And then the phone rings.
I drag myself to the bed, and grab it, there’s no number, just a screen saying “you have a call, please press any key to answer.” I’m holding it and staring at it, my mind racing, could it be Simon, calling back to help? Far more likely is that it’s him, come to chase me down and I can feel sweat form instantly on my hand. The display changes to “The caller is still on the line, please make your mind up if you want to answer it or not.” If I answer, he’ll know where I am instantly. But what if it’s not him? What if it’s Ruth, phoning to apologise, but then how would she know my number. What did Simon mean by we’ve got that under control. Has he had her killed? I shiver. I hope not, but then why not? Why am I so soft? The colour of the display changes again and I glance at it, now it’s saying “The caller will probably hang up soon and what if they don’t leave a message? I know you’re there, just get on with it”. I have to answer it, I have to take the risk. But what if I’m caught, could I go through that again? I could always kill myself, but could I, and even if I could, how would I do it? I check the display again, it’s saying “The caller is going to hang up. And even if they don’t, you will be disconnected as I am fed up of ringing. I’m counting down from five and then I’ll disconnect you. Five. Four. Three. Two. One."
I answer the phone.
“Hello?” My voice is dry and it breaks half way through, even that simple word.
“John Paris.” A man’s voice. It’s not him and I feel the relief flood through me.
“Yes?”
“John Paris. This is Tim Bateman. I take it you remember me. We need to meet. I’ll pick you up outside your hotel in five minutes. And bring the package.” He hangs up.
Chapter 32
Ex-employee, ex-partner, ex-soul mate. It was the three of us when it started, Simon, Tim and me. Tim was the one who first came up with the idea, he had always been into all that shit, into mysticism and experimentation, he did all the research, I mean, he demonstrated it, he invented it. Me, I was the one who built the technology, who made it into something real, and Simon, of course well Simon. Simon gave us the guts to do it, to do what it took, to make the sacrifices and to abandon the moral qualms. It didn’t take us long, of course. And then Simon, he sold it, he convinced people, he turned it viable, he made us what we are. Or what we were. And, of course, he destroyed us.
Sometimes I think Tim isn’t real, just part of our imagination, or I think that Simon killed him, didn’t have someone else kill him, like he normally does, but did it himself, he was so angry, felt so let down.
That can’t be true of course, because he’s here now, sitting next to me, driving this car, whilst I am gratefully sipping a beer and watching my hands slowly become steady. Without a word he motions to the glove compartment. I slide it open and it reveals a small container. Gratefully I slip two happy pills into my mouth. Well, it has been a hard ride recently.
“How did you find me?” I ask. I don’t know where to start, so that seems like a good place.
“I traced your former employer’s call. I trace all of them.”
“You – trace Simon’s calls?”
He turns to look at me, inadvertently making the car swerve. “Isn’t that what I just said?” and he gives me a broad smile.
I take another sip of my beer. Try something else. “I thought you were dead” I try.
He laughs, slapping the steering wheel, and the horn goes off.
“Yeah, well maybe I am. I’ve been trying to decide” and he stares into the distance. “But actually, it doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t, because I’m here, and I can do what I need to do”
He winks at me, then asks “did you bring the package?”
I pull it out of my coat and he smiles. “Good”
We carry on in silence for a while, driving on into the night, I have no idea where we are, no idea where we are going , but I allow myself a smile as I fall back into the leather seat and close my eyes.
***
“Who do you hate most in the world?”
Well, that’s a difficult question to answer. I’m a simple person and I don’t really go in for concepts as difficult as love and hate. There are a few people I dislike quite intensely at the moment, like for instance Babybro, for obvious reasons, Simon, for obvious reasons, Ruth, for, erm, obvious reasons, but I have to be honest with myself and admit that I know what they did and why they did, and would I really have done anything different if I had been in their shoes.
