The Creator

by Neil Carstairs

  ‘Jane?’

  She half sighed, half coughed and said, ‘We need to talk.’

  ‘I know. Look, I’m back at my laptop now, getting onto Google Earth. Where did you say you were? Hubbard, Nebraska?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay, so according to this I think your best route will be up to Sioux City and then onto US-Twenty eastbound. I’d take the suggested time with a pinch of salt and guess it will be at least ten hours. Will you drive non-stop?’

  ‘I don’t know; I don’t think so. Julie is doing all the driving.’

  ‘It’s safest to stop overnight then. Dubuque is roughly halfway.’

  ‘I’ll tell her.’

  ‘And Jane?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t worry. Stay calm and you can explain everything to me when you get here.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Silence again. She didn’t want to say goodbye.

  ‘You can call me again tonight. Don’t worry about the time, I’ll be here.’

  ‘I will, and Pete?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m sorry about Lyndsey.’

  ‘We’ll have a lot to talk about,’ he said.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Are you going to say goodbye?’

  ‘I don’t want to.’ Jane’s voice dropped down to a whisper.

  ‘If you want to get here so I can help you then you’ll have to.’

  ‘True.’ Jane took a breath. ‘Goodbye.’

  ‘Goodbye.’

  Jane hung up. She wiped her face on the sleeve of her blouse and turned round. A sixty-something woman stood behind the counter. An old-timer in blue dungarees and a faded ten-gallon hat leant on the shop side of the counter. They looked up at a wall mounted television. As she walked past them to leave the shop the old timer glanced at her and said, ‘Goddam terrorists are over here now.’

  Jane hesitated. She glanced up at the screen. CNN played on the television. The scrolling ticker tape headlines told her the images came from the ‘Seattle Shooting’. Despite everything, Jane took in the images of a mansion behind locked gates and a lone police car in the seconds before shooting began. The camera dropped, swept left and right before focussing on two white SUVs being peppered with gunfire. Another SUV reversed down the street, pursued by two gunmen. Screams filled the air. People ran across the camera. Others fell as a reporter tried to explain what was happening. The camera shook. The image bounced until it came to rest on a young woman in a pale blouse and dark cargo pants. She held a sub-machine gun as she sprinted across the road towards the camera.

  Jane felt her hand go to her throat. She couldn’t speak. She turned and ran from the mini-mart. She crashed through the door and stumbled out into the sunlight where Julie and Emily turned in shock from the vending machines. ‘Jane? What’s wrong?’ Julie came to her.

  Jane found her voice. ‘In the shop. On the television. It’s Joanne Kramer.’

  Julie said, ‘Wait here with Emily.’

  Jane watched her friend go into the mini-mart. A pickup bumped off the highway into the gas station next to the shop. Emily looked up at her mother. Jane took her hand and led Emily over to their car. She leant against the passenger door and let her daughter lean against her. The door to the mini-mart opened and Julie came out, walking across to them with a quick stride. ‘She’s alive,’ Julie said. ‘The video was a re-run. Joanne survived, and the new guy Ben. Some of the others were hurt but I’m not sure how badly.’

  ‘The people in the shop must have thought I was mad the way I ran out.’

  ‘I told them you had lost a brother in Afghanistan,’ Julie said. ‘They asked if you wanted to go in and sit down. I said it would be best if we got on our way.’

  ‘What should we do?’

  ‘Can your friend in Chicago take us in?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then we still go there, lie low for a few days, watch the news and decide what to do.’

  ***

  Jane spotted the Comfort Inn as they drove on US20 through Dubuque and Julie pulled into the car park with relief. She had half planned to drive non-stop to Chicago. By late afternoon that plan changed. Tiredness crept up on her like a stealthy cat and her eyelids felt heavy as the sun dipped towards the horizon behind them. ‘Let’s hope they’ve got rooms,’ she said as she turned the engine off.

  ‘If not here then next door.’ Jane pointed to the sign for a Baymont Inn.

  ‘All I need is a bed, a bath and some food,’ Julie yawned and led the way indoors.

