Barlow's Projections

It was an utterly miserable February day. The wind howled particularly hoarsely and the frost was unusually bitter, especially for London. Anyone in their right mind would like to stay indoors, warm and clean, with nothing to stick their head out for, but Dr. Barlow stood out, making an exception out of himself. He would rather wander in the cold in his worn down little coat than sit here, in a bright and crowded courtroom. He, a poor physics tutor, is charged with terrible accusations, a crime he would’ve been afraid to commit even hypothetically — a brutal murder. Now the prosecution was speaking, represented by Robin Baker and his lawyer, Mr. Aaron. The young red haired man was describing in vivid detail why he knew it was the scoundrel Barlow who had murdered his mother. Public nodded at each manipulative rhetorical question, their disapproving piercing glances getting sharper with every passing minute. Despite his predicament, Barlow could not help but note the oratorical skill of his opponent. Perhaps, if fate had brought them together for any other reason, they would have made excellent conversationalists for each other, but Mr. Baker chose to become an antagonist in this story. “You may sit down, Mr Baker”. Dr. Barlow could have sworn that Robin’s sorrowful expression turned to a smug one, but only for a moment: he quickly realized that everyone was still watching. It was so painfully obvious, but Dr. Barlow had no hope that it would have any effect on the court’s decision. What a shameless, shameless man this Mr. Baker was, a complete scoundrel! Doctor found some sort of enjoyment imagining him dressed in a clown’s costume, but getting lost in his unregistered staring he almost missed Thomas Mazur, his lawyer and best friend, nudging him with his elbow: “Geoffrey! Geoffrey, you glare like a lunatic!” Dr. Barlow shook his head and turned from his barely sensible thoughts to the speech he had written and had carefully edited by Thomas. He hardly revised a quarter of it before they were called to the stand. Despite being absolutely able to tell the true story from the heart, Mazur insisted on reading, for ruining image with sudden stammering was the least desirable outcome. “Don’t you dare play tricks,” the lawyer clicked his tongue, standing behind. “Never planned to”. Dr. Barlow and Mr. Mazur introduced themselves, fulfilled all the ceremonial necessities and began their refutation. “Your Honor, I want to tell the story from the very beginning…” “Objection!” Robin cried out, “Let him speak only regarding the case!” “Objection denied” the judge then called for silence in the courtroom and allowed the accused to continue. “Ten years ago I came to London to study. My parents always believed that a man must be independent, so they only paid for my education and nothing else. It was the first time in my life that I was introduced to labour at all. I had to earn my food and lodging without understanding the concept of employment, wages and rent. For several months straight I was getting by moonlighting, sometimes resting at a penny hang, with little time, place or strength for classes. But one day I was lucky enough to be invited as a carpenter in the house of Dorothy Baker. She had a wobbly stool I had difficulties fixing. The lady lived completely alone, I’d rather say lonely. I was right about to leave when she offered to sit down and listen to the story of her difficult fate. As a child she lived in impenetrable poverty thanks to her mother’s extensive weakness for gambling. In fact, that woman got her married to a man she despised just to pay off the debt. Even though she managed to find happiness in her sons, two eldest died of cholera even sooner than their father of consumption, while the youngest most beloved one left for good. The woman lived completely alone only with her net worth gradually depleting due to the immense appetites of her son, who wouldn’t write a letter if it’s not a dry request for money. “Objection!” Looking up from his text, Dr. Barlow nearly giggled at Robin’s flushed face. He glanced briefly at Thomas, only to see that his friend did not in fact find that funny. So did the audience, getting noticeably more critical. “This is a direct insult to the victim,” Mr. Aaron clarified. “I demand pressing charges.” “Denied. Go on, Dr. Barlow”. “Thank you, Your Honor”, Dr. Barlow nodded. “Even though I was struggling myself, this lady’s story touched me deeply, so I had been in a sentimental mood by the time she expressed her interest in my life. Ready to open up, I briefly retold her my modest biography. She was sensitive and kind by nature, so burst into tears and offered to let me stay in a spare room at her big and quiet house. It was in our mutual best interest, so I was happy to agree, not to mention the lack of alternatives. That same day I moved into the mansard room, both empty and cluttered at the same time, an ordinary dusty attic. She could not allow me or any other tenant to live in the other rooms. According to her, they