The Possession

Detective Inspector Michael Webb smelled the café before he saw it.

Coffee, hot bread and frying bacon drifted along the narrow street, mixing with exhaust fumes and the damp smell left behind by a brief afternoon shower. Water still gathered along the kerb, disturbed whenever a bus lumbered past, and the pavements shone beneath a sky that couldn’t quite decide whether it was finished raining.

Webb slowed.

“There.”

Gary Cooper stood beside him, pointing through the café window.

Webb followed his finger.

“You sure?”

“Three of them.”

“I thought you said two.”

“I said two passengers.”

“You said three ghosts.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“You absolutely did.”

Gary frowned.

“Well, there’s three now.”

Webb looked at him.

Gary shrugged.

Being dead had done very little to improve Detective Sergeant Gary Cooper’s willingness to admit when he’d made a mistake.

He’d been Webb’s partner for six years before his death and remained his partner for three years afterwards, although the latter arrangement had required considerably more paperwork. Death had technically terminated Gary’s employment with the Metropolitan Police, along with his pension contributions, security clearance and authorisation to enter several buildings he could now literally walk through.

It had taken eleven weeks to get him reinstated.

His warrant card had DECEASED OFFICER printed beneath his photograph.

Gary hated it.

Webb glanced through the window again.

A man in his early thirties sat alone at a table beside the glass. Grey jumper, dark jeans, short brown hair. There was a mug between his hands and an untouched slice of cake on a white plate beside it.

Nothing about him looked particularly remarkable.

The problem was that there were three people sitting in his chair.

“You recognise either of them?”

Gary shook his head.

“One woman. Young. And an older bloke. Can’t see much more while they’re inside him.”

“You checked the register?”

“Neither matches a local P4.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

“Yes, I checked the register.”

Webb pushed his hands into the pockets of his coat.

Gary was still dressed as he’d been on the day he’d died: dark trousers, pale blue shirt, loosened tie and a charcoal jacket with a small burn near the right cuff. Ghosts could alter their appearance to a degree, but Gary maintained that doing so felt dishonest.

He had, however, removed the blood.

Webb appreciated that.

“You armed?” Webb asked.

Gary patted his jacket.

“With what?”

“Habit.”

“You’ve been dead three years.”

“Still feels wrong going to work without checking.”

Webb stepped towards the café.

Gary followed.

He didn’t open the door.

Webb stopped with his hand on it.

Gary’s head emerged backwards through the glass.

“What?”

“Use the fucking door.”

“I don’t need to.”

“You’re a police officer.”

“So?”

“So stop walking through walls in public.”

Gary looked around.

A woman waiting at the crossing was staring at him.

He withdrew his head through the glass and opened the door.

A bell chimed overhead.

Warm air washed over Webb. Coffee machines hissed behind the counter. Crockery clattered somewhere towards the kitchen, and a blender briefly drowned out the low mixture of conversation and music. The place was busy without being crowded, every table carrying the remains of lunch or the beginning of an afternoon coffee.

Gary paused just inside.

His eyes moved across the room.

“Still three.”

Webb nodded.

They walked over.

The man looked up as Webb sat opposite him.

Gary took the chair beside Webb, although sitting was largely a professional courtesy. He didn’t move the chair before lowering himself and consequently passed several centimetres through its backrest.

Webb gave him a look.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The man glanced between them.

“Can I help you?”

Webb placed his warrant card on the table.

“Detective Inspector Michael Webb. This is Detective Sergeant Gary Cooper. Metropolitan Police Post-Mortem Crime Unit.”

The man’s eyes lingered on Gary.

Gary smiled.

“Afternoon.”

“I don’t know what that is.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I really don’t.”

Webb reached inside his coat.

The man’s eyes followed his hand.

That was enough.

Webb removed a small black device and placed it on the table.

It resembled an old television remote, except for the silver mesh covering its upper third and the narrow green display running along one side.

The man stood.

Gary immediately stood with him.

“Sit down.”

“I have to go.”

“No, you don’t.”

“I’ve got an appointment.”

“Cancel it.”

The man’s jaw tightened.

Webb picked up the scanner.

“P4 possession licence, please.”

“I don’t have one.”

“Which one of you answered?”

The man’s expression froze.

Gary leaned forward.

“Got you.”

The man’s eyes flicked towards him.

Webb activated the scanner.

A low vibration ran through it.

BIOLOGICAL STATUS: LIVING

A second line appeared.

REGISTERED OCCUPANCY: 1

Then:

CURRENT OCCUPANCY: 3

Webb turned the display so Gary could see it.

“Two passengers.”

Gary looked smug.

“Told you.”

“You said three ghosts.”

“I meant three occupants.”

“You didn’t.”

The man’s mouth opened.

“No.”

The voice was female.

Young.

Webb looked back at him.

“Good. That’s one.”

The man’s breathing quickened.

His right hand tightened around the edge of the table.

His left hand slapped it away.

Coffee spilled across the saucer.

Several people nearby looked over.

Webb smiled towards them.

“Police matter.”

That made them look more interested rather than less.

The man’s mouth opened again.

“Help me.”