Well, yes I would actually. So my head’s hurting and I’m trying to think, and trying to answer this question, but my head’s hurting and I’m trying to think about Simon and was what he did really bad or was it just part of the deal, and then Ruth and the same thing, because I’m pretty sure that the name I give will be important, will be consequential, for the person involved, and not in a good way, so choose wisely, Mr Paris, choose wisely.
I rub the sleep out of my eyes, and take another sip of my drink. It’s an imitation of the destruction cocktail, not quite as good as the original, of course it can’t be, but pretty effective nonetheless. The stars in my eyes change colour, green to orange, and that can only be a good thing.
“Phil Collins” I say.
Tim gets up and stretches, throws back some pills and washes them down with coffee. “Phil Collins, singer songwriter, former lead singer with the pop, or rock band, Genesis?” he asks, and I nod.
“Good choice” he says approvingly. “I can’t stand him either. Did you know” he starts, chewing on his pills, “that there’s a website called The Plot to Kill Genesis? It’s quite secretive, but basically it’s a club for all the people who had that group, and Phil Collins in particular. You go on there, and you submit ideas for killing the individual members of the group, and any member can choose one of the ideas and try it out. They’ve been pretty unsuccessful so far, but they’re still trying. You’ve probably seen reports of assassination attempts in the papers. I tell you what, I’ll get my PA to give you the details, you can have a look. Even if you don’t try any of them, it’s quite a laugh reading the exploits of the people who have tried.”
“Yeah” I reply, “I don’t think I will try and murder anyone else, I seem to be in enough trouble from the police as it is.”
“Ah yes,” sighs Tim, “our friends Detectives Carver and Morrell from CAT. Yes, they do seem to be unusually interested in you. Apparently you’re also in the frame for the murder of a Ms Beryl Makepeace. Completely unfair of course” he adds, grinning.
I’m spluttering, “but! But! I didn’t do it, Ruth killed her, and that was in self defence, it was only after she turned into a demon!”
Tim raises his eyebrows and looks at me strangely. “Oh well, life’s like that. Anyway, come with me, I need to show you something.”
Reluctantly I get up out of my armchair, and follow Tim across the white marble floor to a doorway. We leave the huge room and enter a corridor that seems to go on for a very long way. It has a marble floor that echoes our footsteps and steel walls that reflect the dark light, showing us images of ourselves, and it’s very very cold.
There’s a door at the end. A heavy looking door, very dark, made of what looks like ivory; I guess and and Tim smiles. “Ivory, yes of course. Of course it is.” There’s a small panel embedded in the steel wall on the left, and Tim leans forward and breathes on it. The door shimmers – I think that’s the best way to describe it, and we find ourselves on the other side. In darkness. There’s nothing here, nothing that we can see and I wait, completely still, completely silent, feeling the cold creep through me and turn my skin to ice. There’s a click and suddenly we’re in the light, it takes me a couple of seconds to adjust myself, I start shaking but Tim grabs my hand and steadies me and I feel a relief that he’s still there.
We’re in a completely white room, of course. Closed and isolated. The equipment is against the far wall, the machinery making a faint hum. Next to it is a chamber, I gu
ess this is where the subject is as Tim takes my hand and cautiously guides me towards it. The chamber appears to have a window, of course, but it’s completely black so we can’t see or hear anything except for the faint hum of the machinery and …. something else.
I walk up to the chamber and get close to the dark glass, I put my hand to it and feel the slight vibrations, stare at the glass. I close my eyes and allow the vibrations to move through me. There’s a light touch on my back, I open my eyes and look at the blackness, then suddenly out of nowhere I am staring at a face, a woman’s face, right up and close next to mine and I want to jump back, recoil in fear but I can’t move, my hands are tied, entwined in hers, she grabs them through the glass, and forces me to stay, to stare, to see her, her face, her naked body there now pressed against mine and all of it white, gaunt, dead.