were inhabited by the souls of the deceased, whom she respected or feared very much, and the room of the youngest son was always ready to receive him upon arrival, if he deigned to show up. With that I finally could get down to education and educating others: I found a stable source of income in tutoring to pay rent. “Your Honor, I must point out that the rent price was not even a quarter of fair,” Mr. Aaron interjected. “Took in notice”. Dr. Barlow gulped miserably. It was the first time that the judge didn’t deny the prosecution’s arguments. Perhaps he was getting bored with the story. It wasn’t news that those days’ British judicial system had turned into a twisted show to make the headlines, and Dr. Barlow wasn’t exactly the charismatic character there. You’re not winning hearts with mumbling under your breath, that was for sure, but Geoffrey had to continue. “Dorothy and I became good friends. Whenever I had a free minute, I preferred to spend it chatting with Mrs. Baker rather than allow myself to sleep, which is a favourite pastime for any student. She proved herself to be a woman of unique kindness, but also of the same naivety, believing in every fable and superstition. But had I ever got the right to blame her? I had not encountered the grief of loss yet, I can’t put myself in her shoes, her, who lost all her loved ones. Nevertheless, the more time I spent with her, the more her interest in the otherworldly transferred to me.” Thomas nudged Jeffrey again. During rehearsals he often went off-script at this exact spot, in a direction that would not serve him well in court. Getting the hint, Dr. Barlow continued reading, ostentatiously hiding his face in the paper. “At some point she decided that it was not right for me to live in a draughty attic in cold weather, so she finally allowed me to move into her prodigal son’s room. I considered her my friend, my saviour and benefactor, who cared for me more than my parents, and she needed a person for whom she could become a saviour and benefactor. I became something like an adopted son for her, always there to help despite his own difficulties, so she wrote me down as the sole heir in her will, which she certified with Mr. Mazur” “Objection!” Robin stamped his foot loudly, “The lawyer is clearly another beneficiary of the crime! He set up the will scam! Also, they are connected as friends, therefore he is an interested party”. “Any lawyer is an interested party by nature, lawyers are interested in defending their client”, Thomas clarified. “Mr. Baker’s accusation cannot be considered justified”. “Nevertheless, you were involved in the process of changing the will, it being the main evidence in the case”, Robin shouted. “Yes, but only as a notary. At that time, Dr. Barlow and I did not even know each other, the process of changing the will was the thing that brought us together in the first place”. “Is there any evidence of this?” Robin seemed to get a taste of impunity and stood up without the judge’s permission. “For this, I would have to call a witness” Mazur cleared his throat, “Sir Theodore George Anderson, but…” “I believe he decided to skip this trial”, Robin grinned. “He passed away three weeks ago”, Barlow explained and clenched his teeth. Theodore wasn’t as poor as any other mathematician, but being a big scrooge he hated the idea of spending money on firewood every week. He hoped that a good cape and woollen blanket would keep him warm at night, but he never woke up, frozen to death at his own apartment. His penny-pinching however was also the reason he became Mazur’s client, because Thomas’s service was that cheap that even Dr. Barlow’s classmate could afford it. That made Theodore their only mutual acquaintance, and no one else could testify to the approximate date of the beginning of their friendship. If only he could be summoned here… No, why him? Dorothy herself to tell the truth! “Don’t you dare,” Thomas seemed to read Geoffrey’s thoughts, returning him from the world of fantasy to the courtroom. “Did you say something?” Robin raised his eyebrows. “Nothing, just consulting”, Mr. Mazur adjusted his pince-nez and shook his blond hair, which he was going to cut short before the trial to make an impression of a proper gentleman, but Geoffrey begged him not to. He knew how much Thomas loved his hair, rather hearing Geoffrey’s jokes about them on a daily basis than getting rid of them. Mr. Aaron crossed his arms over his chest, irritated by everything, including his client. “Your story is interesting no doubt, but let us all discuss the actual matter. You were in your rented room on the day of Dorothy Baker’s death, weren’t you? “I was”, Barlow awkwardly agreed. “I was checking the students' homework”. “So you are trying to say that Mrs. Baker fell from the stairs on her own?” “Does it really sound far from reality?” Barlow tilted his head. “She was old, the stairs were steep”. “Your rationale implies that you personally think that in the circumstances given, an accident would seem like a more sensible presumption