Randall & Hopkirk (deceased)Requiescat In Pace
Written by N. Kelly
Part Two
Marty's natural first reaction was to shout at the three men desecrating his resting place. He did so with vehemence, in the vain hope that one of them might hear him.
"Graverobbers! What do you think you're doing?" he yelled, "That's my body you're digging up! You can't do that!"
Frustration replaced his anger as the men carried on digging, the headlights of a Transit van illuminating the site. Suddenly there was a dull thud as a spade hit the coffin, prompting Marty to panic.
"Stop that! Leave me alone! Who do you think you are?!"
He lunged for one of them in desperation, only to go right through him. It served only to amplify his annoyance, both at the three men who were rapidly shoveling the dirt out from his grave, and at himself for being so helpless.
Get Jane! the voice in his head yelled, but Marty resisted, knowing it would be impossible to get her to come here in the dead of night. She had made it quite clear she didn't want to be disturbed. But she's the only hope you've got!
One of the men started attaching rope to the handles of the now uncovered coffin, and, as the rope tightened with their efforts to pull it up, Marty could feel a wrench in both gut and mind. That was the last straw for Marty Hopkirk.
"You vandals! I'll have you, you wait!"
And he disappeared to find Jane.
* * * * * * * *
Jane Randall was having a dream about a much needed holiday in the Bahamas when suddenly the image faded and she was gripped by a panic of the like she had never experienced before.
So cold...so frightened...Help me!
She gasped and sat bolt upright, shaking. Turning on her bedside lamp, she slowed her rapid breathing and glanced at her clock. It read 2:01a.m. Shaking her head, Jane tried to gather her wits about her, then reached for her dressing gown which was at the foot of the bed.
"Jane!"
Startled, she clutched the dressing gown to her chest and looked round frantically in search of the owner's voice so she could throw something large and heavy in his direction. She was not pleased to discover it was Marty Hopkirk, standing at the door to the bedroom. Narrowing sleep-ridden eyes, she stabbed a warning finger at his white form.
"Martin, I warned you what'd happen if you disturbed me! I refuse to regret the consequences of my actions!" She moved to lunge at him, but he disappeared only to reappear practically under her nose at the foot of the bed. She recoiled from him, a dangerous expression on her flushed face.
"Jane, listen to me!"
"No! It's two in the morning, my brain doesn't switch on till at least seven, take the hint!" Jane lay back in bed, burying her head under the covers. Marty dashed round the bed and crouched down to her level.
"They're taking my body, Jane, please, you've got to help me!"
"Yeah right. I told you - " her voice was muffled from underneath the duvet, "Wait a second," she pulled back a corner of the quilt to look at Marty, who was clearly in distress. "Who is?"
"Three men, Jane! They're digging up my coffin! Please!"
"What, now?" she peered at him, frowning, bleary-eyed.
He rolled his eyes in disbelief.
"Well they're not going to do it in broad daylight, are they? Hurry, they're going to take me away!" He became frantic as Jane moaned in protest.
"Can't it wait?"
"Wait? Wait?! No it can't! I've never seen them before, and I don't know what they're going to do with me! Please!" he begged.
He won. She threw back the covers to waist level, then heaved a sigh of defeat. She sat up, and looked pointedly at him, waiting. Marty, who had been kneeling next to her, took several seconds to realise she was waiting for him to leave.
"Oh, sorry," he said, disappearing. "Why am I doing this to myself?" Jane muttered, getting up and reaching for some clothes, "Why me? Of all the people in the world this could happen to, it happens to me. Thanks a bunch, God," she shook her fist at the ceiling.
Jane continued to curse as she pulled on a pair of blue jeans and threw on a dark jumper. Opening the bedroom door, she switched on the lights in the main room to see Marty pacing up and down in a highly agitated state. He halted on seeing Jane, then approached her, urgency in his voice.
"Come on, then!"
Grabbing her coat and her car keys, she gave the ghost a menacing look.
"This had better be good, Hopkirk!" she declared, opening the room door.
"Please, hurry! It's not far, come on!"
He vanished, presumably to her car. Jane could feel, at the back of her mind, the gutwrenching fear that had woken her up getting stronger. She felt slightly ill, but headed downstairs as fast as she could. Why would anyone want to take Marty's body? He'd said that he'd never seen them before, so they couldn't be people he'd investigated with Jeff; they'd have done it a long time ago. Or had they been waiting for Jeff to die? Would they take him too?
