Alice Isn't Well (Death Herself Book 1) Page 2

  She paused, before nodding.

  “Got a certificate to prove it, eh?” he asked with a grin.

  “I... Yeah, I think so, somewhere.”

  He frowned. “And as your supervisor here, is there anything I need to know about your... gap? Anything that might affect your duties?”

  Another pause, and then she shook her head.

  “Well...” He set the CV down and stared at it for a moment, as if he was trying to find another angle of attack. He was clearly itching to know all about her ten-year gap. “I know your social worker has spoken to my superior, and I know my superior's concerns have been fully addressed, so I suppose that means I have no right to pry. I'm not a nosy man, Alice. That's something you'll come to learn about me pretty quickly, I don't poke my nose into other people's business.” He stared at the CV for a moment, as if he was willing it to give up its secrets. Finally, leaning forward, he held a hand out toward her. “Welcome to the team at Galactic Ward Security, Ms. Warner. Still, glad to have you on-board.”

  She stared at his hand for a moment, before reaching out to shake it. She had a slight tremor, and although she was able to hide it most of the time, it still showed when she was nervous.

  She was nervous right now.

  “What've you got there?” he asked, looking at her other hand.

  “Oh.” She paused for a moment, before showing him the crumpled bus ticket. “Nothing, really.”

  “Well, we've got a bin right here,” he replied, kicking a metal trashcan toward her from under the desk. “For all your nothings.”

  She paused, staring at the ticket. “Actually, I think I'll keep it. To remind myself of my first shift.”

  “A souvenir, eh?”

  She smiled politely, before folding the ticket carefully and slipping it into her pocket. “Sorry,” she muttered. “I know it's dumb.”

  “Right, then,” he continued with a faint smile, as if he found her amusing, “whatever floats your boat. No skin off my nose, is it? So shall we step outside this little office so I can show you our kingdom? Trust me, you're gonna be impressed. You're okay with lots of walking, aren't you? Your...” He paused again, eying her with a hint of concern. “You don't have a condition that affects you physically, do you?”

  She shook her head.

  “So it's more... mental?”

  She opened her mouth to reply, but no word came out.

  “Never mind,” he continued, “none of my business, eh? You can tell me when you're ready.”

  ***

  “Barton's Cross shopping mall,” Donald said with a hint of pride as he led Alice into the dark, unlit atrium of the huge building. Shining his flashlight up and around, he picked out the dark facades of abandoned shops. “One of the biggest shopping malls in the whole of the United Kingdom. Once, anyway. A mecca for consumers from five counties, an orgy of spending and commerce. All your high street brands were here, as well as some more exclusive chains that don't open up in just any old location, if you catch my drift. Barton's Cross was really something to be proud of, you know?”

  Alice looked around, stunned by the size of the place. Rising up seven storeys toward a huge glass ceiling, Barton's Cross had once been a gleaming cathedral of modern British shopping, but now it was just a boarded-up relic of a time gone by. Alice remembered girls at school talking excitedly about hanging out at the place, and some of them had even managed to get Saturday jobs in the stores. She'd never been, preferring the shops closer to home, but she'd still been shocked when she'd come out of hospital and learned that the place had closed down.

  “Shame about the recession,” Donald continued with a sniff, stepping forward until he reached the center of the large circular atrium. His voice was echoing slightly in the huge space, and after a moment he turned to Alice with a broad grin. “Did you ever come here when it was open?”

  “Um...” She paused. “No.”

  “That's right, I guess you were in hospital most of the time, eh?”

  She nodded.

  “Based on your CV,” he added, “I guess you must have gone into hospital not long after this place opened, and you came out just after it was shut down.”

  “I suppose,” she replied noncommittally, looking around and seeing an old birthday card store, and next to that an old phone shop.

  “That's quite a chunk of time spent outside society,” Donald pointed out.

  Turning back to him, she nodded again.

  “Must've been something pretty serious for you to be in hospital for so long.”

  “I suppose.”

  He paused, eying her with a hint of suspicion.

  “Well,” he added finally, “like I said, I'm not a nosy man.” He turned and shone his flashlight around again. “Barton's Cross was like all the brightest stars. It didn't last as long as other, duller venues. Nine years, in fact, from the grand opening to the day the doors were shut for the last time. Tragedy, really, if you think about it.” He paused for a moment, with a hint of sadness in his eyes. “Shame, really. I used to come here a lot, they had everything you could possibly want, all under one roof. And if there was something you wanted and they didn't have it, well, you soon forgot you wanted it and you just started wanting something else instead. That's how it works, yeah?” He paused again, as if he was lost in memories of the place. “Plus you could people-watch from one of the cafes. Used to like that, I did. Little did I ever dream that one day I'd have the keys to the place, eh?”

  As if to prove his point, he jangled the keys that hung from his belt.

  Making her way over to join him, Alice looked up at the domed glass ceiling high above. For a moment, she felt a little dizzy, but a second later she was distracted by a faint scrabbling sound in the distance. She turned and looked up at a balcony on the second floor.

