Project Perry

by Ayre, Mark

  “So he was working alone?”

  “I guess,” James said. It seemed to make the most sense. Luke had never mentioned any other friends, and Emma had begged him to tell her where Luke was. No one was that good an actor.

  “He loves you, you know?” James said, not sure if she wanted to hear it. “More than anyone.”

  “Not enough to call.” There was real emotion in her voice. Real hurt. He thought she might say something else, but she lapsed into silence.

  “Was it just your back they got?” she asked, after a while.

  “Mostly.”

  “Turn over.”

  She got up and plucked his bags off the floor, placing them on her desk with care, so they wouldn’t fall. He did what he was told, turning. The cool of the ice pack remained, and his back felt better for it. He closed his eyes and didn’t open them until he felt the bed compress once more, Emma joining him again.

  “You’re a persistent guy, James. You keep going and going. No one else could have found what you did.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

  She stared at him. The sadness in her eyes humanised her. Made her pretty. He felt his heartbeat and, as though she could sense it, she lay a hand on his chest. He thought he should say something. That words were needed, but maybe he was wrong. She thought so. Rather than talk, she leaned down, laying her lips on his.

  The kiss was soft, gentle. Her lips lingered, then pulled away. Her eyes were close to his, and she waited to see what he was thinking. She must have realised because she leaned in again. This kiss was longer. More passionate and, as she kissed him, her hand snaked down his body, working to his jeans which she began to unbutton.

  “Emma,” breaking the kiss. “What if Christina comes home?”

  “They won’t,” she whispered, kissing him again. His jeans were undone, and she pulled down his boxers with a little help, him working from underneath, pushing them away involuntarily. He twisted a little and felt a spasm of pain.

  “I won’t be much use.”

  “James?”

  “Yes?”

  “Shut up.”

  She slid on top of him, kissing him and, for his part, he did as he was told.

  Sometime later his eyes opened, moving him from blackness to darkness. He breathed as though he had just broken the surface of the water - then realised something. For the first time in as long as he could remember, he hadn’t woken from a dream. There had only been darkness. Sleep. Proper sleep. He felt groggy from waking but guessed he would be far more refreshed once he was up and about, even though he couldn’t have slept long. It was still dark.

  Ignoring the throbbing that ran through his body, demanding more painkillers, he reached out, looking for Emma by touch. Snatches of memory from the previous night came to him, and he found himself smiling. He had been wrong about her. They hadn’t connected like he and Megan, and she wasn’t as beautiful, but she was never the bitch he thought. Just damaged, and pained by her departing brother. She blamed the family she was left with, and that made her difficult. But last night she had cared for him. She had listened to him and believed him. She had looked after and given him his most fantastic night in a long time. There was a lot of dark stuff going on. Plenty to worry about. But, for the moment at least, James felt a little better.

  “Hey, sleepy,” came a voice from nearby. James lifted his head and saw a shape in the darkness, sitting on a desk chair, holding something. As he looked her free hand reached over and flicked on the lamp, inviting an explosion of low light into the room.

  She was sitting. One leg crossed over the other, bottom half clad in a pair of undies so small he could only see a black line around her waist, top half wrapped in his shirt. She was eating a little, round chocolate.

  “I thought I’d put your top on. Boys like that, right?”

  “Right.” He kept his voice steady though she looked stunning in his shirt. He watched as she put a hand under the desk and released. A shiny wrapper which had held the chocolate escaped her clasp and floated to a bin like a butterfly losing flight. The now free hand came back and reached into a box beside her. As she pulled out another silver wrapped choc, he realised what the box was.

  “Sorry,” she said. “I saw these in your bag and couldn’t resist. Come, share. I’ll get fat.”

  He should have been annoyed she had stolen, but he was in a calm mood, so brushed it off. Rising from the bed, he came to her and held out a hand. Smiling, she unwrapped the chocolate and stood. Ignoring his hand, she placed it directly in his mouth. He chewed and pulled a face.

