Family.
A blessing or a curse.
In Seymour Griffiths' case it was a bit of both.
The blessing of joy and laughter and the varied excitement when they were together. He loved each one of them dearly, and that was a curse, for if you lost a member of your family, it marked and changed you in a hundred impossible ways.
Tragedy had stalked the Griffiths family in their past, but it hadn't broken them. The indomitable spirit that had resided in their parents continued on in their children. No matter how far some of them had strayed from their homeland in the Caribbean, they would always connect, by vid-phone or e-chat, to talk, laugh, perhaps even make a little music.
Family mattered.
“Hiya sis,” Lieutenant Green greeted his next-in-line sibling, who hailed him through the scrambled vid-link on board his Cloudbase quarters.
She smiled back at him. Talia remained stubbornly single, despite being attractive, intelligent, and financially secure in her own right. Although he believed finding one's soul mate was one of life's most important goals, Green had a hard time imagining any man being good enough for his sister.
“Hi yourself, big brother,” she replied in a voice so vibrant and clear that she might well have been sitting in the room with him rather than several thousand miles on the western seaboard of the United States.
“So, how are things in that big old airstrip in the sky?” It was her usual greeting, but what was a family conversation without the expected overtures?
“Slow day, thank goodness,” he replied in his soft voice.
“So, no terrorists to slay?”
“Not even a dragon.”
“Funny you should say that, I'm trying to hit my publisher's deadline for my new book. Some last-minute panic editing.”
“You never learn, do you?” Green said fondly.
“Well, disorganized or not, I’ve got to get it finished. Got to pay the rent.”
“You should move back to Trinidad,” Green said, “Wouldn’t you prefer to be closer to the others? You don't need to be in California to write books.”
“I know I don't need to, but - I like it here. I've grown used to the traffic and the bustle and being able to get on a monorail and be in Hollywood in thirty minutes.”
“Hollywood is a dump.”
“I know. Anyway, why should I go back home when you are – well, where are you right now?”
“Nice try, Talia, you nearly got me there. But I worry about you. Living all alone in that apartment scribbling away, I hope you're taking enough breaks from writing.”
“You're one to talk, when was the last time you came down off your lofty cloud and visited us mere mortals?”
Green chuckled softly. “Touché. You're right, as usual. So, tell me about your story with the crazy deadline.”
“It’s all about a dragon who is just a big softy at heart, in hoc to an evil wizard who makes him terrorize the local countryside. One of the feisty village girls comes to his rescue. The story is pretty simple but the artwork makes it.”
“Sounds like a riff on Beauty and the Beast, and I bet it'll be gorgeous, as always.”
“You always know the right thing to say; you’re an old flatterer.”
He smiled indulgently at her. “Less of the old, you're not far behind me."
She gave a mock eye-roll. “Please don’t remind me.”
“So, anything else fun in your busy life recently, apart from work?”
She chewed her lip for a few seconds and gave a slight frown. “Nothing exciting, just sad, and a bit odd.”
“In what way?”
“Someone I knew died a few days ago.”
“Oh, Talia, I'm sorry.”
“Well, she wasn't really a close friend, more of an acquaintance; my publisher’s cousin. I'd only met her at book-launch parties, but – poor thing - she took an overdose.”
“That's awful.”
“Yeah, it really is, and it makes you wonder how things can become so terrible in a person’s life that they feel they have to resort to something so final.”
“You mentioned there was something odd about it.”
“Well, according to Michael, that's my publisher, she'd been surfing this creepy website a few days before she died.”
“What sort of website?”
“Like Streamer, sort of. I have to confess I was so intrigued that I sweet-talked him into giving me the link so I could take a look for myself.”
Green frowned. “Was that such a good idea, given what happened to your friend?”
“Come on Sey, I know you don't believe in all that mumbo-jumbo like Aunt Dominique, and neither do I. After all, it’s this close to Halloween, and you know fine how many weirdos are out there peddling their stuff. I'm sure there was no connection with Evie’s death and her interest in some crazy website. But I was just curious, you know?”
“Yes, and curiosity killed the cat, you know,” Green said, realizing a second later in what poor taste his comment was.
“I'm a writer,” Talia said, “Curiosity comes with the territory.”
“Well, what did this video website look like?” He was intrigued by it himself, if truth be told.
“I have to admit, the uploads were kind of creepy.”
“In what way?”
