Enter the Dead: A Supernatural Thriller (11 page)

‘Where
am I?’

‘York Hospital.’

‘What? How-’

‘Don’t try to get up,
Mr Railton. You need to rest.’

‘But…what happened? Why
am I here?’

‘You were attacked this
morning at York train station. You were brought here by ambulance and admitted
at 12.15pm, approximately four hours ago.’

‘Four hours?’

‘Afraid so. You were in
quite a state when you arrived. We’ve given you some painkillers and patched
you up as best we can, however I’m afraid you’ll be a guest of ours for some
time yet. My name is Doctor Graham. I’ll be in charge of your care until you’re
discharged.’

‘My chest…what’s wrong
with me? Why am I in so much pain?’

‘You’ve a small crack
in one of your ribs, hence why you need to lie back and keep still. You’re also
suffering from moderate concussion and bruising to the head. There’s also some damage
to your back and thighs, but that’s mostly superficial.’

‘My lips…they feel
bloated. And why is there this huge lump on my forehead?’

‘That’s just the
swelling; it’ll settle down in a day or two. Fortunately there doesn’t appear
to be anything seriously wrong with you. All the same, we’ll need to keep an
eye on you until you’re well enough to go home.’

‘I live in London; I
can’t stay all the way up here. I need to see my family.’

‘Yes, we’re aware of
that. One of the nurses has telephoned your wife and told her what’s happened.’

‘Sarah? You’ve spoken
to Sarah?’

‘Yes. The good news is
she’s coming up to see you, but not until tomorrow morning.’

‘Why tomorrow? Why
can’t I see her sooner?’

‘Doctor’s orders. You
need to rest, Mr Railton. You’ve been heavily medicated to ease the pain, and
pretty soon you’ll be out like a light again. Trust me; it’ll be better for
both you and your wife if you have a good night’s sleep.’

‘If you’re sure-’

‘I’m positive. Now, if
you don’t mind I’m needed elsewhere. I’ll check on you later before I leave. In
the meantime, press this buzzer if you need anything and a nurse will be with
you as soon as possible. You’re a lucky man, Mr Railton. It could have been a
lot worse.’

‘I don’t feel
particularly lucky.’

‘Sshh…rest now.
There’ll be somebody coming from North Yorkshire Police tomorrow morning. You’ll
be able to give a full statement then, okay?’

‘Okay.’

‘Good. Just one further
question before I go. One of the nurses told me that you kept saying the name
Lucy
in your sleep. Obviously that’s not your wife’s name, and our records show you
don’t have a daughter. Is there a Lucy you need us to contact for you? The
nurse said you appeared rather anxious whenever you mentioned her, so I
thought-’

‘I don’t know anyone
called Lucy,’ Sam said, cutting the doctor off and closing his eyes. ‘I don’t
know who you mean.’

‘Very well. I thought
I’d better ask in case you needed to speak to her. Get some rest, Mr Railton.’

‘Good
morning, Mr Railton. I trust you slept well?’

‘Huh? Oh…yes, not too
bad.’

‘Good. Someone will be along
with your breakfast any time now. You’ll feel much better with some proper food
inside you.’

Sam looked up at the
badge on the man’s uniform.
Dr H Graham – Consultant
. ‘What does the
H
stand for?’ he asked, relieved to be feeling marginally better than yesterday.
A pretty Filipino nurse stood next to the doctor, her jet-black hair drawn
tightly back into a neat bun. She didn’t look away when Sam stared directly at
her, evidently used to unwanted attention from her male patients.

‘Henry,’ replied Dr
Graham. ‘It stands for Henry. It should actually read
Dr H T Graham
, but
apparently they forgot to print the
T
onto the badge.

Sam didn’t ask what the
T
stood for, reckoning that Dr Graham would have told him had he so
wished.

‘So,’ Dr Graham said,
finished with the small-talk. ‘How are we feeling today?’

‘Sore. It hurts every
time I try to move. And the inside of my head is pounding like a jackhammer.’

‘That’s to be expected.
It’s similar to waking up the morning after a bout of strenuous exercise: your
muscles ache as they work overtime to repair themselves. Bruising’s no
different, I’m afraid. And we’ve replaced the Morphine with Tramadol, as you
can expect to feel uncomfortable for a few days yet. The good news is that your
vital signs are all more or less where they ought to be, so no matter how much
discomfort you are in, you needn’t worry. You’ll be relieved to know that your
organs are in perfectly good shape.’

‘It doesn’t feel like
it.’

‘All the same, you’re
on the mend and that’s all that matters. Now, are you ready for your first
visitor?’