  They were lucky and got the last room that could take the two adults and a child. Julie paid cash and all three of them collapsed onto the two queen sized beds as soon as they entered the room. When Jane woke night had fallen. She slid out of bed, drew the curtains closed and went to the bathroom. When she came out Julie had woken as well and had picked up a local information booklet. ‘According to this leaflet there’s a Wendy’s close by.’

  ‘Another burger?’ Jane asked, thinking about their earlier meal.

  ‘Beggars can’t be choosers,’ Julie said.

  Jane sighed. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘And it’s quick.’ Julie gave her a smile of encouragement.

  Emily seemed to like the idea of two burgers in one day, and Jane’s mood improved with the food inside her. As they walked back into the hotel she stayed in the lobby to call Pete again and by the time she got back to the room she found Emily tucked up in bed fast asleep. Julie rested on the other bed. ‘Everything okay?’ Julie asked.

  ‘Yes, fine. He’ll be at home all day tomorrow so we can arrive any time we want.’

  ‘That’s good.’ Julie sat up, glanced at Emily and then asked. ‘Are you sure you can trust him?’

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  ‘But he’s only a family friend?’

  ‘Well...’ Jane hesitated.

  ‘How did you meet him?’ Julie asked.

  ‘About four years ago.’ Jane felt on safer ground now. ‘I registered with an agency doing secretarial work. They had an enquiry in about someone doing research so I took the job. I had a list of question emailed to me and had to answer them. Things like what stores are on a certain road? What colour décor does a restaurant have? I found out after a week that Pete was a novelist and needed research for the book he was writing. So I sent in my results but asked him what was happening to the characters because that might make them see an area differently depending on how they feel. We ended up having quite a lot of correspondence and then six months later I got an invite to a book signing he was doing in my town. That’s when I met for the first time.’

  ‘And what did you think of him?’

  ‘I thought he was a nice guy. I knew he was older than me, by about twenty years. He took me out for a meal as a way of saying thank you.’

  Jane went quiet, her expression pensive, and Julie said, ‘What happened?’

  ‘He knew I was a single mother. He knew I had some money troubles so he gave me five hundred dollars as a gift for me and Emily.’

  ‘That was nice.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Jane sighed.

  ‘I’m not going to judge you,’ Julie said.

  ‘Good.’ Jane met her gaze. ‘I slept with him. Some people might call me a whore for doing that after he gave me the money but I think I would have done it anyway. It just felt right.’

  ‘I assume it wasn’t a one night stand?’

  ‘No. He carried on with his book tour but stopped off on the way back to Chicago for two nights. And then for the next two years we saw each other eight or ten times a year. He’d come to visit me and Emily or we might take a trip to Chicago. He would spend time with us. I think it’s the only time I’ve felt like I’ve been part of a proper family.’

  ‘Did he have a wife?’

  ‘Yes. She found out. Told him it was me or her. I think he didn’t know what to do. If I had been closer, he may have chosen me but I was three hundred miles away so I got a phone call from him.’

&n
bsp; ‘And you haven’t seen him since?’

  ‘Twice.’ Jane smiled. ‘First time he was back on a tour for another book. He called round and I’m just glad Emily was at school.’

  ‘And the second time?’

  ‘It was just before we went to Kenyon. I’d hidden Emily’s ability from him but knew we would be out of contact and so I told him I had work on the West Coast and couldn’t see him for a while.’

  ‘So he doesn’t know anything at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And what will his wife say when we arrive?’

  ‘Nothing. She left him and they’re getting divorced.’

  Julie looked at her friend. ‘What do you think of that?’

  ‘It scares me. What if I was just his piece of fluff? What if now Lyndsey has gone he doesn’t want a girlfriend half his age?’

  Tears sparkled in Jane’s eyes. Julie came and sat next to her on the bed and held her hand. ‘He has said he’ll help. I think that tells you all you need to know.’

  ‘Do you think so?’

  ‘Yes, I’m certain. Now, best we both get to sleep otherwise we’ll need to stop again and I want to meet this guy as soon as I can. Okay?’

  Jane smiled. ‘Okay.

