INTERVAL #1
On the top floor of a well-known London hotel, in a suite of private offices, Harry Moradian sat at the desk of his ex-boss and scribbled frantically in shorthand. The "ghost" (he couldn't help thinking of it that way) which stood facing him across the desk had been speaking rapidly, in soft, well-modulated tones, for more than two and a half hours now. Moradian's wrist felt cramped; his head ached from the myriad weird pictures implanted there; he had no doubt at all but that the "ghost" spoke the truth, the whole truth, and etc....
As to how it (she!) knew these matters she so fluently related, or why she related them---who is to say what knowledge such a creature should or shouldn't have and tell? But one thing Harry knew for sure was this: that the information to which he now found himself privy was vastly important, and that he must also consider himself privileged to be the medium through which it was imparted.
As a pain suddenly shot up his forearm from his wrist, causing him to drop his pencil and clutch at his hand as it went into a brief spasm, so his unearthly visitor paused. It was as good a juncture as any, Harry thought, and he was grateful. He massaged his hand and wrist for a moment, then took up a sharpener and renewed the pencil's point for what must've been the ninth or tenth time at least.
"Why not use a pen?" the ghost asked, in such a perfectly natural and inquiring tone that Harry found himself answering without even considering that he talked to something far less substantial than smoke.
"I like pencils better. Always have. Just a quirk, I suppose. Anyway, they don't run out of ink! I'm sorry I stopped just then, but my wrist feels mangled!"
"We've got a way to go yet."
"I'll manage somehow."
"Look, go and get yourself another coffee. Have a cigarette. I realize how strange all this must be for you. It's strange for me, too---but if I were you my nerves would be leaping! I think you're doing remarkably well. And we're getting on fine. I was fully prepared, before I came here, to allow several visits just to let you adjust to me. So as you can see, we're well ahead."
"Yes, well it's time that's worrying me." Harry answered, lighting up and drawing luxuriously on the smoke, saturating his lungs with it. "You see, I've a meeting to attend at 4:00 P.M. It's then that I'm to try to convince some rather important people that they keep the department open and allow me to take over from Sir Gerrard and run it. So you see, I'd like to be finished before then."
"Don't let it trouble you," the other smiled her wan smile. "Consider them convinced."
"Oh?" Harry got up and went through into the main office, put money in the coffee machine. This time the ghost followed him, stood behind him. When he turned from the machine it was there, office furniture visible right through it. It was less than a holograph, less than a bubble, ectoplasm. Harry started and slopped a little coffee, edged around the other and went back into Arthur's office.
"Yes," the ghost continued, back where it had been, "I believe we'll be able to 'sway' your superiors in your favor."
"We?" said Harry.
The other merely shrugged. "We'll see. Anyway, I want to tell you a little more about Molly Stewart now, before returning to Dragan. Sorry to jump about like this, but it's better if you see the total picture."
"Whatever you say."
"Are you ready?"
"Yes," Harry took up his pencil. "Except....."
"Well?"
"It's just that I was wondering where you fit into all of this?"
"Me?" the ghost raised its eyebrows. "I suppose I'd have been disappointed if you hadn't asked. Since you have: if things work out the way I hope, I'll be your future boss!"
Harry's face twitched and he grinned lopsidedly. "A---ghost? My future boss?"
"I thought we'd been through that once," said the other. "I'm not a ghost and never have been. Though I'll admit I came pretty close. But we'll get to that, you'll see."
Harry nodded.
"Can we get on now?"
And Harry nodded again.
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