Your Deepest Fear

by David Jackson

No. Waldo isn’t here. Not this time. But he’ll be back.

  Of that, Cody has no doubt.

  *

  Cody reheats some leftover Bolognese he made at the weekend and eats it with some penne pasta and grated cheese. He doesn’t accompany it with wine or beer – not because of the guff he gave the psychologist, but because alcohol worsens his already sporadic sleep pattern.

  He relaxes in the living room with a book. Although he has a television, he rarely watches it. Too much of what it beams out at him is irritating. He’d much rather read or play his guitar. If it were earlier in the evening, he’d use the gym equipment he installed in one of the bedrooms.

  But not tonight. It’s too late, and he really is tired. Sleep – the old tease – is beckoning, and this time she seems genuine. It would be an insult to refuse her.

  And then the phone rings.

  Cody glances at the clock, sees that it’s close to 11 p.m.

  There are generally only two reasons his phone rings at this time of night. One is because of a work-related emergency. DCI Blunt commanding him to get his arse back out on the street because there’s been another murder, or because there’s been a sudden development in an existing case and it can’t wait while he lounges about in his scruffy pit of a bed. Something along those lines.

  The other reason is Waldo.

  Cody gets up and goes over to the phone in its charging station. The caller display tells him the number is unavailable. Which in turn tells him this is likely to be Waldo.

  Cody is suddenly alert. It’ll be a long time before he relaxes enough for sleep again.

  He picks up the phone and presses the call answer button.

  ‘Hello?’

  Nothing.

  So, the silent treatment again. Ho hum.

  Cody sits down on his sofa, the phone clamped to his ear.

  ‘Hello?’ he says again. ‘Clown central here. You want to report a clown-related incident?’

  He knows he won’t get an answer. It doesn’t work like that. He won’t even hear breathing. Just silence until he gets bored and hangs up.

  He has thought often about the reasons for these calls – what they are meant to achieve – and has decided that it’s simply to keep him on his toes, to keep the memories of the clowns fresh in his mind. Waldo wants to be a constant presence.

  Well, he’s succeeding.

  ‘Tell me,’ says Cody. ‘What size shoes do clowns wear? I mean, as a minimum? Gotta be pretty large, right? Much larger than mine. But then I’ve got a few toes missing, so I’m not a standard comparison. Of course, you already know that, don’t you? You probably remember how—’

  And then Cody thinks he hears something. A noise. A muffled scrape, and then possibly a click of a switch. And he begins to suspect that this call might be different. He begins to wonder if—

  ‘Hello, Cody,’ says the caller.

  21

  It’s a cliché, but Cody really does feel the hairs on his neck and his arms stand to rigid attention.

  The voice has been disguised. Put through a machine or computer to give it a deep, sinister sound. It would be impossible to work out what the original voice sounded like. But what has got Cody really spooked is that he is being spoken to at all. This is a live human being. This is the person to whom Cody has been desperate to speak outside of his nightmares.

  ‘Who is this?’ he asks, almost breathlessly.

  ‘I think you know,’ says the voice. ‘We’ve already been introduced.’

  It takes a few seconds for Cody to reply. He needs to be certain this isn’t some kind of sadistic prank.

  ‘When? How did we meet?’

  ‘At the warehouse. We had a party. I brought three friends. You brought one. He didn’t last the course, unfortunately. You, on the other hand, got almost legless.’

  The slow, booming laugh that follows could belong to the devil himself. Cody feels his mouth go dry. There’s a phantom throbbing where his severed toes should be.

  ‘A lot of people know that story. Doesn’t prove anything about you.’

  ‘You’re right. It doesn’t. Perhaps this will help.’

  There’s a pause. A click. And then the screaming.

  Not Cody’s own cries this time – they were bad enough. No, these are the screams of Jeff Vance, his partner, calling out for God’s intervention while his face is parted from his skull.

