Eighties Night

Chapter 9 - You're The Expert

 Amber clattered down the stairs into the alley at the back of the pub. This was going to be difficult. It had taken Mrs. Ashley another four and a half minutes to come back to the function room upstairs; Amber had been reluctant to go back down to find her, in case she was recognised: Ronald-Jay & Co. might be looking for the woman who had - apparently - wrecked their lighting; it was surprising that the Police hadn't arrived, to be honest. However, she'd put the time to good use and rifled the record collection behind the stage.

When she'd arrived, it had taken a further five minutes to convince Mrs. Ashley to help and not think up any more reasons the plan might not work. Now, Amber stepped out of the brightly lit stairway, back into the chilly, brick lined gully.

And waited.

Let the vibrations settle. Let the vibrations settle.

You're not helping, Dear.

'It's still fffff... flipping freezing. Dear.'

Samantha sniffed, but for once said nothing. She didn't appreciate sarcasm - at least she didn't appreciate sarcasm when she wasn't the one using it. In the silence, Amber began to worry what she might be planning in retaliation.

Daryl Jerry?

'Jerry?'

'Where...?'

Amber read the whisper from lips that she had taken, a moment before, to be reflections from the faintly-lit brick prominences of the opposite wall.

Their combined hands reached out and grabbed Jerry. Hard. It tingled.

They pulled.

Amber arrived at the top of the stairs breathing hard. It wasn't as if Jerry weighed anything in this state, but there was the full weight of death and habit to drag upstairs - backwards, and in high heels. The idea that ghosts walked through walls was not as prevalent as people believed, either.

From inside the function room, Rene and Renato were back on the turntable, Mrs. Ashley ready to reset the needle should it be needed in the next few minutes.

Across the room, Jennifer's ghost sat at her table again, staring innocently out. Jerry stood in the doorway, head down in lost misery. She half rose, looking across the glints that made him. A puzzled recognition replaced the innocence - or just plain empty-headedness, as Amber now thought - that was her usual expression.

Here was the crunch. It was either 'case closed' or she'd be hiring the room for a private party - with lots of dribbly candles.

'Jerry, look up. Jerry? Jerry, Look. There's somebody here to see you. I think you might know her.'

His head lifted, face transforming in hope.

'Where?'

'Just over there. Come in.'

He stepped, actually stepped, over the threshold. Then he slumped.

'Not my...'

The glints that made him began to fade.

Amber swore.

'Samantha. We have to—'

A slim, pale hand reached out around her and took the flecks of light that outlined his fingers. Ghost-like - unsurprisingly - Jennifer had crossed the dance floor and was standing behind Amber.

'Jerry? Look at me. We danced. I was... I'm who was Hazel, that night. This is our tune. Ask me to dance? Please?'

The glints strengthened.