“Er, gentlemen, can I please ask, why you’re here?” starts Tim, when we are all seated again.
“Of course!” cries Detective Carver, slapping his knee, “how rude of us! Having your drinks, taking up your time, and not even explaining our purpose!”
“We are so sorry!” adds Detective Morrell.
“So, let me explain” continues Detective Carver. “We were originally here to talk to Mr Bateman, you see. On a, erm, non police matter.”
“Yes,” adds Detective Morrell, “we, you see, do certain amounts of private contracting in addition to our normal police work.”
“That’s right,” says Detective Carver. “But we’ll come to that. By happy coincidence, though, we were very keen on speaking to John here. In fact, we’ve been keen on speaking to him for a long time, but we have found him, erm, quite hard to get hold of.”
“Very hard, in fact” says Detective Morrell, smiling. “You never answer your phone, John, and you seem to have actually moved out of your apartment. Even your best friend Simon doesn’t appear to know where you are.”
“I’m not sure Simon’s his best friend any more though, are you, Ian?” asks Detective Carver, leaning over and putting his hand on his associate’s knee.
“Good point, Stephen. In fact, Simon feels very let down by you, you know, John, I hope you feel ashamed.”
“You really should, you know. You can’t just go around murdering people, especially not your Head of Strategy. It appears she was very good, you know. If a little large.”
Now Detective Morrell places his hand on my knee. “Now, tell me you didn’t murder her just because she was fat.”
I’m shaking my head. “I didn’t murder her” I reply, calmly, “I didn’t kill her, even, it was Ruth. Ruth La Fleure. She did it, I was there.”
“Ah, interesting” replies Detective Carver.
“Yes, very interesting,” agrees Detective Morrell. “you see, because we’ve talked to Miss La Fleure, and she was adamant that it was you who killed her, and she was a witness to that. She was even able to describe it in a great deal of detail.”
“And you believed her?” I whisper
“Well, I have to say” continues Detective Carver, slowly, “that we are, well, inclined to.”
“Very much inclined” adds Detective Morrell.
“You see, she’s backed up by someone else."
“Backed up would definitely be the right term” laughs Detective Morrell.
“Indeed!” laughs Detective Carver.
“In fact, it was someone who has your best interests at heart, and is keen that we, erm, talk to you, before any more of these unfortunate incidents can take place” explains Detective Morrell.
“And that would be who?” but of course I know the answer
“Of course you know who” laughs Detective Carver. “He sends his regards, by the way.”
I’m trying hard to remain calm, I put my hands under my thighs to stop them from shaking. “You are saying that Simon backed up Ruth’s story, and he claims he saw me murder Beryl?” my voice cracks as I get the words out.
“Exactly! Well done!” cries Detective Morrell, and he actually gets up and slaps me on the back. “By the way” he adds, “I didn’t realise that they were that, erm, intimate.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Oh yes,” he continues happily, “when we went to interview Miss La Fleure, we certainly found them in quite a, shall we say, compromising position. Some wonderful pics for my scrap book.”
“I admire your taste” purrs Detective Carver and Detective Morrell smiles serenely. “Mind you,” he adds, turning his attention back to me, “don’t you agree that she’s a good replacement as Head of Strategy?”
I’m blinking back my disbelief. “Ruth La Fleure is Head of Strategy?”
“Of course. Well, they had to have one, didn’t they, seeing as you murdered the last one.”
“Of course they did” confirms Detective Morrell, “a business like that, couldn’t survive without a Head of Strategy, could it?”
I sigh. “And they’ve sold me out?”
Detective Carver starts stroking my knee gently with his hand. “Well, look at it this way” he says, sadly. “There’ve just been too many murders, haven’t there. It was getting, frankly, embarrassing. You wouldn’t want us to be embarrassed, now, would you? No, of course not. Someone had to take the rap, and let’s see, there were only a few credible candidates. It’s just the way it goes, my friend. And Ian and I here can tell ourselves that it’s been a job well done.”