  Cody wants to drop the phone and run to the bathroom to be sick. He forces himself to remain, to try to think rationally. To keep his mind from breaking under the pressure of this bombardment of evil.

  The voice comes back on the line. ‘Enough of a hint, Cody? Know who I am now?’

  Cody swallows. ‘Yes. You’re . . . You’re Waldo.’

  ‘Waldo?’

  ‘Yes. I needed to call you something. It’s what I came up with.’

  ‘Waldo. Waldo. Hmm, yes, I like it.’

  ‘You can give me your real name if you prefer.’

  ‘All in good time, Cody. All in good time. When we get to know each other a bit better.’

  ‘Is this your way of setting up a date? I don’t come cheap, you know.’

  Another rumble of laughter. ‘I love it. You’re so transparent. A display of humour to hide your terror.’

  ‘You don’t frighten me.’

  ‘Oh, but I think I do. I think I frighten you more than anything in this world. I’ll bet there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t pop up in your head.’

  ‘How about popping up in the real world? Why don’t you do that? Come on. Right now. You and me.’

  ‘Don’t get all ridiculously macho, Cody. Believe me, a fight with me is the last thing you want. You need to start being careful what you wish for.’

  ‘Yeah, right. Who’s scared now, huh? And why the fuck are you calling me anyway? Got nobody to play with right now?’

  ‘Actually, I’m here to offer you some help.’

  ‘I don’t need any help from you.’

  ‘On this matter, I think you do.’

  ‘Really? Enlighten me.’

  ‘I want to offer you something.’

  ‘The only thing you can offer me is your stupid clown head on a plate.’

  The laugh again. ‘Good job that’s what I had in mind, then.’

  Cody frowns. ‘What? What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’m talking about me, Cody. I’m calling to give you the once in a lifetime opportunity to catch me.’

  22

  ‘Why?’ Cody asks. ‘Why would you want me to catch you?’

  ‘I think you deserve a break. You’ve had a hard time of it lately.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘I read the papers. I saw the reports of what you went through in that child abduction case. Must have been tough.’

  ‘All part of the job,’ Cody says casually.

  ‘If you say so. But I also feel I owe you one. It’s been too easy for me so far. As sporting challenges go, I have to say you’ve been a little bit disappointing. I thought you’d be a lot closer to finding me by now.’

  ‘Maybe I’m closer than you think.’

  ‘And maybe you’re not. Maybe you’re light years away. I’m starting to get bored. It’s like when you play hide-and-seek, and you hear the person who’s looking for you walking off in completely the wrong direction. You feel the need to build the excitement by calling out to them or whistling. Well, here I am, Cody, whistling to you.’

  ‘Is that what this is to you? Just a game?’

  ‘Of course. It’s been a game all along. It was a game when we first met in the warehouse. That’s what I do: I play games with people.’

  ‘And if I don’t want to play?’

  ‘You don’t get a choice. You’re already in the middle of the game. Besides, something tells me you don’t want to resign just yet.’

  ‘Are you going to tell me what the rules of this game are?’

  ‘There are no rules. Anything goes. There is, howe
ver, an objective.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Isn’t it obvious? To find me. To catch me. To take out your revenge on me, in whatever form you think is suitable. Surely that’s a game worth playing?’

  ‘And what’s your own objective?’

  ‘Oh, just to have fun. To watch you dance and jump through hoops for my amusement. I’m not just a clown, you know. I’m also the circus master and the audience. You are simply a part of the entertainment.’

  ‘No. Don’t get ideas above your station. You’re Waldo the Clown, and that’s all you are. And when I take you down, I’ll be the one doing all the laughing.’

  ‘That’s the spirit, Cody! That’s more like it. You know, it’s just occurred to me how appropriate the name Waldo is. There’s a set of books called Where’s Wally? – have you heard of it? – and in the US it’s called Where’s Waldo? So that’s what we’re doing: we’re playing Where’s Waldo? Don’t you think that’s such a delicious coincidence?’

