Ghost of a Smile by Simon R. Green
The security people all opened fire at once, and the quiet night was filled with the roar of massed gunfire. Bullets pounded into Patterson, over and over again, and he stood there and took it. Every single bullet hit him, not one miss, and none of them did him any harm. The dead body soaked up the punishment, and the horrid smile on the dead face didn’t waver in the least. He didn’t even rock on his feet under the multiple impacts. The bullets made holes in his flesh, but that was all they did. He felt no pain, took no injury. The occasional head shots blasted the back of his skull away, blowing out long streams of grey and pink brains, but his awful gaze never wavered. He was dead, and there was nothing more the guns could do to him.
The gunfire died slowly away, as one by one guns ran out of ammunition. The security people lowered their weapons. The echoes died away, and Patterson was still standing. The security men looked at each other and muttered uneasily; but not one of them retreated. The commander opened his mouth to give new orders, but he never got to say them because Patterson was already off and moving. He raced forward with inhuman, unnatural speed, arms and legs moving without grace or efficiency. Shattered bones in his arms and legs made harsh protesting sounds as the possessing will drove them on. Patterson hit the commander first. One punch ripped the man’s head right off, and Patterson was already moving on before the body hit the ground. He was in and among the security people in a moment, striking them down with closed fists, breaking their necks and clubbing them down, ripping out throats with clawlike fingers. Most of them didn’t even have time to scream before they died. He tore arms out of their sockets with inhuman strength, his dead fingers sinking deep into mortal flesh, laughing silently as blood sprayed over him. He crushed skulls and punched out hearts, and stalked over fallen bodies to get to those who remained. None of them ran. They fought him with gunbutts and knives and bare hands; and none of it did any good.
It was all over very quickly. In the end, Patterson stood alone, surrounded by the dead, with fresh blood dripping from his hands. He laughed soundlessly. And then he turned to look at Catherine Latimer.
He nodded cheerfully to her, and she stared back at him with stiff, frozen features. Patterson took a step towards her, and JC, Melody, and Happy immediately moved forward, putting themselves between their Boss and the dead man. Latimer started to say something, then stopped herself. They were following their training. Patterson studied them all thoughtfully.
“Who are you?” said JC.
Patterson stood very still, not breathing hard, not breathing at all. He nodded slowly to JC, still smiling his wide, wide smile, as though this was the finest thing ever, the most fun he’d ever had.
“You’d know my name if I said it,” the dead man said in a breathy, scratchy voice. “So I won’t say it.”
The voice grated on everyone’s nerves. It was only breath, moving over vocal cords. Nothing human in it at all.
“All right,” said JC. “Let’s try an easier one. What do you want?”
“I will kill you all,” said the dead man. “And you can’t stop me. You should never have come here. You should never have interfered.”
“I hate to be picky about this, oh high-and-mighty dead person,” said JC, “but you brought us here. Or at least Patterson did, presumably on your orders.”
“You were supposed to fail,” said the dead man. “I chose you, above all the other A teams, because you had the least experience. I had to get you in place before someone better turned up. You were supposed to walk in there, like good little sacrificial lambs, and fall to the New People. Or their creatures. The New People were taking too long. They needed a nudge, some exterior pressure, to get them moving. We arranged for their creation, you see, so they would damage reality . . . break it open from within. Smash the walls of the world.”
“You wanted the New People to destroy the world?” said Latimer. “Why?”
“The world doesn’t matter,” said Patterson. “It’s merely a cage, from which we will escape. The New People were only ever a means to an end.”
Latimer’s phone rang. Everything stopped for a moment, reacting to the harsh ringing tone. Latimer took out the phone and put it to her ear, never taking her gaze off the dead man before her. He looked vaguely annoyed at being interrupted but let her answer it. Presumably some reactions are ingrained, even on the dead.
“Yes, I know,” said Latimer. “Yes, I’m looking right at him. No! Stay where you are! That’s an order! Maintain the perimeter at all costs. Nothing else matters. Hold the line until I tell you otherwise . . . or until it’s clear I’m no longer in charge. Then you take your orders from the Second In Command. God help you. Now don’t bother me again. I’m busy.”
She put the phone away. Happy looked at her, almost in shock.
“That’s it? Shouldn’t we contact Institute Headquarters, get some serious reinforcements down here, with really serious weapons?”
“By the time they could get here, this will all be over,” Latimer said flatly. “One way or the other.”
“You should get the hell out of here, Boss,” said JC. “You’re too valuable to the Institute to put yourself at risk.”
“Yes, I am,” said Latimer. “Good of you to remember that, for once. Unfortunately, my emergency teleport button isn’t working. It should have removed me to safety the moment it became clear brute force wouldn’t stop that thing but it would appear something . . . is blocking it. Which isn’t supposed to be possible. I can only assume Patterson betrayed us on a great many levels, sharing his insider knowledge with whoever or whatever is riding him now. I could run, I suppose but I doubt I’d get very far.”
“Typical,” Happy said bitterly. “The Boss gets an emergency teleport button, but we don’t. I didn’t even know there was such a thing as an emergency teleport button.”
