Given everything else that had happened in their lives, it hadn’t exactly been the worst six weeks they’d ever had, but it hadn’t been the best either. Rhiow had scolded them as only a cat can for what felt like an hour, almost like she knew what they had done and resented that they hadn’t taken her with (it wasn’t their fault Jean was allergic to cats). Once Linda had stopped laughing, she’d insisted on staying for a bit, just so she could run errands for them and they could hole up until everything blew over. As she’d pointed out, even a nine days’ wonder only lasted nine days, and they hadn’t made national headlines. Before long, the internet would move on to the next collective joke, obsession, or viral story. Melanie, having seen some of the memes going around, just hoped this wouldn’t be one that got reused for years to come and was allowed to die a merciful death.
In the end, it had only been a couple of weeks before the novelty wore off, and she suspected it had only lasted that long because of Halloween. They’d tried to be cheerful—Cousin Linda was a lot of fun, and they had missed her, considering they hadn’t seen her in over a decade—and they’d tried to be normal. Jon had played his best pieces on the piano for them; Melanie had shown Linda the editing software and helped her make an interesting promotional video for her own social media based on some of the recordings she’d taken on her phone at some of the sites; Linda had taught them a complicated card game and didn’t even mind when Jon worked out the trick and started beating her more often than he didn’t.
A crisis had arisen back on the dig site in Kos—something to do with a new site and a piece of malfunctioning equipment—at about the time the posts started to die down, and they’d seen Linda off with a mixture of regret and, it had to be confessed, relief. They’d come to a silent mutual decision to leave things alone while she was there, but the second they were alone, it was back to researching.
This time, they had direction, at least. No longer were they casting a wide net hoping to dredge up something that looked like what they wanted. No, now they had a specific goal in mind. They had a much stronger starting point. And, more crucially, they had a cold, hard determination.
In the hours and days after the incident, lying awake in the dark and clinging to Jon tighter than she had in years, Melanie had replayed the incident in her mind over and over. She had tried, at first, to convince herself that it was different than what had happened to Sarah Baldwin, because that at least hadn’t been nearly fatal, but eventually she had admitted the truth—if Sarah hadn’t been…whatever she was, she probably would have died, or at least been seriously injured. The only difference between what had happened to Owen and what had happened to Sarah was that she hadn’t cared about Sarah. The next morning, sitting at the breakfast table while Jon and Linda argued playfully over whether you could make cheese using milk from an animal that didn’t have hooves and what people would say if you tried, she had caught sight of Jon’s profile and realized the other important difference between Sarah’s attack and Owen’s: Jon hadn’t been there when Sarah was attacked. She’d been safely hidden…she thought…but even if she hadn’t, the only one hurt would have been her. Even setting aside what had happened to Owen, that thing had almost hurt her brother.
And it would have been her fault.
It took them a week find the notebook Melanie had scribbled the serial number down in, and another three days to piece it together correctly; Rhiow, who’d never been one for damaging property, had apparently got hold of it and used it for sharpening her claws. Jon had started to scold her for it, but Melanie had stopped him. She remembered the way Rhiow had defended them from the creepy phone calls back in Woodley, how she’d reacted to some of the hauntings they’d investigated, the way she always soothed them when they were getting ruffled. Maybe it was confirmation bias, but if she was going to live up to the name they’d given her, it behooved them to trust her. Since they couldn’t stop looking into this, it took the form of reassuring pets, taking things slow, and stopping whenever she demanded it. Which was a lot.
Still, she’d eventually been able to track down the serial number of the car. It was a World War II hospital car, part of the US Army’s Eleventh Hospital Train, which had run in the European theater beginning in 1943 or 1944. Jon had taken the research from there, mostly.
From the wrinkles on his forehead, she guessed it wasn’t going well.
“What have you got, Little Flame?” she asked, tilting her chair back and propping her boots on the edge of the desk.
Jon peered at her over the top of his laptop, but he did relax slightly at the nickname. “A dead end, I think.”
Now it was Melanie’s turn to frown. “How so?”
“Do you want the last bit, or do you want everything I know?”
Melanie sat up and beckoned. “Wait, come here.”