“People in rooms. Dark rooms, I guess they had the blinds drawn, or they were filming at night, and not doing very much: sitting on the floor, or standing facing a wall, nodding their heads, rocking their bodies, that sort of thing. Harmless, if little bizarre.”
She trailed off, and chewed her lip, which was a signal to Green that Talia was having a reflective moment. There was also a troubled look in her warm brown eyes that he recognized, and it occurred to him that she wasn’t quite as blasé about the whole thing as she professed to be.
“I heard a 'but' there,” he prompted.
Talia chewed her lip some more. “I know I said I don't believe in any of that superstitious stuff, but there was something about those people - they seemed - disconnected. That's the only word I can use to describe them.”
“Well, if you don't have a word, then we're all in trouble,” Green replied. It should have lightened the mood, but somehow the tale of Talia's friend and the peculiar website seemed to have cast a shadow over their conversation.
“I don't know what possesses people to do post stuff like that on the internet,” Talia said.
“Me neither,” Green replied. “I guard my privacy too jealously. But maybe it would be best to ignore it, yes? What's the point in making yourself more upset, especially after losing someone you know?”
“Sure, you’re right, as usual.” She gave him a small smile; all the talk seemed to have sapped some of her natural ebullience. “Thanks, Sey, You're the best.”
Green didn't hear from Talia for a few days, but that wasn't unusual, especially when one of her publishing deadlines loomed. In any case, as Colonel White's right-hand man, there was always a multitude of tasks and issues that required his constant attention, so he didn't give his sister and their discussion much thought.
When he did get around to sending her a 'how-you-doing’ text a few days later, she didn't reply immediately, but he reasoned, they were both workaholics, and he knew she sometimes switched off her cell-phone when she needed total peace.
However, three more text messages over the next thirty-six hours went unanswered, and when he called her directly, the ring tone invariably went straight to voicemail. He became increasingly concerned, and toyed with calling the emergency services in San Diego. One always imagined the worst – but there was probably a perfectly reasonable explanation why she wasn't returning his calls. She was probably out with friends, enjoying herself in the city while he was stuck up in a tin can twiddling his fingers worrying about her.
But worrying about his siblings was in Green's DNA, and so he called his twin brothers Wayne and Clyde who lived in the family house in Port of Spain, but neither of them had heard from Talia either. They both tried to call her several times, but she remained incommunicado.
Green made a judgement call - it wasn't difficult. He could get to San Diego a lot faster than his brothers. But it was more than just that. It was his moral obligation as the eldest of the family to investigate Talia's worrying silence. He was sure the colonel wouldn't object to his request for a twenty-four-hour emergency pass. He was already overdue some furlough, so much so that the other captains were constantly teasing him about taking a break.
Green alighted from the SPJ at San Diego airport and took a monorail shuttle from the terminal to the centre of the city. The skyline had sprouted several new skyscrapers; their slender silver needles pierced the blue Californian sky. Was it really two years since he'd last been here, as a newly promoted WASP lieutenant on leave from Marineville?
Five calls to Talia's phone during his journey to the city and every one unanswered. His emotions, always close to the surface when it came to his family, had now ramped up from concern to level frantic.
It was a short walk from the monorail stop to Talia's apartment building in East Village. It was a central location, close to the historic heart of the city. He remembered a particularly tipsy evening they'd spent together three years ago, in one of the old bars in the Gaslamp district, singing way too loudly and ending up jamming with the owner way past curfew time.
Access to non-residents was restricted to the front reception area, and Green didn't have a key, so he strode purposely to the desk where a young Latino man, about his age, was consulting a screen on the curved glass and wood desk.
“Hello.” Green gave him a smile he didn't feel. “I'm here to see my sister, Talia Griffiths, she lives in apartment 503. I've been trying to contact her for some time now, and she's not replying, I'm hoping she hasn't become unwell. Have you seen her lately? This is what she looks like.”
He flashed a picture of Talia on his cell-phone to the young man, who peered at it.
“Oh yeah, Ms Griffiths, she's really nice, and no, come to think of it, I haven't seen her for a few days, but people come and go, you know, they only really get in touch if something's gone wrong, with the internet, or the plumbing, you know?”
“Could you call her, please, to see if she’s in her apartment?”
“Sure.” His fingers flew over the long glass touch panel on his desk. Green heard a long series of beeps go unanswered and felt his stomach sink even further.