“Very well done, really. Our boss will be so pleased” smiles Detective Morrell. “So, do us a favour please.” He hands me a card, which I take without bothering to read it. “On that card there’s an address. Get yourself down there as soon as you can, and you’ll be locked up, awaiting trial. There’s a good chap.”
“You’re not even going to arrest me?”
“Yes, yes, yes, of course we are, consider yourself arrested, charged, convicted, whatever you like! It’s just that we are a little busy to actually, get you down the station, as they say. We have business here, with Mr Bateman.”
“Get us a drink, there’s a good man."
And so I do. And then I shut up, sit down and listen.
“Now then, down to business."
“As you know, we are employed as part of law enforcement, in the CAT agency. However, in order to maintain our income and lifestyles, we are also, well, obliged, to take on private, contracted work.”
“Our current assignment, from our client, is focused on identifying the individual, or group, that is responsible for slaying U4.”
All from Detective Carver, in a smooth, dry voice.
“U4, as I am sure you are aware, is the name given to one of our five remaining unicorns; in fact, the name given to the fourth one, hence the monicker U4.”
“We have reason to believe that you” and he points directly at Tim, “were involved in said destruction, and we are here to verify this.”
“Our client” continues Detective Morrell, picking up the story, “is extremely upset about the destruction, and wants to seek an appropriate form of, shall we say, revenge.”
“You are clearly in possession of a damning piece of evidence, namely the horn of said unicorn, hence your ability to make what I believe you refer to as Elvira Ten.”
“So please” continues Detective Carver, quietly and almost benevolently, “don’t insult everyone’s intelligence by denying this, and let’s get to the discussions about what we are going to do about this particular issue.”
And now they’re silent, sitting side by side on the couch, watching Tim and waiting, completely oblivious, apparently, to me. Thank God for small mercies.
Tim doesn’t appear to share my opinion, as he sits there, his hand shaking around his tumbler, sweat visible on his forehead, his eyes cast down towards the marble table. He needs to learn to control his nerves more; he looks guilty as sin, but then again that’s not that relevant, really, as quite obviously he is guilty as sin, and the only thing he needs to do is to figure out what to do about it. Assuming, that is, he’s been taken by surprise. Assuming he wasn’t aware these jokers were turning up. Assuming he didn’t know they were on this case.
Assuming this isn’t just an act on his part.
Assuming that they are falling for it, if it is.
Judging by their expressions, they are.
Judging by their expressions, they can see cash all over this. No-one in their right minds would want to be turned over to their client. We all know, of course, who their client is. Their client isn’t rich, but is extremely powerful. Unlike Tim, who is extremely rich, but only quite powerful.
Tim is composing himself. He’s concentrating on his hand and it is starting to stabilise, starting to stop it’s shaking. He’s concentrating on his posture and he sits that little bit straighter and the sweat starts to dry.
“Gentlemen” he says slowl
y, “I think we can come to an understanding.”
The tension disappears. He glances at me, for the slightest of moments, and I guess that his meaning of understanding may be quite different to theirs.
“First, may I show you something” he continues, and they both smile.
“Of course you can” answers Detective Carver. He gets up, walks steadily over to the chamber, and taps lightly on it. The darkness disappears and the haunted is there, naked, staring at him. He turns back to us, and says “I just wanted to say hello”.
Tim smiles in return; we all get up and Tim says “this way, please, gentlemen."
He leads us towards the far end of the room, towards the three identical doors, and I am wondering what he is planning. Is he going to show them the hole? Why doesn’t he just give them the money, then give me a chance to get out of here?
As we are walking, Detective Carver touches me on the arm. “Look, old chap,” he says, “you’re welcome to come along for the ride, but after this I really must insist that you get yourself over to prison. If not, we will really be forced to cuff you.”
Detective Morrell touches me on the other arm and adds “And it’ll be me doing the cuffing.”
Tim says, “you really won’t be worried about that in a minute” and they glance at each other.
We’re at the end of the room, and Tim leads us to the door on the right, this time. “Listen” he whispers, “in there, there’s something you really need to see.”