I'm free, I’m kneeling, panting on the floor, Tim’s helping me up, he nods solemnly, saying nothing, but he touches his hand to something and the darkness disappears allowing me to see the chamber, the prison, she stands there staring at me, an evil grin on her dead mouth, her hands in the air, attached to wires, attached taut so you can see the rips on her rotting flesh, the dark blood seeping out slowly as she stares at me with those dead eyes.
Those dead eyes that laugh at me.
“Here it is” whispers Tim, “here it is”, leading me away, I am struggling so much but I manage at last to tear my eyes from her and follow Tim to the console, follow his gaze to the small compartment beneath it, the bright, shiny equipment with the canister held in the centre, hundreds of cables and wires going into and out of it, but it’s there, unmistakeable, almost glowing.
“is it…” I whisper.
“Yes” he replies. “It’s Elvira Ten. Well, almost."
“Almost?”
“I can’t keep it stable for long enough to use. I need your help.” He smiles at me, but there’s something behind it and I think there’s something else here too.
“And her?”
“She’s the source. You know who that is, don’t you, of course”
I have no idea, so I nod, “Of course.”
“She doesn’t have much time left. I need to stabilise it otherwise it will be no use. But it keeps failing.”
I sigh, dramatically. “And you want me to fix it?”
“You were always so good at that. I could never get it right. I really need you to do this for me, John. Please."
“And in it for me is..?”
Tim smiles. “Everything restored. All your assets. And Simon…”
“Simon?”
“Well, we’ll deal with Simon.”
That is good, of course. Attacks need revenge. And Simon’s firmly on the wrong side. I nod my acquiescence, Tim slaps me on the back and we both turn to help ourselves to a large drink at the bar of the shiny, white room. I can’t help looking back at her, as her grin grows wide and grotesque, and she bares her teeth. I turn away quickly.
***
“What are you using it for?” I ask. We’re on our third triple whisky, and to my relief Tim has broken out the cigarettes.
“I’ll show you” he says, winking, and gets up out of his leather armchair. He’s slightly unsteady on his feet as he moves off, beckoning me to go with him. I make sure I don’t turn around, I can’t face seeing her again.
At the far end of the room there are three doors, identical, made of aluminium set into the white wall. They are completely blank, no handles, no locks. Tim walks towards the middle one and it disappears as we enter, into another white room, this one is much smaller, and much colder, making me shiver. Makes me feel something else, something I can’t quite place. As we enter, light comes on from a source far above our heads. Tim stops but I carry on, keen to see what the small, black hole at the other side of the room is. I reach out to it, and I hear a laugh behind me, not before my head bangs into something solid but invisible.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Watch, he says” and he turns to the wall and touches a button on a panel that, of course, I hadn’t seen.
Immediately a little animal, a rat maybe, or perhaps a mouse or even a hedgehog, scurries into view and wanders around aimlessly. Tim and I just stand there, watching, as it moves, in kind of circles, getting closer and closer to the black hole. I can guess what’s going to happen, as eventually it’s there, touching the floor, sniffing curiously at the hole, and reaching out it’s paw, tentatively, and then suddenly it’s gone and I’m sure I can hear a little squeak, a tiny cry of surprise and protest as it disappears. I look at Tim and he nods.
“Yes, it is.”
“Really?”
“Yes” he nods smugly. “It is. A real, true HTSE.”
“My God. A real Hole to Somewhere Else” I whisper. And then, “Can you make it any bigger?”
“That’s the problem. I can, but it’s unstable. That’s where I need you.”
***
My eyes are streaming from staring at the screen for too long, my hands hurt from typing, but finally I think I am there. All of this done under her eye and her malevolent smile. I glance up at her occasionally and see her there, I know her but I can’t see her, I can’t allow her.
Mr. Bateman, Tim, comes and goes during this time. He’s gone for a few hours at one time, I guess he’s gone to sleep, something that the stinging in my eyes tells me would be a really good idea for me. Of course I can’t, though, of course he won’t let me, I need to finish this, I need to stabilise it, before. Well, before she dies, finally, if what she is at the moment isn’t really dead.