“She could be in the shower,” the young man offered.
For three days? Green thought sourly but didn't say it aloud. Instead he said: “Can you give me a key to her apartment, I need to check if she's okay.”
The young man frowned. “It isn't company policy to grant access to residents’ rooms when they haven't already given permission.”
“Look,” Green said, his voice rising, “I've been trying for a few days to contact her, and so have my brothers, she could be ill up in this place with no one to help her. Do you want that on your conscience?”
“No, of course, not. I've got a sister too. If you could just give me some ID, I'll issue a temporary key for you.”
Green offered up his driving licence and the young concierge noted the details and photo, then nodded and placed a SecureCard in a slot on the desk to activate it. Green waited patiently until the concierge handed the card to him with a nod.
“Elevator is on the right.”
“Thanks.”
“Let me know if she's okay,” he heard the concierge call after him.
Green rode the smooth elevator to the third floor, unable to rid himself of the feeling of foreboding. This total lack of communication just wasn't like Talia. Even amidst her worst writer’s block or the biggest deadlines she would always return their calls at some point.
The card flashed green when he waved it at the entry-phone and the door lock activated. Green pushed it open and entered the apartment.
The darkness disoriented him at first: it was the middle of the afternoon. Then he realised that the blinds to the floor-to-ceiling window at the far end of the living area were fully closed. Even stranger, the automatic light sensors seemed to be deactivated.
Green switched on his powerful pencil torch and swept it around the open-plan room. A kitchen immediately to his left, with a living area with dining table and four chairs, a long couch along one wall and an entertainment centre and storage units facing it on the opposite wall. The tiny but powerful beam played over the kitchen worktop, where unwashed mugs filled the sink and drainer. That sent an alarm jangling right away - Talia was normally very fastidious.
He called out her name again, but silence followed in its wake.
A short corridor from the kitchen led to the bedroom and bathroom. The door to the bedroom was ajar, and this room was also blanketed in darkness. He called out softly, so as not to alarm her, if she was, indeed, asleep but there was no reply. He crept in, to find the blinds drawn - just like the living room. His torch cast over the unmade bed and the clothes thrown carelessly across the carpet.
It was the winking white light of Talia's laptop that drew Green's eye in the gloom. They system was still on, in hibernate mode, and something inexplicably drew him towards it instead of completing his search of the apartment. He crossed over the carpet to the desk and stabbed the keyboard several times until the system responded.
A series of glitchy images appeared on the screen, mainly of what looked like solitary people in darkened rooms. His lips pursed grimly. This must be the website she'd mentioned in her last call. So, she had ignored his warning after all.
On closer inspection of the individual webcam videos, he had to admit, Talia had been right. The behaviour of the people was disturbing. In one, a woman sat the shadows, her legs barely visible in the gloom. In another, a man stood up and faced one wall, followed by the sounds of quiet sobbing. Most chilling of all, a man sat in the centre of the room, with a plastic bag over his head, with the words 'HELP ME' written on the walls. Every image had a washed out look, as if all the colour had been drained out of them and their rooms.
Then - without warning - the images disappeared and the screen went completely dark.
A sentence in white appeared on the black screen:
Would you like to meet a ghost?
Green shrank back and felt his skin crawl. Was this some kind of stupid hoax?
As the letters continued to wink at him on the empty black background, he became increasingly convinced that something was terribly, terribly wrong. He rubbed his face and took a long deep breath. There was only one place left in the apartment that he had not checked.
He went back out into the short corridor and steeled himself in front of the door opposite the bedroom. He rapped smartly on it. “Talia, it's me, Seymour. Are you there?”
He waited in silent trepidation...counted the seconds by his thumping heartbeat against his ribs, and then gripped the handle and turned, pushing the door inwards to the bathroom. His torch flooded the room with yellow light.
At first glance, it looked so normal.
Talia lay in the bath, for all the world like someone relaxing after a hard day. And then, the utter wrongness of the scene began to assert itself, one horrifying second after another.
Even in the dim light from the torch, he could see that the water that filled the bath was the wrong colour. It was dark - ominous, and a rank coppery smell filled the air.
Green felt bile rise up and choke him. He turned and stumbled against the radiator wall - unable to purge the image of Talia's prone and naked body; her staring eyes, her death pallor, and the dark gashes that bisected her upturned wrists. The razor she'd used for ending her life – her beautiful, precious life - lay on the tiled floor, dark with crusted blood.