  “Not nice?”

  He shook his head.

  “How about this?”

  She leaned in, her chocolate mouth meeting his. This he did like, and he found a hand reaching for her, pulling her into him. She put her arms around his neck, and he felt a strain in his back but ignored it.

  “I didn’t see you as a chocolate eater,” he said as the kiss ended. Somehow her free hand was on his crotch, making him want to pull her onto the bed again. Forget the pain.

  “I’m not usually,” she confessed. “Most chocolate I can take or leave, but these are special. They were Luke’s favourites. We used to share them all the time and now… I’m not even sure I like them, but they remind me of him. What made you buy them?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “It was a random -“

  Stop. Cold realisation rushed over him, wiping away any traces of pain but somehow this was worse. Because he hadn’t picked them at random. He had picked them up on recommendation. The recommendation of someone who had chosen a box for her lover.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Luke wasn’t working alone,” he said, fear hitting him.

  “What do you mean?”

  “He wasn’t working alone. He was working with the girl who loves him.

  “Mac.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  “You can’t leave without explaining.”

  Emma was following him down the stairs. Half eaten chocolate in her hand, shorts on backwards, breasts exposed to the world. The last was James’ fault. He had almost torn the shirt from her back in his attempts to get dressed as fast as possible. In other circumstances, it could have been a move of passion. Now panic and the need to act trumped everything else.

  “I will. Later.” Reaching the door, he almost swung it into his face. “Call the police. Tell them Mac has been working with Luke. Do it now.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to find her.”

  The sun was cresting the horizon, rising on a Monday that felt separated from the previous Friday by a century, rather than a weekend. The search for Charlie had stretched the days, turning them into years that felt as though they’d never end. But this mystery was about to come to a close.

  He withdrew his phone. Pressed home, his mind in constant question and answer mode, with far more of the former.

  What was Mac doing with Mohsin? Why had she insisted he walk her home, only for him to be attacked?

  Off. Why had he turned it off?

  Unless Mohsin was part of the plan. With Amy gone to Mark, Luke had slipped into his old house, and taken Charlie next door to where Mac was waiting. Mohsin could have been watching the street, roped into the action because he loved Mac, or because he was angry at George. Anger that may have got him attacked while he waited.

  The logo flashed onto James’ screen.

  That worked. That fit. It didn’t matter that Mohsin was attacked. Not to Luke, who had already taken his son next door.

  Next door.

  That was the worst of it. All that time searching the woods and Charlie had been mere metres from where he started. They’d been so close but never stood a chance.

  The phone rippled in his hand, and James lifted it to see one, two, three missed calls pop up. The first soon after he had crawled into bed with Emma. The latter two following hot on the first
’s heels. He gripped the phone tight and kicked out at the nearest flower. Why had he turned his phone off? Why had he missed her call?

  Another buzz, this time accompanied by a voicemail. Mac. After the final call. He had been racing towards her house and remained on his current trajectory, but slowed.

  “James. It’s Mac. I keep calling. Not sure why. I think it’s because you’re the only one from outside. The only one who hasn’t been stuck here your whole life. And I know you care. Know you do.”

  A long pause. She was moving. Pacing maybe, There was something else in the background. Then she was talking again.

  “It’s Charlie. I’m going to find him, and bring him home. I don’t care what anyone says. I don’t care about love. This is more important. Please, I need your help. Call me, okay? Just call.”

  The message ended. James imagined Princess Leia telling Obi-Wan he was her only hope via hologram. He sped up, running towards her house and ringing as he closed the gap.

  It seemed to go forever with no answer. By the time it stopped he was outside Megan’s, facing the alley where, for him, it had all began. He glanced up as he rang again. Was that the flick of a curtain at Megan’s bedroom window? Was she there, thinking of him? Wanting to talk.