The detectives nod at each other, and walk towards the door. I start following, but Tim touches my arm lightly and we step back. I look at him questioningly but he ignores me.
Just as Detective Carver is about to touch the door, he turns back. “You wouldn’t be stupid enough to set a trap for us would you, now, Tim?” he asks. “You know how our client would react."
“Don’t be silly” smiles Tim, “I’m not that stupid”
Time will show, unfortunately, that he is.
Detective Carver puts his right hand on the door, watching it dissolve slowly in front of him. The two detectives stand side by side in front of us, motionless as they look into the blank space, trying to make out what’s there. It happens so quickly. I have to jump back as Detective Morrell falls backwards, is knocked backwards, a scream starting from his mouth but then quickly stifled, as something falls on him, I am trying to understand it, it’s a person, no it’s not, it’s a creature, with two arms, two legs, a body, a head, and everything, but a creature nonetheless, its hand pushing at Morrell’s jaw, it’s face and head buried in his neck. Tim’s got my arm and is dragging me back, against my will, as I want to see, I want to witness, as the creature lifts its head and bares it’s grin, Morrell’s blood around its lips, making it seem like some grotesque clown.
It stands up, and faces up to Carver, who stands motionless, unable to talk, unable to look away as it steps closer so that they are almost touching, as it reaches its hand out to put on Carver’s shoulder and leans in towards him. But it doesn’t bite, it just appears to whisper something, and then it’s gone, back into where it came from, the door reappearing in front of it.
Carver’s on his knees, next to Morrell, he has a handkerchief in his hand as he’s trying to stop the blood, as Morrell’s writhing and thrashing on the floor. As he’s holding him down he’s looking at us and shouting “A vampire! A fucking vampire! Why? You’re dead, you realise that, you’re dead!”
And Tim’s shaking his head, and I can actually see tears in his eyes as he’s whispering “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, it wasn’t there, I don’t know how it got there, look, please, let me help you, please..."
“Get away from us!” screams Carver.
“No, please, listen, I can help, it’s not too late, if you treat him in the next three minutes there’s a cure, it’s not too late” Tim’s voice has an urgency now, a desperation.
“You tricked us! You’ll pay, for this, you’ll die. Ian, oh God Ian what will we do? I am so sorry. I love you, I really do” Carver’s voice is hoarse, but broken, his hands, his shirt, his suit are stained with blood and you can see the defeat in his eyes and he continues to hold his friend. Morrell is quieter now, steady and still for the moment.
Tim walks forward slowly. He reaches his hand out to Carver, he touches him slowly and he talks firmly, steadily. “Listen to me, Detective Carver. Listen to me, Stephen, please. We don’t have a lot of time. Your friend has been bitten by a vampire. I am so sorry, but you must believe me, I really didn’t mean this to happen, I really didn’t know it was there. But I do have a cure. We are really running out of time. You have about two minutes before the process becomes irreversible. If we treat him before then, we can reverse it, we can save him. Please, come with me. Please trust me.”
Carver’s face is uncertain, he’s looking down at his friend, seeing the redness enter his eyes, he’s looking at Tim, unsure, trying to read his face. His shoulders slump, and he nods, ever so slightly, but it’s there. Tim jumps forward, takes Morrell’s shoulders and drags him up, motions to me, “Quick” he says, and pulls him away, Carver and I following.
We stop at another door and Tim pauses, catching his breath. “Now” he breathes heavily, addressing Carver, “I want you to take him”. Carver reaches forward and holds his friend up. Tim, bloodied, steps back. “On the other side of this door” he says, “is a white room. In that room, he will be cured. You are the only person who can take him in there. Close your eyes, walk through the door, and wait. When it’s clear, the door will open again. Are you ready?”
Carver pauses, and then he nods, and without another word, he turns towards the door, struggling to get Morrell into position, then he pushes him forward and they’re both gone.
Tim smiles. “Well” he says, “that was easy. Now let’s relax and have a drink.” I look at him questioningly. “You mean?”
