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They hadn't even been in the hire car long, and Martin was already irritating Douglas. It didn't even take much - they were all tense, but that was no excuse for the sheer amount of fidgeting and complete inability to sit still that the great captain was displaying. Which, Douglas had to admit, was odd. They were both pilots after all, and Martin both could and indeed had sat still enough to fly a plane, in his presence, plenty of times before.
He was currently tied with Arthur for prize of people in the car doing worrying things. Martin, who was usually ramrod-straight and generally able to be quiet when he wanted to be, and Arthur, who was for once not saying as much as he normally would, and staring out of the car windows. Oh, he seemed cheerful enough, certain in his own mind that Douglas was going to sort everything out, but he wasn't playing Yellow Car. And, as he himself had once so infallibly stated, one - or rather, Arthur - did not stop playing Yellow Car.
Come to think, Martin had been acting jittery ever since they had met Gordan that time, too. Something he'd said had set his superior officer off. When they'd come off the plane having landed it with only one engine- now that, that was nerves. He could understand nerves. No one was immune to them. But what Martin had was eerily similar too his own jitters whenever he thought that he was about to be discovered by the relevant authorities for something that, in his own opinion, he was perfectly within his rights to be doing.
But that was, of course, ridiculous. This was Martin they were talking about here. Martin.
That was about half a mile into the journey.
A mile in, and Douglas started to notice something strange.
Martin, sat as he was right next to him, was clearly visible, or at least was supposed to be, since the other side of the car was not very far away at all. So, why then, did it seem as though Martin, highly visible Martin, was fading out of view?
Douglas, unable to read his captain's mind and now sure, in a somewhat disturbing measure, that he could now see the window through Martin's hat, asked what was wrong.
Martin predictably started babbling about how he was perfectly fine, and that nothing was wrong, at least not with him, why would there be?
Which, in turn, made Douglas all the more certain that there was. But just as certain as he was about that, he knew that Martin wasn't going to say a thing unless he was forced to. So, knowing that it was probably cruel and possibly mean, he asked what Arthur thought of how Martin was looking.
Arthur, at first, got the wrong end of the stick. He started off by suggesting that Martin looked peaky, then deciding it wasn't that, it was something else, and don't you look kind of odd, Skipper?
That, Douglas had to admit, was what he'd been waiting for.
"Martin," he said carefully when the man himself didn't own up, "is there anything you think we ought to know?"
The man himself deigned to say nothing, even if he did look increasingly uncomfortable.
"Captain," he started, with more tact than he thought he'd ever have to use on Martin of all people, "I might be wrong, but I think I can see straight through you."
Douglas wasn't entirely sure how this made him feel. Mostly as though someone had taken the car out from underneath (and around) them.
He also did not know anything that he, or indeed Martin, could do about it.
Martin looked at him, oddly. Douglas could see the St. Petersburg scenery even clearer by the minute.
Thankfully, Carolyn could not turn around, as she happened to be driving. Arthur, however...
Craned his body around in his seat to have a better look.
"Wow, Skip! That's amazing! How're you doing that?"
Martin sighed, not facing them, head resting on a just-as-insubstantial hand.
"No, Arthur, it isn't 'amazing'. I'm- I'm-" he seemed to have a hard time, debating something within himself, until he seemed to give in. "I'm fading, all right?". And now it was all coming out in a rush, as the rest of the car's occupants listened in silence. "I'm a ghost, all right? I died the day before the interview, I've been dead all this time. I'm sorry, Carolyn, I really am. But I wanted to fly so. Badly. And... Gertie and I went down well, didn't we?"
No one said anything for the longest time. They couldn't argue that ghosts weren't real - they had the proof right in front of their eyes.
"Martin, I'm not selling Gertie to Gordan. I thought we'd established that."
Martin shrugged. "It doesn't make any difference. I'm-"
"Transparent?"
"...Yes, thank you, Douglas..."
"I assume it has something to do with what Gordan said to you back there in the hopes of keeping you in line."
"What? Oh, yes. Car accident. That was the motorway."
Douglas made a mental note to look up all road traffic accidents from that month a couple of years back. He had already decided that he didn't want to find anything matching the description, but had a bad feeling he would.
"But it's all going to be all right really, isn't it? Since mum isn't selling Gertie and Douglas is going to sort everything out."
"Arthur, I don't think you quite understand," said Martin, even his voice going whispy now. "I don't have much time-"
Douglas tuned Martin out, which was currently easy enough to do. Time. There was something about time.