  ***

  Ben couldn’t help stare when Kramer opened the door to her room. She had not long come out of a shower. She wore a blue and yellow checked shirt that hung loose over cream shorts. In bare feet she seemed smaller, and her smooth, tanned legs made Ben think of lying on a beach beside her.

  ‘I’m up here,’ Kramer said.

  Ben took his eyes from her legs. At least she had a smile on her face. ‘We got another positive ID.’ Ben held up his tablet.

  Kramer stepped back in an unspoken invitation. Ben waited until she hopped up on the bed and sat cross-legged before he took the one chair that the motel chain put in every room. He flipped the tablet to her and said, ‘Identification came from an Israeli database. He’s dead, just like the other two. But this time he was a suicide bomber on a bus in Tel Aviv. Killed seventeen and injured thirty others in his attack.’

  ‘Is it possible their database has been hacked?’

  ‘It would be if it was just one system. Ours or theirs. But for two separate and entirely different databases to be compromised in the same way is unusual. I’d go so far as to say impossible.’

  ‘So what you’re saying is that these guys are dead, but they just happen to have been alive and well in Seattle a couple of hours ago.’

  ‘It kinds of makes sense,’ Ben said.

  ‘Does it?’ she gave him a withering look. ‘Try telling that to anyone but me.’

  Ben caught the tablet as she threw it back to him. ‘I only have to sell it to Dawson.’

  ‘True.’ Kramer sighed and gave Ben a long, thoughtful look. ‘What are we going to do with you?’

  ‘With me?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Ben frowned. ‘I’m not sure I follow you.’

  She came off the bed with a graceful movement that made Ben’s heart beat a little faster. She stopped in front of him and leant forward so that Ben had to fight the urge to look down the front of her shirt. ‘If circumstances were different,’ she said. ‘I might think you were a cute guy who was worth spending a few hours to get to know better. But things are the way they are. So you either remember that or I’ll ask Dawson to transfer you out.’

  Ben was caught in the hypnotic gaze of her blue eyes. What he wanted to do was reach out and hold her. Instead, he gave her a lopsided smile and said, ‘I guess I won’t ask if you want a drink in the bar over the road then.’

  ‘I guess not.’ She turned away and Ben wondered if there was a note of regret in her voice.

  ‘Why are you so hard?’

  As soon as the words were out of his mouth Ben regretted them. Kramer didn’t turn round, but he did see her back straighten and when she spoke her voice had tightened up a notch. ‘Thanks for the information on the terrorist. Time for you to go.’

  Ben wanted to apologise, but part of him knew anything he said would be the wrong thing to say. He left the room, cursing under his breath his own stupidity. In his room he lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. He tried to figure out how long he had left on the team when his phone rang. He reached for it and saw the Caller ID. ‘Ben?’ Chrissie’s voice was pitched high with anxiety. ‘I just saw the news. How could you tell me you weren’t going to get into danger?’

  ‘Chrissie, I…’

  ‘No, Ben. You listen to me. You are the only family I have got. I can’t lose you. You know that.’

  ‘I know, I know.’ Ben sat up.

  It took fifteen minutes to calm Chrissie. Finally, she relented and told him she would make sure his spirit shield was stronger. He got her talking about the shop, asked her if she had driven his car or used public transport. Eventually, Chrissie said, ‘Who’s the blonde girl?’

  ‘Her name’s Joanne, I can’t tell you any more than that.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Because this is an open line.’

  ‘Oh, you and your secrets,’ she laughed. ‘Do you like her?’

  ‘More than I should.’

  ‘That sounds bad.’

  ‘It is.’

  Chrissie fell silent for a moment. ‘Do you want me to influence her spirit?’

  ‘No,’ Ben said. ‘Don’t get involved. It’s complicated and if she even thought you were doing something like that she would go ballistic.’

  ‘Not even a little bit?’

  ‘Chrissie, not even the tiniest part of a tiny bit.’

  ‘If you’re sure?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Well, I guess I can wish you good luck then. If you need a referral, ask her to call me. I can let her know that you are house trained.’