The questions raced through her head as she left the hotel, and ran to her car. Sure enough, Marty was waiting, hardly able to keep still with worry.
"I'm going as fast as I can, give me a break!" she said, knowing what he was going to say. He reappeared in the Escort, as Jane got in. She blew on her cold hands and drew the seatbelt across herself.
"Come on!" Marty urged.
"You're so bloody fast, why don't you go back and keep them from driving off? I know where the cemetery is, just make a noise so I can find you when I get there!"
He looked at her, and blinked. Jane started the car, the feeling of nausea still present. "Go on!" she hissed, backing out of the parking space, tyres screeching. He disappeared, leaving Jane to wonder if this was all just a horrid nightmare and any minute now she'd wake up in bed in a cold sweat. She sped through a red light on the way, stretching her car's engine. She desperately hoped a police car wouldn't appear; how could she explain that someone was trying to steal a long-dead corpse that had been her uncle's best friend?
A horn blared as she narrowly avoided a hackney carriage coming across a junction that she hurtled past. Wincing, she chewed her bottom lip and shoved the car into second. Please let this be a dream, she thought, coming to a halt outside the cemetery walls. She locked her car and leapt up onto the wall, pulling herself over. Her slight, athletic frame was well practised, and she landed with a soft thud on the other side. Now to find Marty.
"This way!"
Jane looked up, her eyes adjusting to the dark, to see Marty standing not more than six yards away. She picked her way through the headstones towards him.
"I'm coming, keep your hair on!"
She followed him for what seemed to be an eternity, until eventually Marty motioned for her to be quiet. Jane could hear the men now, and after changing her position, could see their forms as they heaved Marty's coffin away from the grave. She hid behind an oak tree, straining her eyes to cope with the dark.
"Oh my God..." she breathed, shocked. Marty stood out in the open, looking decidedly unwell. He turned to her, his face the picture of desperation.
"Help me!"
"Martin," she whispered, "I can't! There's three of them, and only one of me! I'm not armed, either, I can't just go running in there! The only thing I can do is follow them and see where they go."
The feeling of displacement he had felt in the bar came back now, strongly, his mind crying out a demand to know what was happening to his body. He sagged, shaking, against the tree. Jane's attention refocused on him, and her initial feelings of annoyance at him for dragging her out of bed faded, to be replaced by concern.
"Martin? Are you alright?" She instinctively reached for his arm, then realised it would just go through him.
"Oooh, I feel terrible, Jane... so... lost..."
The sound of a vehicle starting up distracted Jane. She looked round to see a large Transit reverse and drive to the main gates about thirty yards away. One of the men walked alongside, then opened the gates, shutting them again as it drove through. While this was happening, Jane crept silently to the road that ran through the graveyard as close to the gates as she dared, keeping low. Squinting, she managed to just about read the number plate before it began to pull away from the now closed gate. Her job as a journalist back in Nottingham had honed her memory for information.
"Come on, then!" Marty shouted, making Jane cringe. Despite the fact nobody could hear him, the sudden noise still made her feel someone, somewhere could; and she hissed at him to keep it down.
"I'm coming! Keep your hair on!" she growled, standing and pressing the button on her watch to see the time. Two-twenty a.m. "Follow them, will you? I'll try and keep up!"
He nodded slowly, she noticed and disappeared. The possibility that they might return and take Jeff's coffin in the same way angered Jane, and she set her jaw as she hurried back to the wall she'd originally come over. Marty reappeared beside her just as she was about to climb up, scaring the living daylights out of her. She took a deep breath to calm herself.
"Will you stop doing that?"
"I had to get back somehow!" he protested, "I'm having difficulty finding you. I can't..." he struggled for the right words, "...home in on you as such. I think I'm in trouble, Jane, it took me three attempts to get it right!"
"And you've never had this problem before?" she frowned at Marty, who shook his head.
"I feel awful, too. I've felt ill, but not like this...displacement...I'm feeling now."
"What about the van? Did you follow them?"
"They were heading in the general direction of some old warehouses I know of; but I can't be sure."
"Why not?"
