Innocent Blood

Nineteen

Frank was just about to leave his room when the phone rang.

‘Mr Bell? It’s reception. There’s a Mr Strange here to see you.’

He went downstairs and found Nevile waiting for him in the lobby, dressed in a loose black linen suit and very dark glasses. ‘Frank! I’m glad I caught you. Something really important has come up.’

‘Oh, yes? Concerning what?’

‘Listen, this is a hard thing to ask you, but I think we should try to talk to Danny again.’

‘I thought we were leaving the Danny thing alone. Don’t you remember? Madness and death.’

‘Yes, I know, but I received more automatic writing last night, and I’m sure that it’s Richard Abbott trying to get through. The things he says . . . well, to my mind it’s further evidence that this terror campaign could somehow be connected with child abuse.’

‘Have you told the police?’

‘Not yet, no. To be quite honest, I think that Lieutenant Chessman is losing faith in me. His superiors want to find Arabs, and if I can’t confirm that it’s Arabs, they’re not really interested. They don’t want to believe that this could be a home-grown protest, like the Murrah Building, only a hundred times worse. But there’s a crisis coming, Frank. They’re going to set off a whole lot more bombs, and if there’s any way that we can stop them, we have to try it.’

‘Let’s have a drink.’

They sat on the shady veranda of the New World Bar on Sunset, opposite a huge billboard with a grinning 30-foot cutout of George Clooney on it. Frank ordered a beer but Nevile stuck to mineral water.

Frank raised his glass to George Clooney. ‘That’s some piece of sign-painting,’ he said. ‘You can even see the hairs up his nose.’

Nevile reached into his inside pocket and handed Frank a print-out. ‘I was trying to write a letter to my publishers yesterday afternoon but this is what came up. I just couldn’t stop it, couldn’t control it.’

DaY is cumin soon yore goin to Be sorre weer goin 2 give you baCk what you give out to Us. Alwiz hurtin us & mistretin us but now its yore turn. Dar Tariki TariQuat is goin to bring you tHe dark lik you alwiz made our livs so dark. You made us feel lik 0 so thTs what weer goin 2 do to you Make you feel like 0. WE WAS goin thru HELl an all you ever dID was say that lif was happe but lif was NEVER happe lif was hell.’

‘You see?’ said Nevile. ‘I’m ninety-nine percent certain this is coming through from the spirit of Richard Abbott. He says that Dar Tariki Tariqat is going to bring us darkness and a life of hell. But the interesting thing is, he doesn’t say a word about blasphemy. He says the reason that Dar Tariki Tariqat want to punish the entertainment industry is because it mocked them with images of happy families while they were being hurt and mistreated. “We was going through hell and all you ever did was say that life was happy.” Richard Abbott doesn’t sound to me like a Palestinian suicide bomber, or anybody with any connections with Al Qaeda, or Hezbollah.’

Frank reread the print-out and handed it back. ‘OK, I agree, he doesn’t. What does he sound like?’

‘He sounds to me like a victim of long-term child abuse.’

‘What?’

‘He sounds bitter, and crushed, and utterly hopeless – all of his humanity beaten out of him. He was happy to die so long as he could get his revenge on the society that destroyed his life. And he wasn’t just looking to punish the people who actually beat him and abused him, but all of us, especially Hollywood. Everybody who tries to pretend that the world is sunny and bright while so many children are living in darkness.’

‘Danny – or whoever it is that’s pretending to be Danny – said he was abused, too.’

‘That’s right. The trouble is, this isn’t really enough evidence to take to the police. I don’t want to send them off on the wrong track. All I have so far is the uncorroborated ravings of Richard Abbott and Danny’s complaints that “Daddy hurt me.” I need badly to talk to Danny again, or whoever it is that’s pretending to be Danny.’

Frank hesitated for a moment and then he said, ‘Danny paid me a visit, the night before last.’

‘Really? Just like that? You weren’t trying to make contact?’

