the sense of loss he was
experiencing. It had only been a dream, after all.
This really is a beautiful room, thought Peter, looking about the
Ladies’ Lounge, mentally adding that he should have asked the guide if men were
allowed here in Louise’s time. He smirked at the thought of invading an
exclusively female bastion.
He wasn’t the only tourist enjoying the morning light that came through the
floor-to-ceiling windows. A little gaggle of women was exclaiming over the
ornate carving of the panelling on the walls. One woman standing apart from and
beyond the group drew his eye, although he didn’t seem able to see her quite
clearly. He could tell she was wearing a 19th-century dress, with leg o’ mutton
sleeves and a long but pinched waist. There was an aura about her,
a radiance. Peter caught his breath just as she vanished. He thought he
smelled lavender, but the there weren’t any flowers in the room.
Something touched his face. Peter experienced a moment’s terror, thinking the
ghost was running a cold finger along his cheek. When a drop rolled into his
eye, Peter realised he’d broken a cold sweat; it was only water trickling down
his cheek. He laughed weakly at himself. He didn’t believe in ghosts, but the
guide’s silly tale had obviously planted a suggestion and the lingering effects
of last night’s partying had tricked his mind into seeing things.
Yeah, that was all it was. Had to be.
Captain Ochre dreamed of Louise every night. Always the dream would
begin with him meeting Louise in the bedroom or the sitting room of room 5.
There were variations in the beginning. Once he had found her gazing out the
windows of the bedroom. Another time he had heard singing and found her in the
magically redecorated 19th-century sitting room. She was playing a pianoforte
that had not been there when he passed through the room on his way to bed, but
somehow seemed to belong. He had listened to her play and sing
then applauded enthusiastically as she blushed and dropped curtsies.
However they met, Ochre would give Louise his arm, and together they would leave
room 5. They walked through the doorway and along the streets of a town he’d
never seen but which Louise assured him was Burslem,
the town where she’d been born, the town where he, Richard, had met and courted
her.
At this point, the dream would vary in small but significant ways. They would
stroll demurely through a park, they would stop for tea and cakes,
he
would purchase flowers. Louise would point out places and things and people and
talk of the meaning they had for her. And should have had meaning for Captain
Ochre. Beneath that elm, Richard had first kissed Louise. Ochre had no memory of
that kiss. Here, by the church, Richard had first dared to hint to Louise of
marriage. Why could he not remember? Ochre wondered guiltily. Why had it made no
impression on him at all? He, Richard, loved this woman, so she kept reminding
him. He felt like a fraud, or maybe like an actor.
Then there would be a shift in the dreamscape, and Ochre would find himself back
in room 5 with Louise. One time there had been music playing and they were
dancing. The girl tripped over his feet and laughed as he tried to catch her,
then
fell himself. They sprawled together on the floor in a tangle of skirts and legs
and arms. Ochre had managed to twist himself so that he could break Louise’s
fall with his body. She lay atop him now, gasping for breath between shouts of
laughter. He laughed, too, as he held her. Before he knew it, she was kissing
him passionately, murmuring his name over and over, demanding
to use his body. No matter how it happened, in every dream Louise contrived to
seduce him or let herself be seduced. When they twined, she
would murmur or laugh or cry out that they were united — one in body, one in
soul. And always she was demanding, insisting that he unite his body with
hers and take what she wanted to give. She drove him to exhaustion and still
forced herself on him. He did not resist her advances but with every erotic
encounter he could feel his strength fade and his fear grow.
He woke every morning as tired as he’d gone to bed. Perhaps
more so.
It had been a long night, mused Captain Magenta as he strode along
the corridor towards the suite. It had been a mild night for September, so more
protestors than usual had opted to stay in the makeshift encampment on the
pavement and hold a private party. The beer and wine had flowed freely. Shortly
after midnight, Splendour, the currently reigning rock diva, had unexpectedly
returned from clubbing with her escorts and entourage. Numerous paparazzi had
been keeping the hotel staked out, just waiting for candid photo opportunities,
and found both the camp and its inhabitants made good cover for lying in wait.
When Splendour emerged from her limousine, the paparazzi burst out with their
cameras, sending campers and gear flying. Not surprisingly, the owners of the
various damaged tents, stoves, and body parts objected. So did Splendour’s
bodyguards. In no time, a donnybrook was underway. Spectrum’s guards had strict
orders not to admit anyone until they had been cleared by the Mysteron detector. Unfortunately, in a large and clumsy way,
the detector resembled a camera and the sergeant attempting to use it was
attacked by a bodyguard. Splendour and most of her entourage managed to get into
the hotel and away upstairs without clearance before more Spectrum personnel
arrived to secure the doors. Much of the rest of the night had been spent
locating Splendour and the others, persuading them to open their doors (or, when
necessary, breaking them down) and checking them with the Mysteron detector. All had been cleared. But Captain
Magenta’s ears were still ringing from the remarkably imaginative and varied
stream of invective Splendour herself had hurled at him.
He heard a door close firmly ahead of him and looked up to see a young woman in
an eccentric floor-length gown exiting a room. She picked up her skirts and
rapidly glided away from him down the corridor, so smoothly that she hardly
seemed to be touching the floor, and so lightly that she moved without sound.
She left a trace scent of lavender in her wake.
Magenta got out his card-key, passed it through the reader, and entered the
suite. A hint of lavender lingered in the sitting room. The door to the bedroom
was closed; he couldn’t hear anything behind it, which didn’t surprise him at
all. He did wonder, though, who Captain Ochre’s lady friend was.
And just how much longer Rick was going to lie in bed. With a sigh, he
flipped on the telly. He wasn’t ready to sleep yet anyway; he was still too
keyed-up from the night’s excitement.
But hardly a half hour had passed before the bedroom door opened and
a dishevelled, tired-looking Captain Ochre emerged. “Good morning, Pat”
he mumbled.
“A
very good morning to you, Rick! Who’s your lady friend? Not
someone Melody Angel should know about, I hope?” said Magenta with a grin to
show he was only joking.
“What are you talking about?” Ochre snapped.
“Oh, come off it, Rick. You know I won’t say anything about her.”
“About who?” The American captain sounded genuinely puzzled.
“The woman who spent the night here, of course. I saw her leaving just a
little while ago. You should have warned me; I almost ran into her! Who is she,
some trade ambassador’s daughter?”
Ochre frowned. His bloodshot eyes locked with the Irishman’s. “There was no
woman here, Pat. I spent the night alone. If you don’t believe me, then look
around and try to find a clue otherwise!”
Magenta raised his arms in mock surrender. If his friend wanted to conceal the
young lady’s identity, that was fine by him. It did seem odd, though. Rick had
never shown any interest in a woman so young before. That meant she had to be
pretty special to him.
When he returned from duty the next evening, Captain Ochre sat up
late, resisting the urge to sleep. He did not want to dream. He was, he
realized, becoming afraid to dream.
But he was so tired. And the suite’s potpourri bowl must have been refreshed
that day, as the room was filling with the relaxing scent of lavender. Perhaps a
little doze while sitting up would be safe enough. His eyes closed.
In the morning, he awoke in bed, dripping sweat and shaking with fatigue and
pain. He remembered everything that could not possibly have happened during the
night. It seemed much too real to be just a dream.
I must be going insane, Ochre thought.
“Rick, you look bloody awful today!”
“Thanks. I did look at myself at the mirror while shaving, you know.”
“I mean you look so tired. Are you feeling all right?”
“Yes, yes. I’m fine. I’ve just been having some restless nights,
that’s
all. I’ve been having some very vivid dreams. Of a personal nature,” he added,
seeing the question in Magenta’s face.
Captain Magenta didn’t think his friend was being honest. Whether it really was
just dreams or nights with his lady friend, Captain Ochre had complained of
sleeping poorly every night of the conference. Fortunately, this was the last
night they’d be staying at the Royal Victoria. Tomorrow, the conference would
end by midday and they’d be back on Cloudbase in time
for dinner. And a good night’s sleep in their own beds.
Louise was distraught. She burst into tears when Ochre told her he
was leaving in the morning. He felt strange; part of him was regretful while
another part, an alien mind, was glad to be shedding yet another mistress.
“You’re going back to her, aren’t you?” sobbed Louise.
“Who?”
Ochre/Richard asked, genuinely curious to hear the answer.
“Your wife!”
“What!?
What wife?” How did she find out about/I don’t have a wife/stupid little
chick is testing me/does she mean Melody/. . . Ochre’s mind was in turmoil. He knew he
was not married yet he vaguely recalled a wife who controlled the fortune he
also knew he didn’t have . . .
The girl brushed aside his protests. “No. You can’t lie to me again, Richard.
You’re going to abandon me again. I can’t live without you!”
Richard seized the girl’s wrists as she raised her arms to hit him. “Louise,
you’re hysterical! Haven’t I promised I’d come back as my business allows?”