“I did,” said Melody. “I’ve been trying to hack its files for months, so I could build one of my own.”
“Oh, that was you, was it?” said Latimer. “We will discuss that later, young lady.”
“Excuse me,” said JC. “Do you think we could all concentrate on the matter at hand, pretty please? Namely, the dead man with the blood of many on his hands, standing right in front of us? And no, I wouldn’t try outrunning him, Boss. You saw how fast whatever it is moved. I suppose once you’re dead, human limitations don’t apply any more.”
“No,” said Kim. “They don’t. But there are other limits.”
JC looked at her. “Anything you can See, anything you can tell us, about the dead man?”
“He’s got one hell of an aura. Lots of purple. Just by being present, he’s burning up that body. Though probably not soon enough to do us any good. So much power . . . Whatever it is that’s riding Patterson, I don’t think it’s human. Or at least, not human any more.”
JC nodded quickly, as though that was nothing more than he’d expected, and turned his attention back to Latimer.
“Have you got any special weapons about you? Objects of Power, that kind of thing?”
“Not actually on me,” said Latimer. “Didn’t think I’d be needing them. I wasn’t even expecting to be up and about at this ungodly hour of the morning.”
“It’s a pity you haven’t got that Hand of Glory monkey’s paw thing any more,” Kim said artlessly. “I’m almost sure it would have helped.”
Latimer glared at JC. “I knew it! It was you! The moment I heard another of those things had gone missing from the Armoury, I knew it was down to you!”
“Another?” said Happy. “How many of those things have you got in storage? They’re dangerous and damned, and I think I’ll stop talking so you’ll stop glaring at me in that really quite scary way ooh look a sparrow.”
“Something else we should perhaps discuss at a later time,” said JC, ignoring Happy with the ease of long practice. “The point is, I don’t have it any longer.”
“What? What have you done with it?”
“I sort of . . . lost it,” said JC.
<
“Melody, Happy,” said JC. “Do you have any weapons, legal or otherwise, about your person and please say yes.”
“I’ve still got my machine pistol,” said Melody. “But it’s out of ammo, remember? And there’s probably some useful things I could be doing with my instruments if I’d only had time to activate them.” She scowled. “I hate being caught unprepared.”
“She does,” said Happy. “She really does.” He stuck both hands in his pockets and glowered at the dead man. “And don’t look at me, either, JC. I’ve got nothing that could even touch Patterson. He’s got shields you wouldn’t believe. We are all seriously outclassed here.”
“You mean, like we were with the New People?” said JC.
“Well, no, not on that level,” Happy said immediately. “He’s a Power. They were more like gods.”
“We won out over the New People,” said JC. “So, we should be able to beat Patterson if we put our minds to it.”
“Confidence is a wonderful thing,” said Happy. “Where did I put my pills . . .”
And then he broke off, as he realised Patterson wasn’t looking at them. The dead man was giving his full attention to Kim. She rose and fell slowly in place, her eyes locked with his, unable to look away.
“Little ghost girl,” said Patterson. “You shouldn’t still be here. Flaunting your undecided status. You’re staying for him, aren’t you? He can’t ever love you, not really, because you’re not a real girl.”
“He knows me,” Kim whispered. “The thing inside Patterson. He can see inside me. I can hear him, he wants to do things to me. Awful things. Things he can’t do to the living . . .”
JC moved forward, deliberately putting himself between Kim and the dead man. He took off his sunglasses with a sharp flourish, and fixed Patterson with his glowing eyes. And for the first time, Patterson stopped smiling.
“Abomination,” he said tonelessly. “Unnatural thing. You don’t even know what you are, do you?”
“Leave the girl alone,” said JC.
“Or what?” said Patterson. “What will you do? What can you do? The terrible thing that reached down and touched you, and changed you, and gave you those eyes . . . wasn’t what you think it was. It can’t help you against me. You’re on your own here.” He was smiling again now. “You think you’re so important—the great white-suited ghost hunter—but what have you ever really achieved? The world still turns as it always has, and the night is still full of monsters. Like me.”
“Then why is it so important to you, to kill us?” said JC.
“You know too much,” said Patterson. “Far more than you were ever meant to.”
“Okay,” said Happy, actually brightening up a little. “Now that’s interesting. Which of the many things I know, or think I know, are important enough to kill me over?”
“Not now, Happy,” said JC.
“Yes, now! This is proof! If I’m worth killing, then at least some of the things I’ve always believed have to be true!”
“He sort of has a point,” JC said to Latimer, putting his sunglasses back on. “If we do know really important things . . . we should get a raise.”
“What do you want?” said Latimer. “Danger money?”
“Oh, please,” said Happy.
Patterson looked back and forth as they talked. He seemed to be having trouble accepting that he wasn’t holding their full attention.
“Keep him busy,” Melody said suddenly.
“What?” said JC.
“Patterson! Keep the dead man occupied! I’ve got an idea.”
She turned and ran, sprinting down the street. Everyone else stood there and watched her go. Happy looked longingly after her.
“Running away looks like a really good idea to me. Wish I’d thought of it first.”
“Stand fast!” JC said immediately. “She’s not running out on us. She’ll be back.”