"I couldn't focus! I tried, but I only ended up in the same place after they'd gone about half a mile I tried, I really did!"
Jane sighed and pulled herself over the wall. Marty vanished again, hoping he'd rematerialise the other side. He didn't.
"Jane? Oh, drat it, I've done it again!" Placing his hands on his hips in annoyance, he looked round at the room he was in. It appeared to be a medium's 'studio', replete with atmospheric lighting, crystal ball and large, round table covered with a red and gold patterned paisley cloth. Four mahogany chairs surrounded the table. There was nobody around, however; it was well after two-thirty a.m.
Focus, Marty, he told himself, screwing his eyes closed, Think hard...
He opened them to see Jane about to open her car.
"Oh, there you are! What happened this time?"
"I ended up in this medium's room. It must be the psychic vibrations. They're stronger than yours," he explained, as she got into the car.
"Come on. Get in. And try not to disappear for too long this time!"
Concentrating, Marty managed to reappear inside the car first time. He sighed with relief, but then felt a wave of fatigue wash over him. Jane tugged her seatbelt across her, snapping it into place, and started the car. She turned to him, and saw the spectre's weary expression as he leaned back in the seat.
"Alright?"
"Yes...but the feeling...I had to think really hard that time, and I feel so tired now. I'm worried, Jane, this never happens!"
She narrowed her eyes as she thought, pulling out slowly.
"Vibrations, you said. Psychic vibrations? They help you to 'find' me?"
He inclined his head. "And this medium's were really strong?"
"Must have been. I appeared there twice. I didn't actually see who it was. The energy was concentrated in this one room."
Jane pulled to a stop at a traffic light, pondering the possibilities.
"I've got the registration number; but it's going to sound a pretty daft story to the police. I mean, how do I explain I was in the graveyard when it happened? At two in the morning?" After a pause, she said, "If you're having trouble finding me, though... could you show me this place you appeared in?"
"I think so. Hang on."
He vanished, to reappear after a few seconds. "Down here," he said, pointing left, "It's not far. That's probably why I found you straight after appearing there."
The lights at last turned green, and the Escort moved off, taking three more turnings before Marty called a halt outside an Edwardian terraced house. He pointed to the house's bay window, which had heavy drapes pulled to.
"That's it."
Jane shivered as she turned off the car's engine, and yawned, glancing briefly at the luminous clock display set in the car's dashboard. She undid her seatbelt, then moved past Marty to the back seat. He went to protest, but she saw him and got in first.
"No! It's almost three in the morning!" she stabbed a finger at the clock, "Even mediums need to sleep! Wake me at eight and I'll consider going in there. Until then, you can do whatever you like, just don't get lost!"
She effectively silenced the apparition, and was about to turn away, but then realised her lack of sleep was overtaking her better judgement; and poked her head between the front seats to recapture his attention. He looks ill, she thought. Even his normally startlingly blue eyes seemed off-colour.
"Look, Martin, I'm sorry this has happened. I will help you; but remember I’ve never done detective work in my life, so I'm going to need you to help me. OK?"
He nodded, managing a brief smile, which was returned. Jane pulled back from seats and lay down, her arm over her face. "Goodnight, Martin."
Marty went to correct her again, but thought better of it.
"Goodnight, Jane."
With that, he folded his arms, sighed, and stared out of the car window, his thoughts a million miles away; tainted with grief and pain.
* * * * * * * * * *
"Jane, it's eight-thirty!"
Jane mumbled something unintelligible and turned away from Marty, burying her face in the back seat. He tried again. "Come on, Jane, we've got work to do!"
"Mmmnnww Marfy immbizzy," came the muffled reply.
He called her again. Jane was beginning to surface from the depths of her deep sleep, and could hear a male voice in her ear, coaxing her awake. She didn't feel much like getting up right now, though, and tried to tell him so, only for the words to come out garbled. I guess this means I have to wake up, she thought, groaning inwardly. Opening tired brown eyes, she thought for a few disorientating moments that she'd gone cross-eyed; until she realised she was in the back of her car staring at the seat cover, which was a small grey and blue check pattern. She decided not to make a habit of this.
"Are you going to get up today? Jane - "
"All right, already!"