“If you leave, I’ll make you keep your promise. Somehow I’ll make you come
back!” she shouted, her eyes glowing like coals.
Ochre sat up in the darkness of the bedroom, Louise’s words ringing in his ears.
Somehow I’ll make you come back.
“Ah, it’s good to be home!” said Captain Sienna, as they debarked the SPJ.
Captain Ochre was more relieved than anyone to be back on
Cloudbase. Surely, now that he was away from the hotel and its atmosphere
of antiquity, he would stop having those strange, exciting, erotic, and menacing
dreams about Louise. He could look forward to sleeping again.
But the nightmares had come with him. Every night, he dreamt that he and Louise
were together in the 19th century. He, Richard, callously planned to make this
innocent girl his latest mistress, pretended to be enamoured with her, went
through the motions of courting her, then eloping with her, seducing her, using
her, all to satisfy his basest instincts. The memories of how he had abused her
trust, ruined her good name, abandoned her . . .
Ochre’s conscience ached, even though he was aware he had not done, could not
have done any of those things.
In the worst nightmares, Ochre was searching for Louise but unable to reach her,
though he could hear her terror-filled voice calling him, see her being dragged
inexorably towards the door she feared, see the door open to reveal Boschian scenes of Hell . . . .
You promised you’d come back! You promised! You lied!
From every dream he would wake up, drenched in sweat, feeling an urgency to get
back to the Royal Victoria, to Louise. But he didn’t know why. He would spend
the rest of the night wide awake or dozing fitfully, afraid to dream anymore.
Knowing the lack of sleep would soon affect his performance, Captain Ochre
decided to consult Dr Fawn about something to help him sleep.
“I’ve been having some pretty bad nights. I
just haven’t felt right since returning from London.”
“How do you mean? Did the problem begin in London or only after you got back?”
“In London. You see — ” He stopped. “It’s going
to sound ridiculous.”
Fawn assured him that he would take everything Ochre said seriously, but he
couldn’t help without fully understanding the problem. Slowly Captain Ochre
confessed everything, all the dreams he had of Louise, the fatigue, the pain,
and especially his fear that the lingering nightmares were the result of
insanity.
Fawn listened without visible reaction. “I see. I can arrange for you to undergo
a battery of tests and we’ll see if you are developing a mental illness. I want
to run some physical tests as well to see if there could be an organic cause for
at least some of your problems.”
After a week of tests, Captain Ochre returned to Sickbay to review the results
with Dr Fawn.
“Your tests show high levels of anxiety and stress, but that’s not surprising
given that you’re worried. You’ll be relieved to know you have no symptoms of
mental illness. Your physical tests all came back first rate. You’re a prime
physical specimen, Captain.”
Ochre was relieved but also worried. If he wasn’t imagining or hallucinating or
something, then what was causing his nightmares?
“I’ve read about people with complaints similar to yours. You say the dreams
you’ve been having on Cloudbase lack the sexual
element that was present when you were at the hotel?” Ochre nodded. “Do you know
if the Royal Victoria is haunted?”
Ochre was startled. He hadn’t anticipated such a question.
“You mean I might not be sick, just haunted?” He laughed sardonically.
Dr Fawn smiled. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. If you were victimized by a
succubus…”
“A what bus?”
“A succubus. A female spirit who, according to legend,
has sex with sleeping men and absorbs their strength and vitality.
Legends about them go back to ancient times and occur in every culture. This
‘Louise’ could have been one.”
“I didn’t think modern medicine recognized such things as ghosts, Doctor.”
“Most modern doctors haven’t spent time learning from native Australians. They
taught me to open my mind and look beyond the immediate world. Since you’re
quite sound mentally, the alternative diagnosis your experiences suggest is a
haunting.”
“So how can I be cured of a ghost? Does Spectrum have a staff exorcist?”
Both men laughed, then Dr Fawn became serious again. “You’ve left the ghost
behind but the experience was harrowing at the time and has left you with
post-traumatic stress. That’s why you’re having nightmares now.”
“What about the rest of it? Her telling me about a town I’ve never been to,
telling me I’m someone else? Sometimes I even believed I was someone
else!”
“I suspect your conscience has been over-stimulated. When you’re on duty, you
never stray. And technically, you were on duty 24/7 at that trade conference.
You wouldn’t have willingly arranged an affair, so when ‘Louise’ came, the
physical sensations triggered dreams in which it was safe to do and experience
those things. And you became someone else, too, someone
not bound by duty.”
“I’ll admit it was okay the first time and maybe the second. But after that, it
was hell.” Ochre grimaced as he recalled the pain and exhaustion he’d been
through.
“It might be that your conscience is so strong you couldn’t fool it; even while
you were being victimized by the succubus, your conscience punished you for any
enjoyment by creating nightmares,” Fawn explained.
“It’s still punishing me.”
“The nightmares’ll fade with time. I can give you a prescription
for a mild sedative. It will deepen your sleep so you spend less of the night
dreaming. That’s just a temporary measure.”
“Got anything more permanent?” Ochre asked with a weak grin.
“There’s death, but I imagine you want something short of that. Have you heard
of lucid dreaming?” Ochre hadn’t. “It’s a therapy course in which you learn to
control bad dreams — or good ones for that matter — by becoming aware that you
are dreaming.”
Ochre accepted the pamphlet Fawn gave him. “Thanks, doctor. I think that may be
just what I need.” But Ochre wasn’t entirely certain. Whether Louise was some
kind of thrill-seeking ghost or just a figment of his imagination, why did she
have such an elaborate persona and background? And not just about
herself
but about him? It didn’t add up.
With Halloween approaching, it seemed only natural for the topic of
the supernatural in general and ghosts in particular to come up. A surprising
number of people had had experiences they wanted to share. Captain Blue, for
instance, talked about a malicious ghost he had once encountered during a house
party; Captain Scarlet silently noted that Blue diplomatically omitted
mentioning that he had been a guest of the Metcalfes
at the time. Rhapsody Angel recounted how since childhood she had been able to
see — and talk with — an ancient ghost called the “White Lady” in her family’s
ancestral house, and other ghosts she had met elsewhere. Even Scarlet told a
story about his first year as a cadet at West Point, dwelling in a haunted
dormitory.
Most of the storytellers had to report for duty or had other engagements, so the
group dwindled until only Captain Scarlet, Captain Ochre, and Rhapsody Angel
were left.
“Rick,” said Captain
Scarlet, “is something wrong? I mean usually you’d be
scoffing at ghost stories, but you’ve been very quiet. I’d swear you’ve even
been listening closely,” he added with a smile.
Captain Ochre glanced nervously around the Officers’ Lounge, to see if anyone
besides Captain Scarlet and Rhapsody Angel was in earshot. “Last Halloween I
would have been laughing. I didn’t believe in ghosts then. But now I’m not so
sure what I believe.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
Ochre shrugged and smiled sheepishly. “It sounds stupid, even to me. But I had
some strange dreams every night while I was staying at a hotel in London. Dreams
about a woman called Louise. She knew my name, kept calling to me and coming to
me while I slept. We, uh, were intimate almost every night.” Ochre glanced over
apologetically at Rhapsody and saw that she was studying him closely. He felt
his face grow hot and looked away quickly.” He summarized what had happened to
him, what Louise had done to him. “Sometimes, I keep thinking I hear her calling
me in my sleep.”
“When did that last happen?” asked Scarlet.
“A few days ago,” replied Ochre with a vague gesture, “but the
nightmares’re
tapering off, especially since I started learning how to dream lucidly. It’s
amazing, really, being able to recognise something is just a dream and then make
the story turn out the way you want it to. Dr Fawn was a genius to suggest it.”
Rhapsody was still studying Ochre as she changed the subject. “Melody said that
you’ve been sort of avoiding her since you came back from London. She’s been
wondering if she said or did something to upset you?”
“No, of course not. I’ve just had a lot of other things to do. That
reminds me. I promised to meet Brad for dinner. And I’m late!” he exclaimed
after a glance at his watch.
Rhapsody frowned as she watched him go.
The United States Embassy in London was planning for a reception
for an unnamed Very Important Person who would be acting as the lead mediator in
vital peace talks among several warring African nations. Colonel White had
agreed that once her identity was known, she could become a prime target of the
Mysterons, perhaps at the embassy itself. Anticipating
the threat meant that, on this occasion, Spectrum could be a step ahead. And,
Colonel White had explained to the two agents he had selected for the
assignment, it showed that the national governments were taking the Mysteron threat and Spectrum more seriously than they once
had. If Spectrum denied a request for assistance with security arrangements
until after a threat had been made, when it was sometimes too late to take
effective action, the organisation’s reputation would suffer.
Captain Scarlet and Captain Ochre met on the hangar deck and waited for the deck
hands to release an SPJ to them.
“Rick, are you sure you should be going on this mission?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
“Those dreams you talked about last week. Mightn’t a return to London trigger
them again?”