Now he’s sitting here, drinking coffee, watching me. He’s waiting for that nod. He wants to see it work. I don’t know what he wants to do, though, does he want to go in there himself? Somewhere Else? I doubt it, it’s too dangerous, too uncharted, but then if there is anything known about it, he will have found it, he will know. I’m too tired to ask as I concentrate on just getting these final bits done
Then suddenly there’s a screen flashing, there’s a noise, and Tim is out of his chair, by my side, staring at it. He’s got a phone in his hand and he’s urgently whispering into it, things like “secure areas 3 and 4”, and “proceed down the vetted security route only” as I try to concentrate on what I am doing but I find this too interesting, I’m connecting wires but I’m looking at him and I smile warmly as he finally hangs up and drops the phone on the screen, allowing it to bounce onto the floor and lay there broken.
He’s serious as he turns to me.
“Looks like we have visitors” he breathes, pushing me aside and taking over the controls. The glass covering her starts to dim, and she hisses at us as she disappears from view.
“Get yourself ready” he continues, "this is going to be fun." Self consciously I brush down my clothes, I realise I have been wearing the same ones for days, since the party, since my torture. I look up as there’s a tap on the door and two men enter, both dressed in black, both holding serious weapons. In unison they nod at Tim and the man on the left says “Mr Bateman, the visitors are outside, shall I allow them to enter?” His voice is robotic, mechanic.
Tim nods, and the men step aside, to allow two other men to enter the room. They stand there, side by side, both grinning broadly, both in shiny black suits, and I suppress a groan as I recognise them, of course.
“Well, well, well, look who it is” starts the man on the left.
“Our old friend, John” echoes the man on the right.
“What a pleasant surprise. We really weren’t expecting to see you here, we just wanted a word with Mr Bateman here, but we’re really glad to see you” says the man on the left.
“Yes that’s right, as it looks like you’ve been busy again, haven’t you John?” continues the man on the right.
“How many times do we have to tell you, murder is wrong” says the man on the left.
Tim turns to me and smiles, “I see you’ve met Detectives Carver and Morrell”
I nod glumly.
“Would you like a drink, gentlemen?” asks Tim.
“I would love some of your famous scotch” replies Detective Carver.
“On ice, with a twist of lime” replies Detective Morrell.
Tim motions to me, and I find myself, for some reason I don’t quite understand, serving drinks for everyone, mixing Scotch and Lime on ice. I wonder if this is worse torture than that which Babybro inflicted on me. Probably not, I decide, but it’s a close call.
We are all seated now, in the comfortable armchairs, sipping our drinks. I am struggling to stay awake, I guess it’s somewhere in mid morning but I have no way of knowing, so I guess it could be worse than having a drink in one hand, a cigarette in the other, allowing myself to take a break from the intensity of the work, and listen to these two clowns. I glance at Tim, and I see the serious expression in his eyes. .
“Quite a place you have here” starts Detective Carver
“Thanks,” smiles Tim.
“Yes, quite neat” comments Detective Morrell. He gets up and starts pacing round, wandering over to the console and the machinery. He’s peering at the Elvira Ten canister.
“Of course, I have no idea what this is all for, way above my understanding. But it does look interesting, doesn’t it, Stephen?” He taps the canister, and Tim and I glance at each other.
“It looks fascinating” agrees Detective Carver. “Absolutely fascinating. I wonder what this is” and he gets up, and steps over to the dark glass cage. He raises his hand, about to tap on it.
“Er, would you gentlemen care for another drink” asks Tim quickly.
“Another drink? Wonderful” smiles Detective Carver, turning.
“Oh yes please” replies Detective Morrell
As they walk back to their seats, I see her face appear from the darkness, her smile. Detective Carver notices my stare and turns, quickly, but just as quickly, it’s gone.
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