111 West End

Chapter Twenty-Three: The End

The Agent

Doctor Arthur Bennet stood mere inches from Ben. Every bit as solid as the living, with an expression that turned Ben's blood cold. It was one thing to sense a presence, feel a draught, or hear a tap, but it was a totally different experience to have a full apparition within touching distance.

Ben took a step back, hating himself for showing weakness. For fifteen years, he stood his ground. And now, when it mattered the most and he was on the verge of losing everything, he couldn't let Arthur win. 111 West End was his house.

"It must be lonely being dead?" Ben said, hoping his words cut deep enough to wound.

Arthur stayed silent.

"All these years, and you say nothing?" Just as Ben thought. Arthur Bennet was all piss and wind.

Arthur stared back at him.

"You know, if you're lucky, after tonight, you'll have Georgie for company." Ben listened as Georgie bolted up the stairs.

Finally, Arthur Bennet spoke. "Leave."

"That's it? Leave. Like I haven't heard it before. I didn't leave fifteen years ago. What makes you think I'll leave now?"

The corners of Arthur Bennets' eyes creased with a knowing smile before he faded away. A rumble of thunder rattled 111 West End's old Georgian windows and, as if on cue, the sky opened. What happened next, Ben could never have predicted. The glass roof above the kitchen diner cracked. Rain trickled in and dripped onto the terracotta tiles below. And nobody except Joseph noticed the growing puddle.

Lightning lit up the garden, illuminating the pond, the shallow grave beside it, and the shovel leant against the orangery. At almost midnight, time was running out to back-fill Natalie's grave. Ben raced to the French doors, searching his coat pockets for the keys. Oh shit! They weren't there. He rattled the handle on the door, but it was no use. He'd left his keys on the worktop next to the torch.

He checked the kitchen while the lights flickered above him. The torch remained where he had left it, but the keys were gone. Fool! He knew better than to leave his keys anywhere inside 111 West End.

A childish giggle made the hair on the back of his neck rise. Slowly, he turned. A girl no older than ten watched him from the doorway. With white ribbons in her fair hair and a white apron covering her knee-length brown dress, she vanished as quickly as she appeared. Oh God! Georgie was telling the truth. Ben raced out of the kitchen, along the hall toward the front door. He turned the handle and yanked it, but the door wouldn't budge. Ben rested his forehead against the cool wood and slowed his breathing. He needed to think.

One, Georgie was still inside his house.

Two, she couldn't escape any more than he could.

Three, if she lives, he'll go to prison.

Four, he'd lose everything.

Five, she's hiding upstairs.

Six, Nick Reynolds wasn't due back until Friday.

Seven, he would finish what he'd started. Slowly, Ben's composure returned, and a plan formed. Brushing the hair from his face, he walked towards the stairs.

"Georgie," he called from the bottom step. "Where are you?" He held the handrail as he climbed the stairs. "There's no escape. Show yourself!" The house was silent. As he reached the first turn onto the landing, a breeze rushed by him and Arthur Bennet stared back at him from the portrait. Fuck you! You smug bastard.

Ben climbed the next ten steps, the dull throb in his right knee growing more painful. He climbed the final twelve steps to the gallery. Ben ignored the rustle of fabric. He'd heard it before. The ghosts of 111 West End may not be at peace, but they clearly couldn't hurt him. He paused and listened for Georgie. All remained quiet except for that damn ticking.

Ben crept along the gallery to the master bedroom. Crouching beside the bed, he lifted the overhanging duvet. But Georgie wasn't there. Ben stood, knowing exactly where he would find her.

*

The Tenant

Georgie hid under the bed in the children's room with her hand clamped over her mouth. Too scared to breathe, she lay frozen with fear. The door creaked when it opened and she watched Ben walk to the opposite bed. He crouched down and peered underneath. She heard him sigh. Oh God!

Georgie slid out from under the bed and ran. She reached the hall before he slammed her against the wall.

"Going somewhere?" His teeth grazed her ear as he hissed at her.

"Please don't," she begged.

"Do you think I want this? I have no choice!" His grip on her tightened.

Georgie struggled to hear as the sudden shift in air pressure made her ears pop. "What will you do?"

"The problem with old houses is no building control." He used his whole body to pin her against the wall. "These grand staircases are an accident waiting to happen."

Georgie felt sick. Tonight, he really would kill her. Ben grasped her arm and dragged her along the hall towards the staircase she had loved so much. Consumed by panic, the floor heaved as she looked down. It was so far to fall. Would hers be a quick death?

One, the grandfather clock chimed.

Two, Georgie stood on the top step.

Three, Nick would believe her death was an accident.

Four, breathe.

Five, Ben's hand pressed into the small of her back.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven. She counted each chime.

Twelve.

A sudden gust of wind rustled her hair as a force struck the back of Ben's right knee so hard it buckled beneath him and he let go of her arm. A small hand wrapped around Georgie's wrist and yanked her away as Ben jolted forward. He frantically groped for the handrail, but the stairs were too steep and his reflexes too slow.

Rooted to the spot, Georgie watched Ben hit every step on the way down, striking the flagstone floor with a sickening thud. She ran down the stairs and crouched beside him. Pressing her fingers to his neck, she felt no pulse.

Along the dark hall, the grandfather clock stopped. At exactly five minutes past midnight.

*

The Doctor

Arthur and the children followed Georgie down the stairs and waited while she checked for Ben's pulse.

"I knew you would change your mind," Emma said, nudging Arthur with her elbow.

Arthur crossed his arms. "Really? I appreciate your faith in me as I have little in myself."

Joseph knelt down beside Ben to make sure he was dead.

"Come away." Arthur gestured for the children to follow him into the parlour.

"Will Georgie be alright?" Emma perched on the edge of the sofa. The soft leather creaked as her legs dangled.

"Yes. She is safe now."

"Do you think she will stay here?" Joseph asked, tapping the doorframe with his fingernail. Tap... Tap... Tap.

"No."

"That is a shame." Emma picked at her white apron.

"But when they have gone, you can play wherever you like." Arthur longed for peace. He had grown weary of the living.

"Can we play outside?" Emma smiled at Arthur.

"Yes, you can go outside. Now, return the keys to where you found them."