Part Five

Jane had managed to count about a hundred gems before falling victim to the cold; her memory was affected first, as she noticed when she reached fifty and couldn't recall what came afterwards. The ongoing battle to keep her eyes open despite her eyelids feeling heavier than if they had two-ton weights Sellotaped to them got increasingly difficult, and the blow to the back of her head hadn't helped either. The dull aching made it more and more impossible to concentrate on what Marty had told her to do. She knew she'd be in trouble if she gave in, but the icy cold was like some kind of animal, playing with her, stalking her, waiting for a momentary lapse before attacking. White frost covered her entire body, a crystalline growth, alive and hungry for prey. She found herself wondering whether she'd turn into a human ice-block, and tried to stretch her limbs only to discover she couldn't move. The effort proved too much after another fifty gems, most of them rubies, she mused, and she slumped forward, the welcoming arms of velvet blackness awaiting her.

She was surrounded by liquid darkness, unable to move... it was strangely comforting, somehow, as though she'd always been here and was always meant to be. She saw nothing, felt nothing, heard nothing... indistinct shapes suddenly moved in the darkness, at once frightening and reassuring her. An inhuman sound permeated the darkness, a strange noise like a cross between running water and whispering voices, a language she could not determine.

Was she dead? Her thoughts wandered through the blackness, as though they were wading through tar. Jeff's gone...you're the only one, Jane...a line stuck and repeated itself in her mind over and over. It wasn't her voice that said it - it was...it was...she couldn't remember! Stay awake, Jane! Do you hear me? Awake! She had to - That was it! It was -

"Marty!" she gasped, surfacing from the sea of unconsciousness and sitting bolt upright, startling both Alan and Marty, who appeared alarmed.

Slowly, her eyes began to focus, and they rested upon the spectre standing anxiously over her. He flashed a worried look across at Alan, who returned it with a look that made Jane start to worry herself.

"What's going on? What's wrong?"

"Nothing...you're in hospital, that's all," replied Marty, although his eyes betrayed him. He wouldn't maintain eye contact, and shuffled from foot to foot nervously.

Puzzled, Jane looked around herself, and saw he was right; the sterile white and green interior, the ward half full of large metal framed beds, replete with hanging clipboards and patients in varying degrees of health and stages of sleep, either coming out of or dropping off, all synonymous with hospitals. Then there was that distinctive smell; a rather unsettling mixture of disinfectant, illness and a faint hint of fresh flowers; in this case, a large bunch of chrysanthemums sitting in a blue vase across the room next to a middle-aged woman who appeared to be in some sort of coma, various machines hooked up to her arms, bleeping regularly. Jane shuddered, involuntarily, then noticed she wasn't cold anymore; the biggest relief to date. Marty still looked uncomfortable. It was beginning to bother her.

"What's happened?" she prodded, looking to both Alan and the ghost.

"My body's been re-buried...the police caught those smugglers...smashed a huge racket, they said," offered Marty helpfully, but still looking like there was something nagging at the back of his mind, something he didn't want to tell her. She'd learnt a long time ago to look for that as a journalist. He did look better, though. The colour had come back to his face, and his eyes had regained their penetrative blue quality.

"No, to me. I fell asleep. What happened?"

Another long, uneasy gaze at his feet. Jane was losing her patience, and rolled her eyes to the heavens, to take in the strip lights that bleached the colour from the room. They wandered across to her left, her curiosity getting the better of her, but Marty moved across and blocked her line of sight before she could see past the machines that were a common feature in this room. She frowned at him, and leaned back to get a better look. Again Marty moved in front of her.

Jane narrowed her dark eyes at him. He appeared apologetic, which infuriated her all the more. She'd been up against tougher odds to get at a story.

"Move, will you! What's the problem? Who is it you don't want me to see?"

"It's nothing, really!" he insisted, but she knew he was lying, and he knew she knew too.

"Right, that's it!" she declared, and swung her legs off the bed, despite Marty's protests, and managed to get past him to end up at the foot of the neighbouring bed, Marty in close pursuit. Alan shook his head as he stood and followed.

"Jane!" called Marty, helpless to stop the inevitable.

Silence. A dead silence followed, as Jane stood motionless at the foot of the bed, staring in disbelief, shock and confusion at the person occupying it. Marty could do nothing but watch as her face went through them, standing right beside her, afraid of what was coming next. Trembling, she turned to face him, and whispered two words, not believing she was saying them.

"I'm...I'm dead!"

Marty shook his head vigorously, taking her clasped hands in his.

"No...no, you're not...you're..." he looked to Alan, struggling for the words.

"Your soul is wandering, Jane. It's uncertain, restless. It happens frequently...you're not dead, but you are in limbo," explained the medium, who received a strange glance from a passing nurse.

