by Wes Markin
It was Jake’s turn to laugh. ‘No, we’re not. And if Mark Topham can disappear, I can too.’
‘Mark Topham is dead, Jake.’
‘Prove it.’
‘I don’t have to. Isn’t it obvious? No one can disappear. Not in today’s world. He must be dead, or he’d have been found.’
‘You’ll be saying the same thing about me in a couple of weeks.’
‘And you’ll be dead too.’
‘This is not the life I want for myself. Goodbye ma’am.’
‘Jake—’
He hung up and switched his phone off in case she decided to call back.
The boys smashed the shuttlecock back and forth; they had found a steady rhythm now.
The front door of Alexander Antonovich’s opened and Nina stepped out first. She turned to offer her arm to her frail father who promptly took it. She escorted him to the passenger side of his Boxster, opened the door and helped him in.
The smallest of the two boys missed the shuttlecock. It looped over the fence and into Alexander Antonovich’s drive.
Nina climbed into the driver’s side. The boy ran around the fence and into the drive for his shuttlecock. Fortunately, it’d landed in the shrubbery by the fence rather than behind the Boxster which Nina would be nonchalantly reversing out the drive any second—
The car exploded.
Jake shielded his eyes from the sudden glare. He felt his insides melting. ‘No … no …’
The car was an inferno. Fire streaked out of every smashed window and licked the air hungrily. The young boy lay twisted in the shrubbery.
Jake threw himself from his car and started to run. Neighbours were pouring out onto their lawns. His ears were ringing, but he could make out some gasps and screams.
‘GET AN AMBULANCE!’ Jake shouted. He could barely hear his own voice through his stunned ears.
The heat coming off the twisted metal carcass was intense; it burned Jake’s face and hands as he neared. He went in as close to the shrubbery as he could, fighting the pain all the way. He had no choice but to scoop the boy up without checking him; they were too close to the carnage to delay.
Running from the blaze with the boy clutched to his chest, his eyes streamed from the smoke, or was it from emotion? He wasn’t sure.
Away from the heat, he fell to his knees in the centre of the road and shouted again. ‘GET AN AMBULANCE.’
He looked down into the eyes of the broken boy in his arms. He was beyond repair.
Then the sky burst open and the rain came.
20
THEY’D MOVED INTO the lounge to enjoy post-breakfast coffee when Yorke pointed out of the window at a young woman running past his garden wall, braving the elements by holding a plastic bag over her hair.
‘That’s not going to cut it,’ Yorke said.
There was a moment of laughter followed by the sharp silence of surprise when the young woman opted to turn down Yorke’s drive.
‘Is that who I think it is?’ Yorke said. ‘Pemberton?’
Willows was already on her feet. ‘Yes, it bloody well is.’
‘She’s early.’
‘No. She’s here to see me,’ Willows said.
‘The more the merrier,’ Patricia said. ‘But she could have saved herself a drenching by just phoning you.’
Yorke looked up at Willows. ‘Is everything alright?’
Willows smiled. ‘Not really.’ She looked between Patricia and Bryan, blushing.
‘You’re among friends,’ Bryan said. Patricia nodded.
‘We’ve gotten close recently … we had a bit of a disagreement earlier. I told her I needed some space.’
‘Would you like me to answer the door, darling?’ Patricia said. ‘I could tell her you’ve left.’
‘Speaking of the door,’ Bryan said, ‘Have you actually heard the doorbell?’
‘Probably on the blink again,’ Yorke said. ‘Although you’d expect her to be pounding the door down to get out of that weather.’
‘She’s probably thinking up excuses for being here,’ Willows said. ‘I’ll go. This is my issue. Not yours.’
Patricia rubbed her back. ‘Okay, honey. Offer’s there though.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ Willows said.
Willows exited the lounge by the door beside the sofa straight into the hallway. She closed the door behind her to keep the impending conversation as private as possible.
The front door was opposite the foot of the stairs. Knowing that Ewan and his girlfriend were upstairs, she glanced up to check they weren’t looking over the balcony.