  Fruitless thoughts pushed away. As the ringing droned on, he jogged through the alley and across the road to Mac’s, knocking with caution. Afraid of waking Claire next door.

  No answer. He knocked harder.

  Still no answer. He let the phone ring out twice more and knocked again.

  Nothing.

  Stepping from the house, he re-listened to her voicemail. Closing his eyes and focusing not on the words, but the noises around her. As she paused her speech, he heard it. The rustling of leaves. The snapping of twigs.

  She was in the woods.

  Running. Calling again. Around the side of the house, past the tree line and into a darkness that defied the rising sun somewhere above.

  Still no answer. He slid the phone into his pocket and looked back toward the street. At the mouth of the alley was a shape. Blink, and it was gone. Probably nothing. No time to worry about it either way. Ignoring the tingling sensation down his back, he moved deeper into the woods.

  Darkness consumed him. The light of the oncoming day fought the leaves and sometimes won. But it was a pyrrhic victory. Any light that passed the final line of defence was nothing but a weak, broken ray, barely able to reach the path below, let alone light the way.

  Footsteps, somewhere nearby. He turned, wanting it to be Mac but knowing it wasn’t. The tingling raced across his body like a thousand delicate fingers. He waited in the dark, eyes closed, listening.

  The feet came fast. James opened his eyes to see the shape appear through the trees like a pouncing lion. He had enough time to register Luke with mad eyes and raised hands, a rock clutched by pale fingers then -

  He dived to the side, envisioning a cool action hero swoop and getting a half roll that led into a tree.

  Sprawled in a heap, it was a challenge to rearrange himself into a position where he could leap up. As he did, Luke was coming again, swinging the rock and screaming.

  “Bastard.”

  James ducked the first blow, span the second, then tripped avoiding the third, busting his shoulder on an aggressive trunk. From this position, he caught the crazy eyes and saw it was not Luke, but Mark.

  “Bastard.”

  Again he lashed out with the rock, and James remembered a brick in an alley, concrete at the river bank.

  A solid blow could have been fatal, but Mark was driven by anger that rendered him with the reflexes and aim of a drunk. Once James regained his senses and stopped panicking, he was able to avoid the blows, rolling left and right and jumping to his feet as Mark paused to draw in industrial amounts of oxygen.

  “Prick.”

  Realising his advantage, James waited as Mark dived again, before stepping aside at the last second. Mark slid past, flailing like a man on a tightrope. As he went, James found his attacker’s back and shoved, sending Mark headfirst to the hard ground. With shocked panting he rolled over, hands in the air, anger not diminished by this latest set back. A few seconds of this and his arms collapsed, exhausted, and tears sprang into his eyes.

  “Fuck you,” he said, glaring at James. “You’re a monster.”

  “I’m the monster?” James said with a short laugh. “I’m not the one sending his minions to attack people in alleys, leaving them like this -“ he turned and pulled up his shirt, not knowing if Mark would be able to see the damage and not caring.

  “Attack?” He sounded lost. Pathetic. “Who attacked you?”

  “Trina, Kieran, Georgia, Shawn. Your people.”

  “No, no, no. You’re the monster. You’re -“

  “I’m not the one -“ James cut in, his voice rising of its own volition - “dealing to people I care about. Getting mine and my sister’s partners killed. Two dead already, Mark. How long before Amy goes the same way?”

  “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.”

  James turned. He was worried Mark might pass out and swallow his tongue, but it wasn’t top of his priorities. He had to find Mac. Had to go.

  “Luke killed Katy and Alex. Must have sent Trina to attack you as well.”

  James stopped but didn’t turn back.

  “Haven’t you put enough on your brother?”

  “He killed them, he did.” Mark tried to scramble up, and James spun. He collapsed again, shaking his head, eyes burning with tears.