The events of the day flashed again through his mind, little Martin moments trying to creep in saying 'Oh, you're going to remember THIS differently later', but he mercilessly shoved them aside.
"Carolyn," he said, calmly and absolutely furious, "Turn the car around."
He was currently tied with Arthur for prize of people in the car doing worrying things. Martin, who was usually ramrod-straight and generally able to be quiet when he wanted to be, and Arthur, who was for once not saying as much as he normally would, and staring out of the car windows. Oh, he seemed cheerful enough, certain in his own mind that Douglas was going to sort everything out, but he wasn't playing Yellow Car. And, as he himself had once so infallibly stated, one - or rather, Arthur - did not stop playing Yellow Car.
Come to think, Martin had been acting jittery ever since they had met Gordan that time, too. Something he'd said had set his superior officer off. When they'd come off the plane having landed it with only one engine- now that, that was nerves. He could understand nerves. No one was immune to them. But what Martin had was eerily similar too his own jitters whenever he thought that he was about to be discovered by the relevant authorities for something that, in his own opinion, he was perfectly within his rights to be doing.
But that was, of course, ridiculous. This was Martin they were talking about here. Martin.
That was about half a mile into the journey.
A mile in, and Douglas started to notice something strange.
Martin, sat as he was right next to him, was clearly visible, or at least was supposed to be, since the other side of the car was not very far away at all. So, why then, did it seem as though Martin, highly visible Martin, was fading out of view?
Douglas, unable to read his captain's mind and now sure, in a somewhat disturbing measure, that he could now see the window through Martin's hat, asked what was wrong.
Martin predictably started babbling about how he was perfectly fine, and that nothing was wrong, at least not with him, why would there be?
Which, in turn, made Douglas all the more certain that there was. But just as certain as he was about that, he knew that Martin wasn't going to say a thing unless he was forced to. So, knowing that it was probably cruel and possibly mean, he asked what Arthur thought of how Martin was looking.
Arthur, at first, got the wrong end of the stick. He started off by suggesting that Martin looked peaky, then deciding it wasn't that, it was something else, and don't you look kind of odd, Skipper?
That, Douglas had to admit, was what he'd been waiting for.
"Martin," he said carefully when the man himself didn't own up, "is there anything you think we ought to know?"
The man himself deigned to say nothing, even if he did look increasingly uncomfortable.
"Captain," he started, with more tact than he thought he'd ever have to use on Martin of all people, "I might be wrong, but I think I can see straight through you."
Douglas wasn't entirely sure how this made him feel. Mostly as though someone had taken the car out from underneath (and around) them.
He also did not know anything that he, or indeed Martin, could do about it.
Martin looked at him, oddly. Douglas could see the St. Petersburg scenery even clearer by the minute.
Thankfully, Carolyn could not turn around, as she happened to be driving. Arthur, however...
Craned his body around in his seat to have a better look.
"Wow, Skip! That's amazing! How're you doing that?"
Martin sighed, not facing them, head resting on a just-as-insubstantial hand.
"No, Arthur, it isn't 'amazing'. I'm- I'm-" he seemed to have a hard time, debating something within himself, until he seemed to give in. "I'm fading, all right?". And now it was all coming out in a rush, as the rest of the car's occupants listened in silence. "I'm a ghost, all right? I died the day before the interview, I've been dead all this time. I'm sorry, Carolyn, I really am. But I wanted to fly so. Badly. And... Gertie and I went down well, didn't we?"
No one said anything for the longest time. They couldn't argue that ghosts weren't real - they had the proof right in front of their eyes.
"Martin, I'm not selling Gertie to Gordan. I thought we'd established that."
Martin shrugged. "It doesn't make any difference. I'm-"
"Transparent?"
"...Yes, thank you, Douglas..."
"I assume it has something to do with what Gordan said to you back there in the hopes of keeping you in line."
"What? Oh, yes. Car accident. That was the motorway."
Douglas made a mental note to look up all road traffic accidents from that month a couple of years back. He had already decided that he didn't want to find anything matching the description, but had a bad feeling he would.
"But it's all going to be all right really, isn't it? Since mum isn't selling Gertie and Douglas is going to sort everything out."
"Arthur, I don't think you quite understand," said Martin, even his voice going whispy now. "I don't have much time-"
Douglas tuned Martin out, which was currently easy enough to do. Time. There was something about time.
The events of the day flashed again through his mind, little Martin moments trying to creep in saying 'Oh, you're going to remember THIS differently later', but he mercilessly shoved them aside.
"Carolyn," he said, calmly and absolutely furious, "Turn the car around."