He dropped to his knees, a giant hand gripped his heart and squeezed it hard. He gasped, struggled to breathe - an uncomprehending tsunami of shock threatened to make him black out.
Talia, oh, Talia, why oh why oh why oh why...
A long time later - while true darkness fell outside the shuttered windows of the apartment - Green sat on the long couch, trying to come to terms with the past few, terrible hours. The police had arrived after he’d made the call to the San Diego PD. They’d reset the lights and secured the apartment to ensure no evidence was disturbed or lost. Protocol, they said - and no - he wasn't considered a suspect, but they had to rule out the possibility that her death was not a homicide. So, they wiped all the surfaces in the apartment for fingerprints and DNA information and took an interminable number of holo-shots of the death scene, as well as obtaining security-cam footage of the corridors and public spaces in the building for the past forty-eight hours. The footage indicated that no one, apart from Green, had entered the apartment during that time.
The assistant coroner pronounced Talia deceased at the scene; the cause was likely to be due to massive blood loss, but this would have to be officially confirmed back at the morgue. The assistant coroner told Green he could expect the body to be returned to the family within a couple of days.
The detective in charge, a man called Romero, reminded Green of Ochre, laconic and world-weary, yet sympathetic. He'd told Green to sit down on the sofa in the living room, made him a mug of strong black coffee and told him to stay there and drink it while he conducted his initial investigations. After the assistant coroner left, Romero finally sat down beside Green to get his version of events.
“We'd been talking only recently,” Green mumbled. His fingers encircled the empty cup, gripping it tightly, as if putting it down might lose his only anchor to reality.
“She was just about to publish her latest book, she writes for children, I mean ...she did....” He bit down on his bottom lip, feeling the burn of ever-present tears. If he'd listened to his initial gut-feelings and left Cloudbase earlier he might have got here in time to save her.
“You okay?” Romero asked gently.
Green wiped his eyes with the back of one hand. “She seemed just her normal self when I called her. It seems such a cliché, I mean, the way she chose to...”
A sob caught in his throat, and he was unable to complete the thought out loud. Or perhaps it was just as well, as saying the words 'kill herself' might bring on such a flood of raw anguish that he wouldn’t be able to continue.
“I'm sorry,” Romero said, and he sounded as if he meant it. He gave Green a moment to gather his composure, but he was a detective, and the young Trinidadian knew that he had to keep asking the hard questions.
“Did your sister have any past history of depression?”
“No. We talked a lot, even if we didn't see one another that often, and she was always chatting with the rest of my extended family in Trinidad.”
“You don't live in Trinidad? Romero interrupted.
“No, I'm in the armed services,” Green replied. “I can't say which one, it's classified.”
Romero nodded, and he looked at Green with new respect. “Sure, go on.”
“Anyway, there was no indication from anyone that anything was amiss. We've had a lot to deal with in our past; we lost our parents when we were pretty young, and my brother, who was in the WASP, also died on duty. But it's been a few years now, and through everything, Talia's always been the one to keep us grounded, always telling her stories, cheering us up with her positivity. I can't believe she would suddenly just flip like this, without any warning.”
“I'm sorry, this can't be easy for you, but sometimes a past trauma lies buried until something triggers it.”
“But what? I mean - I don't know what could have...” Green let his voice trail off as the image of the man with the plastic bag over his head and the words HELP ME on his walls, forced its way to the front of his troubled mind. “There is one thing,” he continued. “The last time I talked to her she'd been looking at this odd website - it seemed bizarre but harmless, just a bunch of people alone in dark rooms doing odd things.”
“What sort of odd things?”
“It's hard to explain,” Green said. “It’s easier if I show you, assuming the laptop is still in her bedroom where I found it.”
“Yes. We checked it for fingerprints. We found yours and your sister's, but it was left in place.”
Green retraced his steps to Talia's bedroom; his legs still wobbly. Romero followed. The bathroom door was closed again, for which the young man was grateful; the horror of what had transpired beyond it was still too painfully fresh.
Green tapped the machine out of hibernation to retrieve the site. The page was still up, the video thumbnails displayed in their strange, melancholic glory.
“What in Jesus's name,” Romero muttered, as he watched the oddly flickering monochrome images.