than a deliberate murder. Is that true?” Barlow bit his tongue, processing the wording. It took him at least five seconds to realise that this was a trap: agreeing ment naming yourself guilty, disagreeing… “It clarifies that you decided to simulate an accident specifically in order to divert suspicion from yourself!” …Will lead to this exact accusation. Thomas covered his face with his hands, either from the obviousness of Aaron’s arguments, or from the fact that they were working for the audience. Accustomed to mere facts and documents, Mazur could not stand such pompous cheap theatrics and how effective they proved themselves. He hissed, fed up: “The will was certified four years ago. If this was our insidious plan with Dr. Barlow, then why wait so many years? Why did he pay rent for the room all this time? And what if she had changed her mind?” “As if you would let her do that!” Robin jumped up, “Barlow is a master of deceit, he fooled her for ten years! He wrote such atrocities while pretending to value her! Just listen!” He took out a piece of paper from his inside pocket, which Barlow quickly identified as his letter to Mazur, dated just a couple days before Dorothy’s death. “How did he get it?” he whispered. “I don’t know” Mazur’s nose turned rose-red from shame. “He could only steal it from my office”. Well, Robin did come to him on the eve of the trial with some vague threats. Mazur considered it a senseless gesture of anger, but, as it turned out, there was some sense in it. “Here! ‘I’m extremely bothered by Mrs. Baker’s trust for anything, she’s gullible beyond my understanding. If not for me chasing all sorts of swindlers off her porch, she would have gone broke long ago’. Can you hear that intonation?”, Robin raised the letter above his head, as if inviting the audience to read. “He obviously considered her a burden!” “Excuse me, how do you exactly express intonation in writing?” Mazur frowned. “Read in a different manner it would sound like friendly concern, not irritation”. “Shame on you!” someone from the audience suddenly shouted. “Covering up for a murderer!” “What a disgrace!” “They are right saying that lawyers have no souls!” “Don’t you dare say that about my friend!” Barlow bared his teeth like a wild animal. His face took on a malicious expression that no one had seen from him during the entire trial. His friend’s honour was more important to him than his own, because he knew that very soon he would have neither honour nor head. The judge had already raised his gavel to interrupt the squabble, but at the last moment he froze: perhaps he wanted to observe the defendant in a tense situation, but more likely he simply enjoyed the bickering. After all, the court is a leisure time activity, especially when it comes to scandalous public hearings. “Excuse me, can’t your friend stand up for himself without your help?” Robin frowned in disgust, but his lips spread into a sinister grin. “Or is it only your patronage that can protect the poor fellow from rightful insults? Just like a husband covers up for his helpless wife?” “I-I beg your pardon?” Barlow swiftly calmed down: he was in court, after all. “What is the purpose of the question?” “Nothing”, Robin almost giggled, which gave away all his intentions. “What needed to be understood was understood.” Mazur snapped at Barlow, as if to warn: “Don’t you dare answer”. As much as he didn’t want to stay silent, he had to retreat. A wave of rustling whisper wrecked along the room, hitting a reporter from the front row to scribble out some uneasily long note. “So,” Aaron crossed his arms over his chest once again, this time with satisfaction, “by all indications, we had a criminal conspiracy between two scoundrels calling themselves friends, with the goal of taking the inheritance of an impressionable widow, which they almost succeeded in doing, if my client hadn’t wanted to achieve justice for his beloved mother. Barlow rolled his eyes and clenched his fists. ”…Consequently I ask the court to sentence both Dr. Geoffrey Barlow and Mr. Thomas Mazur to death!” “Objection!” Barlow could not stand it. He was ready, or rather resigned to the execution, but he would not forgive himself for Thomas’s death. Mazur got involved in this case only because he knew that Barlow would not have money for a lawyer before entering into the inheritance, and such good intentions should never result in his death. Thomas put his hand on the doctor’s shoulder and squeezed tighter, warning once again, but it was too late: Geoffrey had already pulled out a cylindrical artefact the size of a boot, made of ivory ring-shaped segments with runic symbols on them. “He’s armed!” Robin cried out and clutched his heart, imitating something incomprehensible, but nailing it. “I want to invite a witness!” Barlow began to turn the gears of the mechanism, resisting Mazur, who tried to take the thing away, “Mrs. Dorothy Baker!” *** The weather was disgusting once again. Thomas walked down the empty street, unable to see more than eight feet through the thick