Captain Ochre angrily threw his flight bag to the deck. “Look, Paul, if I
thought I was going to have any problems with returning to London so soon, I’d
have begged off, gotten Dr Fawn to give me a medical excuse or something. But I
don’t and I didn’t. I’m fine, all right?”
Captain Scarlet shrugged. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that Ochre should
not return to London.
Captains Scarlet and Ochre were welcomed to the American embassy,
and offered quarters to use during their week-long stay, so that they could
become as familiar as possible with the complex.
The first day had been predictably busy, Ochre reflected, while preparing for
bed. But it had been very productive; he had already formed some opinions about
the embassy’s security weaknesses. Reminding himself to compare notes with
Captain Scarlet in the morning, Ochre fell asleep.
Richard! You promised!
Oh God, no.
Ochre dreamt that he could hear Louise calling him, that he could feel her need
for him. She’s only a few miles away. I could be there in minutes. He
woke abruptly, gasping for air, his heart racing. It was a dream. I can
control my dreams, he reminded himself. I’ve certainly practised enough.
If it happens again, I’ll concentrate on making it someone else’s voice, make myself dream of me and Melody. He smiled at
that.
When he fell asleep again, the dream returned. Before he could take control of
it, he was engulfed in memories of a 19th-century life. Of being china importer
Richard Fraser, faithless lover of a girl named Louise . . . .
The first few days of the assignment had gone well, although Captain Scarlet
suspected something was not right with Captain Ochre. He was unusually brusque
and critical, although not quite to the point of offensiveness. It was fortunate
that the embassy staff, being Americans like Ochre, took Ochre’s attitude and
comments as professional observations, nothing more. Only Scarlet knew that
Ochre was not his usual laid-back, fun-loving self off-duty, but remained surly.
He had asked Ochre if he was having any problems sleeping and been curtly told
off.
By the evening of the fifth day, Captain Ochre had become noticeably restless
and irritable. Captain Scarlet finally lost patience with him when the American
balked at dressing for dinner, complaining about how much he despised wearing
his dress uniform, figuring out the forks, and so on. Scarlet sharply called his
fellow agent to order, demanding to know why he was behaving so unlike his usual
self. An argument ensued.
“This is just too much for me,” snarled Captain Ochre. “I’m going out for a
walk. I’ll be back late.” He seized his coat and stormed out.
Since Ochre’s departure would have been recorded by the embassy’s gatekeeper,
Scarlet gave out that Ochre had been called to Spectrum’s London headquarters on
urgent business. It was a story strong enough to excuse Ochre’s continued
absence through the next two days.
He had alerted Colonel White when Captain Ochre had not returned to the embassy
by the morning after he left. Spectrum’s London agents had begun searching for
him. But as yet there was no trace of the missing man.
Captain Scarlet alone completed the preliminary security arrangements and
returned to Cloudbase.
“Here’s your key, Mr Fraser. I hope you’ll enjoy your stay with us.
We’ll inform you when your luggage arrives. I do hope the airline will find it
soon.”
Captain Ochre nodded and headed for the lifts, waiting impatiently for the car
doors to open and carry him back to the familiar corridor leading to room 5.
To Louise.
Ochre had not returned to the embassy. He had not contacted Cloudbase or responded to attempts to contact him.
Ninety-six hours passed without word from him. A rumour began that Ochre had
been victimised by the Mysterons.
Captain Scarlet was in the Control Room, standing watch while Colonel White was
off-duty. He and Captain Magenta were discussing an assignment when an urgent
report came in.
Lieutenant Green turned to Captain Scarlet. “Sir, Spectrum London reports that
Captain Ochre has been located. He used a personal credit card four days ago,
but the hotel mislaid the receipt and didn’t submit it to the bank until this
morning. Captain Ochre’s registered under his own name, Richard Fraser, at the
Royal Victoria Hotel, suite 180.”
Captain Magenta gasped. “That the one we stayed at during the trade conference a
couple months ago. Ochre started acting a bit funny while we were there.”
Scarlet nodded his acknowledgment. He remembered that just before Halloween
Ochre had told him and Rhapsody Angel about having strange experiences in a
London hotel. Scarlet felt a sense of foreboding.
“Sir, London wants to know if they should send agents to arrest Captain Ochre,”
said Lieutenant Green.
Captain Scarlet made a decision. “No. Have them observe the Royal Victoria and
watch for him to leave. If he does, they can arrest him then. But they are not
to enter the hotel.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Lieutenant, contact the Royal Victoria and find out everything you can about
the it, especially any peculiar stories or incidents associated with it.
Don’t dismiss anything, however strange. And follow up on anything that looks
interesting.”
“Yes, sir.” It was a puzzling assignment but Lieutenant Green went to
work. He was still working when Colonel White arrived for duty. Captain Scarlet
informed the commander that Captain Ochre had been located.
“Good. Have our London agents taken him into custody yet?”
“No sir. I ordered them not to unless he tries to leave the hotel.”
Colonel White raised an eyebrow. “Explain yourself, Captain Scarlet.”
“I can’t just yet, sir. Not fully. But I’m certain Captain Ochre can’t leave the
Royal Victoria without help.”
The Colonel frowned. “You’re being unnecessarily mysterious, Captain.”
“I’m sorry, sir. Lieutenant Green is preparing a report that I believe will shed
some light on Captain Ochre’s actions. If my suspicions are correct, I’ll be
able to explain. But not yet.”
At the end of an hour, Lieutenant Green was ready to report his findings to
Colonel White and Captain Scarlet. “Sir, I believe I’ve found a possible
connection between the Royal Victoria’s history and Captain Ochre. My contact at
the hotel told me it used to be haunted, apparently by a woman who committed
suicide in the 19th century.” Lieutenant Green capsulised
Louise’s story, adding, “Her lover was an American, and his name was Richard
Fraser.”
Colonel White had been listening impatiently but leaned forward when he heard
that. “Just like Captain Ochre! But it’s not exactly an unusual name.”
“That’s true, sir. But I pulled up information on Captain Ochre’s family tree;
it includes a Richard Fraser who lived from the mid-19th to the early-20th
centuries. He made a fortune importing English china to the United States, which
means he probably would have travelled in England. I found a photograph of him
as well. Captain Ochre and his ancestor don’t look exactly alike but there’s a
family resemblance.”
Colonel White mulled over the information. “Even if Captain Ochre’s ancestor
was the dead girl’s lover, and we don’t know if that’s true, I still don’t
see why this information is significant. Are you ready to explain it, Scarlet?”
“Yes, sir,” said Captain Scarlet. “But I’d like Dr Fawn to join us. He was
seeing Captain Ochre regularly before his disappearance.”
Normally, Dr Fawn would have been unwilling to discuss a patient’s history, but
after Captain Scarlet explained the circumstances and what Lieutenant Green had
discovered, Fawn agreed that disclosure was necessary for Ochre’s well-being. He
told Colonel White about the nightmares and difficulty sleeping Ochre had
complained of since his last assignment in London, when he and Captain Magenta
had stayed at the Royal Victoria.
“At first I thought it was temporary, a product of stress. The ECG showed a
disturbance in his normal brain patterns; there was stress, but something else,
too, something I’ve never seen before. It didn’t match any known form of
insanity, so I diagnosed stress and recommended training in lucid dreaming.
Ochre’s worked very hard to master the techniques and we thought he’d succeeded.
But I wasn’t satisfied with my diagnosis, I kept
reviewing that inexplicable element in Ochre’s ECG. I’ve ruled out every cause
but one. Colonel, as strange as it sounds, I believe Ochre is a victim of
something supernatural.”
Colonel White’s voice was icy. “Something supernatural. A ghost?”
The doctor was unshaken. “Yes, sir. I’m certain of it.”
“Captain Ochre told me and Rhapsody Angel about what happened to him at the
Royal Victoria because Rhapsody and I have both had experience dealing with such
things, Colonel,” Captain Scarlet broke in. “He knew we’d understand. She and I
and the doctor can help Captain Ochre deal with whatever is troubling him now.
Right now, he needs people he knows and trusts, not unfamiliar security guards.”
The commanding officer considered the situation. It was preposterous,
yet . . . whether Captain Ochre had deserted for some rational reason,
was mentally ill, or even haunted, it would likely be easier for Captain
Scarlet, Rhapsody Angel, and Doctor Fawn to bring him back than anyone else.
“Very well then.”
Captain Scarlet rushed off to inform Rhapsody Angel that they were going to
London and why. Dr Fawn returned to Sickbay to assemble the tools and supplies
he anticipated might be needed. Once on board the SPJ to London, he would learn
everything his fellow agents already knew about Captain Ochre’s situation, about
Louise, and fill them him on any details only he knew. He didn’t doubt they were
going to confront something supernatural. But exactly what it was and how they
were going to overcome it, he didn’t know. He hoped that Scarlet and Rhapsody
had some ideas.