After appeasing her paranoia, she turned, took a deep breath and opened the door.
No one was there.
Wheelhouse finished stacking the new shelf before standing back and admiring his handywork.
Firth came and stood beside him. He ran his finger over the fifty red hardback spines and then looked at his fingertip.
‘Clean?’ Wheelhouse said.
‘Not a speck.’
‘Gets your approval then?’
‘Of course, although I did prefer them when they arrived covered in dust. There’s something about turning the page of a classic and having to blow the build-up of dead skin particles off the page.’
‘You bring romanticism to every situation.’
‘Why thank you, sir.’ Firth put his hand on Wheelhouse’s shoulder. ‘There’s more where these came from too. The hospital library is clearing out another two shelves over the next month.’
‘Wait until the clientele hear about this.’
‘Yes, I do believe there is potential to grow our customer base from seven to eight—’
‘Ladies, you’re supposed to be working.’
Harris came down the centre of the aisle, he was dragging his baton across the spines of the books. He was not alone.
Harris was a short man, but the man beside him was shorter. In a suit and tie, he was far smarter though. His hair was neatly clipped, and his skin was tanned.
Wheelhouse suspected he was a lawyer.
His eyes moved back to Harris’ baton which was bumping off each book’s spine. He’d never seen the guard with a weapon before. In fact, he didn’t think he’d ever seen a weapon in this prison. Subdued HMP Hancock wasn’t known for its riots. He felt his stomach tighten, and tasted acid in his mouth.
He looked at Firth. His friend didn’t look overly anxious, so he took this as some encouragement, but still, he’d be stupid to think that everything was alright here.
Harris and the lawyer stopped less than a metre from them.
‘Hello again, Douglas,’ the lawyer said. He had a deep, calming voice. He held out his hand, and Firth shook it.
Wheelhouse’s stomach eased, and the acid slipped back down his throat. Firth knew him, and the relationship seemed genial.
Harris smiled. ‘Take a step back, Douglas.’
Firth didn’t move.
Harris brought the baton to his chest and ran his hand up and down the shaft. ‘Take … a …. step … back.’
‘Fuck you,’ Firth said.
‘What’s going on?’ Wheelhouse said to Firth, suddenly tasting the acid in his stomach again.
‘Douglas … please do as he says,’ the lawyer said.
Wheelhouse grabbed Firth’s arm. ‘Doug, what the hell is going on?’
His friend did not look at him. Instead, he took a step back, pulling free of Wheelhouse’s grip.
‘I’ve been wanting to do this for so long,’ Harris said.
Wheelhouse continued to look at Firth, but his friend wouldn’t meet his stare. From the corner of his eye, he saw Harris swinging the baton. His aging knee shattered, and he collapsed to the floor.
Willows stepped out onto the covered porch and immediately recognised the dark eyes and the red mouth. The Dancer, Borya Turgenev, stood off to her left, about two metres away. With his left arm, he had Pemberton crushed against his chest in a headlock, while still managing to keep the umbrella above them both with
his gloved left hand. He was a giant, and Pemberton looked tiny and frail in comparison. He could break her in two. Not that he needed to because, with his right hand, he had a pistol pinned to the side of her head.
Willows gasped, and then for fear of startling him and his trigger finger, she quickly put her hand over her mouth. She knew such concerns were probably pointless. The monster looked unflappable.
Pemberton’s eyes were wide. She seemed to be quivering, but it was hard to ascertain whether this was just a visual effect caused by the shimmering stream of rainwater that tore down from the umbrella’s edge.
Borya stared at Willows. He seemed content to wait for her move. But did she really have a move to make? Without a weapon, Willows was as defenceless as her lover was. Like most people in this world, she’d be no physical match for this enormous Russian. But time was running out. If Borya didn’t shoot her soon, the muscles wrapped around her neck would surely do the job anyway.
Think, Collette … for fuck’s sake, think!
She considered darting back into the house to get to Yorke and call reinforcements, but she knew, deep down, that it’d mean certain death for Pemberton.
