Project Perry

by Ayre, Mark

  They stared at the ceiling. Their breath returned, but they didn’t move. Their bodies were close, their arms almost touching. James wanted to take her hand but couldn’t. Instead, he spoke words braver than he would have thought himself capable of.

  “You can stay with me.”

  Like it was no big deal, though he was sure his heart would give him away, bursting through his chest like Alien.

  “Yeah?” she said, rolling onto her side.

  “Yeah,” mimicking her move, bringing them face to face.

  “As friends?”

  A clench in his chest.

  “Sure.”

  “Sure,” she repeated. “We’d just do friends.”

  There was silence, and he didn’t know if he was supposed to say something else. Considered it, but, before he could, she leaned in, pressing her lips against his.

  It was the most wonderful kiss of his entire life, lasting both a thousand years and a split second, dragging him into another place from which he never wanted to escape. When it broke, he felt some part of him leave with her, as though she had sucked out his soul.

  “It’d never be just friends,” she said.

  “Fine by me.”

  “But not me.” She smiled, tears in her eyes, a hand rested on his cheek. “We’ve known each other three days, during highly emotional circumstances. Do I have feelings for you? Yes, but that’s not good. I have feelings no one should have until months after meeting. Until you’ve really got to know each other.

  “I’d love to say yes, and run back to your city and your bed, but I won’t. I need to get away. Not just from this village but from everything until this point. I need to start again.

  “You can understand that, can’t you?”

  He could understand, which was annoying. Since the moment they met he had felt the spark, and now, with that kiss, he didn’t know if he could bear to let her go. Thoughts of kidnap sprang to mind, and it was alarming how difficult they were to laugh off. But he prevailed and managed a long sigh.

  “I understand,” he said. “I guess we’ll just have to make love the once before you go.”

  “My taxi will be here in a minute.”

  “I can make that work.”

  She gave him a playful slap.

  “Be useful. Help me take my case downstairs.”

  He nodded, yes miss, and did so, dragging the suitcase downstairs and only almost falling once. This done, they stood by the door, and she surprised him by kissing him again, this time for longer. Their lips locked in their own world until somewhere, a thousand miles away, the horn of a taxi blared.

  “I’m glad I met you,” she said. “Even with all this horribleness.”

  “I’m glad I met you too,” he said, feeling lame. “Once you’re gone, I’ll be on my way too, and I won’t be sorry to let this place go. Not without you in it.”

  She nodded, then remembered something.

  “Emma was here earlier. Go see her before you go, will you? I think she’d like it.”

  He nodded with discomfort, trying to guess if Emma had told Megan about their exploits the previous night. He decided not to ask.

  “Mohsin is meeting her this afternoon. Against doctors recommendation I hear. After that, though, she said she was going to look you up. Maybe make yourself available is all.”

  He told her he would, then carried her case onto the porch where the cabbie took it from him, lugging it to the car, leaving Megan and James to take one last look around.

  “It feels finished,” Megan said. “But it isn’t for Claire. Never will be, if they can't find Charlie.”

  She looked towards the alley with tears in her eyes. Her hand found James’ as she continued.

  “She told me once how scared she had been to become a mother. Her mum left when she was a baby, and her dad was abusive. She thought it might run in the family. That she would do the same.

  “Then Charlie came along, and she fell so completely in love. She realised she would never hurt him.”

  James pulled her into his arms. He was worried about Claire but knew there was nothing they could do. The plan was to speak words of comfort, but something was niggling at him.

  “Did her father live around here?” he asked.

  A shake of the head.

  “Claire ran away from home, didn’t you know? Turned up here, thirteen years old, afraid and hungry. Went to the same place all the lost kids go. EKC. Found a teenage boy working there after school. Luke. That was how they met.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  James stared down the alley as though it were a porthole. Shaking off the malaise he spun Megan to face him, looked her in the eyes.

  “There’s nothing you can do. Move on. Have a good life. Try to forget. You deserve that.”

  She nodded, kissed him again, probably for the last time, and they said goodbye to the backdrop of a cabbie coughing his annoyance.

  Then she was slipping into the back of the cab, and the car was driving away. Watching it should have made him feel defeated, empty, but he was distracted. His head muddled with mystery again.

  It was something she had said. Something that had caught his mind and was spinning it around. Something he had never considered, but made perfect sense.

  He turned from the place once occupied by Megan and began to jog, getting his phone out as he went and ordering a taxi to meet him on the road by the B&B, knowing he wanted to be moving for as long as possible before getting into it.

  It arrived on time, and there was no traffic between there and the hospital.

  Almost tripping as he flew out, he belted up the hospital stairs and made it three steps into the lobby before someone yelled at him to slow down. He apologised and walked to the desk.

  “Could you tell me where George Barnes is, please?”

  He had to lie and say he was family but decided it was necessary. Megan’s words continued to buzz in the back of his mind. He had told her it was done for her, as it was supposed to be done for him. Except now he wasn’t sure. Now he was thinking there were still a couple of pieces missing.