  “Fine, I lied at the viewing. I was afraid you were going to find out, and I wanted to throw you off the scent. It’s true, okay? I was their dealer, but we were careful. Katy never had more than a line of an evening and Alex did a bit of weed. But they both died with a needle in their arm. That wasn’t me.”

  “So Luke made them overdose?”

  “They were drunk, passed out. Luke hates drug addicts. He wanted to punish them and punish me, so that’s what he did.

  “He got Katy himself. Mum caught him coming out and knew what he’d done, though she couldn’t prove it. Never told me either, not till after Alex, when I made her. Otherwise, I would have killed him long before he got the chance to hurt anyone else.

  “I used to deal Kieran and Trina as you said, but it was them he used with Alex. They weren’t invited to the party, but they were there. Someone saw them leave and I know they shoved in the needle. If I could have proved it, I would have got them, but I couldn’t. Bet he paid them to get you too, given you’re so desperate to get Charlie back.

  “He killed Katy and Alex and broke my heart. Broke Emma’s too. Now he’s coming for you and, for once, I’m rooting for him.”

  He stopped, coughed up and pressed his face into the ground, thumping it. Then he was back, eyes redder than ever.

  “You think I’m a monster for blaming him, but he was monster enough on his own, your friend.”

  “He’s not my friend,” James said, but he was thinking. Hearing again something Luke had said.

  I was protecting her, Jay. It all fell apart because I was defending her.

  What did he do to protect Emma? Had he gone so far as to remove someone he believed to be a bad influence? Had he killed Alex and had that led to his eventual departure, as much as had finding out about George and Sema?

  He shook his head. He was getting tangled up, but it didn’t matter.

  “I’m not interested in either of you anymore.”

  Sick of it, he moved on, pressing through the trees with a pounding headache and an impending fear that it would be too -

  Footsteps again. Taken by surprise James didn’t move fast enough and Mark’s bulk hit him, sending them both into a tree and onto the ground. There was a scrabble, and Mark came out on top.

  “I had it good,” he said, grabbing James by the throat, just as his father had. “Megan was right for me. We would have lasted. But you ruined everything. Everything.”

  He released James’ throat a
nd searched for something with which to attack him. Defying his weakness, James lashed out, punching Mark in the chin. With a scream, Mark came forward, headbutting James into dizziness.

  “I’ll kill you for what you’ve done.”

  His elbow came down, and James shifted to the side. This saved his nose but the side of his face jarred with pain. Mark punched him in the forehead, and the dizziness returned. Then he saw something.

  “Fuck you,” said Mark for the last time.

  “Nah,” said James. “Fuck you.”

  Mark caught it in James’ eyes. He turned and saw the branch, but it was too late. The massive instrument came across and smacked his cheek, tearing his skin and sending him flying, rolling off James and away.

  He pulled himself up. Looked at the pale face of his saviour.

  “Thank you.”

  The wide eyes of Megan looked past him to the body on the floor. Her whole frame trembled, and the branch fell. Her skin was ghost pale.

  “I’ve killed him.”

  “You haven’t.”

  As if to prove James right, Mark groaned and sat up, clutching his cheek as though it might flee his face. Megan squeaked and looked away, but James was unaffected. Mark would be fine, but his cheek had been torn, and his hand and neck dripped blood.

  “She’s killed me.”

  “She hasn’t.”

  “I’ve called the police,” Megan said, voice quaking. “They’ll be here soon, so you had better go. They’re going to lock you up if you don’t.”

  “Please, don’t,” Mark said, and he began to cry. For a few seconds, James watched this, but it didn’t matter. Nothing did except finding Mac and so, with one more look of disgust for Mark, he turned and made his way deeper into the woods.

  “Wait,” Megan called. She jogged after him, ignoring the shouts and screams of Mark as she went. Falling in step with him. “There’s stuff I need to say.”

  “Later,” James said and, when Megan looked hurt, and as though she might say more, he continued: “we need to find Mac. She knows where Charlie is. She called me last night. I might be too late.”