Soul Fire

it is Zoe . . .
    But who else could it be? She necked four more absinthes, then disappeared without telling anyone she was leaving.
    The page begins to load. There’s a blank where a picture should be, and at first I think it’s the horrible one of Meggie’s hand. I scroll down and there’s another
photo-shaped gap. When the cursor hovers over the space, it tells me the photo is called MeganForster_hand.jpg – which must be the old picture. So what does the new one
show?
    I try refreshing the page, but nothing happens. The connection seems too slow. The only clue is the photo name: MeganForster_lips.jpg
    Did the killer photograph her mouth, too? Perhaps even as she took her last breath? The idea makes me nauseous, but I have to fight the emotional stuff and concentrate on clues. I refresh a
third time, but it’s too much for this old computer. I take my phone out, try to call Lewis, but I get some message in Spanish and it refuses to connect. So I text him instead, telling him to
look at the site, but he doesn’t reply.
    Now, time to try Soul Beach. I don’t suppose I’ll get very far on this rubbish PC. I follow my usual routine – plug in my Mp3 headphones, find the original email invitation
from Meggie, and wait . . .
    Nothing happens. I check my mobile. No text from Lewis.
    This is never going to work. If the stupid computer won’t even display a photo or two, it’s hardly going to give me a dazzling beach with animation so real I think I’m actually
there. I might as well give up – but I’ve paid for an hour’s surfing and I’ve run out of other options to pursue.
    The golf-ball sized webcam on top of the monitor lights up. I hold my breath. But the screen stays white and the light on the hard drive flickers desperately as the computer tries to keep
up.
    ‘Alice?’ Javier’s voice is clear through the headphones.
    I lean in to the mic underneath the camera. ‘You can see me? I can’t see you.’
    ‘You are. . . hazy. One moment you’re there, the next you’re more like a mirage, or a ghost. My ghostly human friend, Alice.’ I hear him laugh.
    ‘Hold on. It might just be loading.’
    But nothing changes on the monitor. The white screen makes my eyes sting and I can’t pick out any shapes. I can hear waves, though, and I know they’re not Barcelona ones. Soul
Beach waves sound different.
    ‘You’re not moving, Alice. And you have a really miserable look on your face.’
    ‘I am feeling a bit down, Javier.’ Or should it be J ?
    ‘Down, in Barcelona? Surely that’s not possible.’
    ‘It’s a great city, but . . . the circumstances could be better.’ I’m wary of volunteering anything until he asks directly.
    ‘You’ve been to Dulce, haven’t you, Alice?’
    I nod, but still say nothing. Not just because I’m nervous about breaking the rules, but also because I don’t know how to tell him I was thrown out.
    ‘Was he there?’
    ‘I met a waiter called Gabe.’
    I hear a sharp intake of breath. ‘ Gabe . How was he?’
    ‘He was . . .’ How am I supposed to describe him? ‘. . . low. Beautiful, but very low.’
    ‘Because of me?’ Javier’s voice cracks.
    ‘He thinks you deserted him, Javier. That you left him . . .’ I struggle to find the words, ‘. . . on purpose.’
    ‘On purpose? He thinks I killed myself? That I jumped?’
    I nod. ‘I tried to tell him that I couldn’t believe you’d do that, but he wouldn’t listen to me. Not that surprising, I guess. I turn up out of the blue with stories
about a guy he was close to. He . . . seemed afraid.’
    ‘Gabe? He’s the most fearless guy I ever met.’
    ‘He was afraid that I’d confirm his worst fears, I think. That you took the easy way out because life wasn’t worth living.’
    ‘No! I’d never have done that.’
    ‘I said that. Told him you weren’t the kind of person to leave without saying goodbye. Tried to tell him it was an accident. But he was angry.’
    ‘You told him it was an accident ?’
    ‘ Wasn’t it?’
    Silence. Have I broken the Beach rules by asking that question directly?
    ‘There are no such things as accidents, Alice. That is what I have learned. But it is unbearable that he thinks I abandoned him. Unbearable .’
    I’m almost glad I can’t see his face, because the pain in his voice is bad enough. ‘I could try again, Javier, but I don’t think he’d listen to me a second
time.’
    ‘You could make him listen, Alice, with my help. You could tell him