She turned over gradually to see Marty's face between the front seats. He still didn't look too good, she noticed. "All right, I'm up. Happy?"
Carefully, Jane stretched, feeling some of her joints click as she did so. A stiff neck made her wince as she sat up, running her hands through her mussed wavy hair. She dreaded to think what she looked like, so deliberately didn't look in the rear-view mirror; pulling her creased clothes back into place. Marty appeared satisfied, and winked out, to rematerialise outside the medium's front door. He gesticulated wildly with his hands.
"Come on!" he urged.
Blinking in the bright daylight, Jane squinted at the bay window of the red brick house. Dark red velvet drapes were drawn across, providing a background for the white lettering painted on the glass which read, 'Alan Michaels, Professional Medium' in a large arc. In straight lines underneath, it said, 'Relatives Contacted, Messages Relayed.'
Scrambling out of the Ford, Jane stretched again, rubbed her eyes, and ignored the odd looks from passersby. There's another thing I'll have to get used to, she thought, closing the car door and fishing her keys out of her jeans pocket. So that's what had made her so uncomfortable, she realised. They'd been digging into her as she slept. Suddenly, something occurred to her, and she turned round to face Marty with a puzzled expression on her face.
"Hang on. Just what am I doing? What am I going to say, 'Oh excuse me, this here ghost's had his body pinched, can you help us find it?'"
"Jane, that's not it, the point is, I can home in on this place better than I can you. He'd be a kind of psychic anchor point."
"So, what am I supposed to do, drag this medium round with me? Just how do I get him to agree to that?"
She lowered her voice to a hiss as two pensioners walked past. One of them nodded a greeting at Jane, and then at Marty, who blinked in astonishment, but waved anyway. Jane glanced at him, and he shrugged a response, unable to elaborate.
"OK, let's think logically, since your way isn't working. These men you saw digging up your grave you've never seen them before?"
"No." Marty was adamant.
"You're sure you didn't have them busted some time ago? Maybe they're friends of someone you or Jeff got put inside."
"It's a possibility, but I doubt it."
"Was yours the only grave exhumed?"
Marty fell silent at this, trying to recall. Jane shook her head.
"Oh, Martin, you're useless!"
Immediately the ghost went on the defensive, and glared at her.
"I was busy having my body exhumed, if you don't mind! It's hard to concentrate on other things when your body's being carted off!" He folded his arms in annoyance.
"Well, if it's not personal, the logical conclusion must be they have an operation of some sort going on. Which means they'll be back there again; and we can go and look around these old warehouses while they're out and hopefully get you back where you belong."
"Which is where the psychic comes in," Marty cut in, "If we want to get the area covered fast, I'll need him to be with you so I can have a reference point to snoop around."
"At last!" she declared, drawing the attention of a passing motorcyclist, who was on the receiving end of a particularly angry glare in return. Suddenly, the two heard a clicking sound from the house, and turned to see the door to the medium's house open to reveal a short, balding, middle-aged man wearing thick-rimmed glasses.
"Ah, I've been expecting you. I was wondering why you were waiting so long outside."
Jane's gaze drifted to the windows. The curtains looked heavy, but it would have been easy enough to watch her through them. Marty egged her on. She gave him a hard stare, then came back into eye contact with the medium, who appeared concerned.
"I must say the vibrations I'm getting don't auger too well for your friend...come in, please, and tell me about it."
With this, he turned and shuffled off inside. Marty blinked; Jane, stunned, said nothing, but followed the medium in. The apparition came to his senses and disappeared, to reappear inside the room he'd come to last night. He looked round, the daylight making it easier to distinguish details, and noticed a large number of black and white photographs on one wall opposite the fireplace. They varied in size, but appeared a bit out of focus, so he moved to get a better look. His brow creased as he realised they were all way out of focus...
"Interesting, aren't they? I took them all myself," came a voice from the doorway.
Marty turned to see the medium, who appeared to be addressing the hat stand in the corner. Turning back to the photographs, Marty realised just why they were all blurry, and had a bad feeling. Jane, following Alan Michaels in, shot an enquiring glance in Marty's direction, receiving a helpless shrug from him.
"I see everything," continued the medium, as he moved to the table, falling over a small pouffe in the process. Picking up his glasses, he wiped them with a handkerchief and put them back on, squinting at Jane. "Please feel free to call me Alan."