smog, and indulged in an internal monologue with the most disgruntled expression on his face. Usually he would be speaking it out loud, but he made an effort not to open his mouth lest to cough. “I told you, I warned you! You knew it was useless, you knew that no one would believe, you knew it — and did it anyway! You cretin! I mean, the tricks are spectacular, of course, but the court is not the place for tricks! Thank you for rushing to my defence, but not at the cost of your own life and honour! But I have to admit, it was quite a performance. The way she flew out of that mechanical box! And what a voice, downright otherworldly! ‘Oh is it you I see, the prodigal son?! ’ I’ve seen these ‘ghosts’ before, but even I was scared to death! The way Aaron grabbed his heart and fell backwards! I would have sympathy for any other person, but this one — he deserved it. And the ghost’s neck! So twisted — as if she had actually fallen down the stairs! With a throat out like that, how could she even talk? ‘I can’t leave this mortal world, for you won’t let my will come true! ’ I remembered it word for word! How could I not? How come they even let the ghost finish before some shouted ‘Witchcraft! ’? And it would be really funny if it wasn’tGeoffrey’s life at stake. He paved his own way to the scaffold. Poor idiot. Now there is no turning back, no matter how many more additional trials, he can’t be saved. That’s exactly what I will tell him: ‘You can’t be saved, my friend’. Maybe he will regret, he already regrets, he certainly does”. Thomas entered Mrs. Baker’s former house, which now legally belonged to no one. He called for his friend and received no answer, which led him deeper and deeper inside. Geoffrey still did not show up, no matter how much Mazur called and looked around. It was so hopeless that he started to wonder if Barlow had gone on the run, which would have been completely out of character for him. When Thomas was already leaving he recalled the existence of that very attic where Geoffrey, being a student, used to share a bed with cold winds. No surprise, he was indeed here. Hanging by the neck. Mazur almost fell down the steep stairs when he saw bluish feet with a wooden stool under them, one of the stool legs noticeably clumsily fitted. “Geoffrey, darling!” escaped from his lips involuntarily. Mazur stumbled, but did not lose his head: he crawled to the corpse on his knees and pressed his face to ice-cold ankles. A burning tear rolled down his cheek, the agony overtaking him so unexpectedly and so ingloriously. He knew it was inevitable by now, but with a death sentence Thomas at least would’ve had time to say goodbye to his good friend. Yesterday he admitted that he was ready to sign a confession if it meant Thomas could not be charged. The noblest man! What a cretin, a fool, an idiot Mazur was to scold Barlow! “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” apologies poured out showering, but their addressee no longer cared about the words of a friend half-dead from grief. Through the salty haze, Mazur saw something off a couple of feet away from him. That ‘something’ immediately changed his mood from mournful to bestial fury. The same mechanism from which the ghosts flew out, the same one that rid them of any chance at the courtroom. Instinct told him to grab and smash the trinket — that’s what Thomas ought to do. He is already reaching for it, he is about to throw it at the wall, shred it to pieces, grind into dust, incinerate! But some unknown force stopped him; it almost felt like someone turned his head slightly to the side by the chin to let him see a scrap of paper resting aside. Several symbols were written on it, exactly the same as those on the divisions of the rotating segments of the device. Mazur was sceptical of spiritualism, but nevertheless turned the segments so that those squiggles lined up vertically in the order indicated on the note. Thomas held his breath, expecting a miracle to happen. Of course, nothing came out of it. He smiled slightly, then burst out laughing at his own stupidity. For a second he became that idiot who believed in spirits, whom he used to make fun of himself. He actually believed that it would work, that his friend would appear here and now, not the trick he had prepared in advance like one with Mrs. Baker, a real ghost! But nothing happened! Oh, Geoffrey, you could have at least recorded yourself, no matter how you did that. You could have given your friend at least something, but apparently you were in too much of a hurry to go to the next world. No, there must be something wrong with the device, otherwise what was the point of this piece of paper? The message was left but got lost due to some external interference, perhaps even Mazur’s interference, and now the world will never hear the last words of Geoffrey Barlow, for whom Thomas had the brightest and most sincere sympathy, whom he did not want to let go, even now, when all that was left of him was a cold body, whom he was going to take out of London today, risking