CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Clay stood on a corner and tried to put together the last two years. He wanted to know where he’d been, who he’d met; what it was like to be dead. There was certainly a physical sense to it. He could remember touching things and recall vague sights. He thought there were other people who were similarly waiting. But all specifics, faces, names seemed to have left him now. He could picture a beach, a rugged coastline that was smashed repeatedly by high waves. He could visualise a boarding house made of dark wood. He had a little room there, a single bed, not much in the way of possessions – but then he supposed he didn’t need many. He had an image of himself lying on the bed, his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He was waiting for something. Waiting and waiting and waiting. He didn’t really know what for, he just stayed patient and never suspected it would be so horrible.
Where was he buried? What did they do with his body?
It was odd to be walking around in some simulacrum, something that wasn’t actually him. He was physically here, had presence – was able to touch, feel, eat, drink, make love, hit, kill – yet this wasn’t really his flesh. His body was elsewhere, scarred by its violent end, doubtless decomposing by now. Did they bury it? Did they cut it up and throw it out with the rubbish? Did they feed it to the neighbourhood cats?
They had disappeared him, removed him so completely from the living world that there wasn’t even a spot of earth that was his. He only had this strange body he’d inherited, flesh and bone that felt like his but wasn’t, skin and hair which would vanish in a few days as he disappeared from the world again.
Would he sense his body if he came near it? Was there a patch of land that would make him shudder if he crossed it? As he was genuinely walking over his own grave. Or would he pass it and not feel the slightest tingle? Somehow, that was more painful – if he was unable to recognise his own grave, how could anybody else be expected to?
“Hello,” said Toby. He’d been standing with Flower, making phone calls for the evening, while Clay stared at the traffic. “What’s it like being dead then?”
“I was just considering that. I think it’s neither pleasant nor unpleasant, neither heaven nor hell. I don’t know, maybe I was in purgatory. It’s odd. I’m sure if you’d asked me yesterday, or even six hours ago, I could have given you some kind of proper answer. I think I could have told you about the place, about the people I knew, about what I did – now, it seems I’m barely able to remember any of it. I know you did ask me yesterday and I didn’t give you a real answer. I don’t know why, maybe I wasn’t supposed to – but I think I did know where I was.”
An articulated lorry raced past. Toby turned to his side to cover himself from the dirt and grime spat up in its wake. Clay held out his arms and faced it, he wanted to enjoy these things which he may never see again.
He continued: “Perhaps it wasn’t real, maybe it was all in my imagination. You know how some people say you don’t dream your dreams in real time, that every single aspect comes together in that three seconds before waking – maybe it’s like that. Maybe I didn’t do anything over the last two years. Maybe I just lay in the ground and rotted. And when I was summoned back my imagination created all these memories to fill the gaps.” He shrugged. “Maybe being dead is nothing, maybe you have no consciousness. Then again, perhaps it is something, just whoever’s in charge doesn’t want us dead people telling you living people about it.”
“Did you see God?”
Clay smiled. “I can’t really recall who I saw, so if I did see Him, He didn’t make that big an impression.”
Pocketing her mobile phone, Flower joined them, salt-water still staining her cheeks.
“Are we there?” asked Clay.
She nodded. “Yes, they’re going to come. I told them it’s important.”
Toby put his arm around her. “What did they say?”
“I think they’re just glad to have somebody – anybody – to talk to. Bunny is petrified, three of his friends have died and he’s filled with tears as to who’s next. Charles is, well, Charles. He’s only really interested in whether he’s okay. I had difficulty being civil to the fucking prick to be honest, but I suppose we do have to warn him.” She hugged Toby tightly. “What are you two talking about?”
Toby hesitated then said: “Death.”
“Whose?”
“Mine.” Clay looked to the road. “Do you think I can die again? Do you think if I stepped in front of one of those heavy trucks, I could actually be killed? Do you? I’m already dead, this isn’t my body – what could happen to me? What would happen if I was hit by a car now?”