Obviously bewildered, Jon followed her. He managed a laugh when he realized she was taking him into the back room of the cottage, the one that they’d set up as the staging area for the studio shots of Ghost Hunt UK. “I thought the show was done.”
“It is, but if I’m going to listen to a proper Jonathan Sims-King History Lecture, I want to be in my seat in front of Dad and Mama’s books.” Melanie dropped into her chair, waited for Jon to sit, and then leaned back. “Right. Lay it on me. Tell me all about the Eleventh US Army Hospital Train.”
Jon’s smile looked a bit strained, but he took a deep breath. “Right. Well, the Eleventh Hospital Train was officially activated on the tenth of December, 1943, at Camp Ellis in Illinois, United States. They immediately began training—all of the assigned technicians had previously worked in hospitals before joining the unit, so training was relatively minimal, just a few refinement and refresher courses in the various techniques unique to a Hospital Train unit. They left Camp Ellis for Camp Myles Standish—that’s Myles with a Y, I think he was a hero during the American War of Independence—in Boston, Massachusetts on the third of May, 1944. It was the staging area for the Boston Port of Embarkation. They made their final preparations, then set sail ten days later. They arrived in Glasgow ten days after that, and then immediately went to England, where they were assigned to the 185th General Hospital. Since they still didn’t have a train assigned to them, they got collateral training at the hospital. Whenever possible, the officers and enlisted men in the unit would visit one of the nearby Hospital Trains in operation to prepare fully for their duties.”
He’d slipped into the cadence he always used on the show, and something Melanie hadn’t realized was tense relaxed at the familiarity as he continued. “They were at Moreton-in-Marsh, Gloucestershire, on the main London-Worcester line, from thirty-first May to seventh June, then transferred to the railway station at Lydeard, Somerset until sixteenth July. From there, they left the marshaling area and set sail for the coast of France, landing at Utah Beach in Normandy two days later. They were the first Hospital Train on the continent and began operation on fourth August, 1944. The original train was made up of ‘forty and eight’ French box cars fitted with all the necessary emergency equipment. At first it was a bit primitive, which led to complications—like no doors between cars, so doctors and nurses were limited to a single car until they were cut through on each end—but they managed. The improvised train ran from Cherbourg to Lison and La-Haye-du-Puits until first October, 1944. During those two months, they evacuated a total of five thousand, four hundred, sixty-five patients with not one fatality. The unit even received a commendation for their actions. On fourth October, they were assigned a standard Hospital Train.”
“I thought it looked more…solid than you were implying.”
“Yeah. Well, the unit still made improvements to it—like adding a second shower and getting hot water piped in instead of just cold, and installing a public address system throughout the whole train, with radios and record players to provide music and news for the patients. It was pretty popular, since there were no windows except one in each door, so the trip was fairly tedious otherwise. Each ward car had a sturdy bedside table with a compartment for food cans, which let them make hot sandwiches and prepare medications and dressings more easily. The biggest complaint was that in cold weather, it was impossible for the diesel engine to supply heat to the whole train, until they placed it in the middle—although the main source of the heat was from the steam engine, which was a problem when it was forced to remain in railyards for any length of time in extremely cold weather.”
“All of this is interesting, but not exactly helpful.”
“Well, you said you wanted the whole lecture,” Jon pointed out. Melanie grunted, acknowledging the point. “Anyway, the train consisted of fifteen cars plus the engine, and operated six months before the relevant incident. On tenth April, 1945, about half an hour to midnight, while it was en route from Cherbourg to Paris, the train derailed at the end of a double track west of the Eure River railway bridge. According to the official report, the speed restriction in the area was a maximum of twenty kilometers per hour, but the train was traveling at ninety-five kilometers per hour, and that despite there being a slow order board up ahead. They damaged the switch on the west side of the bridge and tore up the tracks completely. There were no patients on board—allegedly—but five men were killed and a further fourteen injured. Most of the train was comprised of British bunk type wooden cars, and they were completely destroyed—except for one single steel car, which was not part of the original train.”
“The one up in Rotherham,” Melanie murmured.