  “Now that's something you've got to get used to if you're doing security here,” Donald continued, shining his flashlight up toward the balcony. “Let me tell you now, Ms. Warner, you will hear things. Little bumps, scratches, noises you can't really explain. In a building this size, it's inevitable.”

  “What causes it?” she asked, with her eyes still fixed on the balcony.

  “Any one of a hundred possible things,” he replied, “but the thing is, if you start trying to figure it all out in your head, do you know what'll happen?”

  She turned to him. “What?”

  “You'll go mad.”

  She paused. “Oh.”

  “Could be the wind,” he continued, looking back up at the balcony. “There's enough broken windows on the higher floors. We fix the ones lower down, so rough-sleepers can't get in, but higher up there's no point. Of course, then birds get in and other wildlife, but we don't really worry about that too much either. Watch out for badgers, though. Nasty little buggers and bloody aggressive.” He turned to her. “Have you ever been in a combat situation with a badger?”

  She thought about the question for a moment. “Um... No.”

  “Take my advice. Keep it that way.”

  “What about people?” she asked. “Do they ever get inside?”

  “About once or twice a year someone manages to slip through,” he replied with a sigh. “Just some bum looking for a place to doss down for the night, that kind of thing. They usually run if they're disturbed, but that's where the job actually becomes a little tricky, 'cause you do get the odd one or two who turn violent and try to stand their ground, either 'cause they're not right in the head or 'cause they're high on drugs. Fortunately, that's why we carry these babies.” He pulled a small plastic gun-like object from his waist. “We're not allowed proper guns, but we can tase the buggers as long as we want.”

  Staring at the taser, Alice seemed a little startled.

  “Give it a go,” he continued, flicking a switch on the side before handing it to her. “Don't worry, the safety catch is on, you can't fire it right now. I've got one for you back in the office, although you're not allowed to take it off the site. You keep it in
your locker and use it when you have a shift, but remember... These things aren't toys.”

  Alice looked down at the weapon in her hand for a moment, before raising it and pointing it across the dark, deserted atrium.

  “Ever held anything like that before?” Donald asked.

  She paused, before flicking the switch on the side.

  “You probably won't even have to use it,” he continued, clearing his throat. “Like I said, you don't get many people breaking into the place. For the most part, our job here at Barton's Cross is pretty bloody boring, if you'll pardon my French. We sit in the porta-cabin and watch the monitors, and we do a quick patrol every two hours, and we hand off to the day-shift at six, just as the sun's coming up. To be honest, it doesn't really take two people to man the place overnight, but apparently there's some insurance rule that says they need two security guards on duty at all times.” He paused, waiting for her to reply. “So you're up for all this, yeah?”

  Staring at the weapon in her hand, Alice seemed lost in thought for a moment, before slowly turning to him.

  “It's probably a little overwhelming at first,” Donald continued. “I've been here for a while now, but don't worry, you get used to it eventually. There are definitely worse jobs in London, and I can tell you, I've done a fair few of 'em. Do you play cards? If you like, I can -”

  Before he could finish, Alice fired the taser, which sent a pair of charged electrodes shooting across the atrium until they landed on the dirty floor, flickering and sparking in the moonlight.

  “Careful with that,” Donald said, taking the weapon from her. “How'd you get the safety catch off?”

  “Sorry,” she replied calmly. “It was a mistake.”

  Switching the device off, he began to retract the electrodes. “I can see I'm gonna have to keep an eye on you, aren't I?” he said with a smile. “You're obviously a lively one. I tell you what, since this is your orientation shift, why don't we head back to the office and I'll fill you in on the history of this place, eh? I know that might sound boring for a young woman such as yourself, but you'll be surprised.” Setting the taser back on his buckle, he turned to her. “Barton's Cross might not be a very old building, but it's built on a sight of great historical interest.”

  “It is?” she asked.

  “I'll tell you the potted version,” he continued, turning and heading back to the main door. “Won't take long. Prepare to have your mind blown, though. How old are you, again?”

  “Twenty-six.”

  “Bet you're not much interested in local history, are you?”

  “I don't mind.”

  “I've got some books on the subject,” Donald continued. “I can lend you a few, if you like. I'll bring them in for you tomorrow night.”

  Stopping for a moment, Alice stared up again at the domed glass ceiling. She was hoping to see the stars above, but instead all she saw was a reflection of the atrium itself. It took a moment, but she was finally able to spot her own reflection up there, staring back down. A moment later, she heard another scratching sound nearby and turned to look up at one of the balconies. For a few seconds, she was filled with the overwhelming sense that she was being watched from the shadows. She waited for something, anything, to step into view, but finally the sensation passed. Whatever had been up there, it was gone now.

  Chapter Two

  1941

  “It's going to crash!” Wendy shouted, pointing up at the dark sky just as the spluttering, burning plane flew low over the houses. “Come on!”

  With Matthew just a few steps behind, Wendy raced along the dark street and then skipped over some rubble as she changed course and bolted down an alley, before emerging on the edge of a section of wasteland. She could hear the plane but couldn't see it, not until it suddenly swooped in low over the top of some nearby houses, with bright flames billowing from one of its stuttering engines.

  “It is going to crash,” she whispered, her voice filled with shock.

  “He's trying to find a safe place to land!” Matthew yelled.

