Read Online The Boy in the Smoke by Maureen Johnson - Free Book Online

evidence, but there’s quite a lot about this place. Eight people have been reported to have gone mad with fright after staying upstairs, and three have reportedly died.”
    Stephen laughed—a dark, unhappy laugh—and put his head in his hands.
    “Stephen, listen to me,” she said. “The world is more complicated than you know. You’re rational. As am I. Most ghost
sightings
are not real. But that is not the same thing as saying ghosts are not real. Many supposed ghost sightings are the products of suggestion—the mind’s desire to find patterns in randomness, so shapes are seen in shadows, ordinary noises become whispering voices, the cold breeze from under the door becomes a spectral presence. That’s all well understood. Actual ghosts—”
    “No,” Stephen said, shaking his head. “No.”
    “Please let me finish. Actual ghosts are  …  well, we don’t know precisely, but they appear to be a malfunction of some kind. Leftover energy that does not disperse quite as it should.”
    “Take me back to the hospital,” Stephen said.
    “Let me finish. There is a reason there are so many stories. There is a reason the stories go back through so much of history. We understand very little about it, but here is what we do know—people who truly can see ghosts develop the ability after a close brush with death. Also, this event—whatever it is—needs to take place between the ages of fourteen and eighteen or so. There can be slight variations, depending on individual brain chemistry, but that’s generally how it works. We don’t have enough data to know if it runs in families.”
    “Fine,” Stephen said, raising his hands. “I’ll go myself.”
    He went to the door, only to find it locked. He shook it once, then turned back to Felicia.
    “This has to be illegal now,” he said. “Open this door. I signed myself into the hospital, but I never agreed to be locked in.”
    “We’re not in the hospital.”
    “Which means this is tantamount to false imprisonment, most likely. I’ll break the pane if you don’t open it right now.”
    Felicia didn’t move, so Stephen grabbed an iron doorstop from the ground and lifted it.
    “You have a valuable ability,” she said. “You could serve your country.”
    She joined him at the door and pointed to a car idling at the kerbside, maybe twenty yards away. It was a prim and anonymous-looking black Mercedes.
    “The driver of that car is instructed to take you to Thames House,” she said. “Do you know what Thames House is?”
    “You’re talking about the headquarters of MI5?”
    “I am. There is someone there who wishes to speak with you. Listen to what he has to say.”
    “Now you’re telling me I’m going to go talk to some
spies
,” he said.
    “Security services, not spies, necessarily. The very location should give you some confidence that this is no prank. Just go, listen, and then you’ll be returned to the hospital.”
    “You’re not coming?”
    “No,” she said. “I will not be coming. My role in this is over.”
    “And if I wanted to go back now?”
    “Then the car would take you. But you’d wonder forever about what they wanted to say to you at MI5.”
    Annoyingly, she was right.
    “What about the torch?” he asked, holding it up. “Explain this.”
    She took the torch from him.
    “Go and get in the car,” she said.
    She wasn’t lying.
    The car cruised down to the Embankment Road, turning by Westminster Bridge and heading along to Vauxhall, stopping in front of the massive structure that was Thames House. Stephen had read enough and seen enough to know the building by sight. The driver said nothing at all for the entire trip, and continued to say nothing now that they had stopped. Stephen let himself out, and immediately saw that there was a man sitting on the wide steps leading up to the grand arch that fronted the building. He had very striking white hair, which didn’t quite match his face, which was young and clean shaven. He