‘Eh? Is Sarah here
already?’

‘No, not Sarah. There’s
a Sergeant Calloway from North Yorkshire Police here to see you. He wants to
ask you a few questions about yesterday. He’s promised me that he won’t pester you
for too long.’

‘Can’t it wait? I just
want to rest.’

‘Apparently not. He
wanted to see you yesterday but I informed him that you weren’t ready for
visitors. Anyway, he’s been waiting patiently in the corridor for the past
thirty minutes, so if you don’t mind…’

‘Fine. Send him in.’

Doctor Graham nodded
and glanced at the nurse, who returned the gesture and headed out into the
corridor to fetch the police officer. She returned ten seconds later
accompanied by a short, stocky man in a pristine uniform. As they neared the
bed, the officer removed his helmet as if he were about to pay his last
respects to someone, and for a second the thought crossed Sam’s mind that maybe
this was all a sick dream and maybe he wasn’t in hospital at all. Maybe he was
dead or trapped in some kind of living nightmare. He might have been physically
injured, but his memory of what happened to him yesterday morning on that
bridge was as fresh in his mind as a cool glass of gin and tonic; especially
that gut-wrenching feeling he’d had of some unnatural
thing
being forced
down his throat into his stomach. Not that he was willing to share the details
with the man approaching him. How could he? Being a patient in this place was
bad enough, but surely it was preferable to spending time locked up in a mental
asylum.

‘Sam,’ Dr Graham said, making
the introductions. ‘This is Sergeant Calloway from North Yorkshire Police. Sergeant
Calloway, this is Mr Sam Railton. He’s ready to try and help you with your
investigation. If you don’t mind, Nurse Sanchez and I need to proceed with our
ward round. We’ll draw the curtain so you can have some privacy.’

When the two men were
alone, Sergeant Calloway grinned at Sam and motioned with his hand to a chair
next to the bed. ‘May I?’

‘Be my guest.’

‘Thanks.’ He sat down
and withdrew a small notepad and pen from his jacket pocket. ‘Doctor Graham
tells me you’re on the mend.’

‘He told me that too,
although I’m not sure I believe him. My head feels like it wants to explode.’

‘Give it time.’

‘Do I have a choice?’

Sergeant Calloway ignored
the sarcasm. When it came to engaging in small-talk, he was almost as
incompetent as Doctor Graham. ‘I need to ask you a few questions about
yesterday. I’ll try to be as brief as possible. Do you have any objections?’

‘No, although to be
honest I can’t really remember what happened. It all seems so hazy.’

‘Well, fortunately I
have some information which should help jog your memory.’

‘Really? What
information? I didn’t see anyb-’

‘Let’s start at the
beginning, shall we? Can you talk me through everything that happened, from the
moment you boarded the train to the moment you woke up in this place. And don’t
leave anything out. It’s often the minor details that are the most important.’

Sam’s mind raced as he
desperately thought of what to say. How could he tell Calloway about what happened
on the bridge? How could he tell the truth when even he didn’t know what the
truth really was? He knew full well that what he
thought
he heard yesterday
couldn’t have been real. He wasn’t that stupid. He’d had time to think about it
overnight and had convinced himself that hearing his dead sister’s voice and
seeing that dark figure standing by his father’s grave were due entirely to the
stress he’d been under since seeing Sarah and Tom walking out of that hotel
together. What else could explain how an otherwise rational man could lose his
mind almost overnight and start seeing and hearing things? He was in shock, plain
and simple. Shock, depression, anger: understandable emotions given the
circumstances.

‘I was travelling back
home to London, whe-’

‘Where were you
travelling from?’

‘Durham. My mother
lives near there. I was visiting her.’

‘Okay. Go on.’

‘As I was saying, I was
on my way to London. To begin with, my carriage was practically empty; the only
person near me was an old woman sat across the aisle. That all changed when we
got to Darlington. We were joined by a rowdy group of football fans, most of
whom were either drunk or well on their way. I didn’t think too much of it
until one of the group – he couldn’t have been more than fourteen or fifteen
years old – started showing off in front of his mates by hurling insults at
both me and the old woman. I guess he was trying to wind us up. Anyway, the old
woman said something that embarrassed the boy and he went for her. I couldn’t
believe it. Luckily there were too many people standing between him and her, so
he was forced back into his chair. He was about to go for me when a train guard
walked in and took him away. That was the last I saw of him. I got off at York,
waiting ‘til everyone else had gone. The last thing I remember was walking over
the passenger bridge to get to platform eight.’

‘You don’t remember
what happened on the bridge?’

‘No.’