everything for rescuing his life. Tears were still flowing as Mazur awkwardly hugged the artefact like a defenceless child hugging a toy. No matter how disgusted he was by this construction, Geoffrey had a hand in its creation, and a piece of his forever-calmed consciousness remained in it. Understanding this, Thomas puthis lips to the top of the object that had hurt him so much with false hope. This gesture seemed to have set in motion some internal mechanism, triggered by pressing on the lid of the device. With automatic clunking sounds, steam began to pour out of the cracks of the cylinder/ Mazur threw the machine aside in horror, leaving it giving off millstones sounds on its own. The thing, however, seemed to hate solitude and began to jump an inch at a time towards the confused man. Soon enough it began to emit a bluish glow colour of Barlow’s projections. Less than in a minute a slender human figure was formed from this inexplicable substance. With each detail it was more and more clear, and Mazur cried out, either from joy or from horror, at Geoffrey’s unique smile clearing up. Yes, it was just an optical illusion, but Thomas dashed and tried to grab it — but failed: his hands passed through the image which felt indescribably cold, sending shivers down his spine. He knew that Barlow’s ghosts always spoke, and to hear his dead Geoffrey would be too hard and painful to ever recover. Mazur covered his ears and closed his eyes, blinded by the otherworldly glow. Suddenly, he felt something strange: his hands stopped obeying him, as if someone else had put his palms on like gloves. His own limbs felt like strangers’; they gently tucked the fallen locks of hair behind his ears and wiped away tears, but Mazur kept eyes shut, despite all the bewilderment. “I’m sorry for invading your body without permission”, the voice was right next to his ear. Whoever’s breath it was, it was scorchingly cold, giving him an urge to hide behind a hundred blankets, “I could do it myself, but my fingers will make you… chilly. “Geoffrey, I know it’s not you, you’re dead, stop playing tricks, or I–” “Even now you don’t believe me, do you? You still think I’m a crazy charlatan, although you see a ghost with your own eyes,” the cold went through Mazur, causing him to fall helplessly to his knees again, and when he finally dared to look up, he saw a sky-blue shadow with glowing white eyes in front of him. It looked like Geoffrey, was dressed like Geoffrey’s corpse, its voice trembled frighteningly, but still it was Geoffrey’s voice, and the most curious thing was that there was a noose hanging around its neck with a weightless rope dangling freely around, exactly the same as the one on which Geoffrey was hanging. “You’re not a sceptic, Thomas,” the projection said reproachfully, “you’re a stubborn ass who doesn’t want to accept the obvious.” “Why did you do that?” Mazur dropped the part with disbelief, rose from his knees and tried to grab the ghost by the lapels, but again passed right through. “Don’t even try, you can’t touch me unless I want you to” Barlow walked right through him again, making Thomas clutch his chest in pain, rustling his hair and rewarded him with an icy breath at the very back of his head, as if proving once again his afterlife existence. Mazur’s knees shook, making him grab onto a three-legged coat stand — the first thing that came to hand. “Enough, I get it! Why did you kill yourself?!” Barlow flew away and smiled more sincerely than he had ever done being alive. It seemed that he liked existing as a projection much more, if we pretend he really became a ghost. “I didn’t, Thomas, I am right here, in front of you. And this” he pointed to his own dead body. “This is just expenses, nothing more”. “Stop that!” Mazur was finally able to stand up straight without support. “You’re dead!” “We’re all going to die” Barlow shrugged, “and I wanted my death to bring as much benefit as possible. Suicides are not allowed to go any further, they travel as entities like me until the end of time, and I will spend my infinity in this house, its permanent resident and owner”. “You did this for house’s sake?” “For Dorothy’s sake” the ghost corrected. “Her will was that the house should go to me, and now that it happened she is free, her soul has found peace. You should have seen how happy she was to meet her sons!” “So, for her peace, you took your own life?” “Yes, I did. I didn’t have long to live anyway, at least it’ll be useful”. Mazur opened his mouth in awe. Geoffrey cares so much for others, for Dorothy, for Thomas, that it couldn’t help but be admired. However, Geoffrey himself did not find his death such a tragic loss. “I’m terribly glad, Thomas, that it happened this way. You can’t imagine how glad I am that I stayed here on Earth! The only downside to life is that it always ends in death, and what’s beyond that — no one knows, even I don’t. But now I’m saved from thoughts about death, because everything physical about me is over. I’m not dead, Thomas, I’m alive, and I’ll live forever. I’ll meet