Flower reached her hand to him. “Please don’t!”
Clay smiled. “Yeah, I guess we have other things to do.”
He looked at the two of them. Flower leaning her head on Toby’s shoulder, staring at Clay with her beautiful concerned face. Toby had his arms around her for support, his face matching hers in angle and expression.
Clay smiled at them and stepped back from the kerb. “Come on,” he said. “Let’s go down.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The Revenger’s Tragedy was a dark boozer just north of Oxford Street. It was an empty cave without atmosphere, only attracting custom by staying open longer than most pubs and thus pandering to that 4am crowd who should know better. It was Toby who suggested it. He’d seen it on his travels and guessed it’d be a good place to hide away for a quiet rendezvous.
They arrived early, taking a watchful perch in the corner. It was a simple, old-fashioned public house. The walls were painted a mild yellow, the carpet had seen better days, the chairs were wood chairs and a small bar was hidden away.
Bunny was first to join them. Despite the heat, he entered wearing a long coat and a wide-brimmed hat. He marched with his arm across his midriff as if nursing some terrible blow to his insides. His other hand waved limply to them.
“Oh my God! What has been happening? What has happened since we last met? My God, my God, my God! I’ve never in my life witnessed anything quite so dreadful. My friends don’t die, they live and celebrate life – how could they die? Who would do such a terrible thing? My mind is spinning, my digestion has stopped. I’m in a terrible state.”
“Sit down,” said Clay. “Would you like a drink?”
Bunny dropped himself into an empty seat. “I think a drink is precisely what I need now, thank you. A big stiff drink, the stiffer the better.”
Clay bought him a double vodka.
When he returned, Bunny was comforting Flower, or maybe it was the other way round. The two of them were wrapped together, and he was soothing her while sobbing into her shoulder.
“I’m so dreadfully sorry. You’ve no idea what a shock it was to me, what an absolute blow. You don’t know how much I loved Jake, worshipped his dear American heart – and to have a friend like that cut down in his prime! Well, I’ve wept, I can tell you, I’ve truly wept.” He put a bright handkerchief to his eyes. “I didn’t know Nick as well... We were intimate, of course, but that only seemed to make him more of a stranger. But Raymond I adored. Who was a nicer person than Raymond? And now both he and Jake have gone. It’s a tragedy.”
Flower’s voice was strained. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”
“Gone forever! Gone for good! Oh, you poor heart! It was love, wasn’t it? Real life love, the proper and genuine article. And now he’s gone, snatched away from you. How can you possibly bear the pain, my darling? My heart weeps because I’ve lost two dear friends, but it also weeps for you. It’s the most dreadful thing, and I’m sure everybody would understand if you killed yourself. It’s a terrible thing to say and it would be appalling for you to do. Absolutely the wrong thing – but, if you did find yourself at the end of patience with life, then nobody would judge you harshly for it.”
She pulled back from him slightly. “I won’t kill myself.”
“Thank God!” He tried to squeeze her tighter, his face creased and crimson. “As for me, I d
on’t know. I don’t know if I can keep going. It’s such a shock, such an appalling shock – I’m in a delicate state and who knows what I might do next?”
Flower moved slowly from his grasp. “Bunny.” Her tones were tremulous, but considered. “You’ve lost a man you occasionally went to the pub with, you’ve lost a couple of people you used to have casual drinks with. I lost the man I loved, the person I wanted to be with forever. You have other people to go drinking with – I have no one. I appreciate your sympathy – but, please, what you’ve lost is zero compared to what I’ve lost.”
This didn’t stop his tears but in fact increased them. “I know, I know, and I feel so broken up for you. I realise I’m being such a frightful old drama queen but I just feel so dreadfully wounded. And I can see you must hate me for it, but I can’t help it. I just can’t help it.” He waved that colourful handkerchief around, a particularly gaudy representation of the Moulin Rouge. He wiped his eyes and blew his nose loudly.
“Have you seen the police, Bunny?” asked Clay.