When he arrived in the suite, Captain Ochre experienced a mixture
of emotions — guilt, anticipation, and fear all warred within him. But he had to
end this unnatural relationship with Louise. He’d never be able to rest until he
did.
As soon as Ochre slept, he found Louise waiting for him. She had lost much of
the vitality she had had when he had left. And she had also lost her sweet,
conciliatory nature. She was very angry, angry at him for abandoning her again.
What would stop him from leaving her again? What would stop the glowing door
from claiming her at last? she demanded.
Ochre told her he could not be her guardian forever. He could not promise to
stay or to return. He had duties elsewhere. He told Louise bluntly to let him
go.
Louise swore that this time she would not let him leave. When she was with him
in bed, he was never eager to leave her, never even spoke of leaving. She would
keep him there until he realised he was meant to be with her.
For always.
The three Spectrum agents approached suite 180 cautiously. They
listened before Captain Scarlet slid the hotel’s master card-key into the lock
then tried the door handle. It opened easily; the deadbolts had not been thrown.
No sound came from the sitting room, which a quick search confirmed was empty.
The door to the bedroom was shut. Again, they listened, holding their breaths so
they wouldn’t miss even a faint sound. They heard someone, possibly a man, speak
indistinctly. It sounded like he was pleading.
“Captain Ochre?” whispered Rhapsody Angel.
Captain Scarlet shook his head slightly, indicating uncertainty. He didn’t know
who else it might be, but the voice was not clear. Then he froze, as did the
Angel. They both heard a woman’s voice saying something in reply to another plea
from the man, followed by a deep groan. This time, they all recognized the man’s
voice: Captain Ochre. Cautiously, Scarlet tried the door and inched it open.
The heavy curtains had been drawn over the windows, but some light still seeped
around them. As their eyes adjusted, the trio could see someone lying on his
back in the bed. He groaned again, a sound of intense suffering. They saw no one
else in the room.
“He needs my help,” declared Fawn, nodding at the man in the bed.
“That woman we heard might be hiding under the bed. Watch
yourself,” said Scarlet.
Dr Fawn had not heard a woman, but approached the bedside cautiously. When he
reached toward his patient, he found himself engulfed in a sheet of light. The
sensation was not quite painful; more of a tingling. But he could not see or
hear or feel or even think. There was nothing but the light and the tingling.
Captain Scarlet and Rhapsody Angel watched in horror as Dr Fawn convulsed and
staggered backwards. His medical bag flew out of his hand and burst open when it
hit the wall, spilling medicines and instruments across the floor.
When the sheet of light faded, Fawn found himself lying flat on the floor with
no memory of falling. Captain Scarlet and Rhapsody Angel were bending over him,
their expressions concerned.
“I’m all right,” Fawn mumbled, not really sure he was telling the truth. “What
happened? Did you see what hit me?”
“Not yet,” replied Rhapsody, “but I will directly. As for what happened, I think
we interrupted something.” She closed her eyes and summoned her inner eye, the
power of second Sight, just as her grandmother had taught her. When she opened
them again, she looked at the man in the bed. He was no longer lying alone.
There was a woman with him, apparently wholly occupied with her lover. Rhapsody
had no doubt that she was a ghost, visible only to those with the Sight. “I see
the woman now,” she whispered to Scarlet. “She must be Louise. I’m going to call
her.”
Rhapsody got to her feet as Louise rose from the bed and stretched luxuriously.
She looked as solid as a living woman but for a radiance that made her appear
unworldly. As she reached out to her lover, Rhapsody looked at Ochre with her
Sight. His own spirit was beginning to separate from his body, though it was
still connected by a thin silver cord. Rhapsody knew that if that cord was
broken, Ochre would be lost.
“Louise!” she called softly. “Louise, can you hear me? Can you see me?”
Distracted, the ghost turned and glared at the new intruder. “Who are you? Why
are you here?” she growled.
“Louise, my name is Rhapsody. I’m an Angel. I’ve
come to guide you away from here.” She kept her voice kind and gentle, but her
concern for Ochre was growing. Beside the ghost, a mist was growing, apparently
trying to coalesce into a solid form.
“Guide me? Guide me?” repeated the ghost. “But I’m not lost!”
“How long have you been here, Louise? In this room, this
hotel?”
Louise thought for a long moment. “I was here with Richard for eight months.
Then I was here alone for what seemed a long time. A very long
time.”
By asking leading questions, Rhapsody encouraged the ghost to describe the many
changes she’d seen in the hotel. She tried to make Louise see that the changes
in fashion, the redecoration of her rooms, and the lack of people were signs
that decades had passed, but the ghost became confused. “That isn’t possible.
I’d have to be an old lady. I’m only seventeen.”
Rhapsody decided to try another tack. “You’ve been alone here because Richard
left you, haven’t you?” When the ghost reluctantly answered in the affirmative,
Rhapsody asked, “What did you do the first time when you realised he wasn’t
coming back?”
Louise looked nonplussed. “I . . . I . . . cried. I was scared. When my head
started to ache, I . . . drank some medicine. Then I fell asleep. I felt better
when I woke up.”
“You never woke up, Louise. You took too much medicine and it killed you. Do you
understand? You died almost two centuries ago. You’re a ghost now.” Rhapsody
spoke as gently and reasonably as possible to cushion the shock.
“That’s a lie!” shrieked the ghost. “A lie!” Beside
her, the mist was taking on a distinct — and recognizable — form.
Dr Fawn was sitting up on his own, though leaning
against the wall. He was watching Rhapsody curiously, aware that she was
communicating with some entity, but unable to see or hear anything of it for
himself. Captain Scarlet, on the other hand, could. His Sight was not as keen as
Rhapsody’s, but he was far more experienced in reading opponents and
anticipating their next move. He got to his feet and slowly moved nearer to
Rhapsody. His training and instinct both told him things were not going well.
“It’s the 21st century now,” the Angel persisted. “That glowing door you’ve seen
is the gateway to the next world, where your loved ones are waiting for you. You
don’t have to be afraid.”
Louise didn’t reply. She looked confused and panicky. Rhapsody inhaled sharply
as Captain Ochre’s ghost materialized beside Louise. A silver tendril stretched
from the ghost to his motionless body. “Louise,” he whispered,
his voice an echoing parody of normality. “My love.”
“Louise, listen to me. I’m an Angel,” Rhapsody
repeated urgently. “I’m here to guide you away from the hotel, Louise. To Heaven.”
“NO!” screamed Louise, linking arms with Ochre. “You’re not! You’re Richard’s
wife, trying to trick me. He’s left you and come back to me. I’ve won! He’s mine
now. I have him. And I won’t give him up!”
As she shrieked the last few words, Louise flung up her free hand and pointed it
at Rhapsody. For a moment, both ghosts flared with energy, then a bolt of pure
white light shot from the woman’s fingertips.
Captain Scarlet reacted. There was no time for a warning; he simply threw
himself sideways, knocking the Angel out of the way, and took the full force of
the psychic blast with his own body. It lifted him off his feet and smashed him
against the wall, breaking a light fixture before he fell heavily to the floor.
When he regained his senses, Captain Scarlet found that his Sight
was still functioning. He could see Captain Ochre standing beside Louise but
both now appeared to be as solid as living people, albeit dressed in antique
fashions. Ochre had eyes for nothing but the girl, whom he held close to him.
The two of them were moving towards the door. Scarlet quickly got to his feet to
block their exit.
Visibly surprised, Louise tried to ward him off, but her hand flapped
ineffectively. Perhaps, thought Scarlet, she had no reserve energy to draw on.
She had wasted it all trying to stop Fawn and Rhapsody.
Louise shrank against her lover. “Richard, protect me from him! He means to hurt
me!”
Captain Ochre had seemed dazed, oblivious to everything around him except for
Louise. For the first time he noticed Captain Scarlet. “Paul?” He blinked.
“Paul?” He pointed to something behind the British captain, who turned to look.
Dr Fawn and Rhapsody were bent over his body. It’s neck
was tilted at an unnatural angle, but otherwise his body was unmarked. His
facial expression was one of wide-eyed surprise. Captain Scarlet had no memory
of pain. He usually didn’t. But he also couldn’t recall standing over his own
dead body, not since his first death, when he had been replaced with a
Mysteron
replicant. He felt curiously detached from it. And now
he noticed something seemed to be pulling him, a sensation he’d experienced once
before.
“Paul, why can I see two of you?”
“Come, Richard, we must leave!” said Louise, tugging urgently on Captain Ochre’s
sleeve.
Dianne — She looked up at him and he signalled her to remain silent. He
would see the mission through to its end. “Ochre — Rick! You can see two of me
because I’m dead. That’s my body there. I’m a ghost. Just like Louise. And like
you.”
Louise raised her hand to stifle her horrified gasp. Ochre stared open-mouthed.
“I’ve died?” he finally asked, a slight quaver in his voice.
“How?”