the dawn of electricity — you’ll see, people will definitely find a use for it! I’ll live to see all the discoveries and inventions! I’ll even see your grandchildren, and their grandchildren, and their great-grandchildren, and-” “Geoffrey, what grandchildren could I possibly have?” Thomas smiled sadly, interrupting this inspired tirade, taking notice that Barlow didn’t stummer a single time. “Oh don’t be ridiculous, we are already close to finding a cure” Thomas pursed his lips in resentment, closed his eyes in shame, and immediately the images of past swam before him. Here he meets Barlow for the first time, amazed at how well that old-fashioned frock coat fits him. Here he invites Geoffrey for the evening, despite having lots and lots of work to do. Here they are chatting for the first time, and so successfully: they could talk about any nonsense for hours without a hint of boredom. Here Geoffrey shares his developments for the first time, and Mazur doesn’t start an argument only because Barlow’s smile and gestures at the moment make his nose rose-red. He doesn’t believe a single word, a single trick, a single line from his study, but he loves Geoffrey, and it would take criminal charges to make him speak his mind openly. He loves Geoffrey, but he is not loved back, and he knows it damn well. He is made fun of, ridiculed to the point a sane person would break off this relationship at all, and he didn’t even tell Geoffrey about his feelings. Mazur hides them — hides a lot, and curses the day he carelessly spilled the beans about his unnatural love for men. “Oh look, now it’s you who don’t believe me and consider me a crazy charlatan” he smiles sadly and turns his face down. “Oh, come on” Geoffrey is more concerned about the safety of his mechanism. Why would he ever care about Thomas? There are hundreds, if not thousands of lawyers in London, and there is only one gear like this. “Let me prove you it’s all not true”. Geoffrey violated the boundaries of Mazur’s body again, sticking his hand into his chest. Something inside was pulled, not in his chest, but throughout the entire body, as if his very being were strings shamelessly pulled without his permission. “And here is your soul. Itchy, is it?” “Stop it right now! It’s…” Mazur was stuck somewhere between “painful” and “disgusting”, but quickly realised that the right word had not yet been invented. Perhaps in the future, when the existence of ghosts becomes an axiom, a huge number of new terms will be coined, becoming a marker of a new era: an era without death. The research must be published, verified, demonstrated — and the fear of death will disappear forever as a phenomenon. But Mazur did not care about this, he was thinking about one thing only: he hoped not to burst into tears. “It’s only like that the first time, then you get used to it” Barlow couldn’t look less relaxed, his face tense, as if he had groped for something that did not want to come out. “Leave my soul alone! Please, Geoffrey, your hands are too cold, I don’t want to prove anything-” “So… much?” Thomas looked up at the ghost, who was looking back in complete confusion, comparable only to one Mazur had experienced a couple of minutes ago. The rope of the noose was tossing and turning restlessly, and, probably, Geoffrey Barlow’s world was turning upside down in the same way. And how could it be otherwise? What you considered nothing more serious than a hay fever turned out to be such a powerful feeling. “What difference does it make to you?” Mazur held up well, despite his wet eyes. “I’m just ill, crazy, remember?” “Yes, Thomas, you are crazy. Crazy about me, oh my God, I have never loved a girl in my life as much as you love me, I swear! It’s…” “It’s a disease? It’s unnatural? It’s against the theory of evolution?” Mazur could have named a dozen more such ‘explanations’ that Geoffrey had given during their few debates on this topic. “Don’t interrupt, please. It’s very nice of you. Especially the fact that you think I’m funny. Am I really? Oh, and good-looking, too…” “Exceptionally handsome” Thomas corrected and wiped his tears with his sleeve. “Don’t make me blush, you can’t think that way of me”. “You know I do think that. You felt it… touched it inside me, why fishing for compliments now? Barlow smiled very stupidly: “Yes, I know everything. Everything…” The ghost and the living quickly became hostages of an awkward pause that needed to be broken somehow, and Barlow took responsibility for this. “Please,” he said and pointed to the far corner, to a stack of notebooks tied with a narrow ribbon, “Take my research, bring scientists here, try as best you can, but tell the whole world that there is, there is life after death! We all want to avoid the end of physical existence only because we fear the unknown that follows it, but now — oh how many people will find peace! And thanks to my device, which you, idiot,” he smiled, not actually calling Mazur an idiot, “almost broke, a bridge between these two realms will appear!” “Geoffrey…” Mazur was about to say