  “Then why's he going that way?” Wendy asked, racing across the grass until she reached the far side, which opened out onto the street where she lived. All the light were off for the blackout, so she couldn't see anything around her as she stepped out into the road and looked up.

  “His engine's bust,” Matthew continued as he caught up. “You can hear it. He must've been in a dogfight with the Germans. Rotten luck to get hit like that, but I bet he took a hundred of them out first!”

  “Where is he?” Wendy asked, hearing the sound of the plane coming closer but still not seeing it over the roofs of the nearby houses.

  “Get down!” Matthew screamed. “It's going to hit!”

  Suddenly the plane flew straight over, so close that Wendy could feel the heat, and then she turned just in time to see the fuselage crash into the roof of a nearby house and then smash through with immense force. She barely even had time to register that her house was one of the ones that had been hit, before the plane exploded, filling the night sky with a fireball as part of the wreckage continued to tumble through the roofs, sending pieces of brick and metal raining down onto the cobbles. People – she hadn't even realized there were other people around in the darkness – began to scream and cry out.

  “Look at it!” Matthew shouted, nudging her arm. “Wendy, look, it's -” He paused for a moment, staring in horror. “Wendy, is that your house that got hit?”

  Wendy stared in open-mouthed horror as she saw the burning Spitfire slipping down from the damaged roof. A moment later, the plane tipped over and began to fall, before crashing down into the street in a shower of flames, while the roofs of several nearby houses were burning bright.

  “Someone get help!” a voice shouted nearby.

  “It's okay,” Wendy whispered. “Mum works nights anyway. She's at the hospital, there's no-one home.” She looked at one of the burning houses. “Not in our house, anyway.”

  “Good job you snuck out,” Matthew replied. “You'd have been toast.”

  She nodded.

  “Do you reckon the pilot's dead?” he continued, as they stared at the burning plane. “He must be, mustn't he? I bet he was brave, though. I bet he didn't even scream as he died. The Germans always scream, I saw it in a comic, but Brits are made of stronger stuff.”

  Wendy watched as flames roared around the cockpit, and she couldn't help imagining the poor pilot trapped in there, most likely burning to death at that very moment.

  “I don't see any bullet-holes on the side,” she said with a frown.

  “Watch out!” Matthew shouted suddenly.

  Hearing a loud rumbling sound, Wendy looked up just in time to see that the burning roof of one of the houses was starting to collapse. A fraction of a second later, the entire roof came crashing down, chimney and all, into the street, sending up a huge cloud of rubble that quickly filled the air with ash. More people were shouting in the distance, and silhouettes could be seen rushing past the flaming wreckage.

  “Cover your mouth!” Matthew said, holding his arm over the lower part of his face.

  Wendy did the same, while still staring at the burning plane as she felt the inferno's heat against her skin. The flames were bright, but there almost seemed to be another type of light in there, dancing at the heart of the fire.

  “Get 'em all out!” someone was shouting nearby, as people from down the road tried in vain to break into the damaged houses. “Bust 'em open if you have to!”

  “He must've been shot down by the Germans,” Matthew said after a moment. “That's the only reason a Spitfire would ever crash. He'd probably been on a bombing raid and got hit, and he was trying to get home. I bet he was on a secret mission to destroy one of Hitler's secret bases. He must've risked his life for the war effort, he's probably a hero!”

  Instead of replying, Wendy simply stared at the heart of the burning plane and listened to the sound of roaring flames. She shuddered slightly as she imagined th
e poor man in there, although she figured he was most likely dead by now. Still, she was certain it must have been an agonizing, painful death, unless he'd been killed during the impact. She knew Matthew was right, that the pilot was a hero, but she still didn't quite understand why a hero should have to die in such a horrible way.

  “I hope he got lots of them,” Matthew continued with a frown. “I hope he shot down a hundred of their planes before they hit him. I bet he did. That's what heroes do.”

  “I know,” Wendy replied, “but -”

  Before she could finish, she saw that something was moving inside the burning plane, a dark shape struggling in the heart of the flames. While everyone else was trying to get people out of the damaged houses, Wendy took a step forward, watching as a few sections of twisted metal fell from the plane's cockpit area. A moment later, she watched in horror as a human figure fell out and landed hard against the cobbles, with flames covering his entire body.

  “He's still alive!” she shouted.

  “What should we do?” Matthew asked. “Should we -”

  Without waiting for him to reply, Wendy ran across the cobbles until she was as close to the burning plane as she dared to get. She paused for a moment, before ducking down under the damaged wing and crawling even closer, while keeping her eyes fixed on the burning pilot.

  “Get help!” she shouted, looking back at Matthew for a moment. She couldn't hear her own voice over the sound of the inferno, and the heat made the air seem to shimmer all around. “Get a doctor!”

  She turned and saw that the pilot was trying to haul himself up, even as flames roared from his body. He was barely visible in the heart of the fire, except as a dark, vaguely human shape that tried again and again to drag itself away from the wreck. He seemed able to only pull himself along for a few seconds at a time, before stopping for a moment and then trying again.

  Reaching out, Wendy knew she had to help him, even if she got hurt in the process.