“She thought it was probably a prank site,” Green said. “I did too and told her to forget about it. But when I arrived – her machine was in hibernation and this site was open on the screen, just before I found her.
He rubbed his face harshly with one hand.
Romero added details to his phone. “Odd name; Zetsubou. Any idea what that means?”
Green shook his head.
“There are too many people out there with far too much time on their hands,” Romero said. “This may be harmless, but then again, it’s worth checking out. It wouldn’t be the first time some crazy cult tried to persuade their victims to end their lives.”
Green looked at him with shocked eyes. Romero shrugged, reminding him even more of Ochre.
“It may have nothing to do with your sister’s death, but I promise you I'll pursue it until I’m satisfied it didn’t.”
“Thank-you,” Green replied. “I'd like to know what you find.” He needed to know.
“You can call me on my cell-phone, or at the department.” Romero nodded and looked at him shrewdly. “Are you gonna be okay? Do you need someone from the department to stay with you? We can arrange for a company to clean the house, they’re used to - uh - dealing with stuff like that. They can be round in the morning.”
Green swallowed. “No, I'll probably just do it myself. I have to call my family, tell them what's happened, and arrange for a funeral, back in Trinidad.”
“Well, it's of absolutely no solace, but if you need anything, just call.”
“Thank-you.”
“It's the least I can do. You take care. I hope it goes okay with your family.”
The first thing Green did after they all left, was to call Colonel White on his personal Spectrum communicator and tell him what had happened. His superior ensured him there was no rush for him to return to duty.
“I am deeply sorry for your loss, lieutenant, and I appreciate you may want to spend the upcoming time with your family, but if there is anything, I or your colleagues in Spectrum can do, please let me know.”
“Thank you, sir,” Green replied, touched and grateful by the older man's concern. For all his gruff manner, he could, at times, display a more mellow side when the occasion permitted.
After he closed the link with Cloudbase, Green rummaged through the kitchen cupboards and found a single bottle of Trinidadian rum. He poured himself a large glass and downed it in one, shivering as the raw spirit burned all the way down. He wasn't often in need of Dutch courage, but his next task was going to be a very painful one - to let his siblings know that they had lost yet another member of their close-knit family.
Green found he had little time to grieve in the following few days, with so much to organise, not least the funeral arrangements. The cost of transporting Talia's body back to Trinidad was substantial, but that thought wasn’t uppermost in his mind. As well as his siblings, the Griffiths family had an extended support group of aunts, uncles and cousins, and they had all contributed to the broken family's emotional and financial well-being in the dark days following their parents’ untimely death. It was unthinkable that he could deprive any of them of paying their proper respects to their beloved relative in typical Trinidadian fashion.
The funeral over, Green was only half-regretful at leaving Trinidad for Cloudbase. Aunt Marie, his father’s sister, hadn't taken Talia's death well, and sobbed enough to drown out the priest's words. Every one of her heaving, aching cries tore like a dagger into Green's soul, and a terrible pall of guilt settled upon his already sagging shoulders.
And afterwards, at the reception, as he circulated amongst the mourners, accepting their condolences, he was vaguely conscious of an undercurrent of emotions. Yes, there was deep sadness and terrible confusion; the death of such a beautiful girl with everything to live for, and yet, there were other things that he felt, almost palpably, in the way they looked at him, as if he was in some way, responsible for her death because he had chosen to live apart from them all.
Most of the mourners had gone, and it was just the family - what was left of them, he thought bitterly, remaining in the house. Green went outside for a little air, and took out his cell-phone to call Detective Romero. Perhaps the policeman had some news for him regarding the suspicious video-site. His phone rang several times, then went to voicemail, with the usual request to leave a message.
The following morning Green left Trinidad for Cloudbase. He took a short shuttle to Caracas airport where there was a Spectrum terminal and headed for the familiar SPJ that waited for him. However, instead of the usual shuttle pilot, he was surprised to see Symphony Angel appear at the top of the airstair. She threw her arms around him in a fierce hug that almost unravelled him.
“Thanks, Symphony,” he mumbled, “I really appreciate that the colonel allowed you to fly me back.”
“Hey, I had to fight off Rhapsody, Harmony and Melody for the privilege,” she said, giving his arm another squeeze for good measure, “and that's only because Destiny was stuck in Angel One. Don't underestimate how much we all think of you, Seymour. You're a very special guy.”
That made his eyes burn, and he swallowed down a hard lump in his throat.
“Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you,” she said gently. Her green-flecked eyes were full of compassion.
“I'm fine,” he lied. “It'll be good to get back to work.”
“Sure, it's always good to keep occupied. You want to ride up front with me, or sit in the back?”
All he wanted to do was curl up on a seat and start blubbering, but he managed a smile for the Iowan girl, for her kindness. “Of course, I'll sit with you,” he said.
Thankfully, Symphony didn't ask any awkward questions that might have completely breached his fragile emotional state, and the swift flight to Cloudbase proceeded in mostly dignified silence. There was no reception committee when he arrived at the hangar bay, and his passage to his quarters was similarly uneventful, for which he was relieved. Symphony gave him another quick hug before they exited the jet, saying, “We're all here for you, if you need us, but if you want privacy, you've got that too.”
His quarters were as tidy as he left them, however several cards on his desk indicated that someone had been in during his absence. He opened them - sympathy cards of course, signed by all the colour captains in one, by the five Angels in another, and a lone signature in the one from the colonel. He looked at the thoughtful and carefully articulated messages for what seemed like a very long time, and then he finally bowed his head, clasped his hands together and sobbed silently.
A long time later he raised his head. Only now did he remember that he'd brought Talia's laptop with him. Romero had seen fit to grant him that before he left. He pulled it out of his suitcase, placed it on the desk, opened the lid and stared at the black screen. It had been powered down for some time and would probably need recharging.
What was the point anyway? he asked himself. Whatever was going on in the minds of the disturbed people who'd filmed themselves with their webcams surely couldn't have affected Talia in any way.
How could it possibly have done?
Green closed the lid to the device and instead called Romero - and again the call went to voice-mail. Green frowned. There might be a whole raft of reasons why the detective hadn't replied, but he began to feel a deep sense of unease by the man’s refusal to return his calls.
The following morning Colonel White welcomed him back to the Control Room with a grave nod, and Green settled into the familiarity of his work-station. Lieutenant Verdigris had admirably held the fort during his absence and was now taking a well-deserved forty-eight hours off-duty.
There was always much to occupy Green's time, and he welcomed every aspect of it. Immersing himself in work meant that he didn't have to think about the alternative - a world which no longer contained his beloved sister.
After his long shift, Green covered his mouth to suppress a yawn as he left the control room for his quarters. He seemed to tire easily over these past few days, and put it down to residual shock over Talia's death. He didn’t quite get there, being waylaid en route by Captains Ochre and Magenta, who were both heading for the officers' restaurant.
“Hey, great to see you, buddy,” Ochre said. “Fancy joining us for dinner?”
Green rubbed his temple. “No, I'm a bit tired, I think I'll just go and lie down for a while.”
“Sure,” Ochre said with a slow nod. “Totally understandable. You want us to get you something and drop it off when we head back?”
“That's kind of you, but I'm fine, thanks.” Green managed a watery smile of his own to allay their thinly disguised concern.
“No problem,” Magenta added. “You take care, Seymour.”
They were followed by Melody and Rhapsody Angels, who hugged him nearly senseless. Within their innocent embrace, tears built up against his shut eyelids. They finally let him go, and then Rhapsody regarded him so intently and he had to lower his gaze. There were things he preferred to keep hidden from the red-haired pilot.
“I hope you'll come to movie night tomorrow,” Rhapsody said. “We decided to forgo the usual horror Halloween movie and go for something light-hearted and uplifting instead. Do say you will.”
“Yeah,” Melody added in her soft drawl, “We'd love to have your company, but there's no pressure, ya hear?”
“Of course, I'll come,” he said. What else could he say, when they pleaded with him with such genuine earnestness?
Rhapsody hugged him again, before letting him go. “I'll save you a chair.”
How ironic, he thought, in another time and place, being the recipient of that particular smile would have sent him off skipping and carefree along the corridor. Now, there was only an empty echo where his heart should have been.
He slipped wearily into his quarters and went to lie down on his bunk, but sleep refused to come, and worse, every time he closed his eyes, all he could see was the image of Talia's corpse, her mutilated wrists, and the gore-filled bath. The silence pressed in on him, and for once, he didn't welcome it. Ludicrous. He was surrounded by six hundred people, and he'd never felt so alone.