So, she did all she could. She held the palms of her hands out to show Borja she was unarmed, hoping that this would be enough to relax his trigger finger and the iron grip around her neck.
Surprisingly, it seemed to work. Borya slipped his arm away from Pemberton’s neck and, keeping his umbrella upright, took a large step back, away from her.
Pemberton was already wet from her journey here, but without Borya’s umbrella, the rain made quick work of her. Her hair was immediately plastered to her face, and she struggled to open her eyes fully.
Willows waved Pemberton towards her. ‘Come.’
Pemberton brushed hair from her eyes and started forward.
Willows saw Borya raise his pistol. ‘It’s a trick! Get down! GET DOWN!’
Pemberton jerked, her left arm lifted in the air and spasmed. She forced herself on.
‘GET DOWN, PEMBERTON!’
She jolted a second time. Her upper body seemed to twist at an impossible angle to the lower part; unbelievably, she straightened out and resumed her gait.
To meet her, Willows dived from the covered porch into the rain. Pemberton thudded into her with such force that it was clear she’d taken another bullet.
Willows was immediately drenched. As both her arms were now around Pemberton, she was forced to snap her head back to flick the wet hair from her eyes.
Pemberton was heavy. She wouldn’t stay upright without support. ‘Please, Lorraine, hold on …’ She looked into the half-closed eyes and realised that it was almost over for her. ‘Lorraine …’
Her head lolled forward.
Willows looked up. Borya watched her with dark eyes. He still held his umbrella above his head. He had dropped the gun to his side.
She noticed that both of his hands were gloved, and he wore plastic blue overshoes.
He was here to kill them all.
Keeping hold of Pemberton, Willows edged backwards. Not only was she heavy, but the rain had made her slippery. She had to keep hold of her though. The thought of using her as a shield sickened her to the core, but she was out of options.
Borya saw her intention. He raised his pistol again. Although she couldn’t see the gunfire, Willows felt it in Pemberton’s jolting body. She stumbled backwards, managing to keep upright.
Borya came quickly, firing at will. Willows was pummelled by Pemberton’s convulsing body. She stepped under the covered porch; she was inches from the open front door, and could shortly make a dive for it … Pemberton’s head thrashed back and forth, bashing Willows’ face …
The air was smacked from her body and there was a crushing pain in her chest. Pemberton slipped from her grasp and fell flat on the floor.
She knew what she was going to see but looked anyway. Blood oozing from just under her collar bone. A bullet had made it through.
She looked up to see Borya barely a metre away, pointing the pistol at her.
‘Fuck you,’ she said.
Drenched, with a dead boy in his arms, Jake struggled to find the willpower to move, but he had no choice. Within minutes, emergency services would be here, and he would be standing at the centre of it all.
What would be his excuse for being there? What hope would there be for him avoiding arresting, never mind making it to St Malo on this evening’s ferry?
Residents, holding umbrellas, were gathering. Some attempted to get nearer to the blazing car but quickly steered away when they felt the flesh-eating heat licking their faces. No-one was alive in that car, and no one else needed to die to confirm the obvious.
A scream pulled Jake back to awareness. He looked up at a soaking woman. He laid the boy down, rose and stumbled back, allowing the distressed mother to fall onto her child.
‘I’m sorry,’ Jake said. ‘I’m so very, very sorry.’
He turned to see a man running towards them. The boy’s father, presumably. The other child was sitting in the driveway, still clutching his badminton racket, crying.
Jake backed away, across the street, and climbed into his open vehicle. No one seemed to notice. Panic was swelling with the numbers of people.
Now what? Jake thought, starting the engine. I told them. He punched the wheel. No children.
He started the car. He didn’t bother wiping the rainwater away, he let it streak down his face.
Lacey had been right. It’s inside me. It took root and is growing like a cancer.
With his wipers on full blast, he eased the car away from the curb, weaving around some people in the expanding crowd.
I’m no different from the rest of them. And like them, I don’t deserve to live.
He found space on the road and drove to God knows where.
Wheelhouse was sitting on the floor, moaning as he clutched his shattered kneecap.