He raised his head, still wiping. “Yes, yes. They’ve been around.”
“What did they say?”
“They were most anxious to speak with you, Clay. They gave the impression you were a man who could – what’s the phrase? – ‘help them with their enquiries.’ I told them it was nonsense, that John Clay – although a big man – would never harm a miscreant fly. I told them there was no need to have suspicions of you.” He blew his nose again. “You’ve seen them now though, haven’t you? What did they say to you?”
Toby answered: “It was all perfectly fine. I was there. He’s got an alibi in the form of Belinda, and that flat is so small Abigail and Judy would have heard him if he’d tried to creep out. That’s three witnesses and that’s the kind of figure the old time peelers like to hear.”
“Oh that’s good,” Bunny said. “That is good. But what is happening? It’s just so unbelievable! Do we know what’s happening?”
They hesitated. A look passed between them, which Bunny – even in his agitated state – must have noticed.
“Well, we’ve – uh – got a few thoughts,” said Clay. “We think there might be another killing tonight.”
“Oh my sweet God!” gasped Bunny. “Any idea who?”
“No,” said Clay. “And since we don’t know, we want you to hide tonight.”
“Hide?” yelped Bunny. “Why do you want me to hide?”
Clay cleared his throat and tried to explain. “We think that last night he was looking for Flower, not Jake. She wasn’t there and so he couldn’t find her and couldn’t kill her. If you’re not where you’re supposed to be tonight, then he’s not going to get you, either.”
“But why must we hide?” asked Bunny. “There are enough policeman in the London. We can stay in our homes and be guarded. Nobody is going to come for us if we have big, strong policeman outside our doors. They wouldn’t dare! Please, let’s call the police, tell them what we know, get them to look after us.”
“We’re not calling the police.” Toby’s voice was firm.
“Why on Earth not?”
Toby hesitated. They knew they’d be asked this question, it was just a case of giving the right answer. “Because, we have a little problem with the police. We’ve conducted this investigation under our own aegis, and if the police find out they’ll not only be less than happy, but anxious to discover how we came across certain information. I appreciate your point – but really, large police officers would not be the most prudent of moves.”
“But I’m terrified – what if I’m found in my hiding spot?”
“Please, Bunny,” said Flower. “There must be places you can go to be safe.”
The door swung open and Charles appeared. He bound in as if genuinely excited, pleased to be part of something that was grabbing the headlines. Yet when he saw the group and their less than giddy faces, that enthusiasm was replaced by a sudden contriteness. His face and body went mournful, and even though he was probably genuine in his emotions, it looked entirely an act.
“Flower,” he said. “I am so dreadfully sorry to hear the news. Jake was well... Jake was Jake.” He leant forward and kissed her cheek, holding his lips in place a little longer than necessary.
“Do you want a drink?” asked Clay.
“Please, yes. A pint of something.” He smiled sadly. “I need a drink to steady my nerves, I’ve been terrified all day. I’m sure you’ve all been thinking the same – with them gone, am I next? Am I the next one this maniac will slaughter? It could be me, couldn’t it? If they’re gone, it could be me next. Do you think I’ll get an obituary? I’ve been in a few things after all. Maybe just in The Stage? Oh, I’ve been so scared.”
Clay brought him his beer.
“So what have you been talking about?” asked Charles.
Bunny was brandishing the handkerchief again. “Oh it’s dreadful. We’ve been discussing how to avoid getting murdered tonight.”
“You started without me?” asked Charles. “Without me and the girls?”
The tension was suddenly clear on Flower’s face. “The girls?”
“Abigail, Belinda and Judy – surely we should wait for them before you tell us the plan.”
“Don’t worry,” Clay said. “They already know what’s going on.”
“I thought this was a group meeting. We’re not really ‘the group’ if the girls are absent,” observed Charles. “We’re not complete, are we?”
Flower’s voice was cold. There were tears, she was shaking, but she was trying to keep control. “If you worried a little less about those ‘girls’. If you weren’t as concerned about constantly ingratiating yourself with them – then this wouldn’t have happened!”