Jane tried to take it in, finding it extremely unsettling to be totally unseen by the nurse as she adjusted one of the tubes going into her bodily self's arms. She felt sick. Could ghosts throw up? Guess I'm going to find out soon enough, she thought, swallowing hard. She diverted her gaze downwards, and then realised with a mental jolt that Marty was touching her! His hands were tentatively placed over her own, gentle, reassuring. Looking back up at him, she managed a small smile through the tears that had managed to escape unchecked.

"It's going to be all right," he said, returning the smile, although, deep down, he wasn't certain. She had to want to live, to really want it. It was the only way.

"I can touch you..."

Jane's expression changed to one of fascination as she reached up to repeat what she'd done in the cold storage room. She didn't know why. She just did. Marty's gaze never wandered from her as she traced the side of his face, the sensation of her light touch causing his feelings to become even more mixed up than before. Her hand dropped to rest on his shoulder, and she turned once again to see herself, lying prone and unaware on the bed. She closed her eyes, briefly, trying to control her emotions.

"Martin..."

"What is it?" he asked, concern underlining his tone. She sounded so fragile; looked so vulnerable.

"I'm scared," she replied, her face crumpling.

She found herself holding him, burying her face in the white fabric. She needed something, someone, to hold on to. For the first time in a long while, she wasn't sure what to do or where to go. Marty encircled her in his arms, knowing full well that he was all she had right now.

Inside, he was trying to deny what he was feeling; his increasing protectiveness of her, not wanting the embrace to end. He'd realised in the cold storage room just how much he wanted to look after her, and he'd almost failed. Almost. Was it just his imagination? How could he believe what he was feeling? It was ridiculous, wasn't it? He'd loved and married Jeanie, and a few months ago fully believed he could never feel for anyone again. He was a ghost, wasn't he?

You're an old fool, Marty Hopkirk, he scorned himself. Pull yourself together. You're just confused.

Marty looked down at Jane, who, feeling his gaze on her, glanced up at him. No, he thought. He was right the first time. He'd fallen for her. She'd risked her life for him, for his sake. And if he wanted her to live, he could never tell her. It made him realise that it was possible to let go of the past, even though he was no longer alive. She had to live - she was so young, had so much to live for. He wasn't going anywhere.

"What is it?" she asked, seeing his face struggle to contain an unseen emotion.

To tell her now how he felt would be to risk everything. If she died, he'd never forgive himself. He'd gotten her into this mess; she wouldn't be here if it wasn't for him. He had to set the record straight, no matter what the cost.

"You have to live, Jane. For me."

Jane pulled back a little, to look at him.

"How?" she frowned, then sighed, "I'm not too sure I want to."

Marty looked alarmed.

"But you have to!"

"I don't 'have to' anything!" she retorted, mildly surprised at his insistence. There wasn't really anything to go back to. Jeff was gone; and she missed him badly. Right now Marty was the closest thing to a friend she had; and to go back would mean to be alone again. He looked shocked at her suggestion.

"But...you've got to! If you die, I'll never forgive myself! You're too young, Jane..." he trailed off, knowing just how short his own life had been. He loved her, but she wasn't thirty yet. There would be time enough - later. A lot later. "Live, please," he begged, "For Jeff!"

That struck a chord. Jane looked into the middle distance for a few moments. He was winning, although it broke his heart to do it.

"Jane, I was murdered. I didn't have a choice. You do. Life's too precious, too short. Please...live the life I never could. If you don't..." he feigned a stern look, "I'll never speak to you again."

She laughed despite herself, unaware of the turmoil going on in Marty's head. She sniffed, and wiped her face with the white sleeve of her hospital pyjamas.

"Hug me like that again and you could get yourself a deal," she grinned. The tension in Marty's shoulders left, and he returned the grin as she entangled himself in his arms once more, and he buried his face in her hair, briefly closing his eyes.

"So what do I do?" she asked, slightly muffled.

"You have to want to live. You have to focus on it. You've got to really want it, though," he answered, reluctant to break the hug. It had been so long since he'd touched anyone; it made it doubly difficult to let her go. "And Jane?"

She met his eyes, the enquiring look saying everything.

"What?"

"Thankyou. For everything."

She nodded, then, totally out of the blue, leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. He was so stunned he barely had time to react before she pulled away from him. She ruffled his hair, blushing slightly, as he went a shade somewhere between that of a Washington Red and a postbox.

"Why did you do that?" he asked. It had just made things even more difficult. She shrugged.

"Why not?" she replied.

Embarrassment forced him to look at his feet again. When he looked up again, she'd gone. The monitors next to her bed bleeped more regularly, signalling the increase in her pulse. Despite his relief at Jane's decision to live, he also felt as though he'd had a steel knife through his heart. Moving to stand beside her still motionless form, and making sure she was not awake, he allowed himself to utter the words in a whisper, inaudible to all but himself.

"I love you, Jane. Always."

He knew she wouldn't recall what had happened when she recovered; they never did. Something to do with the anasthesia. He looked around for Alan. He'd gone; presumably for some food. Still, Marty wouldn't exchange the experience for anything. He owed it to Jeff to look after her, and he would, no matter what she decided.

