Page 87 of Beyond the Grave
We closed the shutters on the coach lamps once we reached Bedlam's fence. The glow from two streetlights near the gate struggled to penetrate the darkness, and another two lamps near the hospital entrance were mere pinpricks in a black canvas. The hulking expanse of the hospital itself swallowed the horizon.
Lincoln slipped out of the carriage and into the shadows hugging the fence. There was no need for discussion. We'd already gone over the scenarios together, along with Seth and Gus. I watched as he scrambled up and over the fence, easily avoiding the spear finials, and dropped silently on the other side. The coach hid him from the street, but there was nobody about at this late hour anyway.
I soon lost him in the darkness. Seth appeared at the window, and I lowered it to speak to him.
"How long should we give him?" he whispered.
"He only just left!"
"I know, but we didn't discuss a time."
"Do you have a time piece?"
"No."
"Nor do I, and if we did, we wouldn't be able to see it in the dark. That's why we didn't discuss times."
He sighed and leaned against the door. "We'll give him thirty minutes."
We waited. Seth tried to make frosty breath rings in the cold air, while I peered into the darkness, seeking out any movement. There was none. Gus hummed a quiet tune until Seth told him to shut up.
"How long do you think it's been?" I asked, after what felt like an age.
"Hours," Seth grumbled. "I should have gone with him."
Gus snorted. "You'd have stabbed yourself on the fence spikes before you even got in."
"Hardly. My arse isn't as lardy as yours."
"Go on then. Try it."
"Stop it, both of you," I hissed.
We waited until I was sure thirty minutes had passed. "Something must have gone wrong. I'm going to summon the spirit and ask him to take a look."
"That wise, Charlie?" came Gus's voice from the driver's seat.
"It'll just be a peek, and he'll be in spirit form. No one will see him."
"Capital idea," Seth said. "Do it."
Gus grumbled something that I took as agreement, despite the tone. "I summon the spirit of Gerald Mason McIlroy," I said, calling up the name written on the dying patient's medical chart. Come to me, Gerald Mason McIlroy. I need your help."
The final words were hardly out of my mouth when the ghostly mist whooshed past Seth and came in through the open window. It stopped in the corner of the cabin and coalesced into the shape of the man I'd seen lying in the bed earlier, only without the gauntness of death.
"Blimey!" He laughed. "That was a lark." He glanced down at his misty form, then swirled around and around, like a dog chasing its tail, as if trying to see himself from different angles. He laughed again, but it was more of a wild cackle.
I braced myself as his gaze settled on me. While Andrew Buchanan wasn't mad, most other patients in Bedlam probably were. This could be an interesting discussion.
"Good evening." My voice startled Seth more than the spirit. "My name is Charlotte Holloway, and I summoned you here."
"Is that so?" McIlroy scooted along the seat, until he was directly opposite me, and leaned forward. He reached out to touch my face but his misty fingers sank into my skin. "Blimey!"
"I'm alive and you're dead," I said matter-of-factly. "Do you understand, Mr. McIlroy?"
"Perfectly. It's rather a shock, you know, being dead. I've been sent to a place known as the Waiting Area. Do you know what we do there, Miss Holloway? We wait." He leaned his chin on his hand and grinned. "Where do you think they send the mad ones? Heaven, Hell, or somewhere else?"
"Mr. McIlroy, I have an important task for you. A friend of mine has entered Bedlam—"