Scarlet glanced at the bed again. “I’m not sure. But it has something to do with
Louise.” He studied both Ochres,
ghost and flesh. “I think you’ve still got a chance, Rick. I don’t think you’re
quite dead. But you will be if I don’t take Louise away.”
Ochre stared at his motionless body. He tried to take a few steps towards it,
but Louise held him back.
“Richard! Don’t listen to him! Please! Stay with me!” she pleaded.
“Louise,” said Scarlet sharply, forcing her to look at him instead of her lover.
“The Angel told you the truth. You died almost two centuries ago. This man is
not the Richard Fraser you knew. He’s
a descendant.”
Captain Scarlet felt the strange pull intensifying. He didn’t
really want to respond to it, but it was the only way Captain Ochre might be
saved. “We have to go now,” said Scarlet, taking Louise by the arm. “You know we
do. Rick, you shouldn’t come.”
“Richard,” the girl whimpered pitifully as she tightened her grip on Ochre’s
arm. “Don’t. Please.”
Captain Ochre did not respond. Instead, he looked back at the ghost and body of
Captain Scarlet, then stared once more at his own unmoving body. He made his
decision. “I know the way, Paul. Back to where I found Louise. It’s the right
thing to do. Even if it means I have to stay there, too.”
“Let’s go, then.”
“NO!”
The men ignored the woman’s screams as they
half-dragged, half-carried her through the doorway.
From where she knelt beside Captain Scarlet’s lifeless body,
Rhapsody Angel had watched and listened, her hands pressed over her mouth to
keep any sound from escaping.
“They’re leaving,” she finally whispered.
“Who?”
“All of them. Louise and . . .” Rhapsody blinked back tears. “And
Paul . . . He’s really . . . gone.”
“And Ochre?”
The Angel looked at Ochre through her inner eye. There was still a thin silver
strand stretching from his body and through the doorway. “He’s gone with them in
spirit, doctor,” she said. “But his soul is still tethered. He isn’t quite
dead.”
“Then we still have a chance to bring him back.” The doctor rushed to Ochre’s
side. The captain’s skin was cold, clammy, and ashen, all clear signs of shock.
“He’s stopped breathing.” Fawn pressed his fingers against Ochre’s throat. “His
pulse is fading. Damn it!” the doctor swore. “I’m losing him! Rhapsody, come
here and breathe for him!” He pulled the covers off the unconscious man’s naked
body.
Rhapsody rose slowly from the floor, reluctant to leave Captain Scarlet.
“He’ll come back eventually, Rhapsody. He always does,” snapped Fawn. “But
Captain Ochre won’t unless we bring him back now. We’re his only chance.”
Rhapsody nodded and crept across the sprawling bed as Fawn began CPR. The Angel
pressed her mouth to Ochre’s and breathed for him each time the doctor paused in
administering chest compressions. Fawn felt for a pulse.
Nothing.
“Rhapsody, have we lost him?”
“No. The tether is stretching but it’s still there.”
“It won’t be for much longer if we can’t get a pulse back. Can you do CPR?”
“Yes, Doctor Fawn.”
“Good. I’m going to prepare an injection that might help restart Rick’s heart.
Keep up the compressions. You’ll find it easier and more effective if you
straddle him. Just do it, mate!” he barked, seeing Rhapsody hesitate. “This is
no time to be shy!”
“Do you feel it, too?”
“Yeah, Paul, I do. Funny, I’ve never felt the magnetism pulling me before, just
Louise.” Captain Ochre adjusted his grip on the woman’s right arm. Her struggles
had diminished; she seemed to be in a state of shock. Or maybe she’d decided
just being with Ochre was enough, no matter where they were.
“How far into the maze are we?”
“Maybe halfway. I — ” Ochre stopped moving and
clutched his chest as his eyes grew wide with surprise. He opened his mouth as
if to say something but drew a deep breath instead. Abruptly, he vanished.
“One, two, three, four, five,” Rhapsody panted as she pressed
firmly on Ochre’s bare chest with each count before covering his mouth with
hers. “One, two . . . ”
Ochre suddenly drew a rattling breath and opened his eyes. He blinked
uncertainly several times then focussed on the woman sitting astride him, her
hands now resting on his stomach. His face twisted with surprise and distress.
“Dianne?” he whispered. Ochre raised an arm in a feeble warding gesture.
“Dianne, please stop. Leave me alone. I want to wake up.”
He sobbed weakly as he drew another breath and closed his eyes tightly,
squeezing out the tears that ran freely down his face and into the pillow.
When Captain Ochre disappeared, the door behind Captain Scarlet and
Louise slammed shut. They could hear doors slamming in sequence more and more
faintly. No silver cord held them open this time. There was no going back. But
another door had opened in front of them. Captain Scarlet could feel the
magnetic pull beyond it and started forward, tugging Louise along with him.
The woman screeched and brought her free arm around to scratch Scarlet’s face.
She kicked and bit while she punched him. Locked in combat, they spun about the
room, upsetting the few furnishings and ornaments it contained. When he managed
to get both of her arms securely locked behind her, Louise continued crying and
fighting like a tigress to break free. Scarlet ignored her cries and forced her
through the next open doorway, and the next and the next, on and on, until they
reached the room of the glowing door. It was no longer shut.
The door was barely cracked open but rays of light blinded the couple who stood
transfixed. Louise stopped struggling to escape; instead she clung to Captain
Scarlet and whimpered in terror as the door swung wide open. Scarlet was finding
the lure irresistible. And somehow he knew that Louise had to go through that
door, that she belonged on the other side. As he did.
He took a step towards the door; Louise immediately collapsed.
“Get up,” Scarlet ordered.
“No. No, I’m not going in there! Let me go back! I’m afraid!” Louise looked up
into her countryman’s face, her eyes huge and swimming with tears. She seemed
more like a defenceless child than a very young woman.
Had she also appealed to Captain Ochre’s sense of chivalry? Scarlet wondered. He
found himself wanting to rescue her, to take her back. But more, he wanted to
walk through the glowing doorway, to walk into the light. And he had to take
Louise. So she could never harm Rick — or anyone else — ever again.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her to her feet. She beamed at
him, certain that they were going to leave the room. So when he instead dragged
her forward, she was not prepared to resist. Too late, she resumed her
struggles. When they stepped through the door, it closed behind them.
Captain Scarlet released Louise, who stopped crying and screaming, and gazed
about in wonder. It was warm, and there was soft but indescribably uplifting
music playing. The light that surrounded them now was not steady; it moved and
swam about them like a playful school of fish. There were people in the light,
visible only as tall, distorted silhouettes. Their faces were obscured, but
although they stood in silence there was nothing menacing about them. One
silhouette began to shrink as a woman dressed in late 19th-century costume
stepped forward, her hands held out before her in a welcoming gesture.
“We’ve waited a long time for you, my darling child,” she said.
“Mama?” said Louise in a small voice. “Oh, Mama! I’m
sorry! I’m sorry! So much has happened to me since I left home! I’ve been so
lonely!” She began to cry softly.
The woman’s countenance was gentle, her smile sad. “My poor
dear!
I know you’ve suffered. You will never be lonely again. I promise.” The two
women embraced, the mother stroking her daughter’s hair, and making soft
shushing noises to calm the girl. “Come now: your father is waiting.” The pair
slowly disappeared behind a curtain of light. Louise did not look back once, but
she radiated an aura of contentment and of peace.
Scarlet watched her go, then sighed, feeling that
something wrong had finally been put right. But all around him now, voices were
murmuring; they sounded concerned. Something was still unsettled.
“Paul.”
Startled to hear a clear voice address him from behind, Captain Scarlet turned
and stepped back at the same time, automatically shifting to a fighting stance.
The man who stepped out of the light before him smiled. “Your reflexes are as
good as ever, I see.”
Scarlet felt astonishment. The man was familiar, very familiar, but Scarlet did
not recognise him. Nonetheless, sensing no hostility, he dropped the fighting
posture.
“You don’t quite remember me. Well, it doesn’t matter. I remember you, and I
know what happened after I left.” The man’s smile broadened then faded. “Paul,
you don’t have to stay here. You can go back.” Captain Scarlet looked in the
direction that the man pointed. “The door didn’t shut tight. You can still go
back.”
Captain Scarlet was puzzled. Why would he want to leave? He felt at peace here,
as if he’d been relieved of a heavy burden he’d been carrying for much too long.
“I know,” the other said, as if he could hear Scarlet’s innermost thoughts. “But
you’re still needed back there. Go. You’ve got work to do.” He put a hand firmly
against Scarlet’s chest and began propelling him backwards towards the doorway.
“There may be another time for you to come here, Paul. But this time, go back if
you can find the way. Reflect on your choices from time to time. Do you
understand? Reflect and choose your path carefully. Or you may eventually have
nowhere to go.”
With one strong thrust, the man forced Captain Scarlet to stagger back. The door
shut. The glow disappeared. Scarlet was left standing alone in a cold and dark
room.