  ‘Actually, I think you’re a dick. But keep playing with yourself if that’s how you like to get your kicks. Now, are you going to tell me where you are or not?’

  ‘Patience, Cody. You don’t think I’m just going to blurt out my address, do you? Where would be the fun in that? No, I’m afraid you’re going to have to work for your prize.’

  ‘Why am I not surprised?’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s nothing too taxing at this time of night. You must be tired, ready for bed. By the way, what are you reading at the moment? There are a lot of good books on those shelves of yours.’

  Cody flinches at the stark reminder that Waldo has been inside the apartment. He has been in this very room. He may even have sat exactly where Cody is now.

  The thought sends a shiver up his spine.

  He says, ‘I’m reading It, by Stephen King. You should try it. You might pick up some tips on how to be scary instead of a complete joke.’

  ‘Ah, there you go with the bravado again. I’m sure you haven’t forgotten, but I can play the recording of you when I was snipping away at your toes if you like. You weren’t so cocksure then, were you?’

  Cody doesn’t feel so cocksure now either. He thinks he’s putting up a brave front, but front is what it is. When he looks down at his free hand resting on his lap, he sees how it’s trembling.

  He says, ‘Get to the point, will you?’

  ‘All right, I will. Have you ever seen Silence of the Lambs, Cody?’

  ‘That’s what you call getting to the point?’

  ‘Bear with me. Well, have you?’

  ‘Yes, I’ve seen it.’

  ‘Good. Then you’ll know there’s a scene where Hannibal Lecter offers to help Clarice catch a serial killer, but only after she tells him something personal about herself.’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘Excellent. Then off you go.’

  ‘What? You want to know something personal about me? Like what? How many times I’ve been to the toilet today?’

  ‘I was thinking something more profound. Something about what makes you tick, or a deeply held belief.’

  ‘What I absolutely believe right now is that I need to put you behind bars.’

  ‘Enough of the flippancy, Cody. If you want my help, you need to do this. Tell me about something that happened to you today.’

  ‘I was at work. I can’t talk to you about police business.’

  ‘No. And to be candid, I’m not very interested in the misadventures of the Merseyside Police Farce. What about before you went to work?’

  ‘I got up, showered, had breakfast. If you’re interested, I mixed two types of cereal in the same bowl. Is that Freudian enough for you?’

  ‘And after breakfast?’

  ‘I drove to work.’

  ‘No, Cody, you didn’t.’

  The shiver again. He knows. Waldo knows.

  ‘I didn’t?’

  ‘No. You went to see a psychologist.’

  ‘How do you know that? Have you been following me?’

  ‘I often watch you. You’d be surprised how many times I’ve been only yards away from you. Now tell me about the psychologist. Why did you go to see her?’

  Cody finds it difficult to concentrate. He’s too busy thinking about all the possible occasions on which he might have been able to catch a glimpse of his enemy, and about how much of his life story is now known to Waldo.

  ‘I . . . It’s standard procedure.’

  ‘Standard procedure for what?’

  ‘For when an officer has been through a traumatic event. You said yourself you’ve been reading about me in the papers.’

  ‘And that’s what you talked about?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘That’s not what you talked about, is it?’

  ‘Yes, it is. Like I just told you, officers who—’

  ‘Don’t lie, Cody. You talked about me, didn’t you?’

  ‘Why would I talk about you? That was ages ago. The child abduction case put me in hospital. It—’

  ‘That case was a walk in the park compared to what happened when you met me. I saw you, Cody! I saw what you were like when you went back to your car after visiting the psychologist. You were a wreck. Now, are you going to start telling the truth here, or should I just hang up?’

  Cody feels the fight going out of him. He could continue lying, putting up a smokescreen, but what’s the point? One slip, and Waldo will end the call, taking with him whatever precious nuggets of information he wants to trade. And besides, what harm can it possibly do to reveal the truth?

  ‘Okay,’ he says. ‘I talked about you. Happy now?’

  ‘What did you say?’

