by Andy Crowson
Chapter 25: K
When K arrived at the Cottage, making just the one stop along the way at a McDonalds, it was almost seven. He'd already decided to go back to London this evening. He didn't want to miss the morning post, and although it meant running back and forth, it kept him busy. He didn't want too much time to think. Thinking is only productive if it's done at the right time, otherwise it just clouds your judgment.
K wheeled the now fully awake Shea into the house. He dumped the box in the room that had been Daniel's. The boy was kicking and tearing the box. K ignored him and stripped the bed. Then he remade the bed with clean sheets and restocked the fridge. By this time the boy had calmed down, and although he had torn a hole in the box he hadn't escaped it, even though he could have done quite easily. K put on the mask.
When he tore the box open the boy tried to attack K with his bound hands. K pushed him away easily.
"What the fuck do you want?" the boy said.
"Money," K replied.
"I 'aint got none," the kid spat back.
"Your parents do," K said.
"They won't give you none," the boy said angrily.
"Let's hope for your sake you're wrong," K said and slammed the door shut. He left the boy screaming and thrashing against the door with his hands still bound. K thought Shea needed a little calming down. It also angered K that, although the other boys had been scared and upset, they had been willing to listen. Even Jamie who K knew was spoiled. He went to check on the other boys.
Jamie was sitting on the bed playing the PS2. He put the control down when K opened the door.
"What's that noise?" he asked. He looked scared and K realized how loud Shea had become. The soundproofing was only so good.
"It's a kid like you. He just isn't being as grown up as you are," K said.
"How many others are there?"
"I gave one boy back this morning," K said, intending to comfort Jamie. "His parents paid me. Your parents are going to pay me tomorrow then you can go home."
"Really," he said.
"As long as they pay me," K said.
"They will," the boy said, starting to cry.
"How's it going with the food?" K asked, changing the subject.
"Good," the boy sniffed.
"And the games?"
"I nearly finished Fur Fighters," he said.
"You watch all the DVD's yet?"
"Just Shreck Three."
"Wanna coke?" K asked. The boy nodded and K left the room. He stopped in on Bryan.
He was lying on the bed watching Scooby Doo the movie.
"How's it going," he asked.
"Can I go home?" Bryan said. "Please?"
"You can go home Sunday," K said. "If your Mum and Dad pay me?"
"But they haven't got any money."
"I don't want much," K said, "Just what they can afford."
"Please let me go home," he began to cry too.
"I will on Sunday," K said. "You wanna coke?" The boy nodded. K went to the kitchen where he microwaved a big bag of burgers and fries he'd picked up from MacDonald's on the way. He divided the bag intended for three onto two paper plates. There was a lot of food. He took one plate and two cans of coke into Bryan.
"Here, picked it up special," K said. "Hope you like McDonalds." Bryan nodded solemnly. K went back into kitchen and fetched the other plate and cokes. He took them in to Jamie.
"Here you go," he said.
"'fanks," Jamie said doubtfully.
"No probs Jamie, see you tomorrow, okay?."
"Okay."
He returned to Shea's room where the boy was silent. K used the peephole in the door for the first time. The boy was sat on the bed, picking at the tape on his wrists with his teeth. K smiled and left him to it. He wasn't going anywhere and a night to think about things should calm him down.
K went to the study and wrote another ransom note. He worked as he had done with the last one, using a wet sponge to seal the envelope and stamp. When he left around nine thirty he had a plastic freezer bag with the note inside in his jacket pocket. He drove back to London and went straight to his house. When he arrived he showered and went to bed damp, setting his alarm for five thirty. He lay naked on a towel on the sheets, drying in the warm air and drifted off.
The alarm dragged K from a dream. It was actually a dream he liked for a change. It was a dream in which he was still alive. He pushed the emotion away and got up putting coffee on before he dressed, and drank it as he pottered about getting ready to leave. He didn't eat breakfast, instead he decided to stop somewhere along the way, cooking for one is just pointless.
As he drove towards the motorway he took a detour past the sorting office. As he pulled up a man with a mobile phone to his ear turned away from the noise of the street and put a hand to his ear. K Dropped the letter from the freezer bag into the letter box and returned to the van. It was colder out this morning. K turned up the heating in the van and set off for breakfast, then the cottage.
K decided on a motorway service station breakfast. Not that they were particularly good or cheap, but he needed petrol and the overcooked crispy bacon had a certain appeal to him. Besides he was getting pretty hungry and he didn't have a better idea. He pulled off the motorway at the services, bought petrol and a newspaper then parked the van and headed inside. He had to cross over the motorway to reach the café.
He stood looking down at the cars thinking that the cars and the people in them resembled life. Everybody had their own ideas, thoughts and destinations. They interact, and on some level communicate, but only in passing. No one cared he was a kidnapper, and even if they knew they wouldn't do anything about it. People didn't help each other any more. People didn't care. They left things up to an incompetent system full of more people who didn't care.
He read the paper over breakfast. There was a follow up article on the kidnappings about eight pages in but there had already been one murder and a pop star caught on a drink and drugs binge to take the headlines. K sighed and drank his coffee slowly. He was in no hurry to get anywhere. He checked his watch as he ordered a second refill of coffee. He had long since got tired of the indifference of people.