“You think she has a plan?” said Happy.
“Hopefully.”
“A cunning plan?”
“Let’s not set our hopes too high.”
Happy sighed heavily. “What if we all ran in different directions at once?”
“We can’t abandon the Boss,” said JC. “The dead man would kill her in a moment if we weren’t here to protect her.”
“Well, yes,” said Happy. “But you say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“I am still here!” said Latimer. “I can still hear you! There will be discussions about this later.”
Happy looked down his nose at her. “I never liked you. I’m only still here because of the principle of the thing, so shut your cake-hole and let us concentrate.”
Latimer looked at JC. “When did he grow a pair?”
“My little boy is all grown-up,” said JC. “I couldn’t be more proud. Now do as the terrified but still somehow holding his ground telepath says, and keep the dead man occupied while Happy and I try to think of something. You might try asking him why he hasn’t killed us yet, a question that has been much on my mind.”
“Don’t give the dead thing ideas,” growled Happy. “He’s probably got a very good reason, and I don’t want him doubting it.”
Latimer sniffed loudly. “I do not negotiate with monsters. And I am not helpless! I didn’t get to where I am in the Carnacki Institute without learning a few useful and really unpleasant tricks along the way . . . Like this one.” She glared at Patterson. “You! Dead thing! Pay attention! Whatever you are, within my old friend’s body. You think you’re so hard, cope with this!”
She slammed her wrinkled hands together while speaking aloud a Word of Power, and the ground shuddered under everyone’s feet. A harsh grinding noise filled the night air, and the ground tore itself apart. A huge split opened up, zigzagging its crooked way across the street between Patterson and the others, then the split widened abruptly into a crack, enlarging into a great crevice that opened up beneath the dead man’s feet. He fell into the wide gap without a sound, and it swallowed him up. Latimer brought her hands together again, and the two sides of the crevice slammed together. The loud, grinding noises stopped immediately, and the ground settled. The night air was still. All that remained of the crevice was a long, jagged crack in the street. JC looked at Latimer with new respect.
“I didn’t know you could do that.”
“Not many do,” said Latimer. “That’s the point.”
“And the dead man is toast!” said Happy, doing an ecstatic little jig on the spot. “He is flatter than toast! He is dead and very definitely departed.” He stopped dancing and nodded brusquely to Latimer. “I may be a little more respectful at future meetings. It’s possible.”
Then the ground shuddered under their feet again. They all looked down. The ground shook again, more insistently, then groaned loudly as the jagged split jerked itself apart, opening up foot by foot, until it was a crevice again. And from that crevice, up out of the dark, Patterson rose. He soared into the air, like a dark bird of ill omen, hanging in the air above them, held there in defiance of all natural laws by sheer force of will. The two sides of the crevice slammed together again, and Patterson sank slowly down to stand exactly where he had before. Unhurt, untouched, unruffled. He smiled condescendingly at Latimer.
“Is that really the best you’ve got?”
“There is no way you did that on your own!” snapped Latimer. “You had help. Powerful help. Outside help. Who are your masters?”
Patterson nodded slowly. He looked heavier now, more solid. More real, as though he was several things in one place. The ground cracked and broke beneath his feet, as though he weighed more heavily on the world than a real thing should.
“Ah, Catherine,” he said. “I have always enjoyed our little chats. You’re quite right. I’m not alone. You have no idea who and what you’re facing.”
“Happy,” JC said quietly, “I need you to look inside that thing’s head. No excuses. Get me some idea of
Happy sighed, in his best put-upon way, and reached out to the dead man with his most powerful and subtle probe, only to recoil immediately, shaking violently.
“He let me See!” he said, breathlessly. “Just for a moment, just for a glimpse . . . Whatever’s riding Patterson was human once, but it’s a whole different thing now. Something horribly powerful. I couldn’t even look at it straight on! Man is not meant to look into the face of the Medusa . . .”
“It’s not Patterson,” said Latimer. “It doesn’t talk like him, or move like him. My dear friend is gone.”
“Oh, he’s still in here somewhere,” said the dead man. “So I can enjoy his suffering. He was never your friend . . .”
“Excuse me!” Latimer said sharply, “But I think I knew him better, and longer, than you ever did! He may have . . . drifted away, wandered off the proper path, but I have no doubt he would have found his way back, eventually.”
JC could have said something there, about Patterson, but he didn’t.
Latimer fitted one of her dark Turkish cigarettes into her long ivory holder, lit it with her monogrammed gold Zippo lighter, and blew a mouthful of smoke at Patterson. She looked him over disparagingly.
“You said . . . you enjoyed our little chats. So I do know who you really are. Do you really think you can hide from me?”
“Ah, Catherine,” said the dead man. “I’m afraid you’ve left it for too late. You never did appreciate me.”
Latimer blew a perfect smoke ring. “Why haven’t you killed us yet?”
“Because I’m having so much fun,” said Patterson.
“If we’re having a civilised little discussion before the slaughter,” said JC, “can I ask again—what is it we know that we’re not supposed to know?”
“I don’t know anything,” Happy said immediately. “I never know anything. I am famous for not knowing anything, so there is absolutely no point in killing me.”