  He needed confirmation.

  There were no police posted at George’s door, as James had thought there might be, but the fallen charity head did have his own room.

  James stepped inside, his hands slipping on the door handle as he did. He approached the bed and looked at the man lying there, eyes open, staring at the ceiling.

  For a second, James thought George had passed away, then the older man turned his head, and James jumped. Now the sounds of the room reached him, and he looked to the heart monitor, beating steadily away. He looked back to George.

  “Hello.”

  “What do you want?”

  The voice was croaky, pained. He looked angry and miserable, but so far as James was concerned, he got lucky. The stabbing might have killed him but, although it seemed as though he was a way from recovery, James was sure he was going to be okay. There would be pain, but that was far less punishment than he deserved.

  George was still staring at him. Neither of them had any interest in small talk. James wanted to get this done and get out.

  He needed to know.

  “I wanted to ask you about your son.”

  George sighed.

  “Which one?”

  James took a deep breath, sat in the chair beside George’s bed and stared into the Barnes father’s eyes, searching.

  “Your youngest son.

  “I want to ask you about Charlie.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Nikesh didn’t know where Mohsin and Emma were meeting. He tried to tell James how displeased he was that Mohsin had left hospital at all, but James was running before he could get halfway through his first sentence.

  There was no one at the Barnes house, but that didn’t surprise him. Only way any Barneses were home would be if he didn't check.

  He knew where they were. Had left George knowing where they were. This was Emma, a fan of the dramatic.
She knew what the shack meant to the village. What it had meant to the brother she had loved.

  She had asked Mohsin to meet her there, out of the way. Somewhere they could talk.

  Once more into the woods he went, flinching at the memories of Mark’s attack. He kept moving. Pushing towards the shack, ignoring the fingers of fear that touched the base of his spine and back of his neck as he did.

  Mac was gone, but he would see her anyway. The body sprawled before him, a sick reminder of what he couldn’t do. Of how he had missed her call, and his chance to save her.

  He broke into the clearing and there she was, but it was worse than imagined. On either side of Mac, the boys stood like sentries. One a few years older than the other and both he knew, though one he had never met. Charlie on the left, Toby on the right.

  Neither smiled.

  From somewhere beyond he could hear Luke’s laughter, and decided now was not the time to go mad. He had things to do before insanity took him.

  Defying the visions he walked on, stepping first through the police tape which surrounded the shack, then the spirits themselves, dispersing them like vapour. This achieved, he found the frame he had once slipped through. Wanting to combat the fear, he pressed on without thinking, shoving his leg over the ledge and climbing in.

  Had anyone been waiting for him they would have had an easy time taking him out. A quick blow to the head and he would have been out of action, allowing them free reign to chop him up and cast his body to the winds. Uninterrupted by any late arriving heroes.

  Ignoring this possibility, he stepped into the kitchen and was indeed attacked, but not by any person. The strong scent of fuel reached his nose, clogging it and making him choke. Shoving his head back outside he took lungfuls of air, then returned. This time forcing himself to stay.

  It was not as bad as it had first seemed. The shock of it had been enough to make him feel as though he was choking but, while it was strong, he could breathe, and he did not think it would kill him.

  The scary thing was not the breathing, but the implications of why the dark substance was on the floor in the first place. Following its trail, he found the user had not been reserved. It was poured in patches across the kitchen floor and the front hall, by the door as well as beside and in front of the stairs, the latter of which marked the beginning of it’s long clamber to the hallway above.

  It may have covered the boards up here too, but James was distracted by the woman standing at the top of the stairs. By her side was a chair, not seated, but leaning back, lodged under a handle, blocking the door to the room in which James had found Luke’s note.

  She looked at him, turning a box of matches in her hands. Before spotting him, she had looked miserable. Now she smiled.

  “I’ve been to see George,” he said. “I understand now. You lied to me at the beginning, and it took me in the wrong direction. Maybe if you hadn’t, we could have saved Charlie by now.”

  “Don’t be a child. Nothing would have changed.”

  She reached for the floor, and he jumped as though she was going for a gun. Instead what she picked up made him smirk, in spite of everything.

  “Drinking from the bottle? What would your mother say?”

  “She would not approve.”

  James began up the stairs, stepping over puddles and trying not to get any splashes on his jeans. It would be a nightmare to get the smell out.

  “No further,” Christina said, three steps from the top. “Why don’t you tell me what you managed to find out? I can act impressed.”

  She was slurring her words. Not in her senses. He reckoned if he ran he could take her before she struck a match, but it was a risk.

  Better to keep her occupied. Try find an excuse to come towards her and deal with it that way.

  “I found out about a girl who came to this village twelve years ago. Scared and alone she came where all the homeless girls and boys go - to EKC.