Instead, he called Romero's cell phone again, using the Cloudbase secure link instead of his own private cell-phone, and when there was still no reply, he called the San Diego police department directly. With a gathering disquiet, he listened to the officer on duty tell him that Detective Romero had taken an unexpected leave of absence for a few days. Green felt his mouth go dry and his hand trembled. It could all be completely innocent, or it could be something else entirely.
“Hello,” the voice at the other end said, “Is everything all right, sir? Do you need to speak to someone else?”
Green hesitated. If he was to voice his swirling, chaotic thoughts, the policeman at the other end of the connection might think he was some sort of crazy person. “No, it's okay,” he finally answered, “I'll call back in a few days.”
Green continued staring at the laptop. It seemed to mock him in its slim, silver simplicity and yet, he felt sure that if he opened it up and turned it on, he would find the answer to the gnawing desperation inside him.
So, he crossed the floor, sat down at the desk and plugged the cable from the charging port on the wall into the device. It cycled rapidly through the bootstrap and the lock screen displayed. Resetting access wasn't difficult for a man with Green's technical know-how and ten minutes later he was staring at the home screen. His breath caught and he felt the sharp spear of agony pierce his heart. All of them posing together for last year's family Christmas picture.
He swallowed down the hot ball of pain in his throat, and looked away from Talia's glorious smile, refocused it on the rows of icons on the left of the picture. There it was.
ZETSUBOU
She’d obviously created a shortcut to the damn thing.
With a long intake of breath, he quickly tapped on it.
The site loaded with its grainy images, the rectangles of flickering darkness filled with their disquieting occupants, the grotesque motions of the lost and alone and bereft.
It was like watching the inmates of an asylum.
He noted from the time stamps that new uploads had been added. He browsed through them with a sense of growing trepidation, all the while aware that he should stop watching, purge the damn site and its cookies from the machine.
But he couldn’t.
It was sordid and seductive, and as long minutes passed, he was drawn into this unhealthy world, consumed by their melancholia, and his own hopelessness.
He tapped on yet one more, the newest time-stamp, and as his eyes adjusted to its almost monochromatic gloom, he fancied the room looked familiar, becoming ever more gripped by a palpable feeling of dread as the figure in the video moved out of the amorphous shadows.
His heart went trippety-trip.
Talia.
For long minutes she just stood there, staring out at him with blank, lethargic eyes. What had possessed her to film herself, and send the footage to this nightmarish site? With ever-increasing horror, he willed himself to get out of the chair and slam down the lid.
But he couldn’t.
Talia began rocking her head from side to side.
Tik-tok.
Tik-tok.
Tik-tok - like a metronome.
Everything vital and loving and beautiful has been drained from her, leaving nothing but a pale, monstrous shadow.
Blood. Draining out from her body into the water.
Green watched.
Helpless.
Transfixed.
Talia’s misery leaked out like psychic energy through the screen into the room.
An invisible, malevolent fog.
It seeped into him; a miasma of soul-sucking despair.
He saw her pale lips move and he had to strain to hear her words, as if she spoke from a place very far away.
Help me.
Suddenly, violently, he was assailed by visions of her terrible death, and of all the deaths of his loved ones before that. The ghosts of failure lay in the deepest, darkest recesses of his mind, just waiting to reveal themselves again. Some things you just couldn't ever be rid of - certain memories, certain events, certain fears. Incised into one's psyche, like scars that never leave.
The terrible fog passed through him, within him, over him, like a shroud, taking all the joy and hope and love and leaving nothing but a vast desolation.
Without warning, the screen went dark.
And then, as before, the sinister words appeared.
Would you like to meet a ghost?
Green gave himself up to the desolation. No more failures. No more memories. He would join with his sister and brother and his parents in Eternity.
His trembling fingers tapped out the reply.
Yes.
He heard a sound - no, not really a sound as such, more a sense, and he turned his head slowly around and then he saw it.
The figure of Talia manifested through the wall to stand in his room. But no shadow accompanied her. Her skin was the colour of ash, and her eyes - her staring, implacable eyes were completely black.
Two glowing orbs.
As he drew closer, he could see himself reflected in those eyes, over and over and over -
The ghost-Talia held out one hand, the fingers curling and grasping, beckoning him to her and her mouth moved and her voice was not just hers but overlaid with a hundred others.
And they spoke.
Join us.