‘It was just after three in the morning. He touched my cheek and woke me up. He looked exactly like Danny, just like he looked before, except that he was wearing some pajamas that I didn’t recognize. He told me that his daddy had beaten him and done things to him. Sexual things, I guess. He said that his daddy cried and said he was sorry but still kept on doing it.’

Nevile sipped his water. ‘This spirit is trying very, very hard to elicit your sympathy, isn’t he?’

‘You say “he,” but that’s the strange part about it. I took hold of his hand and it felt like a woman’s hand.’

‘You actually felt it?’

Frank nodded. ‘It was definitely a woman’s hand, with rings on.’

Nevile took off his dark glasses and his expression was very grave. ‘He didn’t ask you to do anything? For instance, he didn’t ask you to find his daddy and punish him for what he’d done?’

‘No. He wouldn’t even tell me who he was. I asked him, but he said that he wasn’t allowed to tell me.’

‘Well . . . that’s not as silly as it sounds. Even when people die, they often go on doing what they were told to do, when they were still alive. Most of the time they don’t realize that they’re beyond being punished.’

Frank finished his beer. ‘I’ll tell you something, Nevile. The more I hear what it’s like to be dead, the less I feel like dying.’

They drove to the Travel Town railroad museum in Griffith Park. This had always been one of Danny’s favorite places, because he could climb on the old locomotives and pretend that he was an engineer, whooping to make the whistle noises. Frank had liked it, too, because he could sit in one of the passenger cars and work on his scripts, while ostensibly spending quality time with his son. This afternoon there were only four or five other visitors, only half visible in the dusty sunlight, but somehow the air seemed to be crowded with memories.

Nevile looked around and said, ‘This is good. I can feel some very strong spiritual resonance here.’

Frank said, ‘I don’t get it. Why did we have to come here? I know Danny loved this place, but this spirit isn’t really Danny, is he? Or she?’

Nevile smiled. ‘No, she isn’t. But it’s easier for you to picture him here, and she relies on your remembered images of him to make him appear.’ They sat down on a bench. ‘Take your time, Frank. Think about Danny, when you used to bring him here to play. Try to see him, as he was, standing on the footplate, waving to you.’

‘Where are you headed, Danny?’ Frank asked, under his breath.

‘Salt Lake City, Chicago, and beyond. Whooo! Whooo!’

He heard a small boy laughing. He saw a child’s legs, running between the railroad cars.

‘I’ll tell you something, Frank – this place is teeming with memories. I can feel them. I can hear them. All the people who rode on those trains, all the people who came to meet them when they arrived. And boys, Frank. All of the boys like Danny who climb up on to those locomotives and dream about being a grown-up.’

Which is something that Danny will never be, Frank thought.

They must have sat on that bench for nearly twenty minutes. The sun moved around so that it was shining through the windows of the nearest passenger car and Frank had to cup his hand over his eyes. He glanced at Nevile, but he was still sitting up straight, his hands clasped together, staring at nothing in particular.

‘Anything?’ Frank asked him.

‘Oh, he’s here, all right,’ said Nevile matter-of-factly. ‘He’s here, but he’s hiding.’

‘Isn’t he going to talk to us?’

‘Give him time.’

They waited another five minutes, and then Nevile said, ‘All right,’ and stood up.

‘What is it?’ Frank asked him.

‘He wants to talk to us. He’s in that old locomotive over there, beside the tree.’

Frank felt his heart beat quicken. Nevile began to walk across the tracks and Frank followed him. Halfway toward the locomotive he stumbled on the ballast and nearly fell, and he felt almost as if somebody had deliberately tripped him up. Ever since he had met Nevile, he had become increasingly aware that the world around him was jostling with spirits, some of them mean, some of them kindly, but most of them bewildered and lost.

They reached the locomotive and stopped beside the footplate. A plaque said that it was a Central Pacific 4-4-0, dating from the 1860s. It had a huge bell-shaped smokestack and the steps up to its footplate were shiny and worn with age.

‘Are you going to go up?’ asked Nevile.

‘Do you think he’s really there?’

‘He said he was. I don’t have any reason to doubt him.’