something, but his face changed, signifying some other thought appeared in his head. “So, will I be able to talk to my grandfather?” “I’m afraid not. You can only summon those ghosts around you. Dorothy was in court with us, looking at me. I’m drifting in the house, but it’s unknown where your grandfather’s spirit is”, then he squinted and snapped his fingers, just like he did while alive. “You wouldn’t be able to talk to him anyway, would you? You know less Polish words than I do”. “T-that’s not true! I value the traditions of my ancestors and… And!” “That’s another advantage of the afterlife — every secret becomes clear. You don’t know anything”. “It’s like you’re suggesting that I join you on the other side, Geoffrey”, Mazur wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible. As a third-generation immigrant, he tried to learn Polish the best he could, but nothing worked. Even for the sake of the memory of Janek Mazur, his grandfather, a great man who managed to settle in a completely foreign country and gave his son and grandson the opportunity to live in the most powerful and peaceful state in Europe, Thomas could not bring himself to learn the cases. As much as he just couldn't bring himself to start a family as he should: being a complete failure was a better option than a shameless liar. “No way! You haven’t published my work yet. Do it now, there’s not a minute to lose!” Mazur took the stack of papers more carefully than one would take expensive crystal figurines, said goodbye to Barlow and headed for the exit, but the ghost stopped him, clutching his shoulder with cold fingers: “I’m sorry I didn’t take your feelings seriously. I caused you a lot of pain, didn’t I?” “No more than I did, not believing in your research”. From now on they were even. “How could I think that Geoffrey was a charlatan?!” Thomas thought, looking down at his feet, because there was no point in looking ahead: even his thick glasses did not help him see through the fog. “It’s even more astonishing than the existence of an afterlife. My poor Geoffrey! And if it were not for my skepticism, my persuasion to postpone the publication of the study until the end of the trial, then Dorothy’s testimony would be considered valid! How could I speak so badly of my own friend! And how can I think after this that I love him?” Robin got the house after all. He didn’t seem the least bit upset that the notorious criminal Barlow hadn’t been punished lawfully and that Mazur hadn’t been executed. He was more upset with the time the court took to find Barlow guilty posthumously, which was necessary to nullify the will and made Robin the only heir. He eventually moved into the house and settled in the largest and most comfortable bedroom, located directly over his old one, the one his mother was carefully maintaining to welcome her son one day. That one was too little to make anything but a closet, so Robin hid there croquet accessories, a collection of smoking pipes that Robin had lost fancy for long ago, replacing them with American cigars, gifts and letters from admirers (usually old, lonely and rich women), out-of-fashion French coats and panache hats that he had ordered about ten to shock the public, but quickly realises that the ungrateful London audience didn’t pay much attention. In general, everything that he was not supposed to need any time soon. Mazur did try to make an excuse to enter the house, but never got it quite right. You can’t just say that you have to ask your ghost friend what journals he wanted his works to be published in, unless you’re in a need of a one-way ticket to Bedlam. The only option was to claim you wanted to mourn his death there, but Barlow’s body was already buried near one of the cemeteries, so to mourn you’d have to go there. Thomas spent his last money on the funeral, because old Missis Barlow, his widowed mother, rejected to pay. One newspaper even wrote about it, framing as the proof of the “unnatural relationship” between the lawyer and the killer. Even though it didn’t make hot topic, Mazur was burning with a want to shout right in the editor-in-chief’s face: “Yes, yes! I love him, I want to be his damn wife, write about everywhere!” But how could he get to such important people when even his regular clients had turned away? Nobody wanted him around. The savings would hardly last until the end of the year, and Mazur was not familiar with any other field of expertise other than law. At least his father didn’t see his son’s education, for which he had worked his whole life, becoming this useless in such a short time! The landlord turned out to be far-sighted, as any other landlord would be: he immediately informed Mazur that he would not tolerate a day of non-payment. It started to seem like the best option would be to join Barlow on the other side, but one day everything changed dramatically. Mazur never thought that he would ever have to see Robin Baker kneeling before him. He tearfully begged the lawyer to take away this cursed house, where he claimed some evil spirit