Firth looked down at his suffering friend. Laughing, Harris pushed the baton into his hands.
Walter spoke slowly and deeply. ‘Mr Firth. Quickly now. He’s making too much noise.’
Firth gripped the baton. Wheelhouse looked up at him. His eyes were wide, and there was spittle frothing at the corners of his mouth. ‘Doug? What’s happening? What does he mean?’
Walter stepped behind Wheelhouse and placed his hands on the injured man’s shoulders. He stared at Firth with a ghost of a smile on his face. He raised a perfectly trimmed eyebrow. ‘Answer his questions. He deserves that much.’
Firth glared at Walter, and then looked back at Wheelhouse. ‘I’m sorry, Herb … I really am. But I warned you. I told you that actions would have consequences.’
‘I don’t understand, Doug …’
Walter tightened his grip on his shoulders, massaging him. ‘I think he said he warned you, Mr Wheelhouse, or is it the Reaper, which do you prefer?’
‘Don’t you fucking call me that, you ponce …’ The spittle sprayed from Wheelhouse’s mouth.
‘Now, Mr Firth,’ Walter removed his hands from Wheelhouse’s shoulders. ‘Now.’
Inevitability squeezed his eyes shut. There was no getting away from it. ‘I’m sorry, Herb.’ He opened his eyes and swung the baton.
Wheelhouse remained upright, but the blow silenced the moaning. His eyes remained fixed on Firth while blood ran into them from his forehead.
Don’t look at me, please … don’t look at me.
‘Again,’ Walter said.
Firth swung. Wheelhouse’s head snapped back. He hoped that his friend would slump to his side with his eyes closed. That this would be enough.
It wasn’t.
Wheelhouse stared up at Firth with even more blood streaming down his face.
‘You’re not strong enough, old man,’ Harris said. ‘Better going for here.’ He leaned over and touched the top of Wheelhouse’s head. ‘The crown.’
Wheelhouse was swaying but keeping himself upright. ‘Doug …’
�
��Again,’ Walter said.
Firth brought the baton down like a hammer.
Wheelhouse’s head lolled forward.
Keep your head down, have mercy, don’t look at me …
‘Again.’
Firth slammed the baton down.
‘Again.’
This time his friend’s skull gave way.
‘Did you hear that?’ Harris said. ‘His head fucking popping?’
‘Again,’ Walter said.
Firth swung … and swung.
In his head, he heard Walter’s calls for ‘again’ over and over, but whether the man was actually chanting, he couldn’t be sure.
Trapped in this loop, he closed his eyes. Again … swing … again … swing … again … swing …
Silence.
‘Mr Firth?’ Walter said.
Again … swing … swing …
Firth felt a hand on his back.
‘Mr Firth?’
Swing … swing.
‘Mr Firth?’
Firth opened his eyes. At some point, he’d fallen to his knees. He was still swinging but was now just hitting the floor. Wheelhouse was curled up. It was Harris who had his hand on his back. ‘It’s done … Firth … it’s done!’
Firth threw the baton to one side. He was panting and sweat was running into his eyes.
Harris knelt beside Firth and looked at the pulpy mess on the floor. He looked at Firth, smiling. ‘Fuck me, Firth. You’ve almost taken his head clean off.’ He patted him on the back. ‘Good job. Did you really like this man? I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone enjoy themselves so—’
Firth clambered on top of Harris. He was exhausted, and had very little left in him, but he managed to strike the smarmy bastard, just once, in the face, before he was hoisted back by Walter.
21
‘SHALL I JUST check that she’s okay?’ Bryan said.
Patricia raised her eyebrow. ‘Would you want interrupting if you were having a deep and meaningful?’
Bryan smiled. ‘If you met my wife, you would know that I’d welcome the interruption.’
‘Actually, it’s been a while … maybe I’ll just check they’re okay?’ Yorke said, nodding out the window at a world distorted by blackness and rain. ‘Get them both in for a cup of tea. We can sit in stony silence if necessary. They’ve both had a tough time.’ Because of me.