Frank took hold of the first rung, but then he hesitated. ‘Crazy, isn’t it? I think I’m scared.’

‘Whatever’s up there, Frank – whether it’s Danny or not – it’s only a spirit. It can’t hurt you, you know that.’

‘Yes,’ said Frank, although he didn’t feel much more confident. He climbed up on to the first step, and then the next, and then he was level with the footplate. He was still half dazzled by the sun, so he couldn’t see Danny at first. But as his eyes became accustomed to the shadow he saw that Danny was standing in the far corner, his hair sticking up, his face pasty white. He was wearing a man’s shirt with faded brown stripes, its sleeves so long that his hands were hidden. He was barefoot.

‘Danny?’ said Frank, a catch in his throat.

‘Is he there?’ asked Nevile.

Frank looked down at him and nodded.

‘Go on up, Frank, I’ll follow you.’

Cautiously, Frank swung himself into the cabin. Danny stared at him but didn’t smile, almost as if he didn’t know who Frank was. It could have been the fact that it was so shadowy, but it felt distinctly chilly up here.

‘Danny?’ Frank repeated, trying to sound reassuring. He was only a spirit, and he probably wasn’t Danny at all, but he looked like Danny, and there was nothing Frank could do to stop himself from feeling protective toward him.

Nevile climbed up to join him. He looked at Danny intently, moving his head from side to side to examine him from several different angles. ‘Fascinating,’ he said. ‘You’d think he was real, wouldn’t you? Look at the shadows on his face. He’s not there, but he has shadows on his face.’

‘I won’t be Danny anymore,’ the boy whispered, scarcely moving his lips.

‘What?’ said Frank. ‘Why not?’

‘Danny’s better now. He’s still sleeping, but he’s better.’

‘You mean that I can talk to him? The real Danny? My Danny?’

The spirit nodded distractedly.

‘So when will that be?’

The boy looked away, as if he were thinking about something else, and didn’t answer.

‘When?’ Frank demanded, but Nevile laid a hand on his shoulder, as if to warn him to be patient.

‘Danny,’ said Nevile, ‘or whoever you are, I need to ask you some questions.’

Danny shook his head. ‘I can’t answer questions. I’m not allowed to.’

‘I want you to tell me about Dar Tariki Tariqat. I need to know who they are.’

‘Daddy hurt me. Every time he hurt me he said sorry but he always did it again. It was the same with all of the others.’

‘There were others? How many?’

‘I’m not allowed to say.’

Nevile went up very close to him, and leaned over him, so that he could talk very quietly into his ear. ‘Did you belong to Dar Tariki Tariqat? You don’t have to say it out loud. All you have to do is nod your head.’

Frank watched him and waited, but Danny didn’t say anything, and he didn’t nod his head, either.

‘You’re not Danny, are you?’ Nevile asked him. ‘You’re not even a boy. Can you tell me who you really are?’

‘No. I’m not allowed to. Daddy hurt me and he did all those things to me.’

Danny paused, and then he slowly swiveled his head toward Nevile, almost as if he were a life-size doll, and he stared at him with eyes that had absolutely no expression at all. ‘Daddy said that it was our special secret, for ever and ever.’

‘Listen,’ said Nevile, ‘I need to know if you were members of Dar Tariki Tariqat. You and all the others.’

‘They were hurt too, all of them.’

‘Is that why they want to set off those bombs? Is that why they want to kill off all of those television shows?’

‘It’s a secret.’

‘Shit, this is getting us no place,’ Frank said, exasperated.

‘No, wait a minute,’ said Nevile, and then he turned back to Danny. When he spoke, his voice was very soothing, without any inflexion, as if he wasn’t asking questions at all. ‘The place where you meet the others, that’s a good place, isn’t it, where all of you feel much better. You can talk to each other, you can tell each other all about the pain that you suffered when you were young. For the first time in your life, you feel as if somebody understands you and how much you hate the world for what it’s done to you. The way the world mocked you, when you were desperate for help.’

Danny was staring at him, unblinking. ‘Yes,’ he whispered.