had settled. In addition to destructions, howling and throwing objects, it left the same Polish surname scratched everywhere. “I beg you, no one wants to buy or rent this house, and I can’t live in it. Your friend was right, my mother put some kind of curse on me, the old hag! Please, I beg you! Neither priests, nor mediums, nor morphine helped. It wants you to settle in this house. To tell the truth, I don’t need it. For a very long time I’ve been dreaming of leaving for the New World. I bet it all on getting the house, because it’s very expensive and I just knew I’d make enough money of selling it to—” “You killed my best friend for those money”. Mazur tried his best to keep a face. “What’s happening to you is well deserved”, he said proudly without looking at the unpleasant guest, preferring documents from long-closed cases to his face. “I deserved it, oh, I’m such a scoundrel! Hang me right on the—” Realizing that he had done something stupid, Robin bit his tongue. Thomas chuckled, which was somehow unusual for a man in deep mourning, and put the papers aside. “Okay, I’ll think about your offer. Come see me tomorrow…” he took out his schedule, which was now completely empty, pretended to check it, and was about to name the first time that came to mind, but quickly changed his mind about dragging out negotiations on such a shaky proposal. “However, I agree”. Robin had disappeared from England, leaving several very angry older ladies to sort out among themselves which of man stealing vixens was the only martyr whose man had been stolen. “The Barlow affair” had once again been brought out in the newspapers, and people became interested in the fate of the house. “The mad lawyer had scratched his name all over” was one of the more innocuous accusations leveled at Mazur, but this all died down pretty quickly. Thomas finally moved into his new house. A house of his own, in London, for God’s sake! Janek could hardly have dreamed that his grandson would have such luxury, maybe Thomas wasn't such a failure after all. And now what? And now Wilde’s and Well’s works filled the shelves, chess sets and multi-coloured handkerchiefs hid inside drawers, flowers blossomed on the windowsills covering up for the street smog, and later the first tenants appeared in the rooms. The price was low not only because of the reputation of the place, but rather for Mazur’s personal political views. He didn’t mind the lodgers spreading ridiculous and nasty rumors. According to their vivid stories, the former lawyer would go up to the attic every night, where no one else dared to go, and would talk for hours about all sorts of things with some otherworldly voice. The voice said that it would change the whole world and would happily ponder what it should become. Once, the old dishwasher Miss Bell overheard Mazur and this extraterrestrial inhabitant discussing whether marriages between the living and the dead would be allowed in the future, and if so, how important the gender of the spouses would be. What a heresy! Some were sure that the attic was haunted by an evil spirit, a demon, or even Satan himself. Some claimed to have seen a talking head on a three-legged hanger, a horrific experiment by a mad vivisectionist. Some thought it was simply an escaped criminal whom Mazur was covering for. The scandalous doctor could have simply staged a suicide and was now hiding with a suspiciously close friend; this theory was especially dear to one of Barlow’s former student, who wanted to pay tribute to his teacher his motives were conditioned by grief and sorrow. And no one could know that, unfettered by the limiting physiology of the mortal body, the ghost was able to reciprocate his former friend as strongly as a creature without flesh and blood is capable of loving. Or perhaps he managed to understand that the prejudices that surrounded him all his life prevented him from understanding the true essence of his affection. After all, it was more important for him to protect Thomas than himself at the trial, he did not break the bond when he learned of his friend’s spiritual “illness”, and it was not for nothing that, blushing, he straightened his old-fashioned frock coat so that it looked better at their first meeting. In addition to the pleasant pastime that could end at dawn, Mr. Barlow and Dr. Barlow, as they now called each other secretly from the whole world, were busy with really important things. Thomas constantly consulted on the topic of scientific works that serious scientific publications did not agree to publish, and agreeing to publication in some unreliable journal with a weak reputation meant forever becoming a laughing stock for the tight scientific circle of arrogant professors. Who knows how they would have actually perceived these studies, how the world would have changed, what new ethics and philosophy would have had to be invented in the soon-to-be-approaching twentieth century, if one unusually foggy even for the capital morning Thomas had not stumbled right at the porch of the publishing house.