Ghostfinders 02 - Ghost of a Smile

abruptly.
    A new Voice filled the room, a huge, overpowering Voice, like God crying out from a mountaintop—or a cross.
    Help me! Somebody, help me! What’s happening to me?
    A Voice that was both more and less than human, full of over- and undertones, too subtle for the human mind to comprehend. It shuddered through flesh and bone, shaking them with a deep atavistic terror. Even Kim cried out. She might be dead, but she was still human. And the Voice wasn’t.
    And then the Voice was gone, and everything was still and quiet again.
    “Okay,” said JC, shakily. “That bit out in the corridor was a stone tape, extreme events imprinting themselves on the surroundings, and playing back . . . but the Voice . . . was a hell of a lot more than that. Something really bad happened in here.”
    “Or started here,” said Melody. “Whatever it was, it isn’t finished yet. We need to go up to the next floor, to the science labs, and get some answers.”
    “I’m not sure I want to know,” said Happy. “They might have gone looking for a supersoldier, but I think they ended up with a lot more than they bargained for.”

FOUR
    SCALPEL, SCALPEL, SHINING BRIGHT
    They went up the next set of stairs like a military unit. Taking their time, checking the corners and the shadows, listening hard for any hint of an attack. Kim went first, flitting silently up the stairs without touching them, out in front because of all of them she was the least in danger. You see? she said brightly. Being dead does have its advantages . JC went next, pushing forward because he always did, eager to get into the next interesting thing. Melody came next, bristling with caution, alert for the smallest noise or hint of danger, so she could do nasty things to it. And Happy brought up the rear because that was what he did best. He somehow managed to hold his peace until they were more than half-way up, but finally an urgent question forced its way out.
    “What, exactly, are we proposing to do if attacked?”
    “I have my machine pistol,” Melody said immediately.
    “Not actually noted for its use against things that are already dead,” said Happy.
    “Be of good cheer, my children,” said JC, not looking back. “I have many useful and really quite nasty and only borderline-illegal items tucked away about my person. I won’t tell if you won’t.”
    “It’s true,” Kim said solemnly. “He does.”
    “I can’t believe we’re still going on,” Happy said miserably. “We’re ghost finders! This is a job for the psychic commandos of the SAS!”
    “Well, for mass destruction, general bloodshed, and scorched-earth policies, they do have their uses,” said JC. “But I think even they would admit that subtlety is not their favoured suit. There is a mystery here, questions that need answering, secrets that must be dug up, and that is what we do best. You are, of course, free to walk away at any time, Happy. But you know the rules—you walk out on an active investigation, and your time with the Institute is over.”
    “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” growled Happy.
    “You make it sound like we volunteered to be ghost finders,” said Melody.
    “Didn’t you?” JC said innocently. “I positively jumped at the chance.”
    “Yes, but you’re weird,” said Happy. He looked back down the stairs. “I’m pretty sure that leaving is no longer a viable option . . . Whatever’s in here with us, it won’t give up on us that easily. The higher we go, the more doors close behind us. We are climbing up into the belly of the beast . . .”
    “Then try not to think too much about the eventual way out,” JC said briskly.
    They’d reached the next set of swing doors, giving out onto the next floor. Huddling together before the doors, they listened carefully, but all they could hear was their own massed breathing. The atmosphere was so still, it almost had a presence of its own. JC put his head right next to the door, straining for even the slightest sound or trace of movement. He bit his lower lip thoughtfully, straightened up, and looked back at Happy.
    “Can you sense anything ?”
    “Not from out here,” said Happy. “I swear something in this building is interfering with my talent. And I mean deliberately, not as a side effect. Something is targeting me. All right, yes, I feel like that most of the time, but this time I have evidence. There’s a psychic weight in the atmosphere, an unnatural oppression . . . Trying to sense