Jane looked despairingly at Marty, who just folded his arms and bit his tongue. He wasn't about to say anything, in case he could hear him too. Even if his perception wasn't spot-on. At Alan's invitation, Jane sat down at the table, Alan sitting opposite.
"Now, what exactly is the problem?"
She looked again at Marty, as if for prompting. He sat down next to her at the table, clasping his hands on the top and fidgeting with his thumbs, until he realised she was expecting him to start off.
"Go on, Martin."
"Well, it's hard to explain..."
"Some men dug up his grave last night and exhumed his coffin," Jane cut in, not in the mood for Marty's dithering. "He says he doesn't know who they were, or why they did it, but he's having trouble...well, finding me. He - "
" - I don't feel very well," Marty glared at Jane, "I feel displaced; I keep getting this feeling..." He trailed off, his gaze becoming distant as the nausea returned.
"And we were wondering if you could help," she finished.
"Your name...?" asked the medium.
"Mine's Jane. Jane Randall. He's - "
"Marty Hopkirk," interjected the spectre, before she could say it for him.
Alan nodded, his attention redirected to Marty.
Jane could feel her stomach complaining, and briefly wondered if the hotel had started serving breakfast yet. Alan continued talking to the ghost.
"And what would you like me to do? I must admit, your vibrations are a little off-colour. You say you're having trouble finding her?"
"My name is Jane," muttered Jane, slightly annoyed. Marty ignored her.
"I can't seem to home in on her. Her vibrations are pretty good, but I just ended up here."
Jane drummed her fingers on the table, and rested her head on her fist.
"Are we going to get to the plan soon, or are you going to sit there talking about me like I'm not here?"
"Now you know what it's like!" replied the ghost, refusing to look directly at her, his jaw set. Alan watched, interested.
"Oh come on, Martin!"
"That's Marty, M-A-R-T-Y, Marty!" Angry, he stood up, fists clenched. Jane stood too, staring right back at him, eyes dark and defiant.
"Yes, it's short for Martin!" she replied, jabbing a finger at him. "You know your problem? You're too tetchy!"
"I'm tetchy?" Marty retorted in disbelief, "You're the..."
He trailed off, as he heard the sound of a hearty chuckle coming from across the room. It was Alan. The two turned to see him.
"You should hear what the others are saying about you two - the old man next to me says you sound like a married couple!" he chortled.
Jane's anger subsided, as Marty appeared insulted at the suggestion and sat back down, folding his arms tight and crossing his legs, a dark expression on his face. It disappeared, however, when he saw there were more people in the room than he'd originally thought.
"What...?" he gasped, gazing round himself. Jane, who was still standing, could see no one but Marty and the medium.
"I can't see anyone," she said, confused.
"Of course not. But Marty here can."
"Then he's not the only ghost here?"
"He's not the only one with problems, Jane."
Marty was looking round the room at the other apparitions. They varied greatly in age, the youngest looking about twenty-eight. They were talking amongst themselves and to Alan, who was nodding occasionally in response. He glanced at Jane, who was a little worried to discover that they were not alone, even if she could not see or hear them. She sat back down, slowly, resting her hands in her lap nervously.
"Why can't Jane see them?" Marty asked Alan.
"Because of her psychic vibrations. She's more attuned to yours than anyone else's."
Nodding comprehension, he heard a familiar voice to his right, and turned to see a silver-haired, dignified lady in her late eighties. He recognised her instantly.
"Aunt Clara!" he exclaimed, a smile brightening his features.
"How are you, dear?" she asked, smiling in return.
"Erm... dead, Aunty."
His aunt gestured to Jane, who was a little freaked by Marty's apparent conversation with thin air.
"She's a feisty one, isn't she? She'd be good for you, Marty."
Marty looked incredulous.
"Aunty, I'm dead! I don't think that'll get our relationship off to a good start, somehow!"
Jane heard his reply, and turned to her right.
"Excuse me?"
"Nothing," Marty said, all innocence. Turning back to his aunt, he lowered his voice. "Aunty, the mere fact that I'm dead does make forming relationships difficult. Besides, she hates me!"
"That's what they want you to think, Marty dear," she replied, "You never were very good at interpreting a woman's real message..."
