Ghostfinders 02 - Ghost of a Smile

shields.”
    “Man up, Happy,” said JC. “Show some balls and shake them at the shadows. You’re the team telepath, the mental marvel, so get on with it. Justify your presence here, or I won’t sign off on your expenses claims.”
    “Bully,” muttered Happy. “Can I at least take a few of my little helpers? My chemical companions in need?”
    JC sighed. “I thought we were weaning you off those?”
    Happy wouldn’t meet his gaze, fumbling in his pockets. “Most people take pills to see strange and unusual things, I take pills to keep the weird away. You’re the reason I need these things, JC, you, and the job. If you could See the things I See . . . or maybe you do, these days, with those amazing new eyes of yours . . .”
    “Stick to the subject,” said JC.
    “I am! The world isn’t what most people think it is,” Happy said sadly. “It’s a bigger world, and far more crowded. And if you could see what’s peering over our shoulders and tugging at our sleeves, you’d fry your neurons with powerful chemicals, too. If you want me to track down what’s in here with us, and look it in the eye, I need a little something to back me up!”
    “Take your pills,” said JC. “You’re all grown-up now. You know what you need.”
    Happy produced half a dozen plastic containers and rolled them back and forth in his hand, squinting at the handwritten labels. He’d moved far beyond mass-produced pharmaceuticals and worked his own mix-and-match magic to produce skull-poppers and mind-expanders of such ferocity they would have made Hunter S. Thompson weep with joy. He finally settled on some fat yellow capsules and dry-swallowed three with the ease of long practice. He straightened up abruptly, as though throwing off a heavy weight, a wide grin stretching across his face.
    “Oh yes, that’s the stuff to give the boys! Nothing like self-medication to hit the spot!” He giggled suddenly. “Who’s the man? Watch me now! Side effects are for wimps! My heart’s pounding and my liver’s whimpering and my brain is running on nitrous oxide! I’m moving so quickly, I’ll pass myself in a minute. Slow slow, quick quick slow suicide perhaps, but it beats the hell out of self-harming. Now, let me See . . . I was right. We’re not alone in here. I’m picking up all kinds of savagery, and not only from the murder. Rage, hunger, violence . . . and it’s not human. Not even alive, as such. Old, very old . . . Something really bad happened here, JC, and I think it’s still happening.”
    “That’s it?” said JC, after Happy had been quiet for a while. “I don’t know why I keep you around. Could you be any more vague? There are psychic pets on television who are more specific than you!”
    “I’m quite willing to go back and wait in the van till it’s all over,” said Happy. “Oooh . . . I think my fingertips are floating away . . .”
    “Walk on,” said JC.
    They made a full tour of the perimeter, sticking close to the factory walls. The shadows were growing longer, deeper and darker, as the light falling through the windows slowly faded away. The silence made the wide-open space seem even more oppressive than the encroaching night. It was growing colder, too, far more than the late evening could account for. Their breath smoked and steamed on the air before them; but only Happy could produce actual smoke rings. JC kept looking about him, convinced he could see something about to emerge from the deepening shadows, but everything remained stubbornly still and silent. They finished their tour without result, and rejoined Melody and Kim at the equipment centre.
    “Did the police find any physical evidence?” JC said immediately. “Anything useful, or indicative?”
    “Not a damned thing,” said Melody. “I read the official reports. They didn’t turn up a thing. Which is surprising, in this CSI day and age.”
    “Tell me again about the state of the body,” said JC. “How did Albert Winter die?”
    “Messily,” said Melody. “Ripped apart. Bones broken, organs torn out, skin shredded. You’d have to put a man through a wood chipper to do that kind of damage.”
    “So we are assuming a supernatural death?” said Happy. “A supernatural killer? Oh dear. I can feel one of my heads coming on.”
    “Could it be a werewolf?” Kim said brightly. “I used to love films about werewolves! I was up for a part in Dog Soldiers 2 , before I was murdered.”
    “More likely the Big Black