15.2

 

Paul frowned. “So are you saying that this sparkly stuff Roisin says she sees—"

“She really does, bud. It’s a rare talent, that.”

“—Okay, this sparkly stuff she sees. Are you telling me she’s actually seeing people’s souls?”

“Not souls, exactly.” Steve took a deep breath, as if his patience were running away and he was reeling it in, “’cause souls imply religion and all this shit has nothing to do with religion. Not as we think of it, anyhow.” He paused, scrunching up his nose in thought. “Except maybe Buddhism. The idea of being reincarnated in another form is not far from my own hypothesis.”

“So let me get this straight.” Paul closed his eyes and began using his hands to emphasise his thoughts. “Every living being has a soul, or spirit, rather, and these spirits can leave the physical form and go into someone else?”

“Broadly speaking,” Steve leaned forward, in serious danger of spilling his drink. “But everything has spirit to a greater or lesser degree; every three, bush, pebble and—” He looked down at the mug in his hands. “This mug.” He lifted it up, rotating it at ee level. “Only not much. A conversation with this mug would be like trying to engage an amoeba in the Stra Trek vs Star Wars debate.”

“There’s no debate, Steve. Clearly Star Wars is superior. “He made a humming sound and pretended to hold a lightsabre.”

“Again, Paul, you’re wrong. Star Trek prompts serious discussion over the issues raised, whereas, as you’ve just demonstrated, Star Wars just makes people want to much about with plastic swords.”

“Which is exactly my point.”

Steve shook his head. “Stick to pretending your stone carvings are Carbonite.”

“If I could just direct us back to the topic,” Roisin ran her hand across one cheek. She’d gone beyond hungry today, so much so that she could even feel she’d lost weight. Her cheekbones felt more prominent than usual. She looked at Paul. “I can see spirit as these prisms of light projecting outward. From their source. People, animals – even Steve’s collection of weird objects.” She nodded toward the little figurine Paul had collected from the stairs. “I could see the spirit in that one. Not much, and whatever the intruder was, it drained the spirit from it in seconds. Same with the second one, whatever that was.” She looked at Steve,

“It was a piece of brick from the car park in Lewisham where they found the body of Richard III,” Steve said. “Shame, that. I was hoping to get to talk to the man himself through that.”

“Right, okay. So, it wasn’t even religious?”

He shrugged. “Depends on who you ask. Some people take English history very seriously indeed.”

“Okay. But the third one, the cross—”

“From St Peter’s Basilica in Vatican City,” said Steve, helpfully. “Blessed by Pope Innocent the Twelfth himself.”

“Was that the one Francis Bacon painted?”

“No, that was Innocent the tenth.”

“Anyway,” said Roisin, pointedly, “the cross really had some juice in it. Enough to stop the intruder from draining my spirit and have a fight with the cross instead.”

“Wait.” Paul sat forward again. “What do you mean ‘draining your spirit.?”

“Pretty much exactly that. I almost couldn’t stand up by the time it lost the fight against the cross and disappeared.”

“So, forgive my terminology for minute, Steve, whatever was in our lobby was draining your soul out from you? Didn’t that hurt?”

“Only if you think punching yourself repeatedly in the chest with a clawhammer is painful.” She shrugged. “Yes, it bloody hurt. It hurt at the start, it hurt all the way through, it hurt at the end and it still hurts now,”

“That explains a lot.”

“Explains what?”  She lifted one hand and looked at her palm. She’d lost some weight there as well. Every diet suggested a fasting day, and now she could see the difference it made. She definitely try fasting again, just not tomorrow, please.

“It looks as though you’ve lost a bit of weight.” Paul used his hands on his knees to propel himself upright. “Probably a bit too much, in my opinion. I really think we should think about taking you up to the hospital.” He looked toward Steve, who was showing some concern himself. “What do you think?”

“She does look a bit pale,” he said. “It might not be a bad idea to dash over to New Cross.” He looked toward the door. “Of course, that would mean we’d have to go outside, and I’m not sure our intrusive little friend won’t be waiting for us once we cross the threshold.