Silencing the Dead by Will Harker (ereader ebook .txt) 📕

“So what are you doing here, Nick?”

“Bodyguarding,” he said, suddenly bright again and patting the imposing barrel of his chest. “We can’t all be hard bastards and clever sods like Scott Jericho, you know. I know where my talents lie. After leaving Mark, I spent a few months working as a bouncer at a casino on the south coast.” That accent again, lyrical in its way, “coast” spoken like “cursed”. “Met some media type there who liked the look of me and put me up for a job with this celebrity he represented.” He licked his lips. “Look, Scott, I know your family’s involved with this here TV stunt. You won’t grass me up, will you? About what I did for Noonan? About the drugs? I need this job.”

“I won’t say a word,” I promised. “Who’s your client?”

He pointed over my shoulder to the carpark and the distant, blinking glare of the billboard.

“That psychic crackpot.”

“Darrel Everwood?” I rubbed my chin. “Funny, you’re the second person I’ve spoken to tonight who thinks he’s a fraud.”

Nick held up his hands. “Oh, I don’t say he isn’t the real deal. I’ve been working for him for a while now, been to quite a few of his gigs, even stood in the background when he does his private readings for celebrities. Honestly, you wouldn’t believe some of the names—rap stars, politicians, Premiership footballers, even the odd Saudi prince. Guy’s raking it in. Or was. And I gotta say, he puts on a good show. I think you’ll agree, Scott, we’ve seen some fucked-up things in our time. It would take a lot to scare us, right? Well, when Everwood starts chatting with these dead relatives, then tells the punters things he couldn’t possibly have known? Family secrets, personal details?” He blew out those freckled cheeks again. “It keeps me awake at night, that’s for sure.”

“So why do you call him a crackpot?”

He ran the tip of his tongue across his teeth. “Not because of the ghost stuff. Only, in a way, maybe it is connected. I mean, nattering with the dead? It has to scramble your brain a bit, right? Truth is, he’s paranoid as hell. Although, I guess he’s had quite a lot of crap thrown at him after the bust-up with his ex. Did you see it online?”

I shook my head. I hadn’t seen much news at all since Harry and I left Bradbury End. I suppose I’d wanted to keep our world small and focused, without the daily horror doled out by the newsfeeds. We’d both had enough horror in our lives.

Nick laughed. “Jesus, you must be the only person in the country who hasn’t heard about it. Everwood had been dating this social media influencer—probably met her at some posh do where nobody drinks anything and the bog seats are lined with coke. Anyway, although she’s considered quite a stunner by our hetero cousins, Darrel is a greedy boy. He was knocking off her assistant on the side. Miss Instagrammer actually finds them at it and tries to shove Everwood’s mystic crystal ball where the sun don’t shine.

“Next thing you know, she’s putting up videos and doing interviews claiming he’s a scam artist. Says that all the humble bragging about his background growing up on a council estate is one hundred percent horseshit. Says he was a kids’ party magician before he read some old book that inspired him to get into the medium business. Anyway, the online trolling and hate mail has been flooding in ever since. I kid you not, he’s had actual turds posted through the letterbox. I mean, who does that?”

“Are you saying that’s why he needed a bodyguard?” I asked. “Because of some unwanted mail and a few bitchy comments online?”

“Part of it. But it isn’t just spiteful nerds having a go, Scott. I’ve seen the messages. Scumbags saying he’s such a liar and a cheat that his dogs deserve to be set on fire for it.”

“That is sick,” I agreed. If anyone ever threatened to do that to Webster? Well, let’s just say some emergency dental work would be required. “So are you saying Everwood is here already?”

I glanced over to the western fringe of the fair, just now in the shadow of the old rectory. EverThorn Media had set up their production fleet there—expensive Jayco and Enterra trailers that made even the showiest Traveller homes look like sardine tins on wheels. They had arrived during the morning, but I didn’t think the production team itself had arrived with them. Nick confirmed my suspicion.

“No. Everwood asked me to come on ahead and scout out the ground.”

“He must really be worried then?” I said. “About some of the threats?”

For a moment, Nick didn’t say anything. He stared out across the expanse of the clearing, beyond the fair to the turreted chimneys of Purley.

“Strange thing is, I don’t think he actually takes the threats all that seriously. But the pressure of the whole celebrity deal, this image he has to maintain, the fact it’s suddenly crumbling, and then the sheer weirdness of the world he’s created for himself? I think it’s caused a kind of mental breakdown.”

Nick turned to me. “You see, Darrel seems absolutely convinced that he’s going to die here.”

CHAPTER SIX

“He thinks someone’s going to kill him?”

Behind us, the cacophony of the fair suddenly erupted across the clearing. Dance beats from the Waltzer, the clockwork clank and grind of the runaway train, my father’s booming voice on a loop, welcoming punters to Jericho’s Fair. In the carpark, chaps in hi-vis vests started waving the first cars into the bays.

I turned back to Nick. “If he thinks that, then why come here at all?”

“He doesn’t think someone will kill him,” Nick said. “Not exactly. But he thinks if he comes here then…” At a loss for the right words, his brow furrowed. “He told me that there’s something bad waiting for him here. That he feels it.