More than twenty-four hours had passed since Captain Scarlet’s body
had been brought to Cloudbase from London. Dr Fawn was
growing increasingly concerned. Scarlet had died after being struck by a
powerful blast of psychic energy. Could it have had the same effect as a
high-voltage electric shock?
There was only one way to find out. He collected tissue samples from the body
and examined the cells to see if they showed the disruption found in the cells
of electrocuted mysteronised humans. They did not.
Yet Scarlet had not revived or shown signs of reviving. His body was undergoing
changes, but not those indicative of an active
retrometabolism. Rigour mortis had set in and lividity
was occurring. Neither had ever happened before.
Despite the absence of cellular disruption, Fawn could not overlook the
unmistakable signs. He had to pronounce Captain Scarlet truly dead.
The darkness was not absolute. When his eyes adjusted, Captain
Scarlet could make out large shapes, including the doors in the walls. He stood
back and looked at the doors. Besides the one he had just passed through, there
were three others to choose among. He hadn’t had time to look around while
dragging Louise through the rooms. Nor had he been concerned about which door to
choose. He hadn’t even noticed that there had been more than one. He had simply
felt the right way to go, and the doors had opened or been standing open.
Now, confronted with choices, he wasn’t sure what to do. What was it the man had
said? To reflect on his choices.
Reflect. There was a mirror in this room. It looked to be dark with age but
still had some silver backing. Scarlet looked at it wryly. Only a fairy-tale
mirror would show him anything worthwhile. What should he do, approach it and
say “Mirror, Mirror, on the wall, show the path that’s right for Paul?
Even as he sardonically said the words in his mind, Scarlet noted that the
mirror showed only himself and the room he was in. Or not quite. It showed the room and a moving figure dressed
in red walking up to a door and leaving. The door was carved with oak leaves.
In the dim light, Scarlet could not immediately see if any of the doors were
carven so he touched each one and felt for a pattern with his fingers. Ah, this
was it! He traced an acorn and the distinctive serrated edges of oak leaves. He
opened the door and crossed into the next room.
This room also had doors in four of its six walls. And there were four mirrors
to look into. Each one showed him choosing a different door.
And then a glimpse of the eventual consequences of each choice. In one,
he continued to wander from room to room, apparently hopelessly lost. Scarlet
immediately rejected the door the mirror had shown him. Another showed him
emerging from the maze and into his uninterrupted career with the World Army Air
Force. The third showed him with Rhapsody, neither of them in Spectrum uniforms.
The last lead him back to the glowing door. He considered his options, and chose
the third door.
Every room offered choices, sometimes many, sometimes only a few. The mirrors
showed the way to many possible presents and many possible futures. Several
times, he saw himself in his Spectrum uniform, hideously wounded, sometimes
dead, sometimes not. Other mirrors showed him living a more peaceful life as a
successful businessman, a WAAF general, a husband and father. In every one of
those, he was human. He had never joined Spectrum, never encountered the Mysterons, never been cursed with near-immortality.
He considered each choice carefully. Not every door had a mirror; he had no clue
what those doors might lead to. But sometimes, he rejected all the choices shown
by the mirrors and chose a door leading to an unknown outcome. And after a long
time, his choices narrowed to a few. Yet each one was a matter of life and
death. Or, possibly, an eternity in limbo.
Acting on Dr Fawn’s advice, Colonel White had arranged for news of
Captain Scarlet’s death to be quietly diffused through
Cloudbase. Captain Ochre, recovering in Sickbay from his near-fatal
encounter with the same force that had killed Scarlet, had not been told. He
would not be told until he had regained sufficient strength and health.
Both physical and mental.
Captain Ochre lay fretting in his private room. He didn’t like being alone. It
was when he was alone and in bed that Louise came. But Dr Fawn said, and Ochre
had reluctantly admitted, that he was too sick to have many visitors. His
physical ills were responding rapidly; he’d been re-hydrated, carefully fed, and
chemically blessed with dreamless, healing sleep. But the psychological wounds
went much deeper. The first time a female nurse had tried to attend him, shortly
after he’d arrived, Ochre had become hysterical. His screams had brought half of
Sickbay running to his aid. He’d improved over the last two days; he could just
tolerate a woman’s presence, at least briefly, if she was accompanied by men.
But he could not stand to be touched by a woman.
Ochre was bored. He found it too taxing, mentally and physically, to concentrate
on a book or magazine. He tried looking at banal programmes on the
televiewer, but they made him drowsy, and he was still resisting falling
asleep naturally. He was grateful when Captain Magenta came to visit.
After some small talk, Ochre recalled that he had not seen Captain Scarlet since
returning to Cloudbase. “The last time I saw him, we were in the maze
with Louise. Next thing I knew, I woke up in bed. Is he all right?”
“Dr Fawn’s limited your visitors, Rick. He doesn’t want you getting too tired or
upset or excited.”
Ochre sighed. “Yeah, I know. But I wish Scarlet would come by anyway. I have to
know what happened to Louise.” He shuddered violently and Magenta saw the fear
in the back of his eyes.
No one except Captain Scarlet knew, thought Magenta. And Captain Scarlet was
dead. “I’d better go, Rick. Fawn’s wants all visits kept short. He’s threatening
to bar any visitor who stays too long. But I’ll see you again soon.”
“Sure thing, Pat. If you run into Captain Scarlet, ask him to drop in,
OK? I have to know.” Captain Ochre’s eyes glittered and his tone was urgent.
Magenta hesitated. “Yeah, sure, I’ll do that.”
As arranged, he met Melody Angel near the Amber Room and gave her what news he
could about Ochre’s condition. “He seems to be recovering well,” Magenta said
cautiously.
“Good. Maybe I can finally get in to see him.”
After her shift in the Amber Room ended, Melody went to Sickbay. She became
quite angry with the duty nurse who refused to tell her where Captain Ochre’s
room was and would not explain why. True it was late, but the nurse insisted
that if she was going to visit Ochre she would have to clear it with Dr Fawn
first and also have male escorts. Dr Fawn was off-duty and the night
staff was too busy to supervise a visit with Ochre. It would have to
wait. Melody felt she had never heard such nonsense, but before she could
explode, another nurse came in seeking help with a laboratory accident. The duty
nurse repeated that Melody could not visit Ochre until tomorrow at the soonest
and then rushed away to deal with the emergency.
Melody was tired of being put off. She’d already asked to see Ochre a half dozen
times over the last four days and been given a similar ridiculous excuse each
time. There was no good reason in the late 21st century to require a woman to
have a male escort. She seized the opportunity to look at the bed-and-room
assignments chart, and was on her way to see Ochre before the nurse returned.
Although a light was burning in Captain Ochre’s room, Melody opened the door
slowly. He appeared to be dozing.
“Rick? Hey, Rick, you awake?” she called softly.
Ochre sat bolt upright. “Louise?” he shouted in a cracked, fear-filled
voice.
“No, it’s me, Maggie,” said Melody. And who the hell is Louise?
she
wondered.
Ochre stared at her. His heart raced and he broke a sweat. “Hi,
Mags,” he managed to get out through clenched teeth. He slowly reached
for the nurse-call button.
“I’ve been wanting to visit you but no one would tell me where you
were.”
Ochre grunted, a noncommittal sound. He had pushed himself back
into the farthest corner of his bed and was now pressed against the wall as far
away from Melody as he could get. He pressed the nurse-call button again and
again as she approached the bed and leaned against the side rail. No no get away from me get away . . .
“Please, Mags, it’s good to see you but I’d rather be alone, okay?”
His voice quavered. “But if you see Captain Scarlet, would you tell him I need
to see him? I need to know about Louise. What’s happened to
her.” He had begun to tremble and was suppressing the desire to scream at
Melody. Don’t hurt me please
don’t hurt me get away from me get away get away . . .
“Captain Scarlet? Rick, hasn’t anyone told you?”
Ochre blanched. Bad news always follows something like hasn’t anyone told you.
He shook his head.
“He died four days ago in London.”
“Oh. Well, when he recovers, would you ask him to come here?”
Melody began to feel exasperated. “That’s not possible, Rick. Captain Scarlet is
dead. Really dead.”
Ochre stared, open-mouthed. His eyes unfocussed for a few
seconds. Louise. He swallowed hard before asking, “Did he… did he
say anything before he died?” Melody shook her head. “Did he
. . .” Ochre drew a deep breath. “Did Scarlet die at the hotel? No. No. You’re
lying,” he protested weakly. “You’ve got to be lying, Mags.”
Her stern face told him she wasn’t. Ochre began to shake violently. “NO!” he
screamed. “NO!” Melody tried to comfort him but he struck her hands away. “Don’t
touch me! Get away
from me! Get out! GET OUT!” He buried his face in his hands and sobbed.
“I just want to be free.” He kept repeating it like a mantra.
Male attendants came running in and quickly ushered the protesting Melody out.