"Of course I don't hate you!" came Jane's indignant reply, "I just think you're a bit...annoying, that's all."
Marty swivelled to come into direct eye contact with her, but Jane turned her head at the last second. She was finding the whole business rather uncomfortable, to say the least.
"I don't know, young Marty, anything's possible - "
"One more word, Aunty! Can we leave the subject, please?" he begged. She straightened and sniffed haughtily, her way of ending a conversation.
"Can we get back to what we were working up to?" Jane asked him, still a little self-conscious of the fact that there may be other people present she couldn't see. Alan nodded, and spoke.
"Marty Hopkirk is not the first to have had his coffin removed. There are several others, all from the same cemetery, who have no living relatives. Some of those spirits affected by the desecration of their resting-place have passed into limbo already; tortured, lost souls doomed to remain there until they have been restored. Of course, by the next day, the graves have been refilled and made to look as if nothing had happened. No doubt, Marty's grave will be restored to its former appearance by this morning."
The thought of being trapped in limbo sent a chill right through Marty. Jane could feel it too, and drew in her breath sharply, goose pimples coming out on her arms.
"So, they either have someone working for them as a groundsman or one of them has 'replaced' the proper groundsman," Jane thought aloud, her journalist instincts coming to the surface.
"What were you going to suggest?" asked the medium, "If we are to help you, Marty, it will have to be soon. Your aura is degrading fast. I estimate we have maybe three days at most before it is too late."
Jane saw the apparition's face go almost as pale as his white suit.
"Marty told me last night that they were heading towards some old warehouses he knows of. I was going to suggest we go and check them out, carefully, tonight. Of course, he's having difficulty finding me, so you could act as a kind of psychic anchor point while he's looking round. He'd be able to find me quickly then if they come back."
It came out so fast she wondered if he'd caught it all. There was a pause as the medium pondered this idea.
"Very well. I will assist you. Hopkirk...Randall...the names sound familiar but I can't seem to place them."
"Private investigators," offered Marty, helpfully.
"Ah, yes, that's it. I saw the newspaper articles. But...I must say, wasn't Randall a man?"
"Jeff was my uncle. I came here to wrap up the business and I got him instead," she gestured to the ghost with a thumb in his direction.
"I was Jeff's partner. I was haunting him...until he died."
"That would explain the transference," replied Alan. Marty looked puzzled.
"Transference?" Jane frowned, stumped. Alan elaborated for them both.
"It follows that if Marty here was haunting your uncle, that upon his death he would transfer to the next of kin, in this case, yourself."
Jane sat in silence, contemplating this. It had confirmed Marty's suspicions, at least, but it didn't make it any easier for him. A voice cut through his train of thought, effectively de-railing it.
"You know, your aunt's got a point," said the ghost, a young man standing near Alan, opposite Jane, "She's not unattractive - "
He was cut short by a steely blue glare from Marty.
"I don't want to hear one more word about it!" he growled, startling Jane and making the other spectres vanish, leaving them alone at last.
"About what?" Jane asked, astonished by Marty's sudden aggression. He shook his head dismissively. She eyed him suspiciously, but continued telling Alan the plan for tonight. She would arrive at about 10pm and proceed to the warehouses, where Marty would help search them. With any luck, his hunch would prove correct and they could inform the police. What really made Jane curious, however, was why they were stealing long-dead corpses. It had great story potential, if the details weren't classified...
After bidding goodbye to Alan, Marty followed Jane outside, ignoring the queasy feeling knotting his stomach. Jane blinked in the morning light, getting her keys from her coat pocket.
"Well?".
"Well what?".
"Where are you going now?" prompted Marty. Jane unlocked the car, de-activating the alarm, and glanced at him.
"The hotel, for some breakfast and a change of clothes, then the office. Why, you planning on something else? A holiday, perhaps?"
The sarcasm derived more from being intimidated in that room than from Marty's unusual behaviour. She got into the Ford as she said it. Noticing his inaction, she looked at him expectantly, waiting for a response. "Are you accompanying me, or do you have somewhere more exciting to be?" she prodded.
"No...it's all right," he said, not taking the bait. Concentrating hard, he managed to get himself into the passenger seat. Satisfied, Jane started the car and headed for the Angel Hotel.
End of Part Two
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