When he finally reached the cottage it was after eleven. It seemed to K that he was starting to feel uncomfortable whenever he stopped moving. He put it down to fear of being caught and stress. Inside he found Jamie asleep on the bed. He woke the boy and took him for a shower. When he came back he gave Jamie some clothes to put on and left him to get dressed.
K went to his computer, booted it up and spent the last fifteen minutes before twelve checking his email. When it was twelve he logged into the Swiss bank and checked the account. Eighteen thousand pounds. K sighed and stared at the screen for a long time. Why did they have to do that?
K opened the door and Jamie stood dressed and ready. K smiled and came in carrying a bottle and a cloth.
"It's okay, they paid," he said.
"So I can go home?"
"Yup. What I gotta do is put you to sleep again, so as you don't see where you are. I'll wake you up and drop you off 'round the corner from your house."
"I won't look I promise," Jamie said. He was scared.
"It's okay," K soothed. "It's the same stuff as last time, you just take a few deep breaths and you'll be asleep. You can do it yourself." He opened the bottle and wet the cloth.
"Here," he said, offering it to Jamie. They boy took it. "Just put it over your mouth and take a few deep breaths. It won't hurt you.," The boy sniffed at it and blinked.
"Go on," K urged, "You'll be home when you wake up."
The boy did as he was told, holding it over his mouth and nose. K took several deep breaths with him.
"That's good," he said. When the boy started to wobble K held the boy's shoulders with one hand and the boy's hand with the other, to keep the cloth in place. When the boy was thoroughly unconscious K let him fall on the bed. He wandered slowly round the house. He put the bottle and cloth away an
d moved aimlessly through the kitchen. Finally he returned to Jamie. He picked the boy up and carried him down into the cellar.
When K finally came up from the cellar he was sweating and he had tears in his eyes. In one latex gloved hand he was carrying a small cardboard jewelry box. There was blood all over the gloves and his sleeves and the box. He sat in the kitchen and drank two cans of coke. After that he put on new gloves, went to the study where he wrapped the jewelry box in silver wrapping paper and wrote out a card in his own hand. He put the card in its silver envelope, wrote Mrs. Beacham on it and tucked the flap in without wetting the glue. He put both items in the small plastic bag he'd got when he bought the card and put it in his jacket pocket.
When he had cleared up in the kitchen he left for London. As he drove he reflected on the value of life. He supposed it depended on your perspective. Whether you asked a cancer patient or an insurance salesman. A doctor or a policeman. Or a parent.
When K arrived back he parked a little way from the Beachams' and caught a bus up to the high street. From there he used a pay phone to call a cab. K didn't go into the cab office. The fewer people who saw his face the better and he wanted to keep that to the cab driver in the rear view mirror.
"Car service," the controller said.
"Can I have a cab please? From outside the Wharfdale Centre to Freemasons Road."
"Which exit to the Wharfdale?" she asked.
"Err, the one in the High Street," K said. "I'm wearing a dark blue Jacket and jeans."
"What name," the controller said impatiently.
"Beacham."
"Ten minutes," she said.
"Thanks," K replied and hung up.
When the cab pulled up K slid across the back seat to the passenger side so the driver couldn't see much of him in the mirror.
"Where to?" the driver asked.
"The 'offy on Freemasons Road," K said.
The driver pulled away without talking and as they drove K took the plastic bag from his jacket pocket and shoved it in the pocket in the back of the passenger front seat. He left just a little of the plastic carrier bag showing. The driver attempted no small talk and when they pulled up outside the off license K paid exact fare.
He let the cab drive away before walking back to the van. He checked his watch. It was almost four and he was starving. He'd eaten breakfast late but now his stomach knew he'd missed lunch and the sickness left in him by what he'd done to Jamie had abated. K drove around until deciding on Argentinean. One of K's associates had raved about the new restaurant and although it was a bit too much of a novelty for K he tried it anyway.
The place was empty at this time of day. He ordered a nice lamb dish and went to the toilet, and was glad to find it was just one cubicle with a lock on the door. He locked it and rang the cab company from the pay as you go mobile.
"Car service," the same voice said.
"Oh hi, I had a cab about half hour ago. From the Wharfdale to Freemasons Road. I left a birthday present and card in the back of the car. You know, in the pocket in the back of the passenger seat."
"Do you know what car it was?" she asked.
"A blue estate car. Rover I think."
"Wait a minute," she said. K heard the conversation she was having with the driver over the radio.
"Able twelve come in."
"Able twelve go," the driver's voice crackled.
"Did you pick up from the Wharfdale about 'alf hour ago?"
"Yeah."
"Fare says he left a card and present in the back of the passenger seat."
"Hang on."
"He's having a look," she said into the phone.
"Thanks," K replied.
"Yeah it's here, shall I return to base with it?"
"Hang on," she said and then, "Do you wanna pick it up?" she asked.
"Err, if I pay the fare can he drop it off to me. I'm at the birthday party now. I'll give him a drink."
"Where are you?" she said.
"Eleven Benton Street."
"Hang on," she said. "Able twelve are you POB?"
"Cleared just now."
"Can you drop off that card and parcel at Eleven Benton Street?"
"Yup. About ten minutes."
"Thanks," she said, "about ten minutes."
"Great," K said. "Thanks very much."
When K came out of the toilet his food was waiting.