She could still hear Ochre screaming as they hustled her to Dr Fawn’s office.
She fumed as she waited for the doctor. Why hadn’t anyone warned her that Ochre
wanted to break up with her? Why had there had to be this screaming scene?
When Fawn arrived, Melody’s anger deflated some. She had never seen Dr Fawn
angry before. He was absolutely livid with rage. Melody admitted that she’d been
refused permission to see Ochre and had taken it on herself to find out where he
was. But, she added in her defence, no one had explained why, despite her
repeated requests to see him. And certainly no one had said that Captain Ochre
hadn’t been told that Captain Scarlet was dead. And, who, she finished
indignantly, was Louise? She certainly seemed important to Ochre!
When Fawn allowed Melody to leave Sickbay a
long time later, she still didn’t know exactly what had happened to Rick; Dr
Fawn had refused to give her any details. But she knew it was something
terrible, and it had opened a gulf between them. She had much to think about.
Another door, another room, another set of doors. Which way did the
maze turn now? How much further would he have to go? Captain Scarlet wondered.
Fewer rooms had had mirrors to guide him, and there were often more doors than
mirrors. He had a gift for discerning trends and patterns, even from slender
data, so he had thought back on the choices he had made thus far, looked for
correlations between them and the doors. He wasn’t sure if he had accurately
discerned a vague pattern or if he merely imagined one. This pentagonal room had
five doors and no mirrors at all. Only the doors differed in their colours and
patterns. Which one should he choose? One door had a brilliantly painted study
of a butterfly flying toward a rising sun. Another was covered with living
holly. The third showed an inverted and extinguished torch from which real smoke
was still rising. The fourth displayed a bird that appeared to be on fire,
rising from a nest. The last showed a wreath hanging on a broken column. He
walked through the fourth doorway.
He was in a room of steel. Steel floor, steel walls, steel tables covered with
unfamiliar steel instruments that reminded him of medieval torture chambers.
Even the lamp that hung from the ceiling was plain, stark metal with a bare
white bulb. The light cast a bright light but the room was cold. Every surface
returned a reflection, albeit distorted, but there were no doors. No choices to
make. Nowhere to go. He had reached the end — or perhaps it was the
centre — of the maze.
With a sigh, Captain Scarlet lay down on an empty table and waited to see what
would happen now.
Dr Fawn waited until the orderly had finished arranging the body on
the steel table and left the morgue. Twice before, this man had been brought
here to this cold, sterile room. Today would be the last time.
The formalities were complete. They had been unpleasant, as they always were.
Rhapsody Angel had taken the news well; she had expected it, because she had not Seen a tether between Captain Scarlet’s body and ghost.
Supported by Captain Blue and Symphony Angel, she had formally identified the
body, maintaining an admirable composure until after leaving Sickbay. Colonel
White would dispatch Captain Blue to visit Scarlet’s parents as soon as the
cause of death was determined. There was only this last task for Fawn to do.
“I really never thought I’d see this day.”
“We’ve all known it was a possibility,” his assistant, Nurse Wheat, replied
softly. “We know so little about the limits of
retrometabolism.”
The doctor said nothing as he studied Captain Scarlet’s face. It was true. Even
after more than two years of close study, they didn’t know much more about
retrometabolism
than when it was first discovered. In London, Fawn had made a choice to save
Captain Ochre’s life because he assumed that Captain Scarlet’s retrometabolism would manage without medical intervention.
He had recovered from a broken neck before. And without a doubt, Ochre would
have died if Dr Fawn and Rhapsody Angel had not helped him. But should Fawn have
done something for Scarlet? Why had Scarlet’s retrometabolism
failed this time? Could he have been brought back by other means if only Fawn
had tried? The doctor sighed. Second-guessing would not clear his conscience nor
solve the riddle.
“You could assign another doctor to do the autopsy,” suggested Wheat.
No, thought Fawn. I couldn’t. He was my friend as well as my patient. And
this will be the last service I can do for him before saying goodbye.
“Is the tape running?” Fawn waited while his assistant fumbled to turn the video
recorder on. In a detached professional monotone, he identified himself and
Nurse Wheat, and described the body he was about to autopsy. “A well-nourished
formerly retrometabolised Caucasian male, thirty-four years old,
about six feet one inch tall . . .” He continued speaking as he picked up the
scalpel and made the first incision just below the hollow of the throat. He was
almost to the base of the sternum when fresh red blood began welling up along
the scalpel’s track.
“Jesus Christ!” Fawn felt the artery in Captain Scarlet’s neck and discovered a
steady pulse. “He’s reviving!”
Two weeks had passed. Dr Fawn had called Captain Ochre, Captain
Scarlet, and Rhapsody Angel into Sickbay to review and debrief on what had
happened at the Royal Victoria Hotel and in room 5.
“The experience had its bright side, you know,” grinned the American. “Like when
I woke up to find myself in bed with Rhapsody Angel. It was a dream come true!”
“And only in your dreams from here on, Captain Ochre,” rejoined Rhapsody. “You
weren’t all that much fun in bed, you know. I had to do all the work!”
“That’s enough from both of you,” growled Captain Scarlet.
“Unless you want Melody to hear all about your nocturnal escapades in London.”
“You wouldn’t!” If Scarlet brought that face to a poker table, thought Ochre,
he’d make a fortune.
“Don’t mind him! If he even tries to tell, he knows what I’ll do to him!” With a
laugh, Rhapsody reached over and lightly slapped Ochre on the knee.
Ochre turned white and recoiled, thrusting his chair back so hard it nearly
tipped over. His face momentarily reflected stark terror, then shame as he saw
the astonishment on his friends’ faces. “I’m sorry, Dianne. I was . . . um . . .
startled.” His heart was racing and his breath was coming in short gasps. He
looked at Dr Fawn, who nodded encouragingly. “I’m sorry,” he repeated, drawing a
deep calming breath. “Dianne. I’ve got to tell you the truth. I’m
not . . . comfortable around you right now. And not
because of Paul.
I’m sorry.” Ochre had begun to tremble. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the
arms of his chair. He tried to look Rhapsody in the face and could not.
“We’re all friends here, Rick,” said Dr Fawn. “It will be all right. You can
tell them. You said so yourself a while ago.”
Ochre swallowed hard and made himself look at the woman
next to him. He spoke haltingly at first, then more and more rapidly. “Dianne,
you’re a beautiful woman, you know. I admit I’ve dreamed about you. They were
good dreams before . . . before London. Before I slept in room
5.
Louise haunted my sleep. She controlled my dreams. I went back there because . . . because she was calling me, and because I
wanted to confront her and finish with her once and for all. I thought that if
I controlled my dreams, everything would work out and I’d be free. But
Louise got the drop on me. I kept trying to dream lucidly and when I met Captain
Scarlet — or his ghost — I thought I’d succeeded. I believed I was controlling a
dream and actively getting rid of Louise. Then I found myself back in bed and
you were on top of me and I was terrified. I thought I was still dreaming and
that my mind had substituted you for Louise, that you
were going to make demands of me I couldn’t satisfy. I just couldn’t take
anymore!” Ochre shouted the last few words.
He clenched his teeth and pressed his fist against his mouth as he hunched over
and folded his free arm across his midsection. “Louise wasn’t something my mind
invented; she was real, I know that now. I’m scared that Louise will return in
some form. She —” Ochre coughed. “It’s hard to get the words out.”
“Take your time, Rick,” said Scarlet.
Fawn, Rhapsody, and Scarlet remained silent while Ochre summoned his courage and
took a deep breath. “I’m still confused. My body responded to Louise’s, even
when I didn’t want it to. I was disgusted with myself; she was a teenager, I’m
not attracted to young girls!”
“Louise wasn’t what she appeared to be,” said Fawn.
Ochre nodded but did not raise his eyes. “I never really understood before how
it could be possible for a man to be raped by a woman. That my body has a mind
of its own, that it can reject my emotions and betray my conscience and make
forcible sex possible. Even though I was revolted by Louise because she was so
young and so . . . brutal with me.”
Everyone was silent as Ochre fought to control himself. “But I don’t think she
knew any other way.” He looked up and tried to smile but could only grimace. His
ears and face were deep red. “My ancestor apparently wasn’t a very nice guy.”
“His descendant is. Melody thinks he’s wonderful,” Rhapsody told him.
If possible, Ochre’s flush deepened. “I don’t know how I’m going to explain the
way I’ve been behaving to Mags. I haven’t even talked
to her for almost three weeks.”
Rhapsody leaned towards him, but not too close, and she kept her arms
folded. “I could talk to her, Rick.”
Ochre buried his face in his hands as a memory assaulted his mind. “I appreciate
your offer, Dianne, but I don’t think she’ll understand. Louise was clinging to
me for support, relying on me to save her, and to stay with her. She got all
that by draining my life force so she would be strong enough to resist being
dragged into the maze by whatever was in there, and making me too weak to get
away from her. I don’t know why she tied it up with sex but I don’t want any
woman to touch me now. Not even Mags.”