A low buzz of conversation rose and fell in the Officer's Lounge as everyone settled in for the evening's entertainment. Non-alcoholic beverages were passed around by Destiny, manning the 'bar', and Captain Magenta looked after the technical side of things. A large screen had been raised to one end of the room and the couches and chairs had been moved into rows. Now all everyone wanted was a couple of hours peace from the Mysterons.
Rhapsody Angel glanced at her watch and searched the room in case Green had slipped in at the back. No. Seymour was late, and he'd promised her and Melody he'd be here. It bothered her and she wasn't sure why, so she nudged Ochre, who sat in the chair next to hers.
“Seymour told me he'd join us for the movie this evening,” she said. “Would you mind sprinting along to his quarters and drag him along here?”
“Maybe he changed his mind,” the American replied, “To tell you the truth, Dianne, I'm not sure I'd feel up to company after I'd just been through the hell he has.”
“Well, that's where you and I have to differ. He doesn't have to enjoy the movie, but just being with people you know is better than sitting in his room, ruminating over his sister's horrible death.”
“Listen, honey, Greenie's a grown man, if he'd wanted to come, he'd be here. He probably needs some space right now, and I figure he’s most likely crashed out on his bunk with exhaustion.”
Rhapsody sniffed and crossed her arms. “Fine. I suppose you're right.”
He grinned and patted her arm. “Wouldn't be the first time.”
She gave him a most unladylike snort in response.
Green didn't turn up for breakfast the following day, nor for his shift in the Control Room. Colonel White contacted Dr Fawn in Sick Bay who replied that Green had not reported being unwell. Concerned, the Colonel asked Ochre to make some enquiries.
The American felt a smidgen of guilt as he rang Green's door chime, remembering the conversation with Rhapsody last night.
“Green, are you in there? Are you okay?”
His calls and chiming went unanswered. His cap mic flipped down, as he called White.
“No sir, he's not answering, what do you want me to do?”
“Lieutenant Verdigris will override the door access,” White replied, rather grimly. “You have permission to enter on security grounds.”
“S.I.G. sir.”
A few seconds later the door swished open and Ochre passed through into Green's quarters. “Green? Seymour,” he called out, “Are you –”
He stared aghast towards the mesh divider that separated the sleeping area from the living area. It was taller than a man's height by a good foot and designed to be solid and unbreakable.
Something was dangling from it.
Ochre's blinked, as if his brain wasn’t making sense of the visual signals it was receiving from his eyes.
Someone.
He swore loudly. One word that echoed in the enclosed room.
Ochre strode across to the partition, muttering more obscenities. He struggled with Green’s already stiffening body, and gave up. He’d made a frigging good job of it with nothing more than a decent length of computer cable.
Despite his mounting anger – mostly directed at himself, he somehow managed to untangle the cable that Green had throttled himself with and lowered the body to the ground. He felt for a pulse, even though he knew what he would find.
He swallowed hard and his mic lowered as he spoke into it.
“This is Ochre, Colonel, I’m afraid it’s bad news.”
Twenty minutes later, Green’s body had been removed by Fawn and a couple of his med-techs. Ochre stayed in the younger man’s quarters, intent on determining what could have happened to make Green suddenly give up on life.
He scanned slowly around the room until his interest settled on the open laptop on the desk. The light was still flashing, which meant Green had most probably been looking at it before he…
Ochre crossed over to the desk and tapped the keyboard until it flared into life.
ZETSUBOU – what sort of daft thing was this, he thought?
The screen blacked out and seven white words appeared on the dark background.
Would you like to meet a ghost?
Notes and Acknowledgements
You might think we’ve had quite enough of real-life horror and misery this year, with the rampage of Coronavirus, but producing something creative (whether it’s any good is quite another matter) was a worthwhile antidote to the lockdown blues, for me at least.
I got the idea for this story from a 2001 Japanese horror movie called Kairo. I’ve never seen the movie, just read reviews about it on the internet, but it intrigued me enough to see if I could develop into a Spectrum story.
Zetsubou is Japanese for despair or hopelessness, or the nearest equivalent. I thought it made for an interesting title!
I’d like to thank Marion Woods for beta-reading this story and any mistakes that remain are entirely mine.
Thanks also to Chris Bishop, for posting this addition to the SHQ anthology and for any wonderful artwork she might use to make my story look its best.
It’s been a very tough year for many people, and I fervently hope that we all get through this with our health and sanity intact.
Stay safe, stay well and keep reading and writing.
Caroline Smith 2020