Different voice.

Male.

Webb’s expression hardened.

“Are you the registered occupant?”

The man’s head nodded sharply.

Immediately afterwards it jerked sideways.

“Yes.”

Then, in the woman’s voice:

“No.”

Gary stood.

“Host is conscious.”

“I noticed.”

The man suddenly grabbed his own throat.

Webb moved forward.

His other hand caught the first wrist and dragged it away.

Two hands fought each other across the table.

The mug toppled.

It hit the floor and shattered.

A woman at the next table screamed.

“Everybody back,” Webb shouted.

Chairs scraped across the tiled floor.

The man lurched upright.

Gary moved in front of him.

“Don’t.”

The man walked straight through him.

Gary turned.

“Rude.”

The man ran.

Webb went after him.

He collided with an abandoned chair, shoved it aside and followed towards the front of the café.

“Gary!”

“On it.”

Gary vanished through the tables.

The man reached the door.

Gary reached it first.

He pushed both hands into the automatic door mechanism.

The doors slammed shut.

The man stopped inches from the glass.

Webb caught up.

“That’s P3?”

Gary’s face appeared in the housing above the door.

“Powered mechanism.”

“You’re actually licensed for that?”

“Unlike some people.”

The man grabbed the doors and tried to force them apart.

Gary strained.

The overhead lights flickered.

His P3 licence allowed possession of powered machinery and simple electronic systems, although vehicles required a separate endorsement and medical equipment was forbidden outright.

Gary had once spent six hours inside an office printer during training.

He refused to discuss it.

The doors shuddered.

“Gary.”

“Little busy.”

The man turned.

His face changed.

Not physically.

Something behind it changed.

His shoulders relaxed.

His breathing steadied.

He smiled.

Then he punched Webb.

Pain burst across Webb’s cheek.

He stumbled into a table.

The man hit the doors again.

Gary swore.

They opened.

The man ran outside.

Gary dropped out of the mechanism.

Webb pushed himself upright.

“You let him out.”

“He hit the manual release.”

“You were possessing the door.”

“I can’t override a safety mechanism. That’s illegal.”

“He’s illegally possessed!”

“That doesn’t suspend fire regulations!”

Webb ran outside.

Cold air hit his face.

The man was already halfway across the road.

A horn blared.

Tyres hissed over wet tarmac.

Webb saw a taxi brake hard as the man stumbled across its path.

Gary shot past Webb.

Not running.

Dead officers had certain advantages.

“Gary!”

Gary disappeared through the side of the taxi.

Its horn stopped.

The engine died.

The driver stared at the dashboard.

“What the fuck?”

Gary emerged through the bonnet.

“Sorry!”

“Police!” Webb shouted as he ran past.

The driver stared at him.

“Your mate just went through my car!”

“Police matter!”

“That doesn’t explain anything!”

Webb kept running.

The man had reached the opposite pavement.

Gary caught him first.

He couldn’t grab him.

Ghosts could interact with objects under possession, but outside them Gary’s hands passed uselessly through living flesh.

Instead, he stepped inside him.

The man stopped dead.

His whole body stiffened.

Gary’s face appeared briefly over his shoulder.

“Fuck me, it’s crowded.”

“Get out.”

“I’ve got him.”

“You don’t have a P4!”

“Oh.”

Gary vanished from the man’s body.

The man immediately ran again.

Webb caught the back of his jumper.

They went down together.

Webb’s knee hit the pavement.

The man rolled, kicked and caught him in the ribs.

Webb held on.

“Police! Stop fighting!”

Three voices answered simultaneously.

“GET OFF ME!”

“LET GO!”

“HELP!”

Webb managed to force him onto his stomach.

Gary crouched beside them.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Call it in.”

Gary reached instinctively for a radio that hadn’t physically existed for three years.

“Right.”

He looked around.

A parked police car sat twenty metres away.

“No.”

Gary grinned.

“Gary.”

“P3.”

“Gary.”

He disappeared.

The police car’s blue lights came on.

Its radio crackled.

Webb heard Gary’s voice burst from the external speaker.

“CONTROL, DS COOPER, OFFICER REQUIRES ASSISTANCE, POST-MORTEM UNIT, TWO UNLAWFUL P4S—”

The siren activated.

Everyone on the street jumped.

“TURN THAT OFF!”

The siren stopped.

“Sorry.”

Webb tightened his grip as the man beneath him bucked violently.

“Get out of the fucking police car.”

Gary emerged through the windscreen.

“Message sent.”

Footsteps approached.

Two uniformed officers ran from further along the street.

One slowed when she saw Gary.

“Oh. It’s you.”

“Nice to see you too.”

“What have we got?”

“Living host, conscious, two unauthorised possessions.”

The officer looked at Webb.

“Need containment?”

“Two.”

She unclipped a hard black case from her belt.

The second officer took another from his.

The man beneath Webb suddenly went limp.

Webb felt the change immediately.

“Here we go.”

A pale shape tore itself upwards through the man’s back.

A young woman.

Hospital gown.

Bare feet.

Dark hair hanging around her face.

She got halfway out before the uniformed officer pressed a device against her shoulder.