“Don’t underestimate Melody! She’s been very worried about you. And I think
she’ll understand what you’ve been through, better than you know. Will you trust
me to talk with her?” Rhapsody pleaded.
Ochre felt his heart lighten as he nodded. Before staying in room 5, he wasn’t
sure where things were going with Melody. He still didn’t know, but he was
certain he wanted to find out. Maybe Rhapsody could persuade Melody to give him
a chance and forgive him for neglecting her. And for screaming
at her. He could only hope.
“Paul, I’ve been wanting to say how glad I am to see you alive and well.
When Mags told me you were dead, really dead, I
realised I hadn’t dreamed you up and it was all my
fault. If I’d been stronger or just tried harder to resist Louise, you wouldn’t
have come to rescue me and died.”
“You were a victim, too, Rick. You didn’t cause my death, not even indirectly,”
said Scarlet. “Anyway, it’s over now.”
“What happened after I left you? Is Louise really gone?” Ochre tried and failed
to keep a tremor out of his voice. “She was so terrified of that glowing door.”
“Yes,” stated Scarlet firmly. “Louise is gone. She finally passed through the
glowing doorway. So did I.” He leaned back, his eyes
unfocussed as he turned his thoughts inward. “It was a strange experience. I
came closer to a true and final death than I ever have before. Louise had been
resisting her own death for more than a century. But I was drawn to it; I let it
pull me in. Then, at the last second, I was forced back by someone. He told me
how to find my own way back here.”
“Who?
Did you recognise him?” asked Captain Ochre.
Scarlet had given that question a lot of thought since his near-death
experience. Who was the man who had saved him? He had looked to be about the
same age as himself. It wasn’t his deceased uncle; he would have known him
immediately. He couldn’t call to mind any other relatives he had known who had
died when they were around his own age. Yet the man had looked so familiar. If
the nimbus had been less brilliant, he might have seen his face clearly, not
just heard his voice. He had replayed the man’s words, his voice, in his mind
for weeks now. Abruptly, it registered. It had been years and his conscious
memory had faded. But he remembered. God, yes, he knew who the man was.
Seeing Scarlet’s face light up, Ochre asked again, “Well, who was it?
A relative?”
Scarlet shook his head.
“A friend?”
“Yes,” Scarlet replied slowly, remembering. “A friend. And more. It was Steve. Captain Brown. My
partner who was with me when we were killed by the Mysterons.”
More than a century ago, there had been a cemetery here. But
London’s constant demands for building space made neglected plots of land
valuable. Few of the people who worked in the shining glass and steel tower knew
that 19th-century paupers lay buried in the earth beneath them. Fewer cared.
Captain Ochre and Rhapsody Angel stood on the pavement before the office
building. The late spring sunshine appeared fitfully as grey clouds moved lazily
across the sky.
“It would have made more sense to go back to the Royal Victoria, I suppose, but
. . . I just . . .”
“I know, Rick. Just the thought of going back there makes my skin crawl.”
They stood silently for a while, looking up and down the street, watching the
city go about its business.
“I’m sorry about Captain Scarlet — Paul. I wanted him to come with us today.”
“Dr Fawn says he’ll be fine again in a day or so.” Her voice caught as she
recalled the circumstances of Captain Scarlet’s latest death and recovery. She
had learned not to take his life for granted.
Captain Ochre put his free arm around her shoulders and gave her a quick hug.
“That’s good to hear. I owe him my life and my sanity.” The American sighed as
he released her. “What was she really, Dianne? A ghost? A vampire?”
“A desperately lonely young woman.” The tone of her voice was certain. “I
don’t think she really knew what she was doing to you, only
that it seemed to work. The more she . . . used you . . .” Ochre
flinched. “ . . . the stronger she became and the more
quiescent you became, the less anxious to leave her, because you were slowly
dying. All she understood was that you would eventually have to stay with her.”
“Forever.”
Ochre shuddered. “He did a terrible thing. My ancestor, I mean. Louise was so
young and naïve. She really loved him, you know. And he took advantage of her.
All he wanted from her was sex and devotion. Maybe she thought that was the only
way to get him back and make him want to stay.” He ran a hand over his face. “I
should have gone back to the hotel.”
“Why?”
Ochre waved his hand, indicating the scene around them. “I thought she’d be
buried in a nice, quiet country-type churchyard, surrounded by trees and tall
grass. Not under a million tons of concrete and steel.” He sighed. “I wanted to
tell Louise I’m sorry. That I’m sorry for the rotten things my ancestor said and
did to her.” He dropped his voice. “And maybe that I’m sorry I couldn’t be him
and make it up to her.”
Gently, Rhapsody laid a hand on his arm and waited until he looked up into her
eyes. “Rick, you aren’t to blame for the sins of the past. Besides, Louise isn’t
at the hotel anymore. She’s finally free, moved on to something much better, I’m
certain.”
“I suppose you’re right. You know more about these things than I do.” He
swallowed hard, resisting the urge to throw his arm up or push Rhapsody’s hand
away. He’d made great progress against his aversion to touching and being
touched, but he still had to fight it sometimes. “Do you really think she’ll be
all right now? That she’ll be happy?”
“Yes, I do.”
The Angel saw a glistening in her companion’s eyes. He cleared his throat.
“Well, if we’re going to do this, we’d better get on with it.” He began to
unwrap
the large bundle of fresh lavender he was carrying.
The security desk adamantly refused to accept the flowers, since they were not
addressed to a tenant, and refused to allow the flowers to be left inside the
building. Disgruntled, the Spectrum agents shortly found themselves on the
pavement again.
“Well, what should we do now?” grumbled Ochre.
“The next best thing,” replied Rhapsody. “Make a memorial.” Taking the flowers
one by one, she arranged them against the wall to spell out “LOUISE.”
The dark-grey mirrored wall multiplied the soft purple blossoms, so that they
appeared to float in more than three dimensions.
“Goodbye, Louise,” Ochre whispered. “Goodbye.” He took Rhapsody’s arm as they
walked away to continue their lives.
A breeze stirred the stalks of lavender gently and carried the perfume far away.
Story Notes:
The inspiration for Room 5
came from two odd sources.
In Fredericksburg, Texas, USA, there is a furnishings shop called Room 5. At the
time I visited, some ten years ago, it was in a narrow building and stretched
from front to back, one room after another, then a twist back, like in a hedge
maze. The shop was arranged to give visitors the feeling of stepping into the
past, into a fine hotel, and wandering in and out of
rooms that the guests had only just left (and might return to any second!). The
proprietor spun a wistful romantic tale, set in 1920s Paris, about how the shop
got its name. I used the romantic aspect as a springboard but restyled it into a
tragedy and changed the setting to
Victorian London, a much harsher time and place for a discarded mistress.
Another other odd source inspired the setting. The Royal Victoria Hotel is based
on a real London hotel that stands by St Pancras Station; it’s
name in 1888 was the Midland Grand, and presently it is the St Pancras Chambers.
I took a tour through portions of it not so long ago. Having misplaced my
pictures, I refreshed my memory of it by viewing the photos at The Unofficial Midland Grand Hotel St Pancras Virtual Tour at
http://www.geocities.com/CapeCanaveral/Launchpad/4375/stpancras/stpanframe.htm and also Photos
and Features on the St Pancras, Midland Grand Hotel at
www.urban75.org/london/st_pancras.html. I highly recommend both sites. If the Midland Grand did have a
room or suite 5, I have no idea where it was located. And so far as I know, St
Pancras Chambers is not haunted. But it ought to be.
One of the ghost experiences mentioned in passing was Captain Blue’s. If you
want to know more about it, read Marion Woods’ delightfully chilling Christmas
2002 story “The Mistletoe Bough.”
The budding romance between Captain Ochre and Melody Angel is drawn from Chris
Bishop’s Halloween 2002 story “Master of the Night.” Thanks for letting me run with it, Chris.
Louise is a wholly fictional, original character. I used case histories to
develop her backstory, but she is not based on any
real person nor is she a composite. Captains Celadon, Sienna, and Vermillion,
and Nurse Wheat are my inventions, not borrowings; if anyone else has created
characters with similar names, my apologies for the overlap. Other minor
characters (Peter, Splendour, the tour guide, etc.) are also my own.
As always, mega thanks are owed to Chris Bishop for beta-reading a late draft
and making many helpful suggestions and corrections. Once again she’s saved me
from some really bad howlers.
Although the story is original, it is based on characters created by Gerry
Anderson and Sylvia Anderson for the TV series “Captain
Scarlet and the Mysterons”. The copyright to those
characters, series title, vehicles, crafts, etc. is owned by ITC/Polygram. No
infringement is intended.
I wish they’d consider hiring fan fic writers.
Dream on.
Tiger Jackson, Halloween 2003
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