Jon nodded. “The casualties were evacuated on twelfth April, the wreck was cleared, everything was repaired, and the trains were ready to resume service by about seven o’clock the night of the twelfth. The Office of the Chief of Transport felt that a maximum of forty-seven trains were still required at this point, so another train was brought in, and the Eleventh Hospital Train stayed in service another six weeks before it ceased operations on twenty-fifth May, 1945, which was about two weeks after VE Day. After that the nurses were reassigned, and they were officially decommissioned on first January, 1946.”
Melanie cocked her head at Jon. “How did you get such precise dates?”
“The official report,” Jon said again. “It was written by one Major William W. Hay, who later expanded on it in his memoirs.” He grimaced. “Apparently.”
“Apparently?” Melanie repeated. “Not like you to just…stop there.”
“I didn’t. I actually found a copy of Major Hay’s memoirs and read them, and…there’s a bit more, but there are holes. Spaces where you can tell stuff’s been edited out.” Jon ran a hand through his hair. “I looked into it a bit more, and apparently his memoirs were heavily edited. I’m not sure if it was after the proof copies were submitted or if the initial run was recalled and reprinted, but I know they were edited because, apparently, there is an unexpurgated copy in a library, right here in London. Or so the rumor has it.”
Melanie perked up. “Great! Which one?”
Jon’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. “The one at the Magnus Institute.”
At that, Melanie deflated instantly. “Fuck.”
“Yep. It’s not exactly open to the public. I checked into it…surreptitiously…and apparently in order to access the library, you have to be either a fellow academic, or a student with a note from your thesis adviser stating that you need access to certain materials. And even then it has to be a graduate degree.” Jon hesitated, biting his lip as he studied Melanie.
She wasn’t fooled, and she wasn’t having that. “What? What’s your idea? I know you’re thinking of something I’m not going to like.”
“You don’t know that you’re not going to like it,” Jon argued, but he hunched his shoulders. “I, ah…that research position I looked at a few years back is still open. Or, well, it’s not the same position, but they do have one available. I thought maybe I could—”
“Absolutely not,” Melanie interrupted. “No. Don’t even think about it. You’re not going to work there—”
“If it’s the only chance to—” Jon began.
“—not without me, arsehole,” Melanie completed, socking him in the shoulder, not gently. “And since I don’t think they’ll let me use accessibility aids in a place like that, it’s not happening.”
Jon folded his arms across his chest. “I’m open to suggestions.”
Melanie pursed her lips. Jon was right, getting a job there would be the surest way to get access…except that they’d have to do actual work during the day, and do their personal research on their own time. Their next option was to apply for a graduate degree program and use those credentials to gain access to the library, but it was almost the end of term and something told her she didn’t want to wait much longer. They could sneak in, but the place probably had good security, and it was in such a posh part of town that the police would likely come out right away if something was reported there as an issue. Fleetingly, she gave thought to calling back up Sheffield and seeing if Auntie Jean would come down and give The Look to the woman at the desk and get them access. She’d probably enjoy it. It wasn’t like there was anyone else who could—
Wait.
“What about your friend?” she said.
“My what?” Jon looked confused.
“You know. That big guy in the Archives you were making goo-goo eyes at when I came out from making my statement?”
“I was not making—” Jon sputtered, looking extremely flustered, but he wasn’t fooling her; she’d seen the look that flashed across his face when she mentioned him. “You mean Martin?”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” Melanie said. “You two got on, right?”
“I like to think so.”
“Well, there’s the answer then. Or at least a start.” Melanie nudged Jon’s ankle playfully with her foot. “Why don’t you go back to the Archives and ask him for help?”
Jon hummed. “He did mention he’d come down to the Archives from the library originally. Even if he can’t get us into it, he might be able to borrow the memoirs for us. I mean, if he can. I don’t want to get him in trouble or anything.”
Melanie snorted softly. “What’s the harm in asking? Worst case scenario, he says no and we have to find another way in. But you can at least give that a shot before we take the drastic step of actually joining the Institute. I’ve been my own master for too long to want to put myself in harness now.”
Jon laughed—a real, genuine laugh, not the slightly strained one of earlier. She didn’t think the smile playing about his lips was about her joke, though. “I would like to see him again. All right. I’ll stop by tomorrow. What’s the worst that can happen?”
“I thought we agreed not to ask that question.”