Above the Vaulted Sky - Page 140

                ‘I didn’t mean to…’ Graham starts, but his words fall away and he just starts gaping like a confused fish.

                ‘No, you never do,’ says Yates. He follows Elle into the house.

                I can’t be bothered saying a thing to him so I turn my back on Graham and go inside too.

                My head feels like it’s full of static and it dawns on me that Elle’s right. If those pictures are on television, then my own parents will see them. I can’t imagine how they’d feel. What would they even think? That I’d run away and left them? But my body was in the morgue. Would they think it was a hoax?

                I assume Elle’s gone to her room upstairs. Yates has followed her. I sit down on a chair in the living room. And there it is, the image of me and Elle, slightly blurred but unmistakably us, shimmering under the harsh light in the police station.

                There’s a knock at the door.

                I almost jump a foot into the air. Previous to my death, a knock at the door would never have elicited such a reaction, but we’re dead. People don’t knock at doors. Unless it’s Graham, being hideously coy and apologetic again.

                I get to my feet and go to open in, ready to clip him round the ear.

                I grasp the latch and wrench it open. The person on the doorstep isn’t Graham.

                ‘Easton,’ she says. ‘I’m Windermere.’

                ‘Hello,’ I say. ‘You are aware that’s a lake.’ I cringe internally. She’s tall and brunette with a heart shaped face and sharp features. She wears a long beige trench coat and a shirt and trousers underneath. I don’t have to close my eyes to understand she’s dead.

                ‘Yes, I am aware of that,’ she says. ‘May I come in?’

                ‘Erm, it’s not really my house,’ I say. ‘Who are you?’

                ‘I’m here to talk with you and Elle about the appearance you made at the police station in New York. We’ve been looking for you for a while. After the whole thing with Teague.’

                ‘Wait, you know about him?’

                ‘Know about him? We’ve had him in custody for four months. He almost blew up Dublin port.’

                I start. She knows about Teague, and his quest to remain the world’s worst scientist has continued.

                ‘Custody?’ I say. ‘Are you the ghost police?’ The corners of my mouth twitch at the absurdity. I glance over her shoulder and I realise Graham’s gone. Spooked most likely by the arrival of the tall woman.

                ‘I’d better come inside,’ she says. ‘We have a lot to talk about.’