“Yes,” he says, “they’re gone.”
***
“Gone where” I ask after my third vodka. It’s a drink that I don’t normally go in for, yet now I find it curiously satiating. My hands aren’t shaking anymore, well not quite as much at least, and I think I can still manage after four consecutive nights without sleep.
“Gone where” is my question. Hardly original but there you go. I know, of course I know but I still want confirmation, I still want to understand.
“You know,” he smiles, “of course you know. And”, he pauses, “you need to go there too. You know that, too, of course.”
I guess I did. That’s why I’m still drinking. “So…” I ask, “I’m going…”
“That’s right. You’re going Somewhere Else.”
He pauses, waiting for it to sink in.
“No I’m not” I reply.
“Of course you are,” he says. “Why else do you think you are here?”
“Well,” I start, “I thought... we had a deal, I thought it was because, you needed help fixing it didn’t you?” I’m feeling very edgy, very nervous.
He brushes my objections aside with a dramatic sweep. “Yes, yes, of course I did, and thank you by the way, but...”
“But I can’t go there! What if I can’t come back? What if I, I don’t even know what’s there, you can’t make me go there, nobody knows what’s there!” I’m getting hysterical now, and with good reason, to be honest. Let me just note for the record that there is absolutely no way I am going Somewhere Else; no way on Earth that this is going to happen.
“Of course we know what’s there. Absolute, ultimate power, ultimate freedom, ultimate everything. And you, my friend are the only person who can get it. The whole connection is built around you. All the sacrifice, it’s all around you, it’s all about you, you’re the only one that can do this.” And he’s calm, talking to me slowly, letting me know that whatever happens I don’t have a choice. Well he’s wrong, whatever happens, I do have a choice, and it’s made, and it’s not what he wants. Somewhere Else is like the Other Side, it’s like the Dark Side, it’
s like the darklands, it’s only known in legend and even legend speaks of it in hushed and uneasy tones. I saw the blackness, I saw the dark in that hole, I know what it made me feel like.
“Tim.” I steady my voice, as much as I can, try to speak slowly, calmly. “You listen to me. Just, please listen. I have been through – a lot. I have seen a lot. I can’t, I won’t.,.”
He puts his hand on my shoulder and looks at me calmly and I stop speaking.
“But what if I…” but of course I don’t have a chance to finish my sentence. His voice is so soft, like a whisper, like a breeze. “John, John. My friend. We have been through a lot together haven’t we. You have to trust me, John”
Maybe I do, nonetheless I still can’t accept what he’s telling me. I find myself on my knees, my hands touching him. I can feel the cloth of my Kevin Jackson suit trousers rub against the floor, I can feel my sweat soak into my white silk shirt, already stained with dirt and blood. I haven’t changed for four days, I haven’t even thought about it, but it registers somewhere in the back of my mind as I feel the cloth on my knees, the level of expense and sophistication that made me different, that was me, that still is me. I have never been like this before, but I have nowhere to go, nothing to fall back on except for here, and here is throwing me into the abyss
“Please” I whisper. Tim reaches into his jacket and removes a handgun. Through my tears I recognise a Rok Z-1 that he folds into a packet. I recognise, vaguely, it as the packet that Sharllen gave me. I feel it slip into my pocket. Then he brushes my hair back, touches my eyes, and
Chapter 33
It’s cold. So bitterly cold. I can feel it before I can see it. My whole body is broken, racked with pain. Maybe I’m flying. Maybe I’m sinking. Maybe I’m crashing. Yes that’s it, I’m a bird, crashed into a mountain somewhere in the snowy wastes above China, sometime after the end of the war.
Thank goodness for peace. Praise the Lord.
I need to pray, I need to give thanks for the end of the war. I’m going to get up, I’m going to nurse my broken wings and give thanks, and pray for forgiveness, and pray for mercy. I’m going to crawl back to my nest and lie in peace, lie in the serenity of my mother’s womb. Close your eyes and give thanks.
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