  ‘I described the event. I talked about what you did to me and my partner.’

  ‘Yes, but this was to a psychologist, Cody. Surely she was more interested in how it affected you mentally?’

  ‘Yes. We talked about that.’

  ‘How? What exactly did you say?’

  ‘I don’t remember exactly. I just made it clear that it had affected me.’

  ‘Mentally?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You made it clear that it affected you mentally as well as physically?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Haven’t I just said that?’

  ‘But you haven’t told me what you said to her about those mental effects. What did you say it did to you? How did you make it clear to her?’

  ‘I don’t know. She could just tell. She’s trained for these things. She knows when—’

  ‘Did you cry, Cody? In front of this woman, did you break down and cry?’

  ‘No. Absolutely not. This was a calm and rational discussion. It was—’

  ‘Did you cry? It’s okay, you know. It’s okay to cry.’

  ‘I didn’t cry. I just told her the facts. I—’

  ‘You did, didn’t you? You cried. Admit it. You—’

  ‘Okay, okay! I got upset. I’d seen a good friend have his face cut off by a fucking lunatic clown, and I was a tad upset about it. Is that what you want to hear? Is it, you piece of fucking shit?’

  There’s a long pause. And then: ‘You cried. Over me.’

  He says this simply, almost as if he finds it unbelievable that he could have provoked such emotion.

  ‘Well, there you go,’ says Cody. ‘That’s my Silence of the Lambs moment. What do I win?’

  The phone goes silent for an even longer period. Cody starts to wonder if Waldo is still on the line.

  ‘It’s in the post,’ says Waldo.

  ‘The post! You’re sending me something in the fucking post?’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ says the voice that would make anyone worry. ‘I hand-deliver my post. Usually at night.’

  There’s a click, and now the phone line is definitely dead. Cody tosses the handset onto the sofa and races over to the window. He peers down at the street but sees only the dark hulks of stationary cars. He turns and runs out
of the room, across the hall, down the stairs. He opens up his apartment door and runs across the landing, hurtles down the turned staircase to the ground floor. He sprints across the hallway, gets to the front door . . .

  And sees it.

  A small white padded envelope.

  He opens the door anyway and checks outside. There is no sign of anyone here, just as he suspected. Waldo could have delivered his letter any time since Cody arrived home and is now long gone.

  He retreats into his building, closing the door and picking up the envelope carefully by its edges. Printed on its front are the words ‘To Nathan Cody’.

  It occurs to Cody that he should safeguard any forensic evidence that might be on the letter, but he knows that Waldo is too careful to make such mistakes. Cody also knows that he’s not going to turn this over to the police or forensics teams. This is his problem, and only his.

  He feels the envelope all over. It contains something small and hard.

  He heads back upstairs, his eyes on the gift from Waldo. He hopes that this isn’t just a practical joke; that he really has been given something of value. Something life-changing.

  His head is still swimming with thoughts of the telephone conversation. This is the first time Waldo has ever spoken to him. Even in the warehouse, he never said a word. That’s significant. That has to mean something big.

  And so what’s in this envelope cannot be trivial. It must be important. It must provide a lead to Waldo, just as he was promised it would.

  The envelope feels as though it is burning his fingers as he carries it up to his flat. He worries that it has been impregnated with something that will cause it and its contents to disintegrate if he doesn’t open it soon.

  He takes it into his kitchen, then grabs a knife from its block and climbs onto a stool at the breakfast bar. He continues to stare at the letter for a few more seconds, trying to prepare himself but not having a clue what he’s preparing for. Taking a deep breath, he turns the envelope over, inserts the knife under the flap, and slices it open.

  He pulls apart the sides of the envelope and peers inside. Surprised, he turns the envelope over and drops its contents onto his open palm.

  It’s a key.

  A small steel key. The type of key that might be used for a padlock or a filing cabinet or a desk drawer. Attached to the key with a piece of thin twine is a label that says, ‘The key to freedom’.