Page 90
The lights in the room flicker, and I sense the presence of our ghostly friends. I had been wondering how long it might be until they made an appearance.
Nigel glances about, wild-eyed. “I-I don’t really know.”
Callum arches an eyebrow. “That’s strange. We spoke with someone who mentioned seeing you in the alley outside the club that night.”
A faint wind rustles through the room. I suspect it’s Big Mike’s doing.
Nigel’s face takes on a sickly cast and his voice breaks. “W-what?”
“Like I said, someone saw you in the alley that night. What were you doing there?”
“No, I-I wasn’t,” he stammers, darting his gaze around as if trying to figure out an escape route.
The temperature in the room plummets and the lights start to flicker violently.
“What is this?” Nigel’s eyes go wide with terror.
Callum keeps going. “We also spoke with Gloria Tate, one of the women who managed to escape. She mentioned a young boy around the age you were at the time who appeared out of nowhere and helped her out of the building. How do you account for that?”
Poor Nigel looks about ready to pass out.
“Why don’t you tell us what happened, honey? You’ve probably been wanting to get this off your chest for a long time, haven’t you?” I offer encouragingly.
“Did your uncle start the fire?” Callum demands.
Nigel makes a noise reminiscent of a wounded animal and slumps forward, face in his hands. “The fire was an accident. The investigator ruled it an accident.” He repeats those words like they’re a lifeline.
“I’m sorry to inform you that the old finding is now in question,” Callum says bluntly.
“What?” He lifts his head, face full of shock.
“We’ve already spoken with higher-ups at both the Met and the London Fire Brigade. It seems the arson investigator for that case has recently come under scrutiny for corrupt behavior during his tenure, including taking bribes. They’re going to reexamine all of his former investigations and reopen any deemed suspicious or faulty in any way.”
A look of sheer panic washes over Nigel, and he jumps to his feet. “I have to leave.”
He hurries to the door but it slams shut in his face, and no matter how hard he yanks on it, he can’t get it to open.
The lights flicker again and then go out.
“What the hell is happening?” he screams.
Big Mike approaches me, and that’s my cue.
I nod my head in consent and allow him to take the wheel, as it were.
“Owen, my boy,” his deep voice says through my body. “It’s Big Mike. I saw you that night, skulking about in the alley. Why were you there, lad? You never used to come to the club at night, let alone after hours.”
Nigel backs away from me, stumbling. “Who the hell are you?”
Big Mike leaves, and I allow Peter to take his place. His voice comes out soft and sad. “We tried to get out of the basement, son, but the door wouldn’t open. Why didn’t you help us?”
Nigel retreats back into the wall and crumples to the ground, trying to put his hands over his ears to block out the sound.
“You’re not real,” he cries. “You’re dead.”
Jonathan then takes over, full of righteous anger. “We’ve been stuck here for over fifty years, you bastard! Tell us what happened. Why did we have to die?” The rage and sorrow in his voice is palpable, and my heart once more aches for him and the others.
Nigel starts to cry, running his hands through his thinning hair. “It wasn’t my fault. Uncle Reggie’s the one who planted the incendiaries. I was only responsible for setting them alight after the club closed. I never meant to hurt anyone. I thought the place was empty.”