  ‘I’ll do that.’

  They said goodbyes and Ben felt better for talking to her. He didn’t bother heading over the road to the bar. He changed for bed, even though he knew he wouldn’t sleep and if he did the dream would come again to trap him in the nightmare of his past.

  He couldn’t escape the restaurant. There were no doors, just an ever revolving queue of customers ordering the same burgers and meals and drinks, carrying trays to their tables and eating the food before returning once more to place the same order. Ben pushed through the late afternoon crowd as he searched for the alcove table. He wouldn’t find it. He had never found it in all the times this nightmare had stalked his sleep.

  What he always found was the guy in the overcoat. The fat Korean with the blank-eyed stare. Who stopped in front of Ben and said, ‘One day, I will kill you.

  Chapter 7

  Devon Shaw watched the people gather on the pavement outside her terrace house with a feeling of dread. She stayed away from the windows. Not that the group could see much through the dust-laden lace curtains but she wanted some feeling of safety. She recognised one of the group. Sally, her fifth social worker in under eighteen months. Two of the others were police from the local neighbourhood team. She knew one of them enough to say hello to. He usually showed up at the school gates or down by the community play-area as he tried to keep the gangs who dealt drugs away from young kids. It didn’t always work because Devon knew of at least four teenagers under fifteen who were already hooked on smack.

  The other two faces were new to her but one look told Devon everything she needed to know. White, middle class, educated. Nothing like her; black, working class and uneducated. What would they know about her or life down here on the estate? They came from their safe world out in Solihull, commuting into Birmingham and not even seeing the deprived areas of the city unless they had to. That’s how it worked nowadays. All the financial cutbacks coming out of London meant that local authorities either overlooked kids completely or interfered too much. They would read off the rulebook on childcare and Devon would be in custody. Connor would disappear into the jaws of Children’s Services with their homes and foster care and adoption. Devon may
not have sat her exams back when she should have done but that didn’t mean she was stupid. She’d been educated in the school of life and graduated from the University of hard-knocks. At twenty-four she knew more about living on the edge of society than all those pampered social workers, health visitors and education officers put together.

  Devon squeezed back a tear as she walked into the kitchen of the rented house. The building was old enough to have a pantry, and the bag Devon had prepared two months ago rested on the floor, hidden under a pile of dirty clothes. Connor had told her to do it. When Connor told her things she’d learned to listen. The bag had spare clothes for her and her son. Some money, a few packets of biscuits and a couple of bottles of water. She pulled the bag out, pushed the clothes that had spilt onto the floor back into the pantry, and put it on the kitchen table. Then, keeping clear of the windows, she ran up to Connor’s room.

  He sat on his bed reading a book. Devon got frightened sometimes by the books he read. She could get by with reading but Connor seemed to consume books. They sometimes went to the library twice a day to keep up with his appetite for them. Usually when Connor was out of school. Which seemed to be happening more and more recently.

  ‘Connor?’ Devon said. He looked up from the book. ‘They’re here.’

  Connor folded over the corner of the page he had reached. He put the book down and Devon could see its title – Middlemarch. ‘Is the bag ready?’

  ‘Yes.’

  He came off the bed and gave her the book. ‘Can you put this in as well?’

  Devon took the book. ‘What else should I do?’

  ‘Wait until they knock on the door.’

  She nodded. Connor could be so calm. So much wiser than his ten years suggested. Devon hurried downstairs. She put the book into a side pocket of the bag before she waited for something to happen. Connor came down to the kitchen. He looked like his father, or at least as much as Devon could remember. His father had been tall. That was about all Devon could remember of the boy she had conceived Connor with. He’d been three years older to her fourteen and looked enough like a man to impress her. He made her feel treasured with all the sweet words he whispered into her ear that night at the party. She didn’t feel treasured the next day. More like used. And only caught glimpses of the guy as he hung out with his gang on the corner of the street. He died a month later, stabbed six times in a street fight. Devon didn’t mourn him. A couple of weeks later she realised she was pregnant and the result stood next to her now. Connor smiled at her like he was the parent and she the child.