"It's turned out all right, then?"

"Alan! Yes, it did...well, actually..."

He just nodded.

"Well, it's like they say, isn't it," he said, "Love finds a way, and all that." He shoved his glasses up his nose as he shuffled across to put some flowers in the vase next to Jane's bed. Marty looked sad. Alan squinted at him.

"Do you think she'll keep your business going?"

"I doubt it. She's already got a job. A steady one. Pay's good. Why should she give it up?"

A muffled groan from Jane redirected Marty's attention. He bent over her like a mother hen. Jane opened her eyes to focus on him, an anxious expression dominating his features. Her mouth and throat were dry, and she swallowed a few times before speaking in a hoarse whisper.

"Martin?"

"Marty!" he corrected, with mock severity. She managed a tired smile, and turned to see Alan.

"What happened? All I remember was falling asleep in the cold storage room."

Marty had half-hoped, half dreaded she'd recall, but obviously she hadn't. Seating himself on the edge of the bed, he told her he'd been reburied, and felt a lot better now, and would she forgive him for being such a nuisance?

Jane laughed, as she sipped a glass of water Alan had poured for her.

"Course I do."

"When are you going back to Nottingham?" he asked. He had to know one way or the other.

"Well, when they let me out of here, I'm sorting out the office, just a few things left. Another two days maximum."

"I really appreciate what you did, Jane. Thanks."

She could tell he was disappointed that she wasn't staying, but she had responsibilities, a job, a home, all in Nottingham. All steady, good...but on the other hand, nothing really challenging. Jeff had always relished the challenge of solving the unsolvable. The following conversations blurred into insignificance as she thought. She thought of the past few days, of Marty Hopkirk, of her uncle. She shifted her position under the covers, and yawned, rather more loudly than she'd intended. A nurse on patrol glanced across and looked amazed as she came over.

"You're awake, well, that's excellent; the doctors weren't expecting you to come out of it for another day or so!" She began to remove the monitors and IV lines as Marty watched. He winked at Jane.

"See you tomorrow. Get some sleep!" he wagged a finger at her. She smiled, nodding as she did so. He disappeared, as did Alan a few moments later, and eventually the nurse too. Jane buried her face in the pillows, and hoped that this time, she wouldn't get rudely awoken at some unearthly hour of the morning.

A few moments later, and Jane Randall was carried away into the world where dreams become reality and the absurd becomes merged with sensibility.

* * * * * * * *

One week later

Marty appeared in the office to find Jane putting the last of several cardboard boxes onto what was Jeff's desk.

"Hello, Marty," she said, before looking up to see him.

"How did you know - "

Jane grinned at him, flicking a strand of dark brown hair from her eyes.

"My secret," she replied, turning her attention back to the brown boxes.

"Finished here, then?" he said, gesturing to them. She looked back to him sharply, a puzzled expression on her face.

"Finished?" she said. He'd been floating around somewhere for a couple of days, presumably under the impression she wanted to be alone. She'd appreciated the thought, but to be honest, she wanted someone other than herself to talk to. She was glad he'd turned up now, anyway. "Finished? I haven't even started yet!"

Marty was suitably confused.

"But...the office...you're going back to Nottingham..."

"Yes."

"So...what are you doing?" he put his hands on his hips as she pulled out a stanley knife from the desk drawer and started opening the first, largest box.

"I, Martin, am going to Nottingham. In three days I shall be back here, getting this computer online."

With a flurry of polystyrene chips, she pulled out a computer monitor from the box and set it on the desk. It looked out of place in the room, Marty mused. Jeff had never gotten the hang of technology and had stuck mainly to typewriters. Then it hit him.

"Wait a second... you're coming back? What for?"

Jane straightened her blue jumper, wiping her hands on her black jeans. She looked amused, and raised an eyebrow at him.

"Well, how else am I supposed to run a business and keep you out of mischief?"

His hands dropped to his sides in astonishment. He approached her, a tentative, lopsided smile starting to spread across his features. He couldn't believe it.

"You're taking over the business?"

"Jean let me buy out her share. I can still write for my paper - " she nodded towards the computer boxes, " - I can email my work. There's this nice little flat going not too far from here. No problem!" She knew he was going to be overjoyed, and she could see it in his eyes. It made her feel good.

Marty glanced at the door to the office, the glass pane bearing the legend 'Randall and Hopkirk (deceased),' and turned back to see his new partner. She'd inherited her uncle's tenacity, if nothing else. He could only think of one word to say, grinning all over his face, and setting Jane off into giggles.

"Fan-tastic!"

In Loving Memory
Marty Hopkirk, d. 1969
'Faithful unto death'

For Jayne, Melanie, Tim, Rob, and Nigel for their constant encouragement and nagging to get this finished, and for Kenneth Cope and Mike Pratt, for bringing the series to life... and afterlife! Hope you all enjoyed this tribute. Thanks everyone. Your help means a lot. 'Randall And Hopkirk (deceased),' 1969 - 1970. Marvellous!

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