‘When you were young, you saw all those families on television, didn’t you, but you knew that it was all lies, because nobody could be that happy, could they? On television, children had fathers who didn’t hurt them and frighten them and force them to do horrible things that they didn’t want to do. Children could sit at the dinner table without feeling scared all the time, in case they said the wrong thing, and got slapped, or beaten. But you knew that life wasn’t like that, didn’t you?’

Danny didn’t reply, but lifted his right hand and covered his eyes, peering out through the cracks between his fingers.

‘But then,’ said Nevile, so quietly that Frank could hardly hear him. ‘Then, when you joined Dar Tariki Tariqat, you weren’t alone. You met people who understood exactly how much anger you had inside you – people like you who could never forget and never forgive. You didn’t want therapy, did you? You didn’t want to adjust. Who wants to adjust to a society that can treat children worse than animals?’

Danny covered his face with his left hand, too. ‘Yes,’ he said in a muffled voice.

Frank said, ‘Nevile – where are you getting this from? Is this true?’

Nevile stood up straight. ‘I’m getting it, indirectly, from him. Or her, actually. You were right. Our friend here isn’t a boy at all.’

‘Do you know who she is?’

‘She won’t tell me, I’m afraid. But it doesn’t really matter. She’s saying more or less the same thing that Richard Abbott was trying to write on my computer. I don’t think that Dar Tariki Tariqat is anything to do with Islamic fundamentalists. “The path through the darkness” isn’t about religion at all. It’s a group of men and women who were seriously abused in childhood, trying to get their revenge. Whoever founded it may have given it an Arabic name simply to confuse us.’

Frank looked at Danny, who was still hiding his face behind his hands. ‘So how are we going to locate these people? How are we going to stop them setting off any more bombs?’

‘I’m not really sure. The police and the social services must have thousands of case files on serious child abuse. They can probably cross-check victim support groups, or victims who have formed informal associations with each other through the Internet.’

‘Emeralds,’ Danny whispered.

‘Emeralds? What do you mean?’

‘Emeralds, and orange groves. Seven thousand and eleven orange groves.’ With that, he slowly lowered his hands. He wasn’t smiling, but somehow he looked as if he were more at peace with himself.

‘Danny,’ said Frank. ‘Danny – what does that mean? Emeralds and orange groves?’

But Danny began to grow fainter. His colors dimmed, and slowly he turned his head away. It was extraordinary to watch, like a fade-out in a movie. In less than fifteen seconds he had disappeared altogether.

‘I don’t think we’ll be seeing him again,’ Nevile remarked, when he was gone. ‘Or her, rather.’

‘What about Danny? I mean the real Danny?’

‘Well, we shouldn’t have any trouble in talking to him, once he’s fully awake.’

‘Will we be able to see him, too?’

‘I’m not sure. I doubt it. You have to remember that visual appearances like this are very rare. This spirit only managed to appear because she was very strong and very highly motivated.’

They climbed down from the locomotive and walked back to Nevile’s car. The sun was beginning to go down now, and their shadows were like stilt men, with wide flappy pants and tiny heads.

‘Emeralds and orange groves,’ Frank repeated. ‘What do you think she meant by that?’

Nevile opened his car door. ‘My guess is that she was trying to answer our question, even though she wasn’t allowed to. I told you before, didn’t I, that spirits often talk in riddles and metaphors? We’re just going to have to work out what she meant.’

Before he climbed into the passenger seat, Frank looked back at the locomotives and passenger cars of Travel Town. He would probably never come here again. The sun suddenly gleamed on the window of a Union Pacific club car, and as it did, Frank thought he saw somebody sitting inside it, a woman with a black mantilla covering her head. The car was too far away for him to be sure, but he thought he recognized her. He turned to Nevile and pointed and said, ‘See that woman?’ But by the time Nevile had realized where he was pointing, the woman had gone.

‘I could have sworn I saw a woman. She was looking straight at me.’

‘Trick of the light,’ said Nevile. ‘Anyway, I think we’ve seen enough ghosts for one day, don’t you?’