There was a sharp electrical crack.

The air smelled suddenly of ozone.

The woman screamed.

Not loudly.

Strangely.

The sound seemed to come from everywhere at once.

Her translucent body collapsed inward.

Light twisted around her.

Then she vanished.

A white glow appeared inside the officer’s black case.

The lid clicked shut.

A red indicator illuminated.

OCCUPIED.

The man screamed again.

An elderly ghost erupted from his chest.

He made it three steps.

Gary moved to block him.

The ghost ran straight through him.

Gary turned.

“Oh, don’t be childish.”

The second officer raised his containment unit.

The old ghost vanished through a brick wall.

Webb swore.

Gary smiled.

“I’ve got him.”

He stepped into the wall.

Webb climbed off the host.

The man rolled onto his back, coughing.

“You alright?”

“No!”

“Fair.”

Webb looked towards the wall.

There was silence.

Then a muffled shout came from somewhere inside the building.

“YOU CANNOT ARREST ME, I AM DECEASED!”

Gary’s voice followed.

“That’s literally why I’m here.”

Something crashed.

Webb looked at the uniformed officer.

She shrugged.

A moment later the front door of the building burst open.

A vacuum cleaner rolled out by itself.

Its motor screamed.

The old ghost appeared through the wall behind it.

Gary’s face appeared in the vacuum cleaner.

“P3!”

The vacuum cleaner rammed the ghost from behind.

It passed straight through him.

Gary emerged from the other side.

“Forgot about that.”

The old man ran.

The officer raised the containment unit.

Crack.

Ozone.

The ghost folded into a streak of pale light and disappeared inside.

The second case clicked shut.

OCCUPIED.

Gary stepped out of the vacuum cleaner.

Its motor stopped.

For a few seconds nobody spoke.

Traffic moved cautiously past.

People stood outside the café filming them.

The living man sat on the wet pavement, pale and shaking.

Webb helped him to his feet.

“You’ll need to go with the ambulance. Possession examination, neurological assessment, statement afterwards.”

“Are they gone?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

Webb pointed.

The two officers held identical black cases.

The man stared at them.

“In there?”

“Temporarily.”

“What happens to them?”

“Same as anyone else we’ve arrested.”

The young officer looked down at her case.

“Custody.”

The man frowned.

“How do you put a ghost in a cell?”

Gary laughed.

“You don’t.”

Webb retrieved his warrant card from the café and returned a minute later, carrying the dead man’s abandoned coat as well.

He nodded towards the containment cases.

“Custody suite has anchored cells. Thaumically isolated rooms with a registered object inside. They’ll be transferred from those into the anchors.”

“What sort of object?”

“Depends what’s available.”

Gary slipped his hands into his pockets.

“Last bloke I nicked spent fourteen hours remanded in a stapler.”

Webb looked at him.

“It was an approved custodial anchor.”

“It was still a stapler.”

“He assaulted three people.”

“I’m not saying he didn’t deserve the stapler.”

The uniformed officer picked up the first containment case.

A muffled voice came from inside.

“This is unlawful!”

Webb leaned towards it.

“You’re under arrest on suspicion of unlawful human possession, exceeding permitted manifestation and assault. You’ll be formally cautioned once transferred into an object capable of acknowledging the caution.”

The case rattled.

“You can’t keep me in here!”

“Correct. Maximum portable containment is forty-five minutes.”

The rattling stopped.

“That doesn’t mean you’re being released.”

It started again.

Gary smiled.

“Always enjoy that bit.”

The second case began vibrating.

The officer tightened her grip.

“Sir?”

“What?”

“I think this one’s trying to possess the containment unit.”

Webb looked at the case.

It vibrated again.

Gary leaned closer.

“That’s ambitious.”

“Can they do that?”

“No.”

The case jumped.

Webb frowned.

“Shouldn’t be able to.”

It jumped again.

The indicator changed from red to amber.

Gary took a step backwards.

“That doesn’t look good.”

The officer stared at Webb.

Webb stared at the case.

From inside came the elderly man’s muffled voice.

“I held a P3 licence for seventy-four years.”

Gary’s smile disappeared.

“Oh.”

The case clicked.

Webb grabbed it with both hands.

“Don’t you fucking dare.”

The light turned red again.

Silence.

Webb waited.

Nothing happened.

He handed it carefully back to the officer.

“Straight to custody. No stops.”

She nodded.

Gary watched the two officers carry the ghosts towards their car.

“Think he’ll lose his licence?”

“He’s possessing people without a P4.”

“Fair point.”

They stood on the pavement as the ambulance crew helped the host inside.

The smell of coffee still drifted from the café. Rain had started again, so lightly Webb could barely feel it, tiny droplets settling on his coat.

Gary looked up.

Water passed straight through his face.

“Fancy a coffee?”

Webb touched his bruised cheek.

“We just left a café.”

“Didn’t get one.”

“You can’t drink coffee.”

“I like the smell.”

Webb looked at him.

Gary shrugged.

“Closest I’ve got.”

Webb sighed and headed back towards the café.

Gary followed.

This time, he used the door.