“What?” His eyebrows rose in dramatic shock, but any question or protestation was beaten back by her furious expression. He stared at her, and then his face settled into a puce pout of wide-eyed, full-lipped frustration. He never lost his temper, never thought he betrayed an ounce of frustration, but the effort to bottle it up was impossible to disguise. He turned slowly away, as if backing down gracefully.
Clay took control. “All of you need to hide. We have a theory the killer wanted Flower yesterday but couldn’t find her. So we think that if you hide, go somewhere out of the way, then you’ll be safe from him. You’ll get to live through the night.”
Charles stared at Clay, clearly not wanting to look at Flower. “Where do you suggest I go?”
“We don’t know,” said Clay. “Just find somewhere, go there, don’t tell anybody where you are.”
Flower snarled. “Well, maybe you can tell the adorable Abigail, the beautiful Belinda, the juicy Judy where you are. I’m sure they’d appreciate knowing.”
Toby put his arm around her to sooth her, to quiet her.
“If he wants to, let him do it,” she said between gritted teeth.
“What is it with those three?” Charles’s face was still puce, but he was putting on his most reasonable voice, his ‘decent guy’ voice. “Tell me – what have they done? What have I done? You surely can’t believe I had anything to do with the murders? That would be nonsense. So what is this? I’ve been a strong and supportive friend to you all – especially those recently departed. I loved Jake like a brother, I would never have done anything to hurt him.”
Flower’s teeth were grinding together, her full fury clearly only just held back. When she spoke, her words were forced out between thin, barely open lips, as if she thought she’d scream if she opened her mouth wide: “I always knew you were a worthless shit,” she said, “but I thought you were a harmless worthless shit – that there was no need to worry about you. I was stupidly wrong and now have to pay for being wrong. You may think you’re a good bloke, you may have given yourself that part to play, but you’re nothing but an odious bastard. A deeply selfish, think-of-nobody-but-himself turd. I hope he does come for you tonight, I hope he finds you wherever you are and the same treatment that was given to Jak
e is given to you.”
Only Bunny looked shocked. Toby and Clay listened and hoped she wouldn’t go too far and say something that would require too much explanation. They hoped that beneath her fury there was still self-control.
Charles West’s face was lava red, with bulging eyes and lips protruding in a desperate bid to suppress an eruption. They could see him do it. The waves of rage disappearing, sinking down to somewhere deep, where they’d be allowed to fester until one day exploding his insides out. He turned away and took a slow bitter sip from his drink.
“Right,” said Clay. “I’m going to go find my hiding place. I suggest you don’t linger too long and hurry up to yours. Anywhere will do – friend’s house, hotel room, cardboard box. Just as long as you’re somewhere nobody expects you to be. Then – hopefully – you’ll be safe.”
He got up and they rose with him – an automatic response, or maybe some kind of bizarre toast.
Bunny hugged him, kissed his cheek. “Oh you sweet man, I hope nothing happens to you. Please make it through the night and don’t disappear from our lives again. I don’t think I could cope, I really can’t imagine I could handle it.”
Charles shook his hand and a breezy affability forced its way upwards to his face again. “Take care of yourself, mate. Thank you for tonight.”
Clay took his goodbye from them, hoping that they hid well and he didn’t encounter them later that night. It was a strange thought, but he hoped he didn’t see either again.
Toby was finishing his drink.
“What are you doing?” asked Clay.
“I’m coming with you.”
“We’re coming with you,” said Flower.
“Are you positive?”
Toby shook his head. “No, not really, but I guess we want to.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
They found a late-opening chemist and purchased a sleeping draught across the counter. None of them knew how well it would work, but Clay guessed if he swallowed enough doses it would surely have some effect. He was already strangely sleepy, but also scared – and wondered if when he rested his head on the pillow, that fear would torture all sleep out of him.
The Wannabes Page 23