  “Here she was lucky enough to meet Luke, a boy she liked. One she might eventually fall in love with. But he wasn’t the only one she found. She met George and, as he had done with so many girls before, he used his influence and position to manipulate her. To bed her.

  “I’m not sure of the finer details. George didn’t want to talk too much about it. But I know at some point she fell pregnant by him and, not wanting to lose his newborn, he let his son date her. They convinced Luke the boy was his so they could stay close.

  “From what I hear you weren’t too keen on the situation, but George wouldn’t budge. He wanted his son, and you couldn’t face the prospect of the scandal created by George leaving, so you let it go on. I bet you didn’t think you’d get to make use of it a few years later.”

  He paused, taking a step forward, moving up one. As he did, she held out a trembling finger, took another swig of wine, and told him to get down. He relinquished the step, annoyed she had pushed him back, but continuing his story.

  “Again, I’m not sure on the details, but I believe, after Luke caught George sleeping with Sema, and in his fury, he vented to Claire. Only she didn’t understand, so let slip Charlie wasn’t his, but George’s. Devastated his son was actually his half-brother, he went to confront George. The argument and beating formed part of the reason you turned the village and your precious community against him. It was the beginning of the end for poor Luke.”

  “It didn’t have to be that way. If he could only have understood.”

  “But he didn’t. So George came to you, and you did what you do best. What was it you said? ‘A mother’s job is image management.’ Because that’s how you saw yourself, an image manager. Maybe it didn’t occur to you that you weren’t only protecting your family image, but tying up a bunch of loose ends that threatened to get you in a lot of trouble.”

  “That so?”

  “That is so -“ he pointed to the bottle again - “it came from your mother, didn’t it? You talk about her a lot. First time we met you brought her up talking to George about how Emma was supposed to be playing host.”

  Our daughter was supposed to be looking after him, but apparently, she’s forgotten how to be a good hostess. Imagine what my mother would say?

  “Everything you learned about motherhood and womanhood you learned from her - shall not drink beer, shall not let conversation go stale at a party, shall keep the drinks circulating, shall not let children or husband embarrass the family name - and you’ve stuck stridently to it. Times move on but not you. Why would you when you have such a perfect example to follow? A timeless example.”

  “Speak with sarcasm all you want. My mother’s beliefs are timeless.”

  “Well, they’ve certainly ended well for you.”

  He looked at the flammable liquid around him, then let his eyes fall on the bottle. She subconsciously began to shift it behind her back, then stopped herself. Drinking in pretence that she was not bothered by his comments.

  “But things were tough for you, weren’t they? You were dealt a rough hand. Maybe you think all men are cheats, but George took it to some lengths, abusing underage girls he was supposed to be protecting, even impregnating one.

  “Then two of your children end up dating drug users, and that’s even worse because, while George is happy to try and hide his actions, your children are in love. They are loud and proud about their relationships and what does a mother so keen on image management do about that? How to draw them back in line?

  “Mark came first. I’m guessing you knew he had drugs hidden in his sock draw - cliche that it was - but waited until they were useful to you. Then came the party, and you ‘found them’ and banned him from going, knowing Katy still would. That sorted, all you had to do was pay someone to get her very drunk and ensure she overdosed. You wouldn’t have done it yourself, and Trina and Kieran would have been too young at the time, but I’m guessing you drew from a similar well. Tell me if I’m getting any of this wrong, by the way.”

  “You think you’re very clever, don’t you?”
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  She took a swig of wine and James took a step. This time she didn’t notice, and he was two steps away rather than three. His heart thudded as he focused on the box of matches. She swung the bottle of wine, and he went on as though nothing had happened.

  “Not clever, disgusted. Though I suppose congratulations are in order because it worked. Mark was suitably devastated by your actions to fall in line, and you were able to neatly push him to Megan. Someone you could approve of, even if you didn’t much like her.”

  “Full points for effectiveness then, but not for inventiveness. Few years later and this time Emma’s dating the drug addict, and you think ‘if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it’ and go for the same trick again. This time though, you’re not so careful. You use Trina and Kieran to do your dirty work, but someone sees them. I’m not if sure that’s how Luke found out, but he did, didn’t he?

  “He told me his downfall came when he tried to protect his sister. I thought that might be because he was responsible for killing Alex, but he wasn’t. You did it, and he found out. He confronted you and so you conspired to have him removed. He became the abuser, freeing George and the drug dealer, freeing Mark. You even went so far as to tell the in line son Luke was responsible for killing Katy and Alex, to ensure that never came back to you.

  “It was all very well done. Congratulations”

  A shrug, very modest.

  “I’m a mother. I did what I had to do.”

  No remorse in her voice. She believed her actions were reasonable. The way she discussed them made him burn with rage. To her, murdering was okay so long as it directed her children down her path.

  He wanted to charge her but held.

  “Still no points for inventiveness though. The apple never falls far from the tree and, for you, it all comes back to your mother. I wonder, while you were ensuring Emma lost the brother she loved, did you remember how your mother did the same to you?”