‘That seems strange.’

‘I know, but it also
happens to be true.’

‘Were you followed onto
the bridge? Was there anybody behind you? Did you hear anything?’

Sam winced as a shot of
agony pierced his skull. ‘Please,’ he said, covering his eyes to block out the
light and to help him lie more convincingly. ‘I don’t remember anything else.
It was dark, I was tired. I didn’t see or hear anything.’

‘Well, the good news is
you don’t have to remember.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The miracle of modern technology,
Mr Railton. We have it all on camera.’

‘What?’

‘Your assailant may
have been sufficiently light-footed to have sneaked up behind you without you
noticing, but he evidently didn’t notice the two security cameras at either end
of the bridge.’

‘I was attacked?’

Sergeant Calloway
laughed. ‘Come on, Mr Railton! How else do you think you ended up in hospital
covered in bruises? I don’t mean to alarm you, but you should take a look at
yourself in the mirror. You don’t get that way by tripping over your shoe laces.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Sam
said. ‘I didn’t see anyone. I swear I didn’t see anyone.’

But you heard someone,
didn’t you Sam? You heard someone, and you felt someone. Or something…

‘No!’ Sam screamed,
causing the pounding in his head to increase even further. By now the pain was
so strong that he could feel himself on the verge of crying. He just wanted to
sleep…to block it all out.

Sam’s sudden outburst caught
Sergeant Calloway off guard, causing him to push back in his chair and almost
tip it over. Moments later the curtain was pulled back to reveal a concerned-looking
Nurse Sanchez. ‘What’s going on?’ she asked, leaning over to feel Sam’s
forehead. ‘You’re burning up,’ she said, taking the jug from his bedside table
and pouring some water into a flimsy, plastic cup. ‘Drink this.’ She inserted
the end of a digital thermometer into his ear, raising her eyebrows as the
display flashed
39.4C
. ‘I better fetch you something for that
temperature.’ As she stood up, she acknowledged Sergeant Calloway and said: ‘If
you don’t mind, sir, I think Mr Railton needs to rest now.’

‘Understood,’ replied
Calloway, rising to his feet. ‘I’ll be on my way.’

‘Wait,’ Sam said,
reaching out and grabbing the officer’s arm. ‘Who was it? Who attacked me?’

‘Well, that’s what we
need you for, Mr Railton. When you’re ready, of course. But we showed the CCTV
footage to the train guard and he told us that it was the same boy who tried to
assault you on the train. Seems like he wanted to finish the job. Must have
known you were on your way to London and waited for you to cross that bridge.’

‘Shit. I think I
remember telling him that’s where I was heading.’

‘It seems a fairly
clear cut case, but I’m going to need you to come down to the police station to
identify him. When you’re well enough, that is. We’ve got to tread carefully
where kids are concerned…be double sure, if you know what I mean.’

‘If you don’t mind?’
Nurse Sanchez said, returning with some medication. ‘Mr Railton needs to rest
now.’

‘Of course,’ replied
the Sergeant, placing a business card on the table next to Sam. ‘I’ll be in
touch sometime tomorrow. If, in the meantime, you feel well enough to come down
to the station, you’ll find my number on that card. The boy’s been charged, but
we won’t be able to hold him forever.’

‘Okay,’ Sam said. ‘I
will.’

‘In that case, Mr
Railton, I’ll say goodbye for now. Nurse,’ he said, smiling at Nurse Sanchez as
he brushed past her to leave…a little too close for her liking.

‘Take these,’ she said,
handing Sam two capsules. ‘They’ll help bring your temperature down. And try to
get some rest. They say sleep is the best medicine.’

‘I thought it was
laughter,’ Sam replied, taking the pills from her and flushing them down his
throat, wincing as he swallowed.

A few minutes later he
felt himself drifting towards unconsciousness, thankful for the opportunity to
temporarily escape his troubles. As he slipped away, blurred images of the boy
on the train floated across his mind. The boy was laughing at him, taunting
him, mocking him; his face gradually becoming clearer before morphing into that
of his sister, Lucy, who grinned at him with a wicked smile that revealed a
mouth full of broken, jagged teeth. Sam groaned and stirred as he tried to
shake off the image, only for it to change again: now it was the dark outline
of the dark figure from the churchyard. It had no definition, no discernible
features. Except one. Perched on top of the figure’s head was some kind of hat.
An old-fashioned hat with a wide brim and indented crown, like that worn by the
gangsters and spivs in the old Hollywood movies from the fifties. Sam
concentrated as hard as he could to see more, but there was nothing.

